My name is Amanda. I was born in Tulsa during an ice storm in February of 1976.
I’m Sooner born and Sooner bred, so when I die I’ll be Sooner
dead – even though I now live just outside of Boston, MA. It’s not really the
suburbs. I swear.
When I first met my husband, his brother was throwing up in
a trash can behind us. We dated other people, but he slept on the floor of my
dorm room using my bath towel as a blanket and sang to me over the intercom
system that was meant for buzzing visitors in through the front door. We
eventually sorted ourselves out and got married. It was 103˚F that day, but we
I once mopped floors in a day care center. I’ve made
cappuccinos in a Barnes and Noble. I scooped ice cream in a small town gift
shop. I was a shift manager at a call center that placed pizza delivery orders.
I taught geography to seventh graders. I was an executive assistant at an
executive recruiting firm. Now I’m a stay-at-home-mom, which is by far the
weirdest job I’ve ever had.
I have two curly-haired daughters. Maggie has a laser-like
curiosity, a big heart, and a steel will. Kate is a wild dancer, a silly joke
teller, and your new best friend. They love cats, iPad games, banjo music, and
I love coffee, books, crossword puzzles, bourbon, museums,
jokes, good music, tough broads, The Big Lebowski, fried foods, baked goods,
Fall in New England, and agoraphobia.
I write because otherwise I would talk to myself out loud in
the frozen foods aisle of the supermarket.
Thanks for visiting my blog instead of coming over to my
house. I’m still in my pajamas.