Crap on a cracker I can't even find a clean pair of pants that doesn't have a hole in the knee or the ass or both. Apparently weasels live in my closet since every damn thing I take out to wear lately has a hole in it. This has become a serious problem since I'm pretty close to wearing a floral bathing suit as underwear and a camouflage jacket, yoga pants as my top layer and a pair of Chuck's I colored with a Sharpie because I was bored. I do not have matching socks. I can't go to any place where adult meets, the people at the post office look at me and then look at the ten most wanted poster, and two homeless people have offered me five bucks in the last 24 hours. This was on a day I thought I was totally rockin' the outfit.
Where did I go wrong? Lord where did I fall off the path that lead to fame and fortune or at least just fame? Did I take a right instead of a left at Albuquerque? Did I use the phrase "a little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants" one time too often?
Perhaps I drank from the deep well of purple Kool Aid one to many times? Maybe way down at the molecular level I'm just made out of purple Kook Aid and hot dogs? Or am I Frito Bandito? My problem could be I listened to long to the voices in my head which always have the best ideas though most of them are not feasible since they always include landing my helicopter on the roof of my house - and we all know my roof is not structurally sound for a helicopter. And yes I'm aware I don't own a helicopter (it's a hovercraft numb nuts).
I suppose part of my being lost and not being able to be found, in the broader sense of the issue because I am not lost nor could I reasonably expect anyone to "find" me, is I swore I would never live in suburbia, never get married (twice), never have children, never cut up used paper towel rolls to organize charging cords in my junk drawer. I never expected any of this conformity and never asked for it but by Jesus it found me (kids wear condoms this part is can be classified as a cautionary tale).
I grab onto any hope I can get these days. My kid by and large thinks I'm the "cool" mom though in the same breath she tells me to please try and act normal. It's cute she says "please". It's almost like she wasn't raised by wolves. Or wombats. But had real live parents to help guide her way. Thanks to Al Gore for inventing the interwebs and thank you Jesus for Google couldn't have done it without you both. Also let us not forget coffee, lots and lots of coffee and a big Hallelujah for pharmaceuticals. Keeping suburbia safe and sane since 1959!
So Brothers and Sisters I have no good words of advice for you. No words of encouragement except to always wear comfy shoes, be prepared to stick our your tongue more often than you'd expect, and not to be embarrassed that you think acid washed jeans will make a comeback.
In the immortal words of Ferris Bueller "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in awhile you'll miss it"
Unless it happens in suburbia Ferris - then you'll just see the same damn thing over and over and you'll go slightly crazy like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day.
I wake up every day, right here, right in Punxsutawney, and it's always February 2nd, and there's nothing I can do about it.
Can I get an Amen?
My kid's primary caregiver - the Wombat.
(click on the photo for an interesting article on the secret sex life of wompats...not kidding!)