I just want to hang out with Heather B. Armstrong!

Dangit, I'm not asking too much. I read on her blog where last week she got to hang out with a bunch of other cool blogging mommy type people and she got to have her picture taken with Andrew Shue and while I'm not a big fan of Andrew Shue, dammit he's FAMOUS. Or used to be. And most importantly someone asked her opinion about blogging because she's famous for blogging. I have opinions! I'm just not famous.

I just want to hang out with Heather B. Armstrong. Just once. (Well, maybe twice if it goes well.) She's famous for her blog. I want to be famous for my blog, too. I think I've got what it takes, too. I just need to get a job, blog about it and get fired. Then I bet I'd be famous, too.

But that would require me actually buying clothes that weren't track pants, sweat pants or pajamas. And then we'd get into the whole not talking baby talk to grownups and the whole don't forget you're in public and not with a bunch of children and you can't just fart when you want to now issues and frankly, I'm not sure I can handle that kind of pressure. Literally. Because when you gotta fart and you're used to farting any time you want, well your intestines don't handle that adjustment just overnight, I'm here to tell you. Trust me on this one, folks.

Yes, I want to be famous, but I want to be famous in my track pants and my New Balance sneaks that are wearing dangerous thin in the area of the baby toes. I want to be famous going bra-less with baby snot on my left shoulder. I want to be famous for writing about puking children, hateful husbands and PMS, but I don't want to get a job to get there.

I want to fly on big airplanes and miss my children desperately when I call home to tell them, "Mommy misses you, too, but Mommy's famous for her snotty left shoulder and well, kids, that makes Mommy really happy right now." I want to be on the Today show. I want to sit across from Katy Couric and tell her that I have a daughter named Kady, too, but it's spelled with a "d" because it's cooler. And I want to show her actual snot on my left shoulder and giggle about dancing the cha-cha with a group of toddlers who didn't get near out of the experience what I got out of it. I want to show off my tattoos as well. AND I want to tell her and all of America that we actually do have Really Loud The Kids Are Out Of The House Sex every time I blog about it. Really. And it is actually pretty loud.

I'm almost famous now. Last Sunday my Papa took Mom and my uncle out for lunch after church. At the restaurant they saw Shannon and her crew. Mom said she was visiting with Shannon and her mother when Shannons' husband walked up. Mom said she knew who he was, but hadn't really spoken more than a few words to him ever. He approached the table and said, "Hey! Aren't you Redneck Diva's mom???"

Look out, Heather B. Armstrong. You may have constipation, but I have a snotty left shoulder, sister.