We’re gonna change your name
The parents who spent nine months awaiting your arrival while poring over baby name books will have done so in vain. We’re gonna change your name the moment you take your first breath.
We’re gonna change your name to Cutiepie, Sweetie, Precious. We’re gonna change your name to Student, Overachiever, Loser, Nerd, Teacher’s pet. We’re gonna change your name to Bitch, Whore, Faggot, Douchebag. We’re gonna change your name to Promqueen, Promiscous, Smoker, Druggie. We’re gonna change your name to Cutter, Suicidal, Daydreamer, Player. We’re gonna change your name to Graduate, Youngprofessional, Employee. We’re gonna change your name to Renter, Homeowner, Neighbor. We’re gonna change your name to Author, Chef, Doctor, Enterpreneur, Fireman, Lawyer, Pornstar, Addict, Homeless. We’re gonna change your name to Hey You, Upyours and Fuckyoumotherfucker. We’re gonna change your name to Fiancee, Bride, Homewrecker, Divorcee. We’re gonna change your name to Sweetiegiveittomeallnightlong. We’re gonna change your name to Asian, Black, Indian, Yankee, Redneck. We’re gonna change your name to Teacher, Professor, Principal. We’re gonna change your name to Midget, Handicapped, Special. We’re gonna change your name to Fatty, Skinnybitch, Beanpole, Shrimp. We’re gonna change your name to Driver, Victim, Suspect. We’re gonna change your name to Defendant, Guiltysonofabitch, Inmate. We’re gonna change your name to Bum, Scumoftheearth, Dirtbag. We’re gonna change your name to Mom, Mommy, Mom. We’re gonna change your name to Immigrant, Alien, Foreigner. We’re gonna change your name to SS#123-45-6789. We’re gonna change your name to Dumbass, Retard, Lesbo, Homo. We’re gonna change your name to Customer, Guest, Patron, Nextinline. We’re gonna change your name to Democrat, Republican, Conservative, Liberal. We’re gonna change your name to Dirtyhippy, Treehugger, Dogooder. We’re gonna change your name to Bigboobs, Badteeth, Baldy. We’re gonna change your name to President, Boss, Yes sir and Yes ma’am. We’re gonna change your name to Celebrity, Supermodel, Latestsensation, Hasbeen. We’re gonna change your name to Brother, Sister, Aunt, Uncle, Grandpa, Grandma, Cousin, Father. We’re gonna change your name to Widow, Cancersurvivor, and finally Dearlydeparted.
After we’re done changing your name, we’re gonna forget it.
Boo Radley
I’m quitting my job. I’m holing myself up inside my house. I will get my groceries and library books delivered. I will not change out of my bathrobe. Why? I’ve found that my true calling is that of a recluse. It’s a dangerous world out there, a small world and if I never leave my house I will be saved from crossing paths with ex-boyfriends.
I had to be in the ex’s neck of the woods last night after work and as I was making my way back home, who should I happen to see driving from the opposite direction but my ex?! No doubt he was fresh from work and on his way home. I don’t know if he saw me, but I certainly saw him. Okay, no big deal, totally expected to run into him when I’m on his turf. What are the chances of it happening again?
Fast forward to 13 hours later. This morning as I’m driving to work by a different route I see the rat bastard again! I haven’t seen him in months and in the matter of days I have the misfortune of seeing him twice! WTF?!
From now on, my posts will be written from the safety and comfort of my own home.
In a NY state of mind
I’m going to NYC next week, for the fourth time. Fourth time is the charm they say…
Treat yourself
Pretzel M&M’s! Every indecisive girl’s dream come true! Can’t decide if you would be satisfied with succumbing to salty or sweet cravings? The good people at Mars have solved your need for thinking. With pretzel M&Ms you can have BOTH! I noticed them at the deli today and tore into them before eating my sandwich. My only complaint is that the bag is so small!
Who’s your daddy??
I dreamt last night that my father was driving me to see my real father, Ray LaMontagne. He greeted me in the driveway, wearing blue jeans ripped at the knees and a red flannel shirt. He gave me a big hug and welcomed me inside his sprawling home.
I woke up laughing at the absurdity of it all. If Ray LaMontagne were my real father that would mean he would have fathered me at the ripe old age of 9. You ol’ devil, Ray! I wonder if you had a big, bushy beard at 9 and skipped out on recess so you could compose songs about girls and seranade them in the cafeteria line with your brooding songs. I wonder if Jolene was a blonde girl with pigtails and Hannah was a brunette with glasses.
I think Mr.LaMontagne would make for a pretty cool dad. If you were his kid and ever got into trouble, you wouldn’t know it because he would yell in a husky whisper.
Never have I ever…
Before there was Ticketmaster.com, there was a 17 year old lovestruck girl who made off with the family car and drove 45 min. to Dayton from her quiet Cincinnati suburban home to procure a ticket to see Harry Connick, Jr. perform. Years later, I have gotten the opportunity to tell him I have been a fan since the 5th grade. I have been accepted to every college I applied to. I have been granted employment at every job I applied for. I have gotten goosebumps from visiting the Eiffel Tower when I traveled solo to France at 21. I have a bottle of red wine from that trip that sits atop my fridge waiting for a special occasion. I have sat mesmerized in the second row of a Ray LaMontagne show at Atlanta’s Fox Theatre. I have waited in vain for two hours, in the cold, for him to slip out of an unadoring exit. I have received the drum stick of the Blues Traveler drummer after their show in Tarrytown, NY. I have played and won a game of tic tac toe with Rocco deLuca on his tour bus. I have sampled pizza from the gods in Florence, Italy. I have made out with the Wailers 22 year old tour manager whose name I have since forgotten. I have stood in line with my best friend for a Magnolia Bakery cupcake in true ‘Sex and the City’ fashion. I have sat courtside at an NBA game sporting a Pau Gasol jersey. I have scaled a North Carolina mountain to see the sun rise. I have watched the UNC Tarheels practice on Thanksgiving Day. I have partaken of Paula Deen’s caloric buffet for my 27th birthday in Savannah. I have toured Yale’s campus. I have sipped iced tea in Boston on my 26th birthday. I have had proper tea and scones in London. I have met some of the most amazing friends along the way. I have made quite a few folks double over in laughter. I have gone into debt and out and back again fueling these once in a lifetime opportunities. I have purchased roots in the shape of a house to slowly call home.
In 27 years and eleven months, I have seen and done it all it would seem. There are a few things that I have not done. I have never been in love. I have never received a love letter. I have never been written a love song. I have never been wooed nor pursued. I have never been swept off my feet. I have never been seranaded. I have never met “the One”. I have never been on the receiving end of a birthday surprise. I have never been proposed to. I have never been married. I have never had kids. I have never had grandkids. I have never pursued passions.
Because that’s what the next 27 years are for!
