Somewhere between hell and California...Barstow that is.

I have been writing again!   Though I have plenty to bitch about in my current life I thought I would share a bit from what will one day be on the New York Times Best Seller list.  I have yet to come up with a title but when I do I am sure it will be fabulous.  After all, tales from this Diva just keep getting more and more delish. 
Yum- yum.  Read on.  Oh, but keep in mind this has not been to the editor!

We are finally seeing signs of civilization. 

Campground.  Yay.  I hop out as soon as we stop.  For some reason I was expecting relief and a cool breeze.  Instead it was like jumping from one sauna to another.  I grabbed Jake and Em and went into the store.  As always, we arrived late but this time we got there just in the nick o’ time while the store was still open for five more minutes.   Ice cream.  Heck to the yes.  I picked one out for everyone and brought them back to the Rv.  Me, Jake and Em were the only ones who ate them.  Whatever.  A pool.  Alan shocked me by offering to take the kids swimming. 

I also purchased the coins you need to take a shower here in the bath house.  Glad I got those after all the sweating of the day.  Ahhhhh the water felt so good as it washed over me.  Bedtime.  What a pain in the ass bedtime is turning the table into my kids bed, the couch into our bed and getting everyone to shut their mouths and eyes.  All I wanted was an hour with a tv and the E! or Bravo channel…

Quieting my mind is hard, eventually I drifted off to sleep. 

I awoke to find I wanted another shower.  Off to the bath house at the crack of dawn it was.  I always have a tiny fear that someone will break in and slit my throat.   Those coins I purchased were because there are locks on the stall doors.  I liked that.  God knows nobody would think to crawl underneath in those two feet at the bottom of the door if they really wanted to get to you. 

So I quickly showered, dried off and dressed.  I opened the door.  Oh my God.  Ahhhhh what is this?   There was a woman, I guess to be about in her late 50’s with her boobs flappin’ over the sink as she washed her armpits.  Holy fuck.  Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look I screamed to myself. There she stood with nothing but shorts on.   No!  This isn’t happening!  As I can’t hide anything, the expression on my face was, I am sure, priceless.   I can’t do my makeup with that next to me.  Don’t look, don’t look   <peek>    UGH!  I couldn’t help it.  It’s like when you meet someone and their fly is down and all you can hear is yourself telling you not to look down but you do anyway.  And then they are forever etched in your mind as guy with fly down.  They have no name to you and never will.

Hair and makeup can wait.  Must exit STAT.

Okie dokie that was a taste of it.  Can't give away too much.  Cheers!