6.30.2005

Introducing...me.



"Are your legs tired? Because you've been running around my mind all night."

"Does your father own a juice company? Because you are so VeryFine."

"Nice shoes. Wanna *&^%?

Cheesy pick-up lines my friend Jason used to collect like so many beanie babies seemed appropriate here, because I was trying to avoid the whole, "Hi! My name's SherriLynn, I live in Tacoma, I'm single but still holding out hope, and I have a huge collection of stuffed animals from carnivals!!!"

Partly because that's truly horrifying, and partly because my name's not SherriLynn, I've never been to Tacoma, and let's just say my stuffed animals are a little nicer than the ones you win at carnivals. And they're in the bag in the cellar, and they smell like, well, musty stuffed animals.

So....yeah. I guess that's all you really need to know about me.

Okay, okay, if the pick-up lines turned you off, then here goes: My name is Carolyn, I live in New England, I am deliriously married with two adorable cherubs (I won the child lottery, twice) a very hyper one year old black lab, and a cat that may as well be tets-up for all my husband cares. (It's funny--you move in together, move to a nice city, small apartment, get a cat or two and you and your boyfriend treat them like bloody royalty. Fast forward ten years, you're married to afore-mentioned boyfriend, you have two children and a DOG (which is so much cooler) and you're like, "Did you feed the cat?" "We still have a cat? Didn't she die?" "No, that was the other one, two years ago.") And for anyone reading (is anyone reading?) who has a cat/loves cats/hates people who hate cats, please understand that I really love my cat, my world just doesn't revolve around her anymore. Plus, my 18-month-old adores her, and she adores the 18-month-old, so the cat stays. Much to my dog's chagrin. Scout (pooch) would just as soon trot around with Nala (feline) in her mouth, gnawing on her like she does every stuffed animal in the house which is filled with small plastic ball bearings which get everywhere and the vacuum is hesitant to pick up. (SherriLynn would be so horrified.) Only, I don't think small plastic ball bearings would come out.

But I digress.

So, back to me. What else, what else...oh yes. My favorites? I guess that would be appropriate here. (This is a bit like dating, likes, dislikes, to sleep with or not to sleep with? Okay, not totally like dating.) My favorite rock band of all time: U2. Favorite sports team: Boston Red Sox. Favorite book: To Kill a Mockingbird. (See above re: Scout.) Favorite movie of all time...(God, I hate this question, under such pressure...say a really uncool movie and you're an untouchable, say something too arty and you're cut off from nice mainstream people...oohhh....ummmmm) Jerry Maguire! Okay, I'm kidding, but you had me at VeryFine. There's too many, I can't choose. (Something else about me, I'm incredibly indecisive. Or, as Arthur said when told drinking affects one's decision-making skills, "You may be right. I can't decide." I quote that movie a LOT. Get used to it.) Again, I digress.

I used to work a full-time job but now I'm home with my kids which I LOVE and beats the hell out of working. I know, I know, stay-at-home-moms work hard too, (or, SAHM! on all the parenting forums) I work really hard and am exhausted at the end of every day, but I love it. Pick your cliche, "It's the best job I've ever had!" "The pay stinks but the benefits are priceless!" "I'm going to tear out my hair strand by strand because I haven't had an adult conversation in 11 hours!" I've used them all, but I really love it and it boils down to this: hanging out with small children is stinkin' hilarious and WAY more fun than working a full-time job. In my humble opinion. Then again, if I'd ever held a job about which I felt extremely passionate, perhaps I would feel differently. That's another thing about me: I've had a number of jobs in my life. Or, as Wayne Campbell put it: "I have a vast collection of nametags and hairnets." Or words to that effect.

I love to laugh, or to quote my sister, "I love humor, it's so funny." Clever humor makes me laugh, or humour, if you're talking about Eddie Izzard, who is my favorite stand-up comedian. More on him later.

I love the beach, I love going to the movies (see above 47 paragraphs) I love doing both of those things with my beloved and/or my children, (although bringing children definitely limits your movie choices, "Hmmmmmm, "Land of the Dead" or "Herbie: Fully Loaded"? Mostly I just love hanging out with my family. Corny, but true. My husband makes me laugh constantly, my son has incredible comic timing and is the sweetest boy I've ever known, and my daughter (the 18-month-old) is also shaping up to be quite the little comedienne.

So those are the things that are most important to me, in a nutshell. ("Help! I'm in a nutshell!")

So why the blog? Why on earth not? Everyone else has one.

If no-one ever reads this then at least I will be keeping up my typing skills, should I ever return to the working world, and if nothing else, I amuse myself regularly. If I amuse you too, all the better.

So here goes: my grand entrance into the world of writing a blog instead of reading them. I hope it doesn't suck. Because, damn, my legs are getting tired.

4 comments:

Your big brestessessed sister in law said...

The real question is: Did you turn off the stove? Of course you didn't, you're a farking squirrel.

Great start to your journal. I laughed. You're almost as hysterical as that rambling sister-in-law who once spent $430 on a haircut. I hear she may link your journal to her journal which means her journal readers may read your journal and become your journal readers too. Is that's the mutt's nuts or what?

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Don't diss Wal-Mart. You can get a case of Remington 12-ga #7 shells there for about eighteen bucks. That's a steal. Ya hippy.

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