About Tipsy Gypsy

Gypsy by birth. Tipsy...by choice.

Gypsy blood comes from my mom's side of the family...a few generations back. By the age of 32, I'd moved exactly 36 times. It's no big deal. I'm an amazing mover and I have zero pack rat tendencies. Haven't used this...whatever it is...in three months, well of to the goodwill it goes.

I'm almost married happily living in sin with my husband-guy (a retired Army Ranger) and our EIGHT...no that is not a typo...our EIGHT children. At least a few days I week I have a nervous breakdown about why my entourage can't do their chores properly or why they can't get along or why there are so damn many of them. Seriously, WHY ARE there so damn many of them?

In addition to the husband-guy and the eight kids, I'm a full-time college student. English/Secondary Ed Major! Oh yeah! Who decided being a college freshman and 31 sounded like an awesome idea? Tipsy Gypsy did. Plus I have fat elbows (OMG for reals look at my elbow up there) and a ghetto booty. All of this... is where the tipsy comes into play...

It's been said that alcohol will not solve your problems. I agree. But then neither will water. RIGHT?? I like to view my occasional drinking as a public service of sorts. For example, there are women like Molly Mormon all across this country who wish deep down in the depths of their souls that they could have a beer at the end of a tough, hiding-on-the-roof, kind of a day...and I have that drink for THEM. You are welcome, ladies. You. Are. Welcome.

In other random news...I read tarot cards. Yes, seriously. I OWN a crystal ball. I swear I am not joking. I know how to disassemble, clean, and reassemble my .45. I sing in the car, loudly and off-key. I meditate. I have killed every house plant I have ever owned...yet I've managed to keep 8 children alive...go figure.