So here you are, and here I am. Are you prepared to step into my crazy world and embark on an adventure of mediocre proportions? You see, here in my world, if things aren’t completely mundane and routine, they’re just too insane to make up. There is no in between. Crazy is the new normal, though, so let’s embrace it together.
As with anything that requires a certain degree of thought, one must wonder when it comes to blogging: where does one start?
Well, I suppose THIS one will start with an introduction. That would be the logical choice, wouldn’t it?
I’ll save the family introductions for the next dose of insanity. There’s way too many of them and you’ll be here all day caught up in my household drama if I bring the fam in at this point. No, there’s plenty of time for that later, and in the words of the great Toby Keith, “I want to talk about me!”
My name is Shawn. Now, that’s not your stereotypical tall, youthful, manly version of the name that you’d imagine regaling his friends with dirty jokes and tales of girls gone by at the local pub, with a dart in one hand and a mug of something cheap and frothy in the other. No, you can picture me as more of a 5’2, frumpy (or any other politically correct term for ‘fat enough to snore like a cave bear’), pushing 40 housewife with a head full of creative ideas but absolutely zero ambition, and legs in such need of some razor attention most days that Chewbacca leaves me love notes. But hey, my house is spotlessly clean thanks to the OCD that I really do suffer from. So, I suppose I do manage to muster up some degree of ambition when necessary. Just not for anything important.
I love to laugh and make a joke out of everything, mostly at my own expense. As if you hadn’t already noticed, right? Hey, if you can’t laugh at yourself, you might as well pack it in early and get started on your one bedroom hovel and extensive cat collection. No one loves a sourpuss.
If I’m being honest, though, I’m not giving myself enough credit here. I’m pretty artistic. If you told me to draw a fly, squiggly line, or family of frolicking squirrels mingling with a herd of geese while a Golden Retriever is about to give chase, with the New York City Skyline and a glorious sunset in the background, you’d at least be able to tell what it is once I’m finished. Artistic ability is just one of my 2 God-given talents, though. The other would be my organizational skills, which happen to be legendary in certain circles. (See? You’ve heard of me already, haven’t you?) We can accredit those to the OCD, too. After that, I’m just your average mom of one of the most obscene words in the English language: teenagers. I’m looking toward middle age with dread, packing way too much junk in my trunk due to my affinity for junk food and carbs (hello, pasta!), and as I believe I’ve mentioned, suffering from a severe lack of ambition, motivation, drive or whatever tag you want to stick on laziness. Exercise is the dirtiest word in my arsenal of things that should never be mentioned out loud.
I wasn’t always this way, though. I was pretty cute back in my younger days, which is how I managed to land the former husband number one, and the man currently holding strong in the position of husband number 2 for the past ten years. I have to give the man credit, too. It’s a tiring job, I assure you, and the benefit package isn’t that great. This crazy little thing called ‘love’ ends here, though. Should anything go wrong this time around, I’m not dipping my pole into THAT pond anymore. I’ll get a dog. A small, male dog that I can totally emasculate by carrying him around in an oversized purse while wearing large, floppy hats, flowered dresses, and slathering on way too much of some hideously colored lipstick. Call it my back-up plan. Let’s hope it never comes to that, for your sake, and mine.
Now, as far as work goes, I try to stay actively involved in my church and do a lot of volunteer work. I run a thrift store there on the weekends, which comes complete with a whole plethora of crazy stories due to the unbalanced people in ‘the hood’. I’ll save those stories for another post, though, so that you’ll have to come back for the sake of curiosity. The job does have its rewards, though. We have a food pantry and I get the honor of handing out food to the homeless and needy on a regular basis. Take this sweet old widow named Betty for example, who will come in and see me maybe once a month, and she’s too proud to come right out and ask for help. So, we have our usual routine where I’ll say, “It’s good to see you, Betty. Could you use some groceries?” Then she’ll tear up and say, “If it’s not too much trouble.” Then I just can’t help but hug her because she’s so sweet and adorable. (Awwww)
I also recently did a short stint as the Media Director and contributing writer for a bridal magazine. By short stint, I mean bent over backwards and worked my tail off from October to April until the magazine pretty much exploded into a glorious hailstorm of drama and accusations worthy of any rivaling high school girl gangs. If you like a good jaw dropper, stay tuned for that story, which will come soon. It was a nice dream, full of promises and hope, but in the end, it won’t break my heart to see it go. I have plenty to keep me busy. Like my part-time ghetto apartment painting job at the property my husband manages. I say ghetto, not because I’m terrible at it. In fact, I’m quite good at painting and the apartments that I paint usually get rented out quicker than the others. No, I say ghetto because if a cockroach crawls across your hand while you’re painting due to the disgusting way that the people in the community treat their apartments, yeah, you’re in the ghetto. I’ve made a game out of it, though. I’ll paint their little butts white or put a white stripe down their back so that I can identify them later. I’ve tried to break it to my husband that he’s a slum lord, but he’d much prefer looking at his job through rose tinted glasses. It pays the bills (barely), though, so I can’t complain about his job too much other than the fact that he’s grossly underpaid compared to what a certified property manager should be making. How grossly underpaid? We live at poverty level with 5 kids. His company does take us on a nice cruise every October, though. I consider it a consolation gift for the fact that my husband works for peanuts when he should be making pistachios.
Come fall I’ll also be putting in a couple hours a week teaching high school art the co-op that our gaggle of homeschooled children attend on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’m looking forward to corrupting…err…molding young minds and sharing my love of art and color with a room full of the ‘I’d rather be texting and probably will be when you aren’t looking’ crowd.
I believe that pretty much covers the colorful life I lead. I’m sure you’ll learn more about me as time goes on, but for now, I’d guess that you have a pretty good image of me painted in your mind’s eye.
I hate to say ‘the end’ so I’ll just leave you with what my daughter likes to point out as one of my favorite sayings: “Quite frankly, it is what it is.”