Who The Hell Are You?

I’m an old, crabby, tired, (waited too long to be a) mother of 3, trying my best to keep my kids from growing into boring lazy slobs. That’s hard when YOU ARE ONE. But this slob is going to need someone to come to my apartment when I’m old? And clean it. So far that’s probably not going to be my oldest, my son. I have 2 tiny girls, here’s to two more chances.

I both apologize and MAKE NO APOLOGIES for my double personality. My inner 13 year old girl is one of the LOUDEST voices in my head (team Edward? Team Sedric Diggery, yo.) Through some freak of nature and too much talk radio, she channels the spirit of deceased lunatic Sam Kinnison. [Google him young’ins.]

He’s not always at the wheel, but when he’s here? I fucking swear, RANT, say “that shit,” and “this bitch,” way too much, for a minivan driving geeky old white woman. If you need to feel better about your own writing? I got you.

Other times I’m the comfy Mom, and give you the POOP on my babays (and regurgitate all the CRAPPY puns you can DIGEST) and go with things like “the EFF word,” because when you have parrot toddlers around, you can’t just always be all “Come fucking here, I need to change your fucking diaper,” even though I know, I know, it was good enough for MY mom.

Don’t worry, I see plenty that PISSES ME OFF and then you’re in for a rant-y treat. We all have our thing. Apparently mine is hate. My Daddy used to tell me, “You’re too young to hate.” Not anymore. I have 3 kids of my own, and this tired, moody bitch? Can hate some shit.

It takes me for-HEVer to read anything and I’m SICK with the Comfy so if you’re looking for well-written analysis of shit, honey you took a wrong turn on the information superhighway. Go North from Pinterest. If you crave full sentences read an old timey book. You can still find papery ones, but hurry. People seem to like reading off of smaller and smaller screens. [Nothing makes a bitch feel older than technology.]

If you just want to peek through the curtains and laugh at a weird, moody mom and her awesome family, have a seat and get comfy. Don’t worry for the safety of my children, they’re tough little jerks and some of this shit is tongue-in-cheek. I’m a smidge sarcastic. There it was, bee-tee-dubs.

I also? Don’t know when to stop. Look how long this fucking intro is?! Sheeeey-ITE. SHUTUP! I need an editor. So bad. For writing AND life. But this right here? Is a free blog and I’m tired of NOT blogging just because I may or may not SUCK. (Spoiler: I DO. But I amuse a handful of people.) I’m also not sending every freaking paragraph to my smart friend from school to edit, because then it would be her blog. And I want to read what she has to say, and not just make her fix my shit all the time. When she writes a blog? I’ll let you know, it will be way better written than mine.  

Leave me feedback. Even if it's just to tell me I need to get out more, talk to normal people, to take a damn WRITING class already. My son told me to “just google different kinds of writing." Now that’s some helpful shit.