35; Black beans and Rice

I eat quesadillas when life gets tough; I have perfected this tasty little treat. I have a couple of white hairs sprouting near my right temple too. I did a bad thing – I checked my ratings and it seems as though I am boring, to the reader. I am in the grey area of popularity, meh. I feel grey and am getting grey so maybe it’s suitable to be grey. It’s hard to be grey when I used to be dark blue? Dark blue stats are the place to be according to my site. People still read my shit so at least I know someone can get a good laugh or learn something. Here’s something new- Put cinnamon in your meatloaf. Its hard not to glance at stats, it was easier to ignore the thousands of views when I was drinking and trying to refrain from sexy time.

Saying Fuck you and Fuck that all the time is boring- it’s almost too predictable. I don’t date. I don’t have someone breathing over my shoulder telling what to “confess” either. I’m not up for video blogging just yet nor do I want to use all my pricey makeup on tutorials that teach people how to not look like a werewolf in the morning. I’d rather sit in my favorite tee with the phrase ‘I don’t give a frappe’ written on it, ditch contacts for my studious looking black framed bottle cap glasses and sip soda through a straw thinking of what to write next.

My little one isn’t the only one learning how to spell these days. Dr. Seuss is the shit. While looking at life insurance policies the other day I thought of what to put on my tombstone-‘She is either-There, their or they’re’ with an arrow pointing in every direction. I always thought that being a mom would be the death of me; it was the beginning of me… Like- the real me. I spent most of my life drowning in substances; I think tequila preserved me and my lack of understanding of how people and our society operates kept me dumb. Now, I wake up to this little person asking for waffles or throwing a toy at my face. I sip coffee with minimal sugar and listen to NPR. I am in a new bubble. The mommy bubble. It’s fun and safe. I still haven’t given my kiddo a name in the blog- How about Pumpkin? The little stinker loves pumpkin bread.

I’m in a mental space that I had only heard about in the rooms of AA and attempted to get to many, many times. Life hasn’t stopped throwing spiked curve balls at me but whatever. Maybe I wasn’t meant to have the ‘simple kind of life’ or maybe I am. Not sure. I am currently trying to support my family duo and its tough. Waiting tables is not the best second job for me either. Not to mention, I’ve been hired and fired form nearly every restaurant in a 15-mile radius of my hometown.

After I left the DMV I kinda lost my momentum and status with local production companies. It happens to grey people. I’m still on the call list but I am not the main bitch anymore- I am more like number 7 on the legit makeup professional list- Lucky number 7.

-Pumpkin made a killer replica of frostbitten hands with watercolors earlier, the little stink is already looking out for mama.


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