#1 Cause of death in America: BEARS.

My car is packed with running shoes, blankies, pillows, hoodies, hash browns and a healthy dose of bourbon.

Rapture survival kit?

Nope.

Tonight (Saturday morning if you want to get technical) at 2:00am, when I'm officially (Hopefully) off the clock of my last job for the day, I'm piling myself into my car, Picking up the sis-in-law and we're headed 100 miles north to Bear Lake.

I'm usually making bad decisions and displaying poor judgement on a regular basis, but something about driving to Bear Lake in the dark, BY MYSELF, after a 20 hour work day that usually leaves me fairly delirious just felt wrong.

So after a small amount of groveling and begging, my sisinlaw decided she'd take one for the team and stay behind to wait for me so that I wasn't alone in my death inclined adventure.
Then this morning it was brought to my attention that tomorrow is dubbed Judgement-rapture-zombie-apocalypse day. The timing is impeccable.

I can't wait to be two young helpless girls driving in the dark with zero arsenal, on a supposed Apocalypse day as all the good Christians float up to heaven and leave the rest of us to fend for ourselves against rabies-ridden zombies.

This is just the first of many probable deaths for me this year.

In a mere 28 days I'm going to be running death race. Aka Wasatch back ragnar relay series. First leg: Cake walk.
Second leg: I cry and beg for the sweet release of death.
Third leg: I'm going to meet Jesus. Or hallucinate and chase after a unicorn into a forest of life saver gummies and stiffly mixed drinks.

The odds of survival are bleak people. Fucking bleak.

I think a lot of people can sense my death quickly approaching. A couple of my dad's friends bought me beers two nights ago, my husband finally fixed my brake lights, my mother in law scheduled family photos 12 days prior to the race and the dogs have been extra cuddly.

It's all just a little suspicious.

If by some miracle the universe spares me in June, I'll be cheating death, yet again in July.

The husband and I are trotting off to Alaska for 10 days.

The same 10 days that I'll be on the rag.

There's fucking Bears in Alaska.

REAL LIFE BEARS.

You all might as well send your condolences now.

Happy Hump Day. Praise Jesus.

My lunch just consisted of a string cheese melted over crunched up Triscit crackers, doused with Cholula hot sauce and a handful of peanuts.

Some days, my job is less desirable than I originally thought.

An ode to Mama.

I still remember the important days. The days I wish I could forget.

Instead of it being my mothers birthday I wish it could just be Sunday.

The day she killed herself, I sure as shit wish it could just be a good ol' regular Wednesday with nothing in particular going on.

I've come to terms with the fact that big life events and holidays will never be easy. EVER.

She's still with me. Even though she's not.

I've become less self-destructive and violent over the years.

A lot of that is due to my wonderful "Other mother"



She livens up a room like it's no one's business. Most of the time, she IS the life of the party.

Not only is she my Husbands mother, but she's taken the place of mine as well.

Which, I tell you, Is no easy task. She loves me like one of her own and for that I will always be thankful and feel extremely blessed.

She cheers me on, brings me up and talks me down.

Even though she was raised with all boys, and had all sons, it's like she really GETS me. Ya know?

She gave me the most amazing husband. And 2 brothers I wouldn't trade for the world.

She supports me in all of my crazy, sporadic ventures, humors all my potentially awful ideas and even lets my bad behavior slide most of the time.

One of my best friends recently said "Erica isn't the type of girl you take home to mom"

I then added "Unless the mom is Sheila"

Seriously. Any other mother-in-law, I would have been totally screwed.

So, To Mama: A million and one Thank you's for letting, and encouraging me to be me. For loving all the fucked up and twisted parts about me, and embracing me as one of your own. Me and mine are forever in debt to you for being woman enough to step up and fill the shoes that were left vacant by choice.

You not only filled them, you busted the seems and soles on those bitches.

Even though you wear a petite size six.

It's because of you that I won't be drowning my sorrows with bourbon and nachos this weekend. Instead I'll be having margaritas and hot dogs with you, My mother-in-law, my best friend and my partner in crime.

Happy mothers day

Same cloth always.

E.