will the real rebecca please stand up

I never considered my life to be all that bizarre but the expressions on someone's face when I casually mention that I accidentally smashed my SUV into the broad side of a house trying to thwart off a spider that just belayed from my sun visor tell me that perhaps my existence is slightly more colorful than most.  It should be noted that the house belonged to an ex boyfriend and I had literally just finished telling him that I needed space, permanently. "Hey I don't really care to see your face anymore" but let me drive my car into your living space so that we can drag this out through uncomfortably forced interactions supervised by insurance adjusters.  Like I said, colorful.

The most recent development in my curious existence is that I'm a victim of identity theft. Started as completely basic stuff; some concerning credit alerts and obscene charges to my debit card, one of which was a donation to the American Red Cross.  Want to feel like an asshole?  File a dispute with a nonprofit humanitarian organization. I was only mildly inconvenienced and irritated until Netflix cancelled my membership due to non-payment. I suppose that's what happens when the card used to foot the bill has been compromised.  Go right ahead and send someone $160 worth of flowers from ftd.com at my expense and acquire a car loan using my social, be my guest, but DO NOT come between me and my Californication marathon or things will get ugly. I need my Marcy fix or I come completely unhinged.

Things didn't necessarily get ugly but they did go all Outer Limits when the alleged thief began texting a friend of mine posing as me.  Have I blown your mind yet?  

"Sexy mom"? Gross. Who in their right mind would possibly talk about themselves in a such a manner? I can handle the financial mess this person has left me in but don't impersonate me and then make me sound like such a vapid twat.  

Obviously I called the number only to get an automated message, no surprise really but I did receive a "Hi" text in response.  Fake-me messaging real-me. Cue theme from The Twilight Zone.  In short I told them to go live their own life, mine isn't for the taking; and I might have called them a psychopathic crack pot and threw in the knife emoji for good measure.  

snow day

Raising a child in Arkansas comes with it's own set of challenges; like having to dose the young one with prescribed flouride because the water in these parts remains untreated and knowing that the phrases "get me some" and "y'all" stand a strong chance of creeping their way into the bambino's vocabulary, and not in the clever "I'm particularly good at accents" way but in the way that leaves him sounding alarmingly uneducated.  

And then there's the fact even the faintest whisper of snow causes the entire state to close up shop.  Schools close for days at a time, I'm released from work early and Wal-Mart sells out of cat food and bread. You know, because nothing encourages you to eat a half a dozen sandwiches like a dusting of powder and on the off chance you're marooned for an extended period of time, the last thing you need to be bothered with is your cat making a serious run for the meat on your face. 

Sure I poke fun, but there was a time last winter where we were sequestered to our home for nearly six days. Snow removal isn't exactly Arkansas' forte. There simply aren't enough household activities to distract the terrible-twos for almost a week and I ran out of wine, gravely contemplating the effects of drinking rubbing alcohol. 

A lesson was learned, the hard way.  Now when the weatherman calls for snow I have a stockpile of wine and episodes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse on hand to keep us both entertained and sane while the public works department is busy schooling itself in plowing.