California state of mind, my pants

A rented house. I can see it. Its wood shingles, flowers welcoming. A good sized fenced in backyard. Neighbors that are kindly. Kids playing outside.

The smell of the ocean. Riding my bike to the indie owned grocery store or WHOLE FOODS. People around me who are quick to become friends. BBQ's, good music. Good people.

Good people.

I don't want to get all Jimmy Buffet, as this isn't a Rose Hill booze cruise, I will make a difference in whatever community I live in.

My friend hit me with a sad truth, all the hot little mens I see in uniform who are around my age are ALL married or too young. There has got to be one warrior waiting, eh?

I gotta find a photo of the perfect house.

Some of you know of my love for vintage looking dresses and funky skirts. As of right now, nothing fits, except somehow my tittays have moved up. My pajama bottoms fall off as I walk. I wear yoga pants with a tie waist, I have 4 pairs of these and a tshirt. I have so few tshirts,

My feet are definitely 7.5 and no longer possibly 8.

Yep.

Im shrinking!

However, 140 in Michigan is 250 in California.

A woman with a figure has got to rock her curves. Especially when I am working out for the 3rd time of the day with my fellow Steppford Wives.

NEVER!

Show me where the do gooder lovely freaks live and we will make it home.

Just promise no earthquakes so big that the Leviathan rises from the sea.