The REAL Christmas list.

Do we ever really tell people what we want? Maybe not, but there are two shopping days left so feel free to pass it along to all of your rich friends.

1. Electronic Bundle. In the last few months my ipod,camera,and laptop died!!

2. A cloak of invisibility. I promise not to be pervy, I just want to avoid my crazy neighbors.

3. Cooking classes and/or guitar lessons

4. A butler. A cool one, like Alfred. Yeah.

5. A Goonies like adventure.

6. My own carpenter.

7. Laser hair removal.

8. A pontoon.

9. A puffy vest in every color. Its freezing and all I do is drive all day. I can't stand wearing a coat!

10. A scarf for every mood and occasion...oh okay a purse too. If you insist.

11. The acceptance of the siesta in the US.

Happy Shopping :)

Slapping that New Years Baby Right on the Ass

Confession: I am a terrible blogger. Those of you who know me...okay you all do, at least right now, know that I didnt want to blog for a long time for fear of looking like a self indulgent ass hat. Life has had many changes as of late, some good, some heartbreaking and none I felt like sharing here (or anywhere else for that matter).

Confession #2: I hate New Years Eve. It panics me to think of being in my ratty old slippers old and alone with a frozen pizza and a homemade pina colada. Have you ever seen the movie 200 Cigarettes? (On my Christmas list, if youre still shopping haha) I love that movie, it sums up NYE to perfection. A whole lot of fuss and drama for a huge ass let down and in the end, you probably spent the night with the same people you spend every other night with. Watch it, its worth it, you have my gaurantee.

The only let down bigger than NYE is the new years resolution. Most of those are gone before the hangover. That said, in the spirit of trying something new I will be going a little different direction with the blog in coming months. I spent the last 3 days sick, curled up with my dog and looking at craft/foodie websites and just drooling over how colorful and warm they are. I am always working on a project so I figured what the hey, I will start posting some of them here.

While there will still hopefully be funny stories about stupid boys and the ignorant swarms at the pool, here is hoping to liven things up in 2011 both here and in my actual day-to-day. Bare with me, encourage me, laugh with me, mostly pray for me.Share your creativity with me and lets give this a whirl.

Damnit, I like presents, too.

Excuse the Carrie Bradshaw moment but I started thinking recently about the gifts for the single woman. See, there are a lot of really great things about the adventure of being single, but one of the things you miss out on is registering for all of the sweet things you want and having someone else foot the bill for your champagne taste. So the following is the list of things I think every single woman needs.

1. A really great dinner. Complete with dessert and all the tools with which to prepare it. Let me save you some time, the cuteness of being the girl who can’t boil water WILL wear off. Be able to make a great meal for yourself, your friends, and maybe even a lucky man.

2. Enough books to read, movies to watch, food to eat, and tequila or wine to drink for the weekend blizzard that I PROMISE is around the corner. I have yet to see a winter that didn’t include a snowed in weekend. Don’t be caught alone without the essentials.

3. Condoms.

4. An Ipod for dancing it out. Some ailments have no other cure.

5. A really great friend who will take you vibrator shopping.

6. A toolkit. Look, I don’t care if you call the tools the right thing or even use them correctly. There is power in being able to fix something yourself.

7. Lingerie that makes you feel like the woman he thinks you already are.

8. Someone to go on vacation with.

9. Something to work on. You aren’t done. Learn something, be someone worth finding.


10. A friend in the same boat. The older you get the harder it is to find someone going through the same things. When you do, hold on to her. You will need a friend who gets it.

Fish Tales

First, I'd like to share with you one of my dating rules. Always have more than one first date planned at a time. First dates are tricky and second ones sometimes allusive. It really helps to keep things light if you have something (read:someone) else to look forward to. Im not suggesting you get naked with all of them (they are first dates after all). I also don't suggest letting the dudes in on your multi dating practices. Its frowned upon, but trust me, still a good idea.

So I had a recent mini date...a first one with an awkward/cute guy I met online. Once in a while I have a strange attraction to the goofy guy. Since it was a mini date and I didnt really want to have someone come over ( I have learned my lesson). We agreed that he would meet me in the park outside my house and join me for the late night dog walk. So the pup and I are all ready to leave the house and I swing the door open and there, on my doormat, is a dead fish. Like a whole dead fish. Probably about 8ish inches long (not someone's pet). WTF. I look over and see what I think is a giant steak on my neighbors doorstep( I later learned it was like a five pound raw porkroast). WTF. I slam the door, call my date and tell him whats going on and that I will need a minute. On an unrelated note a firetruck and ambulance have also pulled up at the same time. Holy freaking chaos.

Look, I pride myself on being independant. I may not always know what Im doing but I do it mostly on my own. BUT I do not touch dead animals. HOLY GEEZ. So I pull my doormat over and pups and I go meet the date. Incidentally, if someone is uncomfortable in his own skin, chances are all the added nonsense wasnt exactly going to set him at ease. So the date, myself, and the dog take a couple of laps and sit down to chit chat and I return home...not inviting him up because things were weird enough as is. I run upstairs only to find the mat and fish returned to their original spot...only time someone had REMOVED THE FISH EYEBALLS. Oh, good. So I wrap the whole thing up in the doormat, throw it in a bag and take it immediatly to the dumpster downstairs. (Another aside:I do NOT take garbage out at night because I do not want to be attacked by racoons who are no doubt waiting to maul me when I throw my stuff out after dark. So clearly this was an emergency.)

As I was holding my (now drunken)version of the neighborhood watch my Egyptian neighbor comes out and I fling my door open to him saying "MEAT, ON MY DOOR!" False alarm. Okay, I am the google queen. I have no google shame. Seriously. So I had already googled fish on the doorstep to find out that the mafia was coming after me (as in swim with the fishes). I pretty much hung that up because I have no mafia ties and I dont really piss anyone off enough to murder me and pork my neighbor. So after a little "this is weird" chatter between the neighbor and I it was bedtime.

A little while later the neighbor returned to tell me that the mafia is probably going to kill one of us and let the other go, according to her sister who knew that all this "dead meat" stuff was not cool. So, against my better judgement, we called the police. We waited about an hour for them to show up and take down our info in case someone does try to murder us or something, that shit will be on the news.

My neighbor apparantly knows EVERYTHING about EVERYONE in my neighborhood. I have been quite uncomfortable for a few months. Turns out, my gut was RIGHT ON about everything I had suspected and then some. NOT GOOD. Thing are worse than I thought. So, lets hope that when my lease is up (not soon enough) I can make a positive move out of this place.

So I started with a dating lesson and I learned one too. The guy I end up with removes dead fish. It goes like this, he offers, I say no, and then he does it anyway, because no lady should have to wrap up a dead anything and try to fight off angry mobs of racoons (they really do hide in dumpsters, its like their Thanksgiving). Lesson learned.

the big race

I try, for the most part, to keep my blog light and fluffy.Lately though, I have had one pressing issue on my mind...so this is my chance to get it out, I guess. How many of us read The Tortoise and the Hare? You know, the story about the cocky ass rabbit who thought he had the race in the bag...but he was all flighty, crazy and distracted by shiney things or something. Meanwhile, the pokey little turtle slowly dragged his ass across the finish line, in the end, beating out his flakey counterpart with sheer persistance. We get it...slow and steady. Whatever. I think if there were a back story, the two of them were probably besties. They probably grew up together, had dinner sometimes and swaped recipies and bitched about some other animal with it's own bag of issues. It seems though, that we are in constant competition with each other, and even more to our own detriment, with ourselves.

So I was out with one of my girlfriends at bingo the other day. Yeah, I go to bingo. That shit is hilarious. We have been ostrasized...but more on that later.(It merits its own post, trust me). Anyway, I was talking with my bingo buddy about all the ways in which we are fabulous and all the ways we fall short. I had an outloud epiphany "I guess, I measure my own success by the things I dont have". Whoa. It stopped my thoughts when I realized how much I have achieved, how much I have to be grateful for and how little I am able to realize it.

My life is pretty different than my married friends, some of whom have 3,4 even 5 kids. Okay, my life isn't a little different its 100% nothing like that. I have embraced other endeavors. I said I wanted to have a graduate degree by the time I was 30. I was 28. Done.That is an example. There are alot of things that are unique to me accomplishments, goals, struggles, and things to be happy about. Thank God I am good at being me. Too bad though, that I compare my own accomplishments with those of people who are not even running the same race. We are so hard on each other...so hard on ourselves that we are damn near blind to the goodness that wells up all around us.

So to my friend, who may take her sweet ass time to get wherever she is going. And to the one who is confident enough to let go and look at the shiney stuff. Run your race girl, however you want to, however long it takes, its yours to win.

full circle

So I have a date. He is 40.4-0. Forty. Lordy,lordy look who's forty classifieds 40. Sweet mother of moses when did I become old enough to date people as old as teachers and parents. 40. I'm 31 which is like 23 but smarter and with cheaper car insurance. Fuck,I think about insurance and I am going on a date with someone who is 40.

When I was 22 I was something of a fabulous trainwreck. Young with good hair and potential. My life was something of an open ended question that I could answer however the hell I wanted to. It was a good spot to be in. Let me make this very clear, its safe to say that from 18-22ish I had no idea how good I had it. I just wanted whatever was next. My grandma used to warn me not to wish my life away.

For a little while,at 22, I dated a 31 year old man. Let me paint a picture of my 22 year old day dreams.
I bet he has wrinkly old balls.
Ill probably have to start eating dinner at 4.
This is embarassing. 31. People will ask if he is my dad.
Are those coaches shorts? Maybe he IS my dad.
Please, for the love of all things sporty, just bend the bill of your hat. YOU LOOK LIKE MY DAD!
Did you just refer to me as a kid?
I can't do this.
I can't date a man with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. Think of all the years I will spend alone. After all, I am 22 and fabulous and he is beating down death's door. He is 31, the new 84.

He had cars or socks or underpants older than me and this was no way to love. Imagine my shock,surprise, and dismay when I realized I was 31. There is turning 31 (or whatever age scares you) and then there is realizing you are 31. Sobering I guess. So to you, my dear friend, who was 31 and isn't anymore... I HOPE YOU CAN READ THIS. I HOPE IF YOU CAN'T, SOMEONE IN THE NURSING HOME IS READING REALLY LOUDLY FOR YOU. I hope your balls don't knock against your boney knees and that here isn't tumbleweeds of grey hair protruding from your giant old man ears. Thank you for paving the way to 31 for the rest of us. I hope 40 is treating you well. Wait. 40?! Shit.

Who's Your Flypaper, Baby?

After careful consideration, I have come to the conclusion that most of my troubles could be solved if scientists could figure out what goes through the brain of a fly just before it gets stuck to a piece of paper. Forget the monkeys, I'm pretty sure there is a direct dna link between my brain and that of the fly.

When I was a kid I spent my summer afternoons swimming my life away at my grandma's house. You could count on the midsummer flypaper decoration. One in the garage, one on the porch (which, in retrospect, seems a little unfair to the fly),and finally one in the kitchen. Appetizing. Have you ever looked at one of these things? A strip of sticky with flys trapped it...and they really start to pile up. Regardless of the horrifying site, flies clearly love this shit. The mortality rate is through the roof.

Here is the problem, I can see how gross and deadly fly paper is but it doesn't keep me from zooming right into it, full speed ahead in my own life. For me its a man or two in my life and maybe other relationships. When I get close I can fight all I want but at the end of the day I am stuck. To anyone else,the situations are fly paper...obviously gross,something you swerve to avoid,and potentially hazardous to your health...but to me ooooh what's that..aaaand stuck. Before I know it I can't move.

I don't think its just me though. (Hence the call for scientific exploration). The more people I meet the more I know for sure that each of us has our own version of fly paper. For some of us its a man who broke us down,wore us out and left us different. For others it might be drugs or a friend who leaves us drained. There is always something attractive, irresistable even and while everyone else around us can see the trap we just haul ass to get stuck. So...who's your flypaper, baby?

Snakes,snails, and puppy dog tails

I was in a sticker club once. We named the closest bus stop our club house. That lasted one Saturday afternoon. I also used to dress as Wonder Woman every single day (shout out to my mom for the extra attention to laundry). I spent 92% of my time outdoors on a perpetual adventure. I had nothing to think or worry about. My only responsibility was to be home before the street lights come on. Life. Has. Changed.

The boys in my class used to play a game called dick tag. I remember it well and I have yet to grasp the thrill of grabbing friends weiner for sport. The boys at work last week held "boner races". Before the erection olympics could light the torch we obviously put the kabosh on that activity. I couldn't help but remember the dick tag days as I pondered the games that boys play. I have never raced a friends vagina across a finish line or even grabbed it in the name of friendly,playground competetion.

Last night I was talking with a man I recently met. He is pretty funny and a stand up guy. Before I knew it he was telling me about a recent bet that went awry. The result: he gave his buddy "a titty twister...a good one too...left a mark the size of a coffee cup. It was hard to because he doesn't really have any titties,cause he is so skinny". So this 32 year old, divorced father of 2 still uses titty twisters as a form of retaliation. Life. Hasn't. Changed. At least for men. They get to play games. They don't talk or text or meet over coffee or even gossip. You pissed me off...here is a purple nerple aaaaand scene. Back to friends.

At first, the titty twister thing made me raise aneyebrow, but the more I thought of it, the more I admired the games boys play. And while I won't be racing my lady business across a finish line any time soon, I do see the merit in the quickpain approach to mending relationships. So keep me happy ladies or guard those titties. Consider this the warning for mending the fences over a quick grab and twist.

confessions of a pool snob

Until recently I never realized what a luckly little life I had. As a kid,I always had a place to swim. Always. I spent the majority of my summer days spashing,inventing jumps and games, or wandering around in my swimsuit (thank God I got that last part out of my system). My love for poolside summers has yet to leave. I would spend my life in or by a pool baking in the hot sun,carefree...there is just nothing like it.

Fast forward to my adultood.I sit surrounded by a bunch of giant idiots, who, as best I can figure, have never seen one of these concrete ponds. Let's be honest,I'm not entirely sure if these people are allowed out on their own. I suspect many are here on some sort of weekend pass. The following is a simple guide to the shared pool experience, brought to you by a disgruntled pool snob after having witnessed each violation in recent days.

1. White underpants are,under no circumstances, acceptable replacements for swimwear.
This applies to children in dingy superhero underoos as well as mothers in granny panties. Its a universal rule. Unless you can show your lady business all over town there is no need to show it at a public pool.

2. If your child is redfaced and screaming as if you are ripping his very limbs from his body each and every time you playfully dunk a part of him in the water HE DOES NOT LIKE IT. Please try again in the comfort of your own bathtub.

3. No one, having pool etiquite or not, wants to listen to death metal by the pool. And this sentiment is only doubled when you blast your assy music from the "speaker" on your cell phone.

4. When you are 8 splashing adults while doing a cannonball is cute. When you are 48 it is not. (On a side note I was at the pool when a 350-400 pound man told his kids he didn't want to do a cannonball because it would "hurt his abs". Really?)

5. Please do not encourage your kids to pee in the pool. They are already doing it without your help. Oh, and I can hear you.

6. Safety equipment is not there for you to create some sort of hillbilly splash mountain slide. I appreciate the inginuity but perhaps there is a more appropriate arena.

7. Please remove your socks and shoes in the pool. Even if your feet are cold.

8. A baby walker from 1980-before-there-were-safety-regs is not an appropriate sitter while you smoke in the pool.

9. I can see your wiener through the mesh shorts you are working overtime as swim trunks.

10. Please,for the love of all that is good, do not name your child Marco and then bring him to the pool to yell at him all afternoon. It just fucks with every swimmer's head.

Charmed, I'm sure

The following is an actual conversation I had tonight with a man I recently met. an important note: I met him only briefly and this was our first conversation longer than two minutes. I will cut right to the good part but there was a hello and a few seconds of weekend rehashing prior to the real meat of the conversation. I assure you this is the non-exaggerated, God's honest truth as I have neither the energy nor the creativity to make this shit up.

Dude: Yeah, I haven't had a drink since 99, but I think I'm a sex addict.
Me: Oh.
Dude: I mean sometimes my girl and I used to just F all weekend. Well, have food delivered and F all weekend.
Me: Oh.
Dude: Its cool though, cause last week I got tested. I mean they swabbed my dick, took my blood, made me piss in a cup. But I'm clean as a whistle. I'm kind of surprised...but yeah I'm clean.
Me: Well, that's good news.
Dude: Well, yeah but I haven't had sex since then.
Me: a week ago?
Dude: yeah, that's a while.

The conversation ended a few minutes after he told be about his Phillipino girlfriend who used to instruct Zumba.He thought I seemed pretty overwhelmed....and here I thought he wasn't really good at reading people.

Why I am Single, Reason #391

I am no stranger to meeting a potential date online. I have met great men that way. I have also acquired stories that would blow anyone's hair back by being open minded enough to meet a man on the internet. Today, I ran across this little gem. Look closely, this young man is wearing a gold chain...with Jersey Shore hair...IN A TANNING BED. Out of the gallery of his life, the best photo this man could come up with was of himself in a tanning bed. He looks like Jersey Smurf. Somewhere Snookie's heart would be a flutter and I am SURE he was fresh from the gym and on his way to do some laundry...a little GTL. It's practically a situation.

sarcasm,chapter one

I'm pretty sure there is a man in the world daydreaming about me. He is contemplating my allure and our grandbabies and probably praying I show up soon. I am quite certain however, that he is NOT sanding his feet and rubbing organic AS SEEN ON TV magic nonsense on them. I doubt,as he ponders my sexual prowess, that he is measuring his pore size or examing himself for stray unibrow hairs. His toes aren't seperated while he wrestles between what shade of pink will really pop. It hasn't crossed his mind tonight that his hair could stand to be shinier or his ass perkier. Boys are so weird.

My New Man

It's official. I am in love. I have been swept off my feet by a 62 pound chocolate hunk of love. The following is the beginnings of our special love....

Friend: you really need a dog. Let's just look.
Me: yeah,I'm not getting a dog right now,too much going on...but fine I will look. Oh and I'm not getting a dog. Well not unless he is perfect. Like the DJ Jazzy Jeff to my Fresh Prince, the Tubbs to my Crockett...kapish?
Friend: yeah that's not going to happen but you still need a dog. Trust me.

Enter "Otis" (his shelter name)...who walks in with charming confidence and plops himself on my lap, buries his head in my lap, and declares me his. The bun to his burger, the hand to his glove, the Bert to his Ernie...you get the idea. So after sleeping on it, we made it official on Sunday. And now we are spooning while he farts it up. True love, it couldn't be anything else.

Hey I know dog ownership is not world peace or even inner peace for that matter. I hope I can be all he deserves and that he will be healthy and happy. Free to fart in peace. I don't know who gave him up. I can't even imagine it, but whatever the circumstances I am grateful to be his new lady.

my sweet garden

This has been an amazing day. I spent much of it by the pool with two wonderful friends, who,much to my hearts dismay, will be leaving me for greener pastures very soon. Until then,I plan to soak up their lovliness as much as possible! I also worked on my teeny urban garden, a collection of flowers and awkward looking plant life confined to terra cotta, all in the name of my personal satisfaction.

The truth is, the garden is my reward, to myself, for a very private goal met some time ago. I told myself if I accomplished this I could have my sweet little flowers. Still, I found myself justifying my splurge with every scoop of dirt. You did this, you deserve this, you had a gift card, its okay..but....blah,blah,blah. I couldn't accept today that I did nothing to either deserve or not deserve my own little garden. I enjoy the flowers, the dirt, the challenge of not killing them, the tiny white lights and candles that I scatter and light at night. Its perfection. I've had the best conversations out here, the best kisses, I've laughed and shared a million stories out here. All that, and still, I have to "earn" what I love...or at least in my mind I do. I wonder though, what might happen, what might change in me (us) if our loving kindess was only as good as that which graciously show ourselves. In a lifetime smattered with lessons of grace, why do we hesitate to give ourselves that same kindness. Look, I'm no angel. I have a dirty mind, I say fuck a lot...no a LOT, I have road rage...the list could go on but for now I'm going to indulge in my 6'x10' corner of heaven..right after I get myself some ice cream.

More on Self-Torture

Not unlike a fart in the wind the recent "good date" has drifted away. I realized I could continue down the path of what the hell did I do untill I thought about Bed, Bath and Beyond....stay with me. I used to hate that store. Its full of tiny gadgets and little shit everywhere...like floor to ceiling. Despite my dislike of stores full of crazy shit, my ever maturing grown up, cook-for-myself-and-sometimes-my-friends-and-do-not-give-them-an-illness lifestyle requires the purchase of the occasional kitchen gadget. You can make the circle at the old BB&B and just before you hit the checkout is the dreaded "SHELF FULL OF MAGNIFYING MIRRORS". They come in every power...all the way from oh,no is that a zit to HOLY SHIT I THINK I'M GROWING A HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE". The temptation to study the size and contents of my pores and evaluate the future wrinkles (made visible by the "see 20 years into the future model") is like trying to figure out just what went sour on a good date. I could look and study for a long time...the longer I look the more I will find. The more I will be afraid and the less I will wanna show my face later. And let's face it florescent lighting and magnifying mirrors are probably no honest woman's friend. So I guess. I'll practice what I'm always preaching,ease up on myself, and wait for the dude who magnifies my good stuff.

Dates Worse Than Me aka I Feel Pretty

I once referred to a man as Jake at a very inopportune moment. His name was Jack. It was an easy mixup...just unfortunate. I hardly count it against myself,as his name turned out to be neither Jack nor Jake...but Andy,or something like that. Today at lunch I said "yeah, I bet she has a nice comfy house, one where you just just relax and have a nice cock." Sometimes I just say the wrong thing.

I think my little mixups pale in comparison to the first date I got to witness last night. Some squeeking crazy woman freaked. The. Hell. Out. because her squeeze for the evening looked at her embarassing high school pictures on Facebook. Wait...aren't you in control of that embarassment? in case you were wondering what the pictures looked like,fear not. The squeeking crazy gave a 15 minute synopsis of how pretty she was from 9th grade on. 9th and 10th grades were apparantly touch and go....but holy shitballs when the braces came off this special lady reeeaaaaallly blossomed. She was sooo pretty then. Things really improved once she was free of the dental prison...and don't you dare compliment her on her cute smile with braces, cause she really didn't like them at all.

So Jake, maybe I tell my coworkers I'd be comfy having cock on their sofa, but I know I'm a better date than that!

The Vast Wasteland Between the First and Second Date

Full disclosure: some (okay,a lot) of the reason for starting up this blog was the prompting of friends to write about my dating antics. It's true, many of my dating stories are one-of-a-kind. I know what you're thinking,but take my word for it, they haven't happened to you,or a friend. If you think you have heard my stories its because they now qualify as urban dating legends. I appreciate a good story but enough is enough. Bring on the happy ending.

So, last night I went on a date with a seriously cute, smiley, fun man. We met for dinner and really hit it off. There was laughing, kicking under the table referred to as "love taps, and a nice build up of flirtation. It was...dare I say it...a good date!

We drive our seperate ways and continue exchanging texts...when poof. Not. Another. Word. Uhhh what did I say,do,think to scare this smiling,flirting manly man away? My head fills with thoughts...93% of which are either completly insane or not even possible. The next day I learn( yes,from talking to him) the cell phone died an abrupt death...close call. But really, what is it about the time after a great date that makes me question myself. Everything from my shoes to the smell of my shampoo. The canyon of time and space between the first and second dates is brutal,slow, agonizing. Like some sort of modern day torture device. Every time I try to peptalk myself out of another bout with the thoughts of why did I buy peppermint gum when I know he would probably like spearmint better and every time I find myself shackled in the handcuffs of second date uncertainty. Call me a saddist...hell, put it in my dating profile and let the cycle begin again.

Mangy Caveman Attack

So, last night, I am sitting in my car at a stoplight ( okay I was on my way to get Chinese food,because I'm addicted). I was talking with my mom when I noticed an angry,cavey looking man in my rear view mirror. Just an odd looking dude, but the next thing I know, the angry dude is honking his horn at me...like 10 times. For a quick second,I thought my car was on fire. Before I could check for flames or the bomb attached to my bumper, the crazy man GOT OUT OF HIS CAR and came stomping towards me shaking his finger and screaming at me " KEEP YOUR FOOT ON THE FUCKING BREAK". I just sat there,talking to my mom until the light turned green and we could all go in peace. Holy buckets...SCARY!

My mom asked if all the ruckus was directed at me.
"Yes,mom."
"Well what are you doing??"
"Sitting at a red light."
"Well,that's why I always tell you girls to lock your doors. Maybe now you'll listen."
"Mom, its not like mangy cavemen jump out of their cars at me on a regular basis."
"Well, it only takes one mangy caveman!"

Good advice,mom.

Oh,and the real reason for the call was to tell her about the "wallet" my coworker made out of her birth control pouch when she lost hers a few months ago...but more on that later.

Tah Dah

After much dragging my feet, I have finally decided to start blogging. I am not sure if I have alot to say. I try to keep most of my crazy ramblings inside my head. I do know, however, that I tell a mean story. I'm a funny lady with a habit of meeting people who want to share a lot.

I have a tendancy of winding up a little too naked or maybe just more exposed than I would like to be, hence the name of the blog. I have given up exaggeration as much as one woman can, because life on its own is weird and big enough .