And now it's time for Mouseketeer Roll Call

Fair's fair.  If you're going to be subject to my inane and irreverent (love you, Mom, and I promise you didn't raise a heathen--I got there all on my own) musings, you should probably know something about ME.  Thus, I will use this time to introduce you to the players that are currently acting their parts in my life, the act I like to call, "Act III:  Is this what they meant by 'Adulthood?'"  Of course, the thought HAS occurred to me that if you're reading this, then you yourself are probably already an important player in my life,but let's not split hairs.

A Day at the Spa
I work the front desk at a spa (and no, it's not as glamorous as it sounds), and the other ladies at the front desk and I have formed a twisted little sorority wherein we eat lots, drink more, and gossip without shame.  Just like college, right?

The Head Spa Bitch:  my boss, and possibly my twin.  We have a crazy mind-meld thing that makes us say exactly the same thing at the same, far too often to be considered normal.  She also thinks that my vocabulary makes me sound smarter than I actually am.  She's probably right.

Kathy "Bitch Please" Taylor:  the mother hen of the sorority, but don't be fooled--this lady can lay it down.  I wanna be her when I grow up.

Little Bitch:  she may be little, but she packs a punch.  If I ever get in a street fight, I want LB on my side.

Which leaves me, Bitch Master E:  I recently finished my master's degree in music performance (great life choice in this economy--it makes me completely unmarketable AND up to my eyeballs in student loan debt!), and the other Spa Bitches celebrated by giving me this moniker.  My mother must be so proud.

The Famn Damily

Mama Lynn and Daddy Tom:  THE most fantastic parents.  Not even kidding.  Supportive, understanding, a little crazy (but who isn't?), and totally lovable.  I never even went through a rebellious stage, because there wasn't really anything to rebel against.  Although, it might be coming once I hit 30.  Watch out, y'all...

Lord help the Mister who comes between me and my Sisters:  J and Rose.  One's a feisty lawyer living in LA, and the other is a plucky bank executive who jet sets all over the East coast.  They're pretty much the bomb-diggity, and I say that without the slightest hint of irony.  You're welcome.

The Beagle: who cannot love this face?  That's right, no one.  She is my constant companion, even if she does eat everything--I mean, EVERYTHING--that comes in her path.  Food products?  You bet.  Pencils, chapstick, and other non-edible items?  Down the hatch.  Damn dog.  But, on days when it's bitterly cold and raining and the pile of work looms large, I wonder who is the more evolved creature--the one who ventures out into the freezing rain to work for The Man (okay, okay, the spa...), or the one who lounges all day on a sun-soaked bed, waiting to be adored and fed?

Life's hard out there for a pimp.

She Works Hard for the Money....And Jesus

I also work part time as Director of Music for a small church.  Uber liberal, this place is chock full of retired professors and old lesbians.  No, really.  And though the choir is not, um, shall we say, of professional caliber, it still sates my need to make music every week.  Plus, my faithful and crazy-talented sidekick is the Boy Genius Organist, without whom I would lose my sanity.  Seriously, he's 21, and he has more talent and drive than most people who have been doing this professionally since before he was born. 

I Get By with a Little Help from My Friends

The Best Friend (local):  Need a chocolate fix?  She cooks up scrumptious confections with a quickness.  Need a good laugh?  She has two pugs (have you SEEN a pug in person?  The most ridiculous of dogs).  Need your drain unclogged?  Okay, she doesn't do that, BUT her husband does.  To him, I am Second Wife, except without all the perks of a marriage bed (sorry, James).

The Best Friend (not local--why haven't we fixed this, MMG?):  Need someone's kneecaps broken?  She won't, really, but she'll make you feel good that she cares enough to threaten.  This one's been by my side since the first day of move-in freshman year of college, and probably will be until we're old and shrivelled--mostly because if I were to ever de-friend her, I would be terrified of all the horrifying things she knows about me that she could share with Ryan Seacrest when I finally have my E! True Hollywood Story segment produced.

Don't question this.  Just let it happen.

I Love a (Gay) Parade:  Let's be honest.  I'm a musician.  All my man friends?  Are Lady Man friends.  (And I say that with love.)  They're a hysterical host of high-fashion, high-maintenance (sometimes), and high-kickin' guys.  But more about them later.

And there it is.  Now that we've had Mouseketeer Roll Call, I'm off to over-caffeinate myself and listen to whale songs and waterfalls at the Spa.  Don't be jealous.......Okay.  Be jealous.