The back story...
I don't eat pork chops. So, what's with the blog name? My life, to be quite honest, is comedic. The random stuff that happens to me on a monthly, daily, hell, hourly basis is definitely blog-worthy. Or maybe I'm the only one who thinks so?
So, what's with the obsession with pork chops? Please keep reading.
To help you better understand my story, here's a little picture of the front door of my house.
This picture was taken before we moved in - the yellow and white papers on the door are not eviction notices, I promise. As you can see, the main section of the door is glass, so if anyone wanted to rob us blind, all they'd have to do is take a peek to see our goods. Once inside, they'd be disappointed to find that the only valuable thing we own is a broken camera and a Simple Human trash can.
On with it. God, I totally ramble. You will get used to this.
So, one night my husband (Joe) and I were sitting on the couch watching the tele. This is what boring people like us do every night. Halfway through whatever brainless program we were watching - probably a DVRd episode of Springer - I decided that I was thirsty and much too lazy to get up and fix myself a glass of tea. So, I lovingly asked my dear husband to fix me a drink. He just sat there and pretended he didn't hear me, much like he usually does. To sweeten the pot, I figured I'd give him a little flash of the ta-ta. What man can resist a boob the size of a small grape? Hell, a raisin? My man can't!
I called his name, and when he turned to look at me, I began the ta-ta flash process. Shirt was up, ta-ta was exposed, doorbell rings. Ding Dong. Here's the problem. You see my door. We had on the living room light and it was dark outside, no porch lights were on. The doorbell rang at the exact moment that my shirt was in mid-air. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that whomever was on the other side of that door got to see the goods. It was Mardi Gras 1998 all over again.
I kid, I kid.
Being the brave woman I am, I ran as quickly as I could to my bedroom to hide. Nothing like making it even more obvious, eh? Joe answers the door. It's our neighbor, and he's come bearing gifts. Er, a gift. Just one gift. That gift was a...
...
...
porkchop.
Just one porkchop. Not two. Just one. He came all the way over to our house to bring US (meaning Joe and me) ONE porkchop. We had never really even spoken to this man before and he randomly comes over to bring dinner for one person when he knows there are two people living in the house? That, my friends, was the most hilarious part of all. He got to see my boobs and all I got was a lousy pork chop that I didn't even get to eat because Joe woofed it down before I came out from hiding.
Niiice.
My friends have never let me live this down. They chose this blog name for me, and I hope to do them proud.
The contents of this blog will be random musings about my life, love, family, health, etc. There will be no structure here, so if you like a structured, predictable blog, leave.
Just kidding...sorta.
Here are a few of the topics up for discussion here (although ANYTHING and EVERYTHING goes):
My precious baby girl Anna.
My marriage.
My wonderful family.
My dog Cosmo.
My cat Harley.
My cat Chloe.
My sick obsession with American Idol and most reality television.
One Pork chop.
Until we meet again.
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