Hi, My name is Claire

Hi, My name is Claire. Although I’m not sure why I’m introducing myself. I have 3 readers and they probably know more stuff about me than they ever wanted to.

But I guess it’s like going to a support group. Hi, my name is Claire.

Hi Claire.

It’s been two… Three years since I have written anything descent…

Its ok Claire, we love and support you. And it’s not like you’ve wanted to be a writer since you were six, begged you’re folks to earn a liberal arts degree, promising you’d be a success by 30 and as of being 34 to date, have never actually held a full time job as a writer…

Never mind.

So this is my column, clarified chaos. There’s nothing subtle about the name. I’ll write about stuff that confuses me. If that’s my only criteria I should be writing for the next 75 years. I have cerebral palsy and use a wheelchair. My six year old son recently told a friend that “My mommy is not as dumb as she looks.” My husband Bobby & I was amused by this but then I started thinking… Bobby says I think too much. I started thinking, how long can I fake it? For one day soon, Nicholas will indeed realize that mommy is, in fact as dumb as she looks.

I’ll write about why I disagree that men are from mars, and women are from Venus. I think it goes much deeper than that. All I’m saying is I think we should look into the possibility that we are from different galaxies. For if we had the Mars Venus thing going on, wouldn’t we at least share a universal language? Don’t get me wrong, I love men. My husband is a manly former military, cigar loving, man. Two of my closes friends in the world are men. My son is like a mini-man. I know this because he will stand in front of me, just beyond smacking range and make strange body noises, then runs for his life, giggling all the way. So I do love men. I just think life would be easier if they just did what I say and not try so hard to form their own opinions, because they are usually wrong.

And I’ll write about my trying to reinvent myself in my mid-thirties, god that’s depressing. Early thirties sounded much hotter. Nothing major, I can’t afford anything like a boob job… not that I spend my days thinking and researching it, $4,987, B-cup, 1 inch lift…

I mean writing more, really trying to expand my business, being more active with my boys on the weekends. And stop doing things out of guilt. I’m a people pleaser and sometimes I find myself doing stuff so that my neighbor’s mother’s brother’s dog will like me…

That’s right folks. I’m going to stop kissing ass. Well except for my parents, because they cook me yummy lunches. And my husband’s, just because it’s fun. And my son’s because when he’s not making strange body noises he’s kinda adorable. And my closest friends’ because not that you can tell from this charming column, I may be a tad bitchy. Go figure. But I mean it, besides these people, no more sucking up. Oh yay, the yard guy is here. Shoot, I can’t remember if he likes 2 or 3 cubes of ice in his coke. I better go ask…

Ahhh yes, Reinventing myself. It’s going to be a long trip, but I’m sure going to try to have more fun along the way.

Moving in

Wow, that's a shitload of white space...