This morning I had a momentary lapse in brain activity and tried applying deoderant to my toothbrush instead of toothpaste. 

And that is the kind of day that I’ve been having.


When I was little, I called it public hair.

What ever happened to pubic hair?

I typed out that question because I thought maybe if I got it out of my head, a clear answer would appear before me.  I guess, like blue eye shadow or frosted tips on men, it’s just not cool anymore to have pubes. 

One time I googled “Why do we have pubes?” and through in-depth research I discovered that pubic hair on women capture the musky vagina smell in which cave men used to sniff out the woman they were going to drag behind a rock after knocking her out cold. 

Like my mom used to always say- “So if Amanda shaved all of her pubes off, I guess you would too?  Hmm?”  Yeah, ma.  Pretty much.  Don’t want to be the only girl ever in the world to have pubic hair.

Also, I get terrible razor burn and I’ve tried everything under the sun to minimize the excruciating pain that I put myself through twice a week to have an in-style vagina.  One time I got it waxed which was actually not too bad.  I wanted to rip my eyes out, but it was smooth and I didn’t even have to think about my pubes for four whole weeks.  But I am too poor to even consider making that a monthly routine.  Hairless vag or electricity?  I can just light some candles and wear extra layers of clothing, right?  Whatever.

I have a birthday party to attend this weekend at a fancy yacht club.  It is a James Bond themed party, so I have to wear a dress and bring a gun.  It probably can’t be a real gun, but thats a challenge I am willing to accept.  Plus, I won’t have any pubic hair so if anyone questions my weapon, I’ll just tell them that it’s cool, I have no pubes. 

I’m not entirely sure where I meant to go with any of that, but I’m on my lunch break at work, and work always gets me thinking about pubic hair.

Ah, blogging.

So I’ve decided to start blogging.  That is how incredibly bored I am here at work.  Nothing to do but to write about myself like anyone actually really gives a damn. 

I’m Betty, I’m 23, and although I prefer whiskey, I love pineapple upside down cake shots.  They’re absolutely delicious.  I enjoy reading, and making up stories to tell my 4 year old, running, cooking, googling dirty jokes, and driving.  I have an extreme obsession with football.  Good ole American football.  Tossin’ around the pig skin.  Tailgates, wings, beer, curse words, game winning field goals as time expires.  It’s my favorite.  Who doesn’t like football?  A lot of people, I know.  But they suck.

I have a boyfriend.  I hate that term, by the way.  Boyfriend.  Girlfriend.  I have a dude that comes around a few times a week who gives me stuff and says nice things and we have a lot of sex.  Much better.  There is quite an age difference between us.  He’s 39.  16 years difference.  People assume that for him, it’s all about having a young hot broad.  Maybe so.  But he says nice things to me and treats me with a lot of respect and I am head over heels in love with the man.  So whatever.  He is a huge part of my life and an inspiration to me.  If the relationship were to end tomorrow, heart ache aside, Id take away everything I’ve learned with much appreciation.  He is a wonderful man, and makes delicious red beans. 

My 4 year old son is also an inspiration to me, but that goes without saying.  He is funny, and smart, and by God he’s handsome.  He will eat an entire bag of grapes in one sitting and then act like that’s normal for a 4 year old.  His dad and I divorced 3 years ago and in a huge sacrificial effort to keep my son’s life as normal as possible, I stayed in the south near his dad rather than move back home to New York. 

I guess now that I am going to chronicle my life I’d better save some of the juicy details of my incredibly interesting day-to-day routine for later posts.