They call me Mad Merlot Mama because my ass grew up in wine country, bitches. AH KNOWS MAH WINE.
I'm 'bout as redneck country as they come, y'all. Mah Daddies kin be from the Ozarks and mah Mama's kin come from rural Idaho. (And not the pretty, picturesque part either. The part that breeds Aryan Nation fucksticks.) I know the difference between y'all, all y'all, I know that "bless your heart" and "isn't that nice" are not complements. The dichotomy between how I look at work and how I look after hours must be amusing. At work: heels, skirts, blouses, hair and makeup done perfectly. Off work: old jeans, boots, tee shirt. Hair and makeup still perfect because duh. What if Luke Bryan or Jason Aldean rolled into town?
I'm also a happily single Mama to a special needs daughter. I battle my ex, T, on every little thing because "pick your battles" was something he wasn't taught, evidently. I'm almost positive he has Narcissistic Personality Disorder, which means even though he's completely self-centered, he can be so fucking charming he can sell Trojans to a nun. Currenlty, I'm just having a fucking blast with our custody battle with his pitbull of an attorney while I do this without one! Fun times! I guess when your parents think you walk on water and shit out pure platinum and have deep pockets, that happens.
My daughter, Kidlette, is a product of a "I just wanted to fucking cuddle, asshole" night. She has her Daddies long legs, skinny build, her Mama's attitude, and probably my curves, too. Because God figured the shotgun industry wasn't being supported enough, here's a leggy, skinny, big-boobed, Snow-White looking teenage girl. Have fun! God has a twisted sense of humor. She has Sensory Processing Disorder which IS SO MUCH FUN YOU GUYS OMFG. Nonetheless, she's pretty damn cute and though I'm not the mushy-gushy type, her smile makes whats left of my heart straight-up melt.
I can find humor in pretty much everything. Hell, I even joke about what's great about being Catholic is that 1) they fully expect you to sin 2) go to Confession, do penance, you're good for another week, 3) would hate to bore the Father in confession, and 4) dude, you get to drink wine. AT CHURCH. Why is everyone not Catholic?! Housewife shares my sense of humor, base though it may be, and most of our conversations revolve around the phrase, "That's what she said."
Follow me, oh fellow users of the Internets, as I journey my way through being single, being a Mama, going through NEVER ENDING JESUS CHRIST court battles, and being fabulous.
