I write... Erotic novels, for children.

     Oh great.  I'm a writer, blogging at Starbuck's.  Quick, somebody get me a beret and a cigarette!  Lately, I'll take what I can get.  Though I've worked it out with Dom to go "work" for 2 hours, twice a week.  We're in our second week, and it's going phenomenally average. 

     It takes a while to get back into the swing of things, they say.  See?  I'm using cliches!  I don't do that.  But my brain is so mushified from the last few months' abuse that I just have to suffer with the rest of you readers.  I'm almost sorry that you chose to read this.  Almost.  I also love attention...and comments. 
     Well, my writing time is established and I have happily chosen to blog tonight.  Mostly because my head has been on the verge of a hearty explosion with all the whatnot crammed inside of it.  If I don't get this all out in writing soon, all Slidouchebags within a 100 meter range might get slimed with grey matter and whatever stress looks like manifested and exploded out of my brain. 

     So let's see, what have I done lately?  Let's give a brief recap of 2011.  Had a baby--check.  A baby who didn't understand that breathing wasn't quite like a Nascar race and collapsed her own lung and had to spend her first two weeks in the NICU.  Then a follow up visit to the pediatric unit three months later for a virus.  And I topped things off with her by dropping her on her tiny, infant skull at the movie theater and had to rush her to the E.R. yet again, only to be dismissed as a clumsy, idiot, mother. 

     She's doing well now.  Trying to learn crawling.

     I also made a metric ass ton of plans and prepped for our upcoming move to Maryland.  Make that Virginia?  No wait, wait!  Nowhere.  Yup.  I spent about 6 months and 200 some odd dollars trying to get childcare arrangements made for Michael so he could attend preschool next fall.  But we're stuck in the swamp until May, possibly next fall.  It's a decision that Dom and I felt was the best, though the thought of spending another summer here in this hell-hole (literally, it's about 4,193,289,834 degrees here) is making that grey matter pulse a bit.  It's better that we're not there in the midst of all that earthquake chaos; I heard a lawn chair fell over in Virginia.

     Now my lady parts are malfunctioning and I have to beg for a referral from my primary doctor in the morning and hope she cooperates before 2:30 tomorrow.  Otherwise, I might have to actually pay for somebody to go spelunking for cancer up in my cooch. 

     And I'll leave you with that, I suppose.  You're welcome.  Stay classy, like me.

Today's subject line quote is Friends: "The One with the Girl from Poughkeepsie"(1997).