I may look like a normal 43-year-old wife and mother of two, but deep down inside I’m a smoking ball of Hot Mess. Just when you think you’ve reached the depth of my crazy, you then discover a crazy underground garage.
Now don’t get me wrong – I’m not certifiable or anything like that. You won’t catch me stalking you in the lingerie section of Macy’s or slashing your tires, I leave that up to the seriously disturbed whack-jobs. I just have silly quirks and preferences that some find, um, interesting.
But ya know what? I refuse to apologize for them, so there! NEENERNEENERNEENER!
As far as food is concerned, I eat according to my mood. I’m a broad, I have hormones and mood swings. And sometimes I stuff my face to quell the homicidal tendencies that others seem to bring out in me.
Well, no, not really.
My normal diet may consist of donuts, pizza, potato chips, pasta, bacon, peanut butter on a spoon, shrimp, olives from a can, goat cheese, ice cream, Fannie May Pixies and mashed potatoes. And yes, sometimes all in the same day.
As far as television shows, nothing floats my boat more than Judge Mathis, Keeping Up With The Kardashians, Mob Wives and Ghost Adventures. They all make me pee my pants with excitement and have absolutely nothing related to each other. Perhaps they each touch a specific part of my brain, who knows. I can’t explain it. But one thing is for sure – don’t bother Mama when she’s watching her stories.
If you ever come over to my house, be prepared for an 80’s movie marathon. John Hughes heavily influenced my adolescence. It’s clearly obvious that a part of me is still stuck back in the day when Molly Ringwald was my fashion goddess, I fantasized that Ferris Bueller was my boyfriend (damn you Sloane!), James Spader was the biggest asshole I always wanted to date and Kelly LeBrock was the epitome of beauty for me. So be prepared if you’re ever here for movie night. I’ll open up a bottle a wine and recite every single Hughes movie word-for-word. You’ll probably want to punch me in the face after awhile, but oh well……
I have this disturbing need to trash surf every day. And by trash, I mean celebrity gossip. Having once worked in the Hollywood studio system, I’m obsessed with who’s doing who, what, where, when and why. I visit a minimum of 12 celebrity websites a day. I know more about what’s going on in George Clooney’s life than I do my own cousin. It’s disgusting really. I really shouldn’t care that much. At the end of the day, it really doesn’t add anything of value to my life, except for an incessant need to know everybody else’s shit. As if I don’t have enough shit of my own. Meh.
See. Smoking ball of Hot. Mess.
But I know you still love me. Cheers!
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