I'm back from spending a very colorful week with my mother and the kids, and I have the pictures to prove it (just wait). I can't say enough good things about getting away, even if it was to Assachusetts. There's a big world out there. New possibilities. Vast horizons.
I came home ready to move. Ass on fire. Balls to the wall. Let's do it.
I guess the universe read my Dear John letter to Mulletville and thought I needed just a little bit more fire in my ass. When Chuck and I woke up this morning, we found that our car window had been smashed and that someone had stolen our GPS. The idiot cut the GPS cable, so the GPS is useless.
Chuck was outside at 7:45 a.m. duct taping the window, since rain was in the forecast.
I've decided that if life in Mulletville were to have a theme song it would be a rendition of "The 12 Days of Christmas." One home invasion, two broken windows, three smashed pumpkins, four toothless crackheads, and an angry man with a shotgun (that'd be Chuck).
We got to see the Mulletville police for the last time when we filled out the report (at least I hope it's the last time). It's funny, I was going to dedicate a post to them before we moved. For some reason all the Mulletville policemen are hot, young and buff; I thought that warranted a gushy post. They barrel around town, chewed up pavement hissing from their wheels. They're at your side in a split second. My friend swears she saw a squad car that read "Don't even try it!" They could be the new TJ Hooker stars.
Anyway, I promise this is my last post about this horrible town. I was done at Halloween for fuck's sake. I'm starting to sound like a woman who can't break up with her loser boyfriend. I'm that friend.
And now I have to go back to reading maps. Bastards!
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler 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?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.