What's in your wallet?

Not Peggy....that's for sure. If I'm going to steal someone's identity, it's certainly not going to be an overweight man, in a tacky sweater, calling himself Peggy. I'd go Oprah or Paula Dean. One part over eater, a gazillion parts money. Scratch Paula...she has to cook and she's got the sugar. I hate cooking and I only like powdered sugar. I'm quite sure Oprah throws her billions around in lieu of doing anything short of wiping her own ass. My kind of gal. Far as I know, she aint got the sugar. Where am I going with this? Somewhere. I was re-reading my blog about "what's in my cart" and realized this identity crisis extends far beyond the grocery store. In fact, I seem to be living as someone else in almost every aspect of my life. The only time I am legitimately me...in the womb (climate/stimulant controlled bedroom for you newbie’s) with my rabbit and some post climatic treats. I'm not sure why I ever leave the womb. Stupid work.

Checkout my purse. I am secretly bitter I even have to carry one. Dumb guys get to carry wallets. What's in their wallets? Condoms and money. What does that say about women? We are for sale as long as you protect us from your recent purchases. I'm ok with that. I wish it were that easy across the pond in Vagina land. Nope. We basically prepare for every fuckin thing that would/could/should ever happen in the next 20 years. Why? I have no answers. If I were Oprah, someone would carry my purse and this would be a non-issue. Since I am not in fact a successful, rich black woman, let's see if we can figure out who I am bcs I can't be sure. Should the contents of my purse fall on the ground for all to see, I'm quite sure it wouldn't reveal anyone who resembles me. The following items currently reside on my hip...ughum:

* A 40 pound wallet. Bcs I'm broke...but have lots of change.

* A business card for the local psychic. You'll recall my mantra, "This can't be my life." She's working on channeling New Me. I'll keep ya posted on that.

* Gum. I don't chew gum. I find it tacky. Sorry. I do. However, when one has stank breath, a couple of chews brings things back around. Downside...the fake sugar makes me hungry. Secretly bitter that the cost of good breath is hunger. I carry it in a ghetto Ziploc bag. It always falls out of the package. Don't be judgie.

* A tooth brush, tooth paste and floss. When I can't suck the goodness from lunch out of my teeth, I'm forced to let it go down the drain. Waste of money and leftovers. However, a good fatty knows to store leftovers in her teeth. Doggie bags are for amateurs.

* Almonds. Who am I? Almonds? Better off going outside and nibbling on tree bark. Bout the same flavor. Yes Mother, I know they taste great roasted in the oven on 350 for 15 minutes and that you just sent me a 50lb bag from BJ's....and no I won't waste them.

* Tot Wipes. No children. However, ass wipes for men and babies always seem to be cheaper than ass wipes for women. Women are expected to keep themselves clean no matter the cost. Men and babies need someone to wipe their asses for them. Apparently the extra labor warrants a discount. So I'm a frugal ass wiper. Babies....men..no shame.

* A bottle opener. Don't have me sitting across from a bottle of wine I can't open. Feral Fatty take 2.

* 8 stolen pens with no tops leaking ink all over my purse. Leakage. Never good.

...and last but not least...random crumbs. Not sure how they got in there. I'm not known for sharing. Not easy to get them out either. Ever vacuum a purse?

So who am I? If one were trying to piece it all together after a tragic accident wherein as the contents of my purse were the only thing left to identify me...who would I be? Jane Doe. A. My license looks nothing like me. It was taken in leaner times. Clearly I would be jailed for identity theft should I survive. That is unless my passport happened to be on my person. I had a fat watermelon head in that photo. B. If there was a tragic accident, I would surely shit my pants thus rendering the baby wipes fraud. C. Stolen pens. Picture all that is me chained to a hospital bed awaiting someone from HOJO to stop by and identify said stolen merchandise. It's all around ugly. This isn't me! I'm just an overly hygienic, non almond eating/gum chewing, pen stealing, tooth brushing, wine drinker, with an inordinate amount of spare change who desires to know what the future holds. It's all my personalities rolled into one. I really need to start naming them and carrying the appropriate identification.

**Amber Alert! Missing Fatty. Lost in her own madness. Not sure how to find her as she presents multiple personalities.** You can start by not posting my picture around town. Don't appreciate that at all. Unless it's from back in the day. In which case I would never be found. You'd be better off putting my mug on a grocery cart or at Taco Bell. They know me by name. Let's face it. I'm not trying to disguise myself physically. I'd just lose weight if I wanted to do that. Dumb. I'm perpetrating an elaborate fraud. Hmmm...she wakes up and runs 5 miles every day yet I swear I saw her binge eating burritos in the Taco Bell parking lot. Yet when we go to lunch she eats salads and can't finish her meal. She drinks water and Diet Coke. I saw her just last week buying Skim milk and apples. ....I'm good. I'm damn good. Serial Killers could learn a little something from this fatty. Always on the move. Never know who's gonna present.

Tell Amber to come on over if she wants to find this SIF. I have a drop drawer in the house I use to store snacks for the other personalities. I "use ta could" (southern vernacular also used by our state Senator..ughum) blame my husband. Since he's no more, I had to create alternate personalities for blaming purposes. Just like the crazies. I prefer to call them the fatties. Would you rather be fat or crazy? Why not both. They say fat girls are better in bed. Or at least give better blow jobs. I'm just repeating what I hear. It makes sense. If some hot guy agrees to overlook layers of doughnut damage, I'd be expecting a good BJ too. So what if she's a little crazy. Probably means she likes in the back door. You can't expect her to enter through the same entrance as the hot chicks. Duh

Lesson time. What have we learned? I have multiple layers of complex fat which even Dr. Henry Lee would have trouble deciphering upon my demise. I promise you one thing "Hank," unlike most; it won't be blunt force trauma to the head. I'm too big for that. More like death by fry...or something along those lines. Check the arteries. They are currently the only thing around me that's hard. Other than El Conejo. He doesn't count. He stays hard. Men should start carrying pocket books so we might further analyze their ridiculous behaviors. I fear it wouldn't end well for them. I am insane. Does anyone consider this news? I eat in bed and have sex with a plastic bunny....and my Mother reads this. I think that qualifies me for some sort of medication. If you want Grandchildren Mother, find me a man with more than one leg who doesn't run on batteries... post haste. My eggs are rotting. If you want to meet the "real me," call my psychic. She's currently the only hope I have of meeting me. "This can't be my life."