Everyone come party!
Okay, not everyone. Boys can't come.
Is that sexist? I hope not. Maybe the boys can have an Ultimate Boy party and make everything blue and about earning more money than women for the same amount of work and trucks and crushing things. How about that?
I'm supposed to introduce myself now, in case you don't know me already. Or, in case I guess, you haven't figured out that I'm sort of a Snarky McSnarkster.
I'm That Chick. I'm 32. I've got an unemployed husband, a really craptacular job, twins who will be ten years old in a few weeks and a dog who likes to burp in my face. Also, I'm fat, my toes are extremely ugly and live with secondary infertility.
I'm the total package. Clearly.
I write here every day. Every. Day. I haven't missed a day since sometime in December of last year and that was only because I went to Biltmore and it's all old and romantic and glamorous and crap and they didn't have high speed internet in the rooms and even if they did, I was being cultured. And whatnot.
I also write at Scrivel, with some other funny people. I would be ever so happy if you would read my stories there and, if you are so inclined, vote on them. I don't get money or fame or anything if you do, but I'm really sad and extremely pathetic and it makes me happy to see the stars next to my stories light up.
I want to write for a living but I keep getting rejected, so apparently I suck.
That's about it.
Oh unless you want to give me a job writing (that's not porn) or give my husband a job (also, not porn). Then email me. We'll hang.