Your fat roll is hanging out

After a conversation with one of my BFF’s, Jessica M., she had suggested I do a blog. Supposedly these things are all the rage with crazy kids these days and she thinks I have some kind of knack for “witty banter,” which I’m sure you’ll find really means “snarky comments.”

Anyway, I digress. I like to write and, personally, I think I’m pretty damn good at it. Its therapeutic and a way to express what I’m really thinking because I’m too embarrassed and good mannered to say some of what goes on in my head out loud. Like the lady I saw at Target today. She’s walking into the wind and it’s blowing the bottom part of her blouse open so you could see her stomach hanging over her jeans. I wanted to tell her about it, but just kept walking. However, here on my blog, I can pretend to yell across the parking lot that “Hey, lady in the Hawaiian shirt! Your fat roll is hanging out.”

Moving on. Again. I’m in the process of updating my parents house. By the way, I’m one of those adults that moved back in with their parents to lick their wounds after a divorce. Which is why it’s their house getting new crap and not my own. So, my kids and I moved in like the Clampet’s only I don’t look like Ellie Mae and I have yet to strike oil while digging out the bulbs in my mom’s flower bed. The house is the same as it was when it was built in the 70’s right down to the harvest gold carpet and avocado green bathroom. Its disturbing that these people who birthed me can spend a few hundred at the casino, but can’t seem to save it for new shag and then sit in the kitchen over bad scotch and water and bitch about needing a new kitchen.. At any rate, it all started when I installed a bathroom light fixture and mentioned to Jess M casually (of course) that it would be cool to document the transformation of my old homestead. Which is in a psudo suburb, so its not really a homestead. And no I didn’t electrocute myself or make it so the neighbors garage door opens on its own when you flip on the light switch.

This “causal” conversation snowballed into a “And you could document the crap your kids do!.” Because, I’m sorry, not only are my two kids adorable, but they are freaking hilarious. Plus I’m dating a guy with three kids of his own, so my adventures truly are endless with the group of kids I call “The Furious Five.” Because I loved Kung Fu Panda and occasionally, they all make me mad but I love them. Jess M then goes on to say I could use it to document my life at home with my parents and how it might benefit some people who are going through some of the same things. I don’t know if she meant the thirty something divorcee living with her 70-something parents and two kids who works full time, goes to school part time and occasionally baby sits for her frequent flier boyfriend. OR if she was talking about how my mom has stage 4 breast cancer and I try hard to find some humor in the situation. My mom makes it pretty easy because she’s a crazy, wacky lady who wears rainbow clown wigs to the American Legion with my dad to play darts. And really making obnoxious comments to elicit laughter from people is how I deal with stress. Then we moved on to the crazy stuff we do as the babes. Like running through hotel landscaping sprinklers and “fried egg ta-ta’s” in the parking lot of a different hotel. We should probably stay away from hotels. Anyway. Most of our adventures are alcohol fueled and we just like to have fun together. Plus when we’re not together, all kinds of random insanity ensues and it always makes for a funny story.

Because that is what this is - a funny story. J