I can't effin sleep and I know that mother trucking Jon Gosselin is at the root of it. I'm so sick of him and all his show off sperm.
Actually I was lying here thinking about who I am and who I was and whether or not my eyebrows are level and the next thing you know, I can't sleep and I'm craving a cigarette even though I don't smoke.
So let's see then. I know for sure who I was not - I wasn't the pretty one. My sisters had that pig cornered.
I was the smart one.
The funny one.
The one who threw up moonshine in tenth grade, in a ditch, in the middle of the day, because my sister told me eating 3 Reese's Peanut Butter Cups would cover the smell of the shine so Daddy wouldn't kill me graveyard dead when I got home from school.
Why the good people at Reese's never picked up a tag line like that is beyond me. "Eat Reese's - it'll mask the smell of moonshine AND it's easy to throw up!" I'm saying Nascar fans would up their chocolaty intake post haste.
Yes. For those of you who do math and pay attention and what not, that means I drank moonshine at school. I would say I'm not proud of it, but I'm totally proud of it. Your balls don't come in until you've gotten drunk off something a swollen dead dog likely got scooped off of before it was bottled for your consumption.
Who I was. Hmmm. I was Daddy's moonshine puking daughter who had to pretend I didn't like "elevator music" and books with no pictures.
I was Mark's wife who never smiled even though my hair was perpetually hilarious. See exhibits A & B.
I was the chick that threw the bowling ball backwards almost killing a slow moving bowling alley professional who was no doubt happily on her way to purchase more blue eye shadow and Jovan Musk Oil.
I was the one who couldn't stop laughing at the mentally challenged man in church before anyone had ever heard the phrase "mentally challenged" because he had insanely long fingernails that he used to clean his ears while singing The Old Rugged Cross like his tongue was all tangled up by a gummy worm, which I'm convinced even God found funny.
And believe it or not, I was the last of the sisters to get married but the first to get herself one of them new fangled divorces. I may have started late, but babies, I've damn sure made up for it - thus the many punches in my "Get 9 divorces and the 10th one is FREE" card.
I think I have a good idea of who I was. It's the who I am now that leaves me tilting my head like Tanner the Yorkie when I'm trying to entice him to eat by getting on all fours and pretending the taste of Science Diet Small & Prissy makes me orgasmic.
Not for nothing, but faking a dog food orgasm is not as easy as you might think.
Am I someone's wife? Someone's mother? Someone's partner in crime and hilarity? Am I old? Too old? Happy? Too happy? Smooth? Chunky? Can I be all those things and not wind up in The Matrix with holes drilled in the back of my head and some fake guy with glasses always chasing my ass?
Life is changing, chicken noodles, and so I guess, shall I. I'm morphing.
Oh my god! I'm a fuckin' butterfly! A beautifully happy, Hump Day Hump Huntin', chunky, Jon Gosselin hatin' butterfly.
I hope typing his name three times in the same blog didn't just get me pregnant.
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