Seriously!

Come on!! The first time in 20 years I decide to run out of the house without a bra on.....

When we got home from the pool today I realized I have absolutely no clean clothes.  Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero.  Since it's 95 degrees outside I opt out of wearing the jeans and turtleneck stuffed on the shelf in the closet and instead choose a "European" outfit.

Let me explain.....my relatives in Greece and Cyprus love to shower all of us with gifts which is wonderful! I am not complaining by any means.  But if any of you follow fashion you may know that European styles are a lot different than our casual conservative American style.

I don't really know if I can do this outfit justice but it's not the worst part of the story so...

I grab the last pair of underwear in the drawer which we all know are the dreaded granny panties.  Then I find the thin black mini skirt better used to throw over a swimsuit then to walk around in.  When I say this mini skirt is thin I mean that if the panties had the day's of the week written on them everyone would know what day it was. 

The top isn't much different then the skirt to be honest.  And now that I have to try to describe it in writing I am suddenly terrified that I misunderstood the good meaning cousin who purchased it for me since skirt and shirt sound awfully similar with a Greek accent.

It is a gold colored strapless t-shirt with a crazy cartoon lady and something written in French or the Greek equivalent of French.  I tried to wear this shirt in Cyprus but it kept falling down. (could it be because I have no boobies?)  My cousin told me it was the fact that I was trying to wear a  strapless bra underneath it - silly me!!

So today considering I decided to finally wash my bra (yes, singular) after 2 years I am wearing the top braless, the skirt and the granny panties assuming that I am done for the day, no where to go, kids pooped from swimming, in for the night.  Nope.

I get an email that I need to stop by someone house and fill out soccer papers by Wednesday at noon. Well, since the boys are not in bed by 7 p.m. I decide we should run this errand tonight before I forget and get a nasty call on Wednesday.  All I have to do is find some one's house, look for a cooler on their front porch, fill out the paper. Ba-da-bing! Ba-da-bang! We hit the store for laundry detergent I am rockin'.

OH - Wait, probably shouldn't wear this top into the grocery store someone might see me, God Forbid! I'll just grab this sweater to throw on when we get into the store. Still rockin'.

I find the house without getting lost. Rock on.  There isn't really a front porch on this house more like a 3x3 piece of concrete.  I find the cooler behind a bush outside the door which I am now directly in front of and as stealthy as I can I grab the form thinking I'll be outta here in 1 minute.  Then I hear my kids.  "What are you ding out of the car?" I hiss as the front door opens.  "Well, Hey you guys!"

Shut the Front Door! Literally. It's one of my son's soccer trainers and I am dressed in this horrid outfit with no bra or makeup and pool hair.  Just shot me now.  He stood in the front door making conversation while I fumbled to get the form filled out and get the hell out of there.  And there goes the rock....

Good thing I brought that sweater for the grocery store though, well the hell is that laundry detergent!

They're everywhere!!!

I posted a while back that I am done with Facebook, however since that time my account has reactivated several times.  What? Why? How? Who knows? I may never since I am technically challenged - well that and I used a made up email address for the login.  Thank goodness for Anastasia Beaverhausen.

But after this last time of being reinstated and finding several friend requests that scared the bejesus out of me I was determined to get out of Facebook permanently.  After many failed attempts because there wasn't actually information in the help section on how to Delete your Account I was desperate.

I contacted Martin Holmes by carrier pigeon.  He sent the pigeon back with a telegraph machine.  We communicated through Morse code and smoke signals until the private security team arrived.  I fired all other social media accounts loyal to Facebook, was given a disposable cell phone, alternative identity, and moved into a safe house.

Awaiting me at the safe house was Katie herself, ready to help me acclimate back into a reality minus Facebook and evidently the Church of Scientology's who runs the all consuming mean spirited mind numbing social media.

It's good to be back.

See what's news

So check out The bearded Iris in the blogs I follow. I think she is witty, clever, funny, and she curses. I love that about people, makes them human! O.k. It really makes me feel better about my own potty mouth.

Forty isn't Fabulous

Forty is....flabby, flatulent, forgetful. One thing I do not feel turning 40 is wiser. In fact the exact opposite is true. I feel more useless and out of date than than I ever have before. Technology is moving faster than I can and watching the morning show while I am on the treadmill at the gym trying to keep my ass from growing the size or two axe handles - I mean keeping my heart healthy - no longer keeps me in the loop. (not that I think I ever was)

I've tried to analyze why turning 40 is turning me inside out. Is it because 40 used to be "old"? Something our mothers were, not us, heeheeehee. Is it because I am suppose to be upset and start lying about my age? I am celebrating the 11th Anniversary of my 29 Birthday. Is it the fact that I totally wasted my 20's by not walking around completely naked? Why don't glamour magazines tell me that! Ladies your skin will never be tighter or softer, your ass and arms will never be firmer then they are right now so Enjoy It!

Maybe it's the fact that every time I turn around someone is talking about their bucket list. I got to swim with dolphins, ran a marathon, ate rattle snake mark that off the bucket list! Bully for you Gov'ner. I have not yet made a list of things to do before I die, perhaps because I'm too busy with laundry, soccer, library duty, and dinner to die.

Standing at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean watching my oldest son who is now 9 years old and almost as tall as I am I realized something-I have no control. I can't turn back time any more than I can keep the waves from crashing. And sometimes crashing on those I love. There are days I want it back.....good skin, tight ass, real blond hair, my babies, my youth. I want more time. I want to fix what I F'd up so badly that it still keeps me up at night.

I don't want any regrets, and right now that's all I have. I should have said yes, said no, left early, stayed late, hugged more, fought less, listened, laughed, loved. Did I leave it all on the field? Give it all I had? Get all that I could? Have I reached my potential or is it still buried some where deep down inside?

Maybe forty isn't suppose to be fabulous, maybe it is suppose to be freeing? I will let you know on the 21st Anniversary of my 29th Birthday.