So apparently I’m supposed to write something here every week? Sometimes more? Is there someone I should speak to? This is getting serious. I mean I like you and all, I just think we should go slow, get to know each other first before we rush into the third post. It’s like 3rd base. It’s *kind of* a big deal. So put your pants back on and I’ll go first.
Really. Put them back on. Now.
Fun Facts About Me:
I was born and raised in Louisiana. While you conjure images of a pig-tailed gal in overalls me-oh-my-oh rowin’ my pirogue down de bayou, then jumping on an alligator’s back, I should tell you that hardly ever happened. I was queen of two Mardi Gras balls, one of which I was dressed as a giant, bedazzled crawfish. Yes, The Crawfish Queen. It’s amazing what a teenage girl will do for a car.
I attended an all-girls Catholic high school. Again, I know what you’re thinking. Snobby white girls, short skirts, knee high socks, tickle fights in the gym locker room while mannish, repressed nuns watched thru peep-holes.
You guys are filthy pervs.
Nope. It was more like, “hairy leg” contests and 300 girls on the same “cycle.” Yeah. Think on that for a moment. Sorry to crush your boner.
I attended Art Institute of Houston. I was way too cool for Baton Rouge and had to leave there PRONTO. You people could never understand me! I was so alternative! I immediately started wearing all black, (which I purchased at Ann Taylor) doing Ecstasy, and hanging with drag queens. It was here I learned my Special Purpose: Emulating Madonna in every way and becoming a major-league fruit fly to countless homosexuals.
I was one of the original “Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys.” That show is about me. That’s a whole ‘nother post.
I met my husband in art school. He was (and still is) a very serious and talented artist. Unlike me, who really was there because I didn’t want to do any more math, ever. And we got to draw naked people. Good times, from what I can remember.
We graduated, lived in sin for many, many MANY years until we got married. He is very private and doesn’t really want to be mentioned in “this little blog thing I’m doing.” He works very hard at ignoring my shenanigans by sighing heavily and rolling his eyes. Most of my friends refer to him as “that poor man!” For the purposes of this blog, we shall refer to him as “Current Legal Spouse.“
I worked in Advertising for years, blah blah.. creative department, blah, meetings, buzzwords, team building bullshit, blah, corporate downsizing, sexual harassment, blah, crying in the bathroom etc. and so on. Then I worked in Interior Design for years, again blah, crazy designers, rug drama, fancy parties, high maintenance millionaires, blah, Enron, blah.
I’m boring myself.
I rocked my whole pregnancy in heels and feeling fab, totally thinking I was going to hire a nanny, poot out this baby and continue working. I’m every woman! It’s all in me!
Two months after my son was born I quit my job, traded in my Mercedes for a used SUV and we moved to the ‘burbs. Everyone was in shock. No one more than me. Still a little bit in shock- not gonna lie.
The next few years were truly a blur, all I know is I have TWO kids now. For the purposes of this blog, I’ll be referring to them as “The Kraken and The Good One.” The Kraken is 5 years old, and The Good One is 9.
My son Henry is 9. He sprang from my loins smiling. Always happy, sleeping through the night earlier than all my friend’s stupid babies. He walked early, talked early and generally was a delight. So I decided to have another baby…
My daughter Camille, THE KRAKEN is 5. She feeds on chocolate milk, Goldfish Crackers (Kraken crackers) and little else. Like the real Kraken, she is multi-tentacled and generally pissed-off. She leaves a whirlpool of plastic princess dress-up shoes and glitter-glue in her wake.
The pitch and tenacity of her whine will hijack your amygdala and render you powerless. You must bend to her will. FEAR HER.
I’m exaggerating of course. Sometimes Henry is bad. Sometimes Camille is sweet. True, it’s mostly when she is at school or unconscious. But still.
So that’s it! Sorry that was a lot of info but if we’re going to move forward I thought it was important.
Now take off those pants.