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I am finally the type of girl that my parents would be proud of… when I finally don’t give a shit.

Issue Date: Tuesday, Sept. 21, 2004

Warring factions, not political, not between Middle Eastern countries… but inside me.

Sunday at church Mister and I walked in before our class on finances and one of our friend’s oldest child (they have three) spotted us from down the hall. She came flying down the hall yelling our names and holding out her arms to be swept up and hugged.

Ah, the adoration of the young, it is a drug, no?

After the class Mister and I came out into the hallway and she jumped up into my arms and told me that she loves me. I held and rocked her. Her mother told me that she, the oldest child, had had a bad morning and that I was exactly what she needed, to be held and paid attention to. Heck, I’ve had those mornings too.

I asked the child, we’ll call her C, “C? Are you having a tough time today?” She turned her blue grey eyes upon me and with sage wisdom and a heavy sigh for a four year old said, “Yes ma’am, I certainly am.”

I told C’s mother that being around her and her three children make me want to quit my job, stay home, take care of my husband and have bunches and bunches of babies. She said, “Well sister, you’re talking to the wrong woman, because I am all for that idea.”

Their whole family came over for dinner last night. I fed them and played with all three little girls. It was crazy trying to get home from work in time, get the house straightened up, and get a balanced dinner on the table before they got there. It was so tough. I didn’t make it either. Dinner was late by about 30 to 45 minutes and I felt bad, but it was ok. I enjoyed spending time with them and I love it anytime I get to see their family outside of church.

After dinner last night, we had dessert then we all piled into the living room to watch The Christmas Story on dvd. I had both of the older girls sitting with me on the love seat while the youngest was nursing. It was such a peaceful time. I just wanted to never let them go. We had changed all the diapers (on the youngest two), their jammies were on and the adults (except me) were talking about faith.

I totally enjoyed it, but it wore me out.

Mister and I do want to have babies of our very own. We do. No doubt about it. But dammit we’re old. And I say “fuck”. A lot.

After everyone left, Mister and I went upstairs and watched a little bit of VHI’s Inside Out Leah Remini: The Baby Special… Holy Shit. Do you guys know how much that lady cusses? A lot more than I do.

Erica told me once that I reminded her of her girlfriend. Her girlfriend and I both have this “Soccer Mom” vibe… without the kids, or the Volvo. And then she went on to add, “But you also curse… like a sailor.” And I was also thinking, “And I also have a girl crush on Joan Jett.” I also talk to Erica about my faith, she’s an atheist, and she doesn’t run screaming.

So, let’s play, Why Haven’t I Been Committed?

Let’s add all this up.

I want so badly to be a good girl. I really do. I want to be the sweet Missus Cunningham type of lady that has snacks ready for her kids when they get home from school. I want to be a nice person.

I don’t smoke anymore. I barely drink. I’m not fuckin around.

Who the hell am I?

I don’t stay out late. I love my husband more than anything on this earth. I am finally the type of girl that my parents would be proud of… when I finally don’t give a shit.

Oh, except for the swearing.

I get a good night’s rest. I eat three square meals a day. I don’t drink my dinner like I used to. I don’t take drugs. I never really did. I’m not a big ol’ whore. I am living in a respectable neighborhood and I have a good job…


I hear Bob Segar on the radio singing Come to Papa, Tom Jones (Jaysus!) singing You Can Leave Your Hat On and Joan Jett (Rawwwrrrrrr) purring the lyrics to Do You Wanna Touch Me….. InDeeed…. And I turn into Slutty McSlutterston.

Well, I don't turn into Slutty McSlutterson. I just FEEEL like I want to. And isn’t that bad enough?

I want to be a good girl.


This is an uphill battle. The human side of me is not going to win I say. (She said in a determined manner.)

By the way. I went to lunch with Erica and Wendy yesterday and we had a blast. I did not cry on anyone. I promised.

Wendy is a sweetheart and she didn’t run screaming from either of us even when we tried to sit in her lap.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

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