Update Schmupdate

To state the obvious, I haven't blogged in awhile. For a multitude of reasons, but mainly because I haven't had time. Because I haven't made time. Because only like 10 people read it anyway.

I know it seems like I ooze charm, wit, and a remarkable ability to work in satire. And verbally I do. I have no firewall in social situations, so I end up just throwing out there whatever word vomit pops into my brain-organ before my brain-organ has a chance to tell my word-hole to shut the fuck up. However, when writing, I re-read what I write and think to myself, "that just sounds stupid/boring/racist/bitchy/slutty." All said, it takes me about 2 hours to complete a blog to my satisfaction.

However, I talked with my friends, Choir Boy and Venkman. And then Pepe and I started watching Chelsea Does, during each episode he kept proclaiming "It's YOU! Older and richer, but she is you! You need to start blogging again!" And during one of those awkward "haven't seen you in forever" moments, an acquaintance asked if I still blogged. Okay, Universe. I'm hearing you, loud and clear.   They all encouraged me to keep at this bullshit hipster hobby by making the excellent point that I use this blog primarily to keep track of this chaos that is my life so that I may record it for prosperity to hopefully write an actual book. With words and everything! (And maybe pictures.)

I know they are right. Everyone thinks their life is crazy, but I seriously can't make the shit up that happens in mine. How many people can say they had a random Russian stripper from New York stay for a night? (While drunk in New York, Pepe invited her to fly down to Texas, she accepted invitation because she'd never been, and suddenly I was tasked with showing a Russian stripper the attractions of our great city in one day. It was actually a good time and a cultural experience for the kids, and I made a new friend.) But back to my point. My truth is genuinely often stranger than fiction, and I should probably get it all down as it happens before the wine and vodka marinate my brainus.

                             To be fair, all Russian names sound stripper-ish. Except maybe Olga.


In any event, maybe nobody reads this. Maybe nobody gives a shit. But like my attitude about pretty much everything I do,  this is more for me than for you.

So, with that in mind, my language is foul. My life is chaotic and weird.  My choices are sometimes really, really bad. But in the very least, I like to believe I can put it all down, the good, the bad, and the ugly in a way that is amusing.

                   You never realize how much you swear until you're in a situation where you can't.                      
                                                  Example: PTO meetings and car rider line.