Val Has Connections

All this time, you thought Val was just a bump on a log out here in Backroads. And not a very attractive one, either, judging from the photo on her recent driver's license. A bump on a log that used to be a world-class ugly tree. Or maybe you pictured her as a little fish in a little pond. Swimming round and round, never going anywhere, bemoaning the fact that all the other fishies were just...so...fishy.

I'm here to set the record straight. Val has connections. We're not talking about the guy at Voice of the Village convenience store who gives her a free 44 oz. Diet Coke every now and then. Nor about the students who call her name as she walks through the school cafeteria, fancying herself some teetotaling Norm in a nonalcoholic neighborhood bar. Nope.

Val knows somebody who's going to be on television! Not a local cable-access channel, on a Community Happenings show run by middle school students. Nor a hapless citizen with a mullet and no home, having a microphone shoved into his face after his trailer whirled away in a tornado. Nope.

Good Morning America, baby! Thursday. That's tomorrow as I write this. My old blog buddy, who knew me under my old alias, back when I was still wet under the waistboobs, IS GOING TO BE ON GOOD MORNING AMERICA! All because of her blog. She coined that term, you know. Waistboobs. The stretchy breasts of old ladies. We won't go into why she had a need to create that word. All I can say is: better her than me.

Back in the day, we were thick as thieves. Well. We were thick. Okay. I was thick. And maybe I still am. Is that so wrong?  She's from Mississippi. Every time I read an article about the fattest state or the state with the highest teen birth rate, I sent her a link. I know she truly appreciated my consideration. I know, because she would reply with news of some guy shooting his wife through the wall of the house while trying to start nail holes to mount a big-screen TV. Can't remember if it was a nail gun or a regular gun. That's one detail we don't really dwell on in these parts. Before, or after. Oh, and she always inquired as to whether we here in Missouri still held our title of Meth Capitol of the United States. And most often, I could reply that we did.

Here she is, letting it all hang out, at Mommy Needs a Xanax. Catchy title, huh? So wrong, yet so right. Maybe you could drop in and leave her a little comment. Don't cost nothin'. She's been busy lately, what with raising two boys and all. Her impending famewhoredom came as a complete surprise.

Apparently, national TV exposure is what happens when you're raising kids. Sheryl Crow might need to update that song of hers.