Update: In Case You Were Wondering What Happened to My Ass…

First things first. After being asked too many times, “how do you find the time to blog?”” What with my overactive uterus and all…well, here’s my little secret. I do it locked in my bathroom. The same way I cry.

Actually there is endless time to do all things internet when standing at my kitchen counter pointedly ignoring the dishes. Even more when I start on the whisky. It used to be it was a fair bet I was also pantless. Then my husband totally burst the bubble on  my repeated assurances that the neighbors couldn’t see me. You know what? Just like those who believe caveman rode dinosaurs. I was wrongwrongwrong.

So my neighbors got a fair amount of ass view. And if you are one of the 4 people (what up mom) who read this blog, you might know a thing or two about my ass. And guess what? It’s still f-ing here. Moving, house buying, starting a book (I know, you lucky 4 will be SO GLAD you knew me when), and renovating (or at least moving door knobs around while ignoring the heaping pile of crap in the backyard) caused my ass to sink down the priority list.

So there I was a month ago. Pantless (oh so confident I was not a neighborhood sideshow). And caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. All of a sudden I was flashed sideways into The Situation Room. My ass was Wolf Blitzer.

Oh. Dear. God. This was quick moving past a situation and heading round the corner into an all out international crisis.

The next day I joined the gym  with the little-frog-bicep-crunching logo that I had been mocking about town. I felt like an orphan out in the storm looking for a friendly porch light. Please little frog, please let me and my ass come in and warm myself by your fire. My ass speaks in a high-pitched british accent in case you were wondering.

So there you’ll now find me most mornings. I’m the stampeding water buffalo in the back of the Zumba class. The one doing push ups on her knees in the Cardio. The one falling asleep in corpse pose in Yoga.

It’s been a month. While I’m now no longer horrifying our new hood, I think I still have a way to go until I’m mistaken for a skinny hippy chick wandering into New Leaf Market for some kale salad and a hearty gulp of air.

But hopefully I’ll be able to crunch some walnuts between my cheeks in time for the holidays!