another identity crisis

I need a coffee nickname.

Let’s pretend my name is Mary. This morning at a well known coffee place (let’s pretend it’s called Jarpups) I order my four-word, nine-syllable drink (not easy to do when the caffeine tank is on low). I give the barista my name, “Mary”. She repeats and writes on the cup: “Karen.”

I say, “oops, nope….MARY”, she repeats back, “oh, Darrin!” and I bite my tongue and say to myself, “Darrin?? Do I look like the husband in Bewitched? Has there ever been a female named Darrin??”

This is a newly remodeled Jarpups. It looked perfectly fine before the 3 week remodel closed this around-the-corner Jarpups and I had to drive further away for my occasional Jarpups treat. So the new Jarpups now has more seating for those wireless laptop people and perhaps there’s more of an echo now, as there are none of those oversized comfy chairs I love. That’s okay, cuz Darrin’s a busy gal and has to get to work. On the way out to my car I think of my new Jarpup’s nickname. I could use “mckay” but the hearing impaired barista is bound to butcher that one. How about just “Kay”? Sounds like May, Fay, Jay…

How about Jo…..cupa Joe. Jo mama. Jo from Little Women. I kinda like it.
We’ll see if I remember to use it the next time my caffeine tank is low and I feel like spending too much money for the foofoo coffee (I usually get a cranberry orange scone, too)....and I take extra Slenda packets.


Later.
Jo.

buy / sell saga continues...

Sell saga: So far I’ve had two offers on my home and both deals were so screwy I had to say, ”No thanks”, even though I really want my house to sell. I can look at the price offered and say, “Great deal, where do I sign?” but the details in each offer were such that if I had signed I would have been in a very vulnerable legal and financial situation.

Search saga: I’ve put a total of three offers on three abodes. The first two I lowballed and got kicked out of the running by people willing to pay top dollar. This third offer is a little more special. It’s not near the train tracks, and it’s only 10 minutes away from work. But it’s ...maybe dead, maybe still breathing. It’s like a dating scenario, where the dates went well, had a several very nice moments and the potential for something more is in the air. The gentleman says, “I’ll call you.” …and then nothing. for three days. The sellers aren’t even getting in touch with their agent to give him an answer. So my guess is: no deal. And the search goes on.

Here’s a picture of the house on which I’ve made the offer:



Even though I know it most likely won’t be in my future, I still look at the picture and imagine the possibilities. Kinda like dating.

the day of my breasts

Sometimes I forget they’re there. Sometimes they need that (oops, hope no one’s looking) adjustment ….yes, I adjust my boobies like a man adjusts his privates. Men, just be glad you don’t have underwires in your jockey shorts.

There was a day not so long ago where I made that appointment to get squished. It was awkward and embarrassing to be in a hospital gown being “adjusted” by a female x-ray technician.. not one of my happiest moments, but I just kept telling myself, “I’m doing this so I may someday be a grey-haired grandma playing on the floor with all my grandkidlets”.

I thought about breast cancer while driving back to work. My mom died of breast cancer. She hated going to the doctor and never got a check up. I thought if I got sick, I’d cut them off in a heartbeat to stay alive and be around for my kids (then I could get a boob job and be all perky…(kidding). Needless to say I wasn’t having a sexy, I feel good about my body, kinda day.

That night, while reading and snuggling with my three year old son, he slyly cops a feel. I take this (woah, where’d that come from?!) moment to talk to him about people’s privates and how we should keep our hands to ourselves. I asked him why he did that and he said, “Cuz they’re pretty.”


Boys are male-ish and males are boyish. And mommy has pretty, healthy boobies. And life goes on.