My adult life has been a series of impromtu decisions. After graduating college, I thought it would be a great idea to buy a house with my boyfriend. In two months we got approved for a loan, found a cute little house we liked, closed and moved in. I have three tattoos that I got just because I felt like it. I didn't think about any of them for longer than 30 minutes before getting my body forever inked. Lucky for me, I still love them. My nose stud was something fun for me to do on vacation. And although I always wanted to move somewhere warm, I never really considered it an option until Hot Husband came home from work 3 weeks ago and told me we are moving to Austin, Texas.
Please don't be misunderstood, this decision was not strictly made by Hot Husband. In fact, it was my idea. My idea that I had three years ago. After realizing Hot Husband's music career (career being used in the loosest sense of the word) was too important to give up, I stopped pressing the issue. Imagine my surprise when Hot Husband came home from work on October 15th complaining he had enough and was ready to move on. Then I asked the million dollar question. Where are you gonna look for a job? By now, you all know the answer to that question. Four days later our house was listed on the market and since then we have been cleaning, packing, laughing, crying, worrying and generally feeling like our life is spinning out of control and falling into place all at the same time. In the midst of all the madness, one question has been weighing on my mind. Can a Yankee bitch ever become a Southern belle? I hope not, because being a Yankee bitch is just fine with me, thank you.