2006-02-21, 8:16 a.m.
Who am I, anyway?
I’m Laura. I live right outside of the Biggest Small Town in America - San Antonio, and I’m 41 years old. I work in an office in San Antonio, handling lots of paper and talking to people on the phone. I also spend a lot of time in the car.
I have a son who I call Lil Guy or LG. He’s 13, and so far, not terribly sullen or moody. I’m sure this is due to change at any moment. He makes good grades and stays mostly out of trouble. There is nothing more honest than a 13-year-old boy, so frequently I will tell you the things he says to me when he’s just trying to be helpful, but ends up telling me that I’m old, my shoes are ugly, and my thighs are fat. Really, he’s just being honest, and he’s terribly funny while he’s at it.
I have a husband who I call DW, short for DishWasher. He’s funny, likes to dance silly, and will watch “Friends” reruns with me, so I married him. DW ponders things like why women need so many shoes, and why women care so much about the clothes they wear, and why women are so particular about their hair. I pat him on the head, shush him, and tell him not to try to figure these things out. He was a 38-year-old bachelor when I married him, so you know what that means. Yes, I am THAT good in bed.
My ex-husband is named for his personality: Mr. Surly.
Killer aka KB is my attorney/friend. He figures in here frequently due to my ex-husband being, I’m afraid, his own worst enemy at times. Killer is also one of DW’s best friends, is fun to party with, and encourages much bad behavior from my innocent, hapless husband.
The other of DW’s best friends, and now one of my best friends, is Don. Don and I got off to a bit of a rough start because he was at our house ALL THE TIME, and then it got to where the house seemed empty when he wasn’t in it, and now that he has an on-again, off-again girlfriend, he’s not at our house ever, and I miss him. However, sometimes we still manage to encounter him in his natural habitat, the sports bar in our small town. Everyone loves this guy, and if you are a single woman living in South/Central Texas who is looking for a quirky single man in his mid-40s, you might love him, too. I guess this means I’m not all that crazy about the girlfriend, doesn’t it?
You may occasionally wonder who Peaches is: she’s my co-worker. She’s a 40 year-old trapped in the body of a 30-year-old. She’s funny, whip-smart, with just a touch of the crazy. Crazy enough to be going back to school.
Last of the regulars is my beautiful sister EB, who hangs out here sometimes, ass-kissing in the comments section. She needs her own journal, and we need to constantly encourage her to start writing about her mother-in-law. Go on! Encourage her! She used to live right up the road from me a fer piece, and now she’s moved across the country, and we need to trick her somehow into moving back to Texas.
The only other real-life person whose face I have ever seen in the same room with me is Syllie, who comments here, as well, but regrettably has not revealed to me her online journal which is just a shame, because she’s funny. Oh, sure, she’ll deny even having one, but come one.
Other than that, the rest of you are my imaginary friends, and for all we all know about each other, we could all be unemployed ex-cons, living in our mothers’ basements and carrying out an elaborate ruse. What this means is, HAVE A BEER WITH ME SO WE CAN REPORT BACK TO THE REST OF THE WORLD THAT WE ARE REAL PEOPLE. Or would we just be adding to the elaborate ruse? Hmmm…
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