Fancy meeting you here...

Mid-life crisis’ are for jackwagons, so when I found myself in what was akin to one, I promptly face planted into a vat ‘o vino and have been happily snorkeling in it since. It’s the liquid equivalent to sticking your fingers in your ears and saying, “Lalalalalalalala, can’t HEAR YOU.” Except said vino is exceptionally fattening, so now I am not only old, I am wearing mom jeans. I am one cheese plate away from pajama jeans, which is basically when I would have called Kevorkian, but the bastard had the indecency to DIE. Unassisted, mind you. Wussy.

So here I am, a fat little forty year old. I am the weeble that wobbles and also falls down. (Perhaps from the aforementioned vat ‘o vino, but methinks it’s because my core ‘muscles’ are in fact gelatinous.) Today is seven months to my 40th birthday, and I am pretty…bored, I guess, with life. Ennui is rampant. So it's time for some self-assesment, mentally and physically. Emotionally? I am not too concerned with emotionally. I LIKE flagging stupid people off and crying uncontrollably at Publix holiday commercials. What? It's the American way.

I am hoping that you’ll grab a cocktail and join my little ‘halfway happy hour’ because I am pretty sure this blog - into my soul - will give your life meaning...Ok. Perhaps that's an overstatement. How about it could be a good time-waster while you are at the airport, or bored at work, or need to pretend you are busy so you don't have to talk to that crazy elevator lady.

Here’s the premise: When I turned 21, my dad decided that he wanted to leave a legacy to his only child. He began writing me letters, aptly titled “Letters to Lisa” about his personal thoughts and experiences on all things great and small. Literally, one is titled “Greatness.” Now that I am turning 40, and he 68, I was informed that the letters would stop at in 2012. So with 20 years under our belts, do I agree with his assessments on life? At my own halfway point, how closely do my life lessons align with those of my father’s? And now that I am a mother, will I ever have anything of worth to impart to my son? Actually, Vegas odd on that are running about 27:1 against me, but they can kiss my grits. Effing bookies.

So check in soon to see the first installment, titled "Gone Baby Gone." It’ll be a corker!