I am the new, thin, totally awesome and solidly heterosexual head of the Games Committee.

I may have been slightly misguided about the whole PTA thing. You know what they say when you assume, right? Quit being an asshole. It turns out the little army of PTA-ers weren't nearly as bad as I thought they were going to be. I think this whole parent council thing might just be okay. There were a few noteworthy events I hadn’t counted on:

1. There were two dads there. Yes, MEN are on this committee. Again, proving I’m kind of an asshole, I assumed that all the men in my neighbourhood kept their extra-curricular responsibilities to waxing the car, barbecuing meat and dicking around with the underground sprinklers. I was wrong; the dudes are totally representing. I’m pretty sure these guys are on the down low, but that just makes me love them more.

2. This committee gets to boss around the principal and they all totally love it. I’m not exactly sure what the back-story is on this one, but the principal is all ‘yes ma’am, right away ma’am’ with this group of parents. What ever the situation that created this dynamic, I’m ALL the way in. Considering this is the bitch that told me she didn’t think we needed to worry about Jake learning to write, having the power to make her dance whenever I want will be spectacular.

3. Ready for the best one?! The two women running this parent council? The president and the vice-president who are clearly the leaders of the group? They are both SUPER fat (I’m not saying that to be bitchy – I can call other people fat because I’m fat. That rule has already been clearly established by blacks and gays). And these women are the best kind of fat, which is fatter than ME. Now all I have to do is make sure I’m standing between them in the newsletter photo.

It turns out sitting on this committee won’t be that bad after all. Bitchy fat women and closeted gay dudes are totally my peeps.

It's not like I'm Mary Louise Parker peddling a bag of weed or anything.

I’m getting pressure to join the PTA at my son’s school. Now that the Hubby is a teacher he has decided that all the GOOD families have parents (read: mothers) on the parent council and, you know, participate in some way. He is also feeding me some bullshit about there being a conflict of interest about him joining the parent council.

I’m not sure how that works exactly since he doesn’t teach at our son’s school, but he swears to god that is some kind of rule somewhere and he needs to follow it.

Here is the problem – we moved about five years ago to the other side of the city, and it’s kind of the wrong end of town.

For people like us.

Our neighborhood has three types of people:

1. Stay at home moms who are always draped head to toe in Lu Lu Lemon and can go grocery shopping at 2:00 pm on a Wednesday afternoon;

2. Families who love baby Jesus; and

3. Super old people with gazebos in their backyard who have lived in the neighbourhood since Kennedy was assassinated.

We do not fit into any of the above categories.

I make the Lu Lu Lemon moms super uncomfortable because not only do I have to work, like, everyday, I’m fat. Fat, working moms are not on their radar. At. All.

I make the baby Jesus families uncomfortable because I deliberately fuck with them whenever possible.

See, I have this ‘multi-faith’ calendar at work which alerts me to the various holidays being celebrated around the world on any given day. For example, today is the first day of Ridvan, the Bah’i festival that commemorates the 12 days that Baha’u’llah spent in the garden of Ridvan during his exile in Baghdad.

I know, right?

Now if I happen to see one of the Jesus families walking their dog while I’m playing with the kids outside after supper tonight, I’ll call out to them, “Happy Ridvan!” and wave fanatically.

As for the super old people – I irritate the shit out of them because aside from the standard mow now and again, I don’t really give a crap about the state of my lawn. The old people, however, will mow their grass, rake up the mowed grass, get this crazy looking contraption out and, I shit you not, VACUUM their lawn. They average about 3 hours a day on that mo-fo. It’s actually a nice wind down to the day watching them go through all that effort for a patch of grass. I just sit on my stoop and eat freezies.

Where was I originally going with this? Oh yeah, the PTA.

I have been avoiding joining the PTA because in my neighbourhood I’m the crazy fat chick with the brown lawn who worships satan.

Nobody wants that chick on the PTA.

But, apparently at some point in the not so distant past I indicated on some shitty little form I wasn’t really paying attention to that I would be willing to volunteer for school special events. Really? I’m pretty sure the Hubby suckered me into this one somehow, because I totally do NOT remember signing on for that. However, I got a call today, from the president of the PTA herself, inviting me to a meeting Thursday night to discuss planning the annual ‘Hoe Down’ the school throws in June.

I told her that she’s lucky the meeting wasn’t scheduled for tonight because it’s Ridvan, and work is traditionally suspended on days 1, 9 and 12 of the festival.

Then I told her I’d see her at the meeting and to keep an eye out for me - I’d be the chubby one in the WalMart 'George' label yoga pants with with blue freezie stain dripped down the front of her tank top.

Blue is the best freezie colour, hands down.

They’re going to LOVE me.