Well shizzles. Here I am. I have done it. I have started a blog! Eeek! Why? I am so totally not sure.
- Persuasion from friends? Possibly.
- Mid-life crisis? Probably.
- How often will I post? No clue.
- Do I actually think anyone will give a flip about what I have to say? Absolutely not.
Yet here I sit….. typing on this stinkin’ keyboard with my 2 fingers at a speed of about 10 words a minute….if I’m lucky (I really should have paid attention in high school typing class).
Let me say to start that I am no English major. And I type the way I talk. So expect tons of grammatical errors….and rambling…and inconsistent thoughts…..
I am relatively boring so I will put you to sleep about me in another post. What I will tell you is about my blog name, “Good Gravy”. Isn’t that a good start? You see, my favorite not so little guy (aka…first born…boy….more on him later) informed me that my blog name needed to represent ME. To me, that is scary, I’m just a housewife who likes to tease, loves to laugh, and takes great pleasure in tormenting my children. So what name do I use? After his suggestion that it needed to have ‘crazy’ in the title (truth, but let’s not go there), I threw it out to my incredibly brilliant peeps on Facebook. While yes, there were a lot of ‘crazy’ suggestions, the one that stuck most was ‘Good Gravy’. Why? Because I say it ALL.THE.TIME.
Now that sounds very sweet and southern doesn’t it? Uhm, yeah. Well let me tell you, anyone who knows me knows that is probably furthest from the truth. Seriously, as I sit here and type at this mind numbingly slow pace I am cracking up. Like seriously cracking up that I need to step away from the computer for a minute otherwise one of the lovely post-hysterectomy side effects may come into play (if you have had one, you totally get what I mean). No, my choice of words is derived more from necessity rather than being raised with my sweet Southern Baptist mama who me, my baby sis, and my daddy had to teach how to flip the bird at the dinner table one evening (true story).
You see, I used to work on a commodity trade floor. Think high pressure, think lots of testosterone, think big egos and macho-ism, and tons and tons and tons of foul language. Literally Mother Theresa would have gotten sucked into this environment. You think you can fight it but it JUST HAPPENS. And it is really, really hard to leave it at the office.
So imagine one Sunday morning, my handsome hubs and I are upstairs drinking our coffee in the game room. Maybe reading the paper, maybe watching CBS Sunday Morning all the while our precious 2 year old blonde hair, blue eyed baby boy is playing with his Thomas the Tank Engine set in the corner. He is trying to set up a train but he has two of the same magnets facing each other so they are repelling rather than attaching. As he continues to attempt to defy the laws of magnetism he lets out with a rather loud…..
“F^CK!”
SAY WHAT TO THE WHAT? I was stunned he actually knew the word much less the appropriate frustrating situation to use it in (there might have also been a small glimmer of pride at his brilliance involved). That is when my ever calm handsome hubs turns and looks at me and says, “I think it is time to leave the trade floor at work.”
That was all it took. Overnight I went from being able to make a sailor blush to using words like, “good gravy, shizzles, mamacita, sugar” and the like. And yes, there were times when I would slam my phone down on the trade floor in frustration (it happens….alot) and bust out with a “mamacita” and those around me got a good belly laugh.
So here I am, 14 years post trade floor and a not so desperate housewife and the language has stuck with me. Now DO NOT get me wrong, there are times my G-rated vocabulary just doesn’t cut it. Just this morning, when my computer froze up, “F^ck a d@mn duck!!!!!!” was completely appropriate to scream at the top of my lungs as I was slamming control-alt-delete with the force of a 2 ton wrecking ball. And boy, let me tell you….it felt SO gooooood!
Well, now that my fingers have cramped from all this excursion, I assume I had better attack the colossal load of stinkin’ laundry on the sofa. Until next time peeps…….
Good Gravy 