hello, my name is greta.

this is the closest i could find to my beloved muriel.

i am the titular character of  this blog.  have waited my whole life to use the word titular.  when i was younger and heard that word i thought it was dirty and racy and now it just sounds apropos. 

i have fully arrived in adulthood when i use the word titular without kicking my friend under the table.  since i snickered a bit when i typed it just now, i'm not fully arrived.  thankfully. 

i have adult responsibilities which i take seriously and do a pretty good at, but i also gossip, watch bachelor, take a hundred pictures of myself to get the perfect photo baring no sign of my double chin, adore sleeping in and being snarky, and use the word f*ck whenever i have the chance when i'm not around mine or anyone else's children. 

i have been through parenting hell and am coming out on top with healthy children that are going to be okay as adults.   my kids are 19 (bert), 18 (wim), and 15 (roni) and gave me my first gray hair and will give me my last happy breath.

i've sunk much of myself into raising my kids and had an equal partner in my husband, alien.  i know it's rare, and i'll try not to brag too much on here because that usually leads to women turning and saying to their husbands "look at everything he does for her her! why don't YOU act more like alien?" with no levity, but rather dripping with accusation and contempt.  so, mostly i try to temper my complete fortune at landing this tall, dark, punny drink of water with a few stories here and there where he rubbed my back too hard that it actually hurt. 

one of my favorite days ever was when i had my 'muriel' party 10 years ago, i was 28. i didn't have kids yet, so i was a free-wheeling party planner.  i invited 15 or so of my girlfriends over and we spent the night playing games, drinking, singing kareoke, eating, being merry.  it was a giant sleepover and we ate egg bake in the a.m.  alien designed and printed each of us a tshirt to celebrate.  on the front it had a 1950's mom image while she was tossing her hair back in the kitchen.  it was the most perfect piece of artwork for my party and the tagline on the shirts said "Yesterday, I lunched with Muriel."  i couldn't have adored those shirts more.  or my friends.  good times. 

time to go cuddle up to my kitties, each at separate ends of my body since they are mortal enemies.  


introduction

family. friends. flatulence.

the list starts here.  brush hair.

after a serious polling of my inner circle who know me best, it is nearly unanimous that i am most well known for my farting prowess.  apparently my gas defines me.  according to my sister, letting it fly loud and proud is what is at the core of my being real.   being 'real, for realsies' is my selling point, she so eloquently stated.    'stinky, but cute.   how does she do that?' added my best friend.

i hung out on the word 'real' for some time.  pointed my browser to thesaurus.com, my other best friend, to find a suitable 'real' word to describe me.   fruitless search.  so i ditched the idea and chose instead to just be flattered about her declaration since i am ferociously frank about my feelings when i write about my family, my friends, my life.   i am relieved that my sister gave it a ringing endorsement, particularly since clearly she'll be fodder for my blog since she made the first paragraph!   enjoy the ride, ragu!   i'm so happy you encouraged me to start a blog!

plus, i know my advisers are right, my flatulence is legendary around these parts, but to be defined by it in my blog's title seemed short sighted.   sure, i'd possibly hook the closeted gassers, who squeeze tightly while seated and slowly shift their weight back and forth until the need subsides.   i'd definitely grab the eye of the reader who also subscribes to the 'better out than in' philosophy.   but i can't imagine i'd ever gain readership from those in my mom's group, those that never fart.  never.  never have, never will.  are thoroughly disgusted by the very thought of it.   i just cannot relate to that group.

so if you have ever farted, and you would like to read candid commentary from me, greta, a 'real, for realsies, stinky but cute' 38 year old wife and mother of three teenage kids, who finds nary a topic untouchable in my writing... then, welcome!

 i just crossed off start blog from my list.