I was born into somewhat simple means.

The first few years of my childhood were spent learning renegade law on the mean streets of a trailer park where they ate perky little blonde girls for breakfast. This was back in the ’70s before Cops made trailer park livin’ cool.

Knowing I had to make an escape from a town that many have described as “smelling like a chicken’s crotch”, I cut my hair and became extremely socially awkward in order to aviod the temptation of making friends or having fun in high school so that I was able to devote all spare time to studying and perfecting my marching band gait.

My plan paid off and before I knew it I was laying in a pool of my own vomit behind a fraternity house dumpster at the best state university the government’s money can buy.

I had arrived.

The next four years are pretty much a blur of Natural Light, flannel shirts and performing illegal grow operations out of my sorority house bathroom writing a lot of short stories and poetry.

After college I got a job at an advertising agency working on stuff from cable to cars to amusement parks to sandwiches.

Also as a part of this job I got to dress up as a giant sandwich and once I got to throw out the first pitch at a Cardinals game.

You can check it out here.

And yes, I did hit the camera man in the nads.

After a few years of actually having the perfect life filled with all the sandwiches I could eat I got pregnant and as much as I thought I could juggle a full time job and a baby I was wrong. So when my daughter was seven months old I left my 10-year career in advertising to hang out at home.

My first few weeks at home were tough. And by tough I mean I thought about jumping out the window several times a day. What I thought would be days filled with drinking wine and talking about boys with my daughter were spent alternating my blank and vacant gaze between the TV screen and the front window where I spent a significant amount of time willing my husband’s car to magically pull into the driveway.

So one day I started writing. And I wrote and I wrote and I wrote and before I knew it I had a book. But then I was back to staring out the window so I needed to find something to do STAT.

So that’s why I started blogging.

The end.

Oh wait, the day after I left my job I found out I was pregnant again so now I have two kids.

The end.

Oh wait, about five minutes after my husband and I decided that 16 months apart is WAY too close to have kids, and that we were going to wait a couple of years to have another baby, I found out I was pregnant again.

For those of you keeping score, that’s 3 kids in 30 months.

The end.