My Will - Cause I've Got a Lot of Awesome Stuff

This evening I will drive north to sleep in a place near the airport and in the morning, I fly away to the land of Flinging Myself Out of an Airplane. That's right my pretty readers, I skydive Friday.

Just in case I have a heart attack on the way down, or worse, I pee my pants and am so embarrassed I am forced to fake my own death, here's my last will and testament. Yes - I am of sound mind, but also a little stoned on Ibuprofen and enough Diet Dr. Pepper to make a lab rat grow a third ear - on it's genitals.

1. To my friends Tide & TSG - I leave everything in my bank account. You guys have been loyal readers, fans and friends for so long, I can't remember when you weren't here. If I don't buy any gum or bouncy balls prior to being dead, you kids are totally going to split a Snickers bar. 
2. To Vicky - You are a force to be reckoned with and I reckon I am infinitely lucky to have you in my corner. Were it not for you and your door kicking, I wouldn't be strapping a man to my back and jumping from a plane. To you I leave some of my most precious possessions - my false eyelashes. Every time someone swats at what they believe to be a sleeping caterpillar on your eyeball, remember me. 
3. To Phil - my GooglyEyes - I don't understand how people without a googlyeyes in their lives can even make themselves a sandwich. For your constant encouragement and wise council, I leave my collection of divorce agreements. Naturally the Smithsonian will want them, but unless they offer you enough to buy The Met, just hold onto them. They will only increase in value.
   
4. To Ry - I know how inconvenienced my untimely death will leave you and how selfish it is of me to drop dead - literally. Therefore I leave to you the bust I created in your likeness made of gum, and tears, and Crest Whitestrips. That's not weird.
5. To KK - I leave you all my Clorox Wipes & Purell Hand Sanitizers. I'm sorry that they won't last very long. I only have one closet full. 
6. To Brooke & Rachel - my Viva la Vulva DooWop Girls - My secret list of potential and future husbands along with contact information and detailed schematics laying out how you get them to marry you... that's what you're getting. You deserve it! Sorry though - my divorce punch card is full so you'll have to start your own. 
   
7. To my Midlife Road Trip friends and family - you people get NOTHING. Not one dang thing. You know good and well you shouldn't have let me pull this crazy stunt! What kind of friends are you anyway?

Watch for pictures and film coming soon. I'm almost positive I'll be jumping fully clothed, so I'll make sure you get to see it. In the meantime, check out our friends at MainSail Tampa.They are our generous hosts for this shoot and we are excited to post lots of pictures of their extraordinary property.




Copyright © Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

This is where I wanna say the F word but I won't 'cause my daughter reads this.

This is the picture I would like Nancy Grace to use when she's talking about me next week. Yes - I am keenly aware that I look like a stripper librarian who is impersonating Sarah Palin.

I'm also keenly aware that the picture on my driver's license makes me look like a Macy's Thanksgiving Parade float. It's just a giant head. A giant head with no make-up on and flat hair.

Tomorrow Mr. Man is scheduled for spinal fusion surgery in the Big City. At 3 AM tonight, we will get up to drive him there. We have about 4 or 5 days in the hospital and then a six month recovery period stretched out before us.

Yesterday my son was diagnosed with H1N1. He is young & healthy so there are no worries, but he is very sick. He says everything in his body hurts and last night he was shaking so hard, his teeth were rattling. I actually had to crawl in bed with him and wrap my arms around him to hold him long enough for it stop.

Because of Mr. Man's surgery, I am going to have to send my son to his Dad's to convalesce and that is upsetting to me. It's not that he doesn't have a wonderful Dad. He does. But when the Big Dog is sick - Momma is the hero. At fifteen now, and every bit of 6 feet tall, he still wants me when he doesn't feel good. It's killing me that I won't be home to take care of him. I can't quit crying this morning and even though I know that's completely ridiculous, the tears come anyway.

Then there is the Mister. This is not an easy surgery and we have been fully prepared for what comes next. He's going to need me to care for him and I'm terrified I'll get sick and won't be able to do that like I should. We don't have relatives in our city who can (or will) swoop in and help. He has a sister in a nearby town who is going to dog sit, but as unbelievably scared of H1N1 as everyone seems to be, (thanks for that, Media) I wouldn't ask her to show up here and take care of us.

So I'm overwhelmed. I'm feeling completely human and not at all like Super Woman. I figure when I finally do snap and take part in a spectacular crime spree on my way to Venezuela, Nancy Grace will have something to say about it - especially when she finds out I kidnapped a twenty-five year old cabana boy at gun point. Just so long as she pronounces my name correctly and uses the above picture, she can talk all she wants.

I'll have Tad to comfort me.






Copyright © Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.

The OCD Chick vs. A Perfectly Good Plane

Someone wants me to jump out of a plane for fun and profit. Because I am a weak woman who will do most anything for fun and profit, I am going to do as I'm asked.

Will I be terrified?

In the words of Whitney Houston, "BOBBY!!!" (aka - hell to the yes.)

Will I quite likely blanket Cleveland with vomit on the way down?

I'm gonna say that is in fact probable.

Apparently I will show up, learn to cross my arms over my chest and also to stop, drop & roll at which point some random parachute guy will strap himself to my back and shove me out a plane.

At least that's what Uncle Google told me last night.

All I ask before possibly spitting out my spleen in terror is five minutes of good, solid interviewing of said random guy before he does what so many before him have done to me - (you go ahead and fill in the rest of that sentence as I know you already have anyway.)

Hey Parachute Boy... Have you done anything recently that might have angered God? Have you taken the Lord's name in vain? Have you coveted your neighbor's ass? What about your mother and father? Would they say you are a good boy who honors them, or would they say they're sick and tired of loaning you money and it's time for you to grow the hell up and get off their couch?

Tell me about your love life. Do you like the ladies? Have one special woman to whom you are faithful and loyal, or do you find chicks dig boys who strap themselves to their backs? Have you had the intercourse lately and if so, did you call out the correct name?

What about life insurance? How much is your policy and who is the beneficiary? Does said beneficiary have any sort of gambling problem or hang out with a guy named Fat Jimmy or Knuckles McKiller?

And finally, are you in any way associated with Jon Gosselin? Have you met him, spoken to him, been within 100 feet of him, touched the hem of his Ed Hardy T-shirt? As he is the root of all evil, I cannot take the chance that the bad voodoo he's got all over him might have stuck to you and will therefore condemn us both to certain death.

Provided Parachute Boy does well in my interrogation, I'll let him hug me tight and fly with me. For fun and profit. And what not.




Copyright © Sherri Bailey
This blog may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author.