About me: I'm a 40-something mother to a pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our tween Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler Cam, and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). I'm a freelance graphic designer and writer.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Random Tuesday Thoughts: Busted
My brother Ted found my blog. I've only mentioned him in like, 35 posts, so I don't feel too bad. I’m not sure why it took him so long. Every time he comes over he gets on my computer, and the name “frogmama” pops up for the fill-ins. Somehow that eluded him.
He finally found it by searching the Internet for mom blogs in Connecticut. I thought he’d be upset by the intimate accounts of his past relationships, his noxious flatulence and the unflattering photos, but he laughed it off.
About my last post: I really know someone named Squirt. He was a friend of my aunt’s—the one who wanted me to be a modern woman. He lived in a tent behind the town green, and when I was 16, he’d buy me and my friend beer. I think he wanted to invite us back to his place except it was, you know, a pop-up.
I don’t think you’ve truly lived until someone named Squirt’s bought you a 24-pack of Budweiser.
When I was in high school I used to hide my beer stash in a suitcase in the woods. One day my brother and his friend found it and dragged it back to the house. I wouldn’t have gotten in trouble if my name hadn’t been on the luggage tag. Minor detail.
We have water in our basement from all the rain, and Chuck has another #$@*ing kidney stone. He was writhing in pain last night as he ran the sump pump, so I gave him the biggest, nicest kiss before I left him down there and went to bed. I'm such a peach.
Mmmm, peach schnapps.
When I was 19, my friend brought me to a night club. It was my first foray into hard liquor, and it wasn’t pretty. I puked the whole drive home. When we got to my house, my friend carried me to the door. The spotlight came on and flooded my brother’s bedroom. As my brother tells it, he ran to the window because he thought the sudden illumination was Jesus.
Sorry, bro. It’s just me, a frog with a mullet.