I’m a Bad Ass

I can be a bad ass.

You don’t believe me, do you? You think because I’m a diminutive 63-year-old that I sit at home and knit every night, a cup of tea and a cookie on a table next to my easy chair. Oh how wrong you are.

team and cookie

First of all, I don’t particularly like tea. In fact, if I didn’t think it was healthy for me, I’d never drink it again. Secondly, I don’t knit. It’s not my cup-o-tea. (Wink, wink.) Thirdly, I’d never have just one cookie. Who can have just one? Seriously, I wouldn’t care to know that person.

Now don’t get me wrong. By “bad ass” I’m not saying Marin County police have memorized my name. In fact, my criminal life consists of two traffic violations. (Yawn.) One I blame on my friend Sharon when, at her urging, I drove straight in a right-turn-only lane. What can I say…we were running late. My other crime was speeding. Yes, I admit I have a lead foot.

Speed demon

Continue reading

Apparently I’m a Genius

Well it’s official. I can finally divulge what I really am. No, I’m not a man in a woman’s body. But nice try. And I’m not in the Witness Protection Program, hoping that my former life and real name, Shannon Miller, is all in the past. Wouldn’t that be something though? If so, I’d now be back in hiding, having just blown my cover.

witness protection program

So no, my news isn’t quite that exciting. But here it is:

Last week I learned I’m a genius.

I know…it came as a surprise to me as well. Those who know me can attest that I’m not the brainy type. I’m more the flighty and absentminded type. In high school I was more interested in being with friends and playing sports. I honestly don’t remember studying much. Did I do it at the kitchen table? In my bedroom? Could it be I don’t remember because I rarely studied? That would be my guess.

study desk

Doesn’t look familiar

In college, I received my bachelor’s degree with a 3.2 GPA, which is basically a B. Not bad, but definitely not genius. Especially since I wasn’t particularly enthralled with my major, Social Welfare. How can an 18-year-old be expected to know what she wants to do for the rest of her life?


Continue reading