When I grow up...

I wanna be a white trash gramma....

Yeah....

I was driving along yesterday morning punch drunk tired and hyped up on too much caffiene when that little blurb came to me. Can't even tell you why. You see randomness like that comes across my mental radar all the time. Sometimes I think something like that and begin to mentally spin it into a potential book which was the case yesterday. I had this whole thing happening in my mind while I was driving along about how I could write a story about a former stripper turned gramma who takes a flask to soccer games and makes jello cakes for school fundraisers and church socials. This gramma would be so kick ass you would have to love her. She would live in a trailer house and have a velvet Elvis painting over her couch. She would wear stone washed jeans and fire engine red thong undies. Her hair would be over processed and artfully coiffed in a Dolly Parton circa 1980 updo. She would have a few daughters, one bookish and nerdy that would make her exclaim on a regular basis "Lord I don't know who your daddy was but he must have been a smart one cause I never read anything that doesn't have a penis scene in it" and the other would be a white trash gramma wanna be - they would share clothes. She of course would have a son who drives a souped up muscle car and dates little Stripper Skippers down at the local watering hole. Her grandbabbies would have one mama, several different daddies and would have names like Heaven and Jade and maybe even a Jasmine. Her grandsons would have double names like Jim Bob or Roy Dean. Can't you just picture it?
Her life would be an adventure, always raising bail money for various family members. She would have stories about that one time she was a roadie for Lynard Skynard and would break into "Free Bird" whenever the mood hit her (about cocktail hour). She would have a few ex husbands and would always start stories with "Remember that time we rented that cabin over by lake Eufala? That was when I was married to so and so and we drove that old van everywhere, I made those velvet curtains with the pom poms on them, they were so cute...." or occasionally "Remember when I tore my knee all to hell doing pole routines so I had to take some time off....ya'll thought we were on a 2 week camping trip but really we lived in that van cause we got evicted from the trailer house...".

Funny the way my mind works. I should heed the advice of all my friends that tell me "Girl you totally have to write a book" and take a few minutes a day and get cracking on it. Who knows though, I guess I am kind of intimidated by the magnitude of the task and by my attention span which sometimes rivals that of an overbred golden retriever..."look the ball, look a cat, where is that ball..." wag wag wag...drool drool drool...nap.

What do you think? Think I can take my white trash gramma and turn her into Oprah's book of the month? Would I even want to write an Oprah Book of the month? Does Dolly Parton have a book club?

These are the things that I ponder...and also I wonder how hard it would be to make those sweet little toilet paper roll covers that look like a Barbie Doll in a knitted dress.