Okay Folks....

Okay, so.  This will most likely be my last Blogger post.  I have moved everything over to Wordpress and can now be found at mouthybarbermom.com.  I've been kind of flying under the radar over there since I'm still feeling my way around Wordpress and tweaking my site.  I don't know if I'll EVER be done fiddling with my site!!

Anyway, thanks to you all for following along with me here.  I hope you'll follow me over to my new site and keep reading!!

I'm Moving!!!

Okay, so.  I learned a few things this weekend at Non-Con.  One of them is that I REALLY need to find another hosting site so I'm going to be switching over to mouthybarbermom.com.  Hopefully, things will go smoothly and all my stuff will import properly.

I'll be sure to let you know when the new site is up & running.

Wish me luck!!

Non-Con (or How I Discovered I'm Not a Total Dork)

Okay, so.  I SURVIVED NON-CON!!  I didn't exactly take it by storm but I survived and I met some incredible people. People who took me in, took me under their wing, and made me part of their tribe. The incredible Don't Speak Whinese even let me take business cards out of her cleavage with my teeth.  See??  My tribe!!

This wasn't the easiest thing I've ever done.  I talked before about how I never, EVER go anywhere by myself. I'll admit it, I like having a security blanket person with me.  Someone to walk into a room with me so I'm not walking into a room alone.

I didn't have that person with me at Non-Con.  I had myself, a cute dress, and some sparkly shoes.  They almost weren't enough.

Friday was day one of the convention.  I went down to breakfast and talked to the people at my table. I then went back up to my room to take some medicine and brush my teeth before I headed down to the roundtables.

My first foray into the conference room was very nearly my undoing.  I walked in. I was late. All the tables were full.  SHIT!!

So I fled.  I fled back to the safety of my room and my laptop.  I pulled up my e-mail and sent TWH the following message:

"I don't know what I'm doing here.  This was a bad idea. I've made a mistake and should just come home."

I did all this while weeping in both fear and frustration.  Fortunately, it didn't send.

I eventually pulled myself together, re-did my mascara, put on my big-girl panties, got over myself and went downstairs. I got a cup of coffee and sat down at a table by myself. Partly because I was raised not to interrupt and partly because I was no where ready to engage.  The awesome Anissa came over to me and started talking to me as I sipped my coffee.  She somehow managed to keep me in the room until someone at the closest roundtable looked at me and said "Get over here woman!!" as she scooched her chair over to make room.

My time  at Non-Con had begun.

I had the most incredible time once I took a breath, let my guard down, and ENGAGED.

These people were kind, funny, smart, and encouraging. They got the whole thing in a way that members of the non-blogging community don't.  Like I said, I found my tribe.

And I can't wait for the next opportunity to get together with them.

I'm gonna be all over it.

*Thank you to all the awesome people at Non-Con who showed me that being who I am is enough.

TB is a Jeff Dunham fan

Okay, so. We're watching crap on the DVR.  Real TV is still on ESPN because TWH watched LSU beat South Carolina last night.  Anyway, we are in between shows and ESPN is playing NASCAR.

TB looks up from whatever he's doing on his phone and says "Oooooooooo..... Racing". Then, in a true geeky moment he quotes Bubba J.  "They're making a left turrrrrrn!!"

Yep, we love us a grown man playing with puppets in this house.

TWH one day hopes to be as grumpy and assoholic as Walter one day.

He's dreaming big guys.  Dreaming. Big.

This One Time, I Made Dinner

Okay, so.  I don't cook.  I don't cook because my children actually asked me to STOP cooking.  TWH is a brilliant cook.  He enjoys it. I HATE it. I suck at it.

Unless it's a casserole.  I ROCK the oven and all things that can be made in it.  The oven is where I rule.

But yesterday...  Yesterday, I made dinner.  From scratch.  And to quote an apron I saw yesterday in the kitchen store, "Hardly anyone got sick".  Really No one got sick.  It was edible.  Like go-in-for-seconds edible.

I made cheese soup.  Yesterday we had out first official "Fall" day.  It put me in the mood for soup.  We were heading to the store and I looked up a recipe for cheese soup on my phone, bought all the ingredients, came home, chopped stuff up (TWH helped), put it all in the pot, followed the directions, and MADE SOUP.   I. Made. The. Best. Soup. EV-ER!!

And I'm totally having the leftovers for lunch.

Because I can.

And I don't want anyone else to eat it.

I'm kinda selfish like that.

One day, I might be able to rock the stove as well as the oven.

Maybe...

My Birthday Purse

Okay, so. Last weekend was my birthday. We were travelling so we didn't really do anything.  We celebrated this weekend instead.  We went out to dinner last night then saw The Importance of Being Earnest.  Today TWH took me to get my birthday present.  When he asked me ( all FOUR times) what I wanted for my birthday, I told him "A new Coach Purse".  I had one I'd bought last year that looked like this:

And I managed to cram it FULL of THIS:

So today we went down to the Coach Outlet (because I'm not willing to pay full price) and I picked one out.   It's a good size & has a ton of pockets.

Aaaaaaaannnnnndddd.... I bought a Diaper Bag.  Yep, you read that right. My brand new full of awesome purse turned out to be a fancy, schmancy, diaper bag.  My first clue was THIS:

A CHANGING PAD!!!  There was a changing pad in my new purse!!  That coupled with the weirdly unfashionable shoulder strap you see hanging out of the bag led me to look more closely at my new purse.  See those pockets in the picture above??  They're for BOTTLES!!  There's also a pocket for my cell phone, and other pockets for crap like wipes and a change of clothes.

Did I care??  HELL NO!!  My new purse IS full of awesome!!  It's big & has a shit-ton of pockets for all my stuff.  I LOVE to have an organized purse.  A pocket for everything & everything in it's pocket.

The best part is, I still have extra pockets!!  I can cram more crap into it!!  With my trips to Non-Con & Virginia coming up, that's gonna be a huge bonus!!

I'm gonna rock my diaper purse like a BOSS!! Like. A. Boss!!

Me & ECB

Okay, so. Next month I'm hopping on a plane to Virginia for my East Coast Bestie's XXth (redacted to protect my ass) birthday.  Why??  Because she sent me a text message asking me to.  I'd actually been thinking about flying up & surprising her anyway.  It's been a couple of years since we've seen each other & we need some face-to-face.

This woman has been my friend for 20 years now.  We've been friends this long despite distance because I can do things like text her the link to The Bloggess' latest post and she GETS it.  I don't get any questions. There's no lengthy discussion, just "Yeah, I think I'd have to pass on that".  Then when I text her back with "It does NOT seem full of awesome".  She responds simply "No awesome at all".

Yes, in 20 years, there have been arguments.  We'd go months without speaking then one of us would call the other one up and be all "What's up Sugartits??" and things would be fine.  Now, thanks to smartphones, we can just send each other ecards and memes with gratuitous use of the word "Fuck" and everything will be okay.   We're awesome like that.  And kinda lazy & vain. Holding grudges causes wrinkles people!! And it's WORK.  We avoid WORK as much as possible.  Mostly because it's hard & distracts us from the important things in life. Families, shoes, purses, coffee, & wine. Not necessarily in that order.

ECB has seen me through TWO divorces, TWO weddings, THREE childbirths, several moves, Miss A moving away, The Darkness, and trivial bitching when necessary.  She has always been forthright in her opinions. Never shying away from what really needed to be said. She has also been the first person to tell me "I hate him/her!!  I hope he/she DIES!!".  She'd also be right there helping me plan their demise, if necessary.

ECB & I got off to a rocky start but that woman has my back any day of the week, no matter where in the world she is. She'll cut a bitch.

And THAT'S why I love her.

Is It Bad When...

Okay, so.  TWH & I are home this morning.  Since we're both home, we're trying to take care of some of the "During the Day" kind of stuff that we can't normally attend to.  Setting up Dr. appointments, & things. One of those things is me calling to book rooms for The Parade.  I know September SOUNDS early to be booking something that happens at the end of March, but trust me, I'm WAY behind on this.

Anyway, I need the rewards number for the Hilton, which TWH has.  I'm loading the dishwasher while TWH fiddles with his computer.  This is the conversation that happened:

TWH: What else did you need to do this morning??

Me: I need to call the Hilton.  I need the reward card number.

TWH: Okay, that's on a card in my wallet.

He's still fiddling on his computer.

TWH: (Blurts out random number)

Me: (Grabs pen & paper & jots down random number)  Is that the reward card number??

TWH:  What??

Me: That number you just blurted out, is that thr reward card number??

TWH:  No, THAT number is on a CARD in my WAL-LET.

Me: Well, I didn't know!! I thought you'd.....  Oh. My. God.

TWH:  What??  (eyeballing me suspiciously)

Me:  We sound like your parents.

TWH: YOU sound like my parents. I sound like ME.

Me: Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.

I know people say that as an adult, you begin to sound like your parents (in my case my Mom & Step-Mom) but is it bad when you begin sounding like someone ELSE'S parents??
In this case, I'm sure I could do worse.


(Note: TWH's parents have been married for 38 years & love each other fiercely but if you were to over hear a conversation they were having, and didn't know this, you'd SWEAR they were either headed for divorce court or needed to head for divorce court.  I struggled with the personal anxiety this caused me, as a child of divorced parents, for YEARS when TWH & I first got together before TWH assured me it was just their way.  If you sit back and observe those two, you can see the love and respect they have for each other in the small things they do for each other.   TWH's parents are a  prime example of actions, not words.)

Stepping Into the Unknown

Okay, so. Next month is the first ever Aiming Low Non-Conference and I'm going. ALONE.  I can't think of the last time I've done something like this.  Wait....  It was.... NEVER!!  I NEVER do stuff like this ALONE.  I usually drag someone along with me because I like having a built-in person that I know. Someone to talk to.  For an Introvert like me, getting on a plane to go someplace full of people I don't know is so far out of my comfort zone, I can't even begin to imagine I can see it from where I'm sitting.  

I was on the phone with TWH earlier confiding how the thought of this actually makes my stomach hurt a little.  I'm kind of a dork y'all.  Okay, I'm a really big dork y'all.  I've said before that I suck at small talk. I'm also the queen of the Random, Ill-Timed, Inappropriate Thing To Say.   I am so afraid that I'll be the chubby loser in the weird looking clothes sitting in a corner just waiting for someone to talk to me because I'm damn near incapable of starting a conversation on my own.  Sort of like High School when I was the really skinny, gangly, bespectacled, buck toothed loser in the weird clothes sitting in a corner waiting for someone to talk to me.  Because I was incapable of starting a conversation on my own then too.

If you're going to Non-Con and you see me sitting around looking a overwhelmed and maybe about to cry, bring me a Vodka & Cranberry & say "Hi". Once the ice is broken, I can take it from there.  

The first step is always the hardest.

And So It Begins (OR My Dowwnward Spiral Into Geezerdom)

Okay, so.  I'm going to be 41 on Sunday.  My eyesight is shit, my joints are starting to ache, and underneath all this color, my hair is mostly white.

And yesterday, I saw my first "Specialist".  I realize I've seen specialists before. My Gynecologist, the doctor who reconstructed my ACL, those are specialists I sought out of necessity.  This is the first specialist I've sought out because of an intermittent problem.  Not something immediate, but maybe becoming a bigger problem.

Yesterday, I saw a Urologist.

Yep, it seems that some of my parts are starting to rebel.  Or, as the nice Doctor put it, "These things happen as you get older. And I hate to tell you, they're only going to get worse."  He was just a little ray of fucking sunshine, that one.  Also, he DIDN'T hate to tell me. He had a big ol' shit eating grin on his face when he said that.

He basically informed me that because I was "Pre-Menopausal" (lying Bastid) I would have more & more difficulties of the UTI kind and that unless I did my exercises that the two, count 'em TWO full-bladder-sneezed-on-my-way-to-the-bathroom incidents that necessitated a wardrobe change would also happen more frequently.  Fan-Freaking-TASTIC!!

THEN he said the thing that I ALMOST could have kicked his ass over: "Yeah, you ladies have it really rough as you get older with all your parts. That's just proof positive to me that God is a Man".  Really Mr. Doctor Man??  No words of comfort, no magical pill, just "Yep, you're screwed, you're gonna get even more screwed (but not in the good, fun way), aaaaaaannnnnnnddddd I'm gonna use this so solidify in my mind that I'm genetically the more superior of the species"

Rotten Braggart Asshole.

I go back to see him in 6 months.

I Just Want My Damn Shoes

Okay, so.  As I've mentioned before, I go to Jackson, Mississippi every March to Participate in the FUN-raising weekend known as The Sweet Potato Queens Zippity Doo Dah Parade.  While it's only ONE weekend, I shop for it all year.  It could almost qualify as a second job.

Last week I ordered THESE:

These are my new Big Hat Luncheon shoes.  I ordered them from an online store called Starlets & Harlots. They are my go-to store for SPQ weekend outfits & accessories.

When the Postal Worker, a woman, delivered my package today, I had to sign for my shoes. As I was signing the slip, she looks at the box & says "Starlets & Harlots. You getting ready for Halloween??".  I coolly responded "No, when I'm not painting cabinets in yoga pants and a ball cap, I dress like a tramp. These are for your average Tuesday."  She stammered "Uhhh....Oh....Okay...." as I closed the door in her face.

Nosy bitch. That'll teach her to question ME about the origins of my deliveries.  Or give her something to gossip about. Whatever.

Ch ch ch Changes

Okay, so.  T hired a new guy to work in the shop.  I don't know that I'm entirely thrilled.  I KNOW that I should give the guy a chance.  I just don't know that I wanna.  My first impression of him was that he's kind of a kiss-ass with a sob story. I have zero patience for either.  (Yes, I realize I do my share of bitching, but I am NOT a whiner)  Also, I like MY space and after nearly 14 years, I consider the entire shop to be MY space.  I'd piss all over stuff if I knew it would effectively mark my territory.

I'm effectively unsettled.  I am unsure of how this will change the shop dynamic. The shop dynamic being me acting like a pseudo-bratty-know-it-all-lovable-scamp-with-a-mouth-like-a-trucker and T sometimes playing along, sometimes scolding me, and sometimes just staring in slack-jawed wonderment at my overflowing awesome.  You see where the new guy's gonna fit in??  Me neither.

TWH suggested I walk up to him, punch him, and tell him "Now you know!!" and walk off, prison style.  I may just unleash my inner Bon Qui Qui.  We'll hafta wait and see.

If I come back tomorrow and tell you all I'm unemployed, you'll know it ended badly for EVERYBODY.


P.S.  Speaking of coming back tomorrow, go check out my guest post on The Family Pants.  Mama Pants is doing a guest posting series called Fancy Friday.  We're getting our Fancy back & we're sharing how we're doing it!!  Stop by and tell her what makes you feel Fancy!!

Yep. I'm THAT Mom.

Okay, so. I was just looking at my FB feed and I saw where my friend Marti posted the harrowing total she shelled out for school supplies for her 2 kids.  In the comment section, someone mentioned all the "Community" supplies you have to buy these days.  Wipes, I get. Kleenex, I get. Germ-X I will supply for the classroom by the GALLON.  The classroom is gonna go through those in no time flat and they're not cheap.  I'll happily send some around the first of the year just to help teachers replenish. God knows they have to buy enough crap for their classrooms out of their own pockets.  I have no problem helping with those expenses.

Having said that, when you ask me to buy 3 blue pocket folders, 3 red pocket folders, and 3 purple pocket folders and NOT put my kids mane on ANY of them??  I'm just gonna have to ignore your request, take my fattie Sharpie marker, and write TB's name right smack in the MIDDLE of every damn folder. I write it in the middle so the teacher can't cover his name with a label with some other kids name.  I'm sorry, but I bought my kid the GOOD, will-hold-up-all-year-a-dollar-a-pop folders. Why in the HELL would I want to send those to school just so they can go in the "Community" pile so some other kid can walk around with them and my kid can come home with the fall-apart-in-a-week-bought-for-a-quarter folders??  Not gonna happen.  Sorry Teachers.  I bought the awesome folders. My kid's gonna GET the awesome folders.

I'll buy some Ziploc bags to make up for it. M'kay??

Don't Swear in Front of My Kid!!

Okay, so.  Thanks to Hurricane Isaac, we don't have power so I'm sitting at TWH's office typing this.  Everyone is comparing stories of how bad their lives are at the moment.  (Let me digress for a minute by saying not only do we NOT have power, I haven't had coffee in over 24 hours. So now, not ONLY did I have to take a cold shower this morning, I've barely slept, I'm uncaffeinated, and it's SHARK WEEK for me. I win mofos!! I motherfucking WIN!!)

Anyways, I'm set up in an empty cubicle at TWH's office with TB on his laptop in the next cubicle.  From over the wall, I hear some guy telling his tale of woe and he says "Fucking".  For some reason, THIS makes me cringe.  I started to stand up and give him The Death Glare while pointing to TB and saying "My KID is in this cubicle!!"  Because I'm a big ol' hypocrite. Obviously.

I've said before that I write like I talk. EXACTLY like I talk.  I can be heard at my house swearing like a sailor simply because I can't get some schmutz off a dish. Or I dropped something. Or I tripped over one of the Dawgs. Or it's a day that ends with "Y". Whatever. My point is, for some reason, I've decided it's perfectly fine for me to swear in front of my kids but for someone else to do it??
Oh. HELL. NO!!  It drives me batshit crazy.  Don't talk like that in front of my kid!!  I'M the only one that can talk like that in front of my kid!!

Inconsiderate Asshole. Watch your damn language already!!

Hurricane Malaise

Okay, so.  We're STILL waiting on Hurricane Issac.  I've gone from kind of nervous to flat-out bored.  I have dubbed this Hurricane Malaise.  I keep thinking about all the crap I COULD be doing around here with the two free days I have found myself with.

I keep thinking "Hey!!  We could re-hang the mantle!!  No, SHIT!!  TWH's drills are in the storage room."  I know that doesn't sound like any big deal but we piled ALL THE THINGS in front of the door to the storage room.  Then we parked my Jeep in front of all THAT stuff.  There is NO running out and grabbing something.  At. All.

I woke up and told TWH this morning  "Y'know, I didn't prepare for this for shit.  I could have had the cabinets painted, the mantle re-hung, and the shelf put back up above the bench. As it stands, I'm not doing jack shit".  TWH reminded me that he suggested we leave some stuff in the house but none of it was stuff I was gonna use.  I need stuff for NEW projects. Not ones I've finished.

So I have Hurricane Malaise.  I am wandering around the house, trying to find shit to do.  I'm bored out of my skull.

I guess I can go clean the bathroom.  AGAIN.

Then maybe a nap.

This waiting for a hurricane stuff is HARD!!

My First Big Storm

Okay, so. I have a confession to make.  I have lived in SOLA for 14 years and this is my first Hurricane.  I know, I'm a weenie.

Katrina would have been my first real storm.  We lived & died by The Weather Channel that week and I had a pretty good idea of the SIZE of the storm, but had no idea what any of it meant. TWH, who was our resident Hurricane expert having gone through Hurricane Andrew, kept telling me it was no big deal and so I continued on with my life. I cleaned the bathrooms. I did laundry. I fielded phone calls from friends & family. The first one being from my friend Marti who lived in Japan at the time. I answered the phone to her yelling "WHY IN THE HELL ARE YOU STILL THERE!?!?!".  I STILL didn't think it was a big deal.  TWH said everything was FINE.  I tend to take everything my husband says at face value so I thought everything was cool.

Until about 3 in the afternoon.  That's when TWH comes into the bedroom where I was folding clothes and sheepishly says "Y'know... I just got a good look at the storm...  It's a LOT bigger than I thought...  Maybe we should go to Mom & Dads".

I stood there staring at him for a few seconds before I yelled "Pack a bag!!  We have to leave!!"

In hindsight, I could have handled that better.  TB was 6 and kinda freaked out.  He packed his suitcase with nothing but shirts & underwear & I packed like we were never returning.  I checked TBs bag.  TWH checked MY bag.  We finally got everything we needed to leave and jumped into the van.

Out normally 4 hour drive took 8.  We arrived safely in Minden around midnight.  We watched the horror of Katrina on the news.  We swam in the pool when we weren't riveted to the television. We were safe. We were lucky.

Now we're facing down Issac.  We're not going anywhere.  Again, TWH says it's no biggie.  Again I am taking him at his word.  Because that's what I do.  I'm kinda nervous though.

I hope I have enough alcohol...

DIY Meltdown

Okay, so.  We want to sell our house.  In order to sell our house, we need to do some updating.  The key word there being WE.  Not "We need to HAVE some updating done".  "WE need to do some updating".  You see the distinction??

We redid the counter tops in the kitchen. In order to take off the Formica counter tops, we had to take down the upper cabinets because the folks who did the kitchen originally thought Formica would make an AWESOME back-splash and when they were done, they mounted the cabinets over the Formica. They also mounted the cabinets off center for the openings for the stove and refrigerator. So they had to come down anyway.

Cabinets & counter tops GONE

I now have boxes of dishes, cabinets, cabinet doors and everything off the counter tops taking over my dining room & living room.  I just got done cleaning AROUND the piles because the Dawgs still shed like crazy and we still track stuff in the house.

My DIY mess & the Crackhaid Dawg

Yes, this IS in front of my fireplace. On TOP of a newly painted cabinet.

I am about to lose my shit.  I can't really, because this was pretty much all my idea, but still...
AAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!

My bedroom is nice and neat.  Maybe I'll just hide out in there for the next few weeks...

Is it wrong to hope (not really) that a tree falls on my house during the hurricane??  At least THEN all this would be someone else's problem.

I have to go move some boxes now.  I just spotted a small fur drift I need to vacuum up.

There's a Hurricane a Comin'

Okay, so.  I live in SOLA (South Louisiana) and there's a hurricane coming.  I knew there was a hurricane tracking into the Gulf of Mexico but until TODAY, I didn't realize it was HEADED RIGHT FOR US.

We went into the Home Depot once yesterday and twice today and it wasn't until our SECOND trip today, after I saw no less than FIVE people walking out of the store with portable air conditioner units on those little flatbed hand trolley thingies that it hit me.  The Home Depot was PACKED.  So I brilliantly asked the lady behind the counter "Has the Hurricane tracked further west since yesterday??".  She looked at me like I was stupid for a second before she replied "As of 10:30 this morning, it was headed right for New Orleans".  Typically, when there's a storm in the Gulf, I live and die by The Weather Channel but we're STILL working on our kitchen and I had it in my head that THIS was the weekend that I BY GAWD got the upper cabinets painted.  Those fucking things have been a huge pain in the ass and I'm sick to death of plastic cups, plates, & cutlery.  I used a real fork tonight for the first time in a week and I can honestly say I was GIDDY with joy.  GIDDY I say!!

Needless to say, I hardly watched ANY television, much less The Weather Channel.  I of course, hopped right on my laptop when I got home and began looking at the latitude and longitude of the storm (N.O. is 30 & 90 BTW) and all the potential tracks for the storm.  Sure enough, we're right in the MIDDLE of what I term "The Cone of Doom".

As I painted the rest of my cabinets this afternoon, in the bright sunshine, one thing kept going through my head. It was a take of the song the Billy Goat sang in Hoodwinked.

"There's a Hurricane a comin' and I do not feel prepared"

Guess I'll make sure we all have clean underwear & a full tank of gas should we have to get the hell out of dodge.

Like I'm gonna stick around for that shit!!

We're SO gonna spend a week at Camp Grandma & Grandpa lounging in the pool.

I Get the Giggles

Okay, so.  I am not athletic. Every attempt at sports I have tried over the last decade or so has landed me in the ER with some God-awful injury or other.  I am also not a whiner.  I am, however, the happiest ER patient you will ever, EVER meet.  I am a giggler.

I will enter the ER/Dr's office making quips & jokes about EVERYTHING and laughing at my own funny.  Poor TWH has had to explain to any number of Physicians & staff that I am NOT high, nor did I recieve any type of head injury.  That is my coping skill. I laugh.  I laugh because for some reason, it never occurs to me to cry.

I tell you this as a lead in to THIS.

My mutha-flippin' big toenail is about to come off.  It has become a sacrifice to the renovation Gods.  I have NO idea when I actually broke the toenail. I noticed it last Saturday when I got out of the shower.  I was applying lotion when I noticed something was "Off" about my big toe. I bent over for a closer look and noticed it was crooked so I pushed on it.

It. Moved.

I absolutely lost my shit.  I started yelling for TWH who came running into the bedroom to find me giggling and babbling about my toenail.

(Side note: This is # 3 on the List of Things That Will Freak Me the Hell Out. #1: Spiders  #2: My own blood  #3: Partial/Whole loss of a toenail/fingernail.)

TWH has me get on the bed so he can look.  I lay down with a pillow over my head giggling hysterically and trying to be at least 6 inches taller than I actually am so as to put MORE distance between my head & my foot.  It was awful.

T wanted a look too so yesterday I took off the THREE Band-Aids that are holding my toenail on & showed him.

Oh. My. GAWD!!  He was fascinated with that shit!!  He kept trying to fiddle with it until I was SCREAMING with hysterical laughter, sweating, & shaking.

It wasn't pretty.

Now I'm afraid the nail has FINALLY come all the way off.  I think the Band-Aids are ALL that's holding it on.  I'm terrified of taking the Band-Aids off.  Leaving them on until the sticky just gives out is okay right??

RIGHT!?!

I may have to be sedated.

50 Shades of BFD

Okay, so. I know I'm late to the book porn party but I FINALLY started reading 50 Shades of Grey.  I had avoided reading it simply BECAUSE everyone else was.  Everyone was also talking about it nonstop so I almost felt like I didn't have to read it. I had a pretty good handle on it.

My hairdresser read this book on her cruise and foisted her copy off on me while gushing about how awesome it was.  You guys, my first book porn was Ann Rice's* Sleeping Beauty when I was 19. I found it stuffed in the backseat of a used car the guy I was dating at the time had just purchased.  Never one to pass up a free book (or any book, really) I dove right in.

50 Shades ain't* Sleeping Beauty.  This isn't even close.

The book sat on my counter for 2 days mocking me before I sighed in resignation and began reading it.  Almost 100 pages in, TWH asked me how I liked it.  My response was "So far, it's 50 Shades of Big Fucking Deal".  His response "Oh..."

I think he may be waiting for the porn part to kick in.

I can't believe how unrealistically Ana is written.  Never masturbated??  Really??

I'm going to finish this book.  One of my quirks is that I can NOT put a book down unfinished. I will hold on to the thought that it will get better until the very end when I have a total "What the HELL??  That's it??  I spent DAYS reading this book and it sucked from beginning to end??  Sonofabitch!!" moment.

It could always get better...  Right??  RIGHT!?!?


* Ann Rice wrote the Sleeping Beauty trilogy under the name A.N. Roquelaire. (Spelling??)

*Yes, I used Ain't.  I'm Southern. I only use that word to indicate extreme derision. It is NOT part of my daily vocabulary.

Souvenirs

Okay, so.  You go on vacation, you bring back souvenirs.  I personally prefer magnets. My refrigerator is COVERED in magnets I have picked up on my travels.

Sometimes, when your friends go on vacation, they'll bring you back a little something. Just because they saw something they knew you'd appreciate.

My friend Lann went on vacation to North Carolina with his family and brought me THIS:

It's my Travel Chicken!!  My client/friend Michael helped me name it. We named it Oprah. Because as my TC, it's gonna be freakin' EVERYWHERE!!  Much like Oprah.  Lann said we have to pronounce it "Ofrah" with a British accent a la Austin Powers.

THEN, because my friends weren't already awesome enough, Dwayne went on vacation with HIS family to Tennessee,  (Yes, I know a lot of guys. I work in a barber shop for fuck's sake.) and brought me THIS:

Gen-u-ine Apple Pie Moonshine!! Whoo Lawdy that stuff is GOOD!!  He said they're about to start selling at Sam's Club. I may turn into a full-on drunk if they do.

Metal Chickens & Booze.  It's enough to make a gal kinda weepy. If I did that kind of shit.

The Convicts Got My Digits

Okay, so.  A month or so ago, I answered my cell without looking at the Caller ID.  I was greeted with "Hello, this is the East Baton Rouge Parish Prison with a call from (mumbled name). Press 1 to Accept, 2 to Decline, and 3 to Block". I went with option 4 which was Freak the Hell Out and Hang Up.

Yesterday and today, my cell phone rang several times with some random 800 number. This afternoon,  I finally answer (with the intention of giving whatever telemarketer was on the other end a dog-cussing) when to my disbelief, I hear "Hello, this is Blah Blah Detention Center.."  Needless to say, I went with the "Block" option.

I promptly text TWH with "OMG!! That 800 number was ANOTHER prisoner from ANOTHER prison!!"
TWH responded with "You got prisoners with your digits...  It may be some guy in the slammer that says 'For a good time call..."
:D
"You are popular!!!
:D

I responded with "Ummmmmm... Yay??"
"I guess if a Good Time constitutes listening to me Cuss them up one side and down the other for calling me then they got the right number..."

TWH said my fans would be disappointed. I told him I'd pencil in some time to cry about it later.

If this keeps up, I'm gonna be sending A LOT of complaint forms to A LOT of prisons.

Or block half the population of some Cell Block....

I'm Going to Kill Us All...

Okay, so.  Today marks my one year Blog-iversary. Yay me!!  One year of my nonsense & you guys have been along for the ride.

But that's not what I'm gonna talk about.

Because I'm too distracted by my own toxic farts. Yep, we're gonna talk about my gas.

See, TWH & I have recently started back on the South Beach Diet. We lost a crapton of weight last time so we thought we'd try it AGAIN. Since we're bordering on Colossal Fatass-dom AGAIN.

The first phase is a whole no sugar, no carbs, live on leafy greens and meat kinda thing.  It totally blows and I would mug a Girl Scout if it meant I could get my hands on some cookies right about now.

However, I have almost convinced my body that Sugar Free candy is just like the real thing. Since I'm PMS'ing like a mofo, I have been hitting the Sugar Free Twizzlers like it's my JOB.
The problem is the Sugar Alcohol...

Dear Baby Jebus!!  The gas those damned Twizzlers has produced could be bottled as a toxic weapon!!  I'm on a Shaun of the Dead loop where I crack one off, look at TWH & say "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry" before the stench hits him.  I've even run off the Little Brown Dawg and THAT little shit can clear a room with his toxic ass-gas!!

It's a telling statement that I live with all men when there's a Fart Standard isn't there??

Anyways, I'm gonna climb in bed, snuggle down under the covers, read my book for the 2.5 minutes it will take for me to begin to drift off...

And hope TWH falls asleep before I do.

Because I'll SO Dutch Oven his ass.

Yes, as a matter of fact, I DO behave like a teenage boy some days.

Gratitude

Okay, so.  Yesterday I wrote the hardest post I will (Hopefully) ever have to write.  I began it reluctantly.  I was so unsure where to begin.  I revised. I cried. I revised again.  Then when I felt like I'd written all I could, I hit the "Publish" button & put it on my Blog.  There was no taking it back.  It was out there.

I went out into the living room, plopped down next to TWH and said "I did it. I told them all about Chelsea."  He just said "Were you ready to do that??" I told him "No. But I did anyway."

I leaned into him. He rubbed my back. I began to piddle around on FB.  Then I saw them. The comments began.

I had no idea what to expect from that post. I was absolutely blown away by what I got.
Love.
Support.
Encouragement.
Understanding.

I got all this and more from you guys and I am so profoundly grateful.  Your words had me crying and laughing.  You all lifted me up in ways I never expected in a million years.

All I can say is Thank You.  Thank You so much for listening. Thank you so much to those of you who shared some of your stories with me.  Thank You for letting me know that this battle was/is never fought alone.

My Heart Sings.

My Cup Runneth Over.

My Gratitude is Boundless.

The Darkness

Okay, so.  This is a story I thought would be a MUCH longer time coming. As in maybe NEVER.  Recent events, however, have prompted me to write this and I don't know that I'm really ready.  I may never be ready. My stomach is in knots and I think I'm gonna cry. Here goes nothin'.

A maniac walked into a movie theater & shot 47 people. Twelve of whom died.
This has sparked quite a lot of commentary in the social media.  The Twitterverse, Facebook, and Blog-world have been abuzz with shock, condolences, theories & opinions.
This is in response to one of the Blogs I saw in my FB news feed  last night. I can't find the damned thing today & I'm sick of looking so please don't ask me who.
 This particular Blogger blamed the parents of the Aurora, CO shooter for his murderous rampage.

I disagree with this on SO many levels and for SO many reasons.

I have a 19 year old daughter. Her name is Chelsea. This is the first and ONLY time you will ever hear about her. EVER.  I won't be answering any questions. I won't reply to comments. this is hard enough with out having to re-hash the gory details multiple times. Quite frankly, it hurts too damned much.

Chelsea is a diagnosed Sociopath.  Ted Bundy (the serial killer) was a Sociopath.
Chelsea is also a drug addict & a runaway.
Chelsea is my Darkness.

There were signs that something was "Off".  So many, many signs.
She was manipulative.
She was abusive.
She was unusually moody.

When she was a toddler, I rationalized these things away.
"Oh. She's just jealous of her baby sister."
"Oh. She's just playing sides to get her way."
and the Perennial Favorite of Parents Everywhere
"Oh. It's just a phase."
Never underestimate a parents power for denial and rationalization. It's powerful Ju-Ju people.

We took her to her first therapist when she was 4.  She saw 4 subsequent therapists.
None of them had any answers. Except the last one. He diagnosed her with "Borderline Personality Disorder" and told us that when she was re-evaluated at 18 he'd diagnose her as a Sociopath.
That was the scariest thing I'd ever heard.

Here's an overview of Sosiopathic behavior. I can put tic marks next to just about everything on the list. She was a habitual runaway. She hurt herself & others. She never felt remorse. She was sexually promiscuous & exhibited criminal behavior. By the time everything was said & done, she had a file that had nearly 30 pages of runaway & criminal charges.  Our house was a psychological battlefield and her Dad & I were losing.  We were terrified.

This is what I brought into the world. The pain of that haunts me every day. I DO NOT talk about it.

For someone to say they blame the parents of the CO shooter hurts and enrages me to no end. We did  everything, EVERYTHING to try and help our daughter.The child lost to the Dark. The child who embraced the Dark so fully. Who seemed to revel in it. That it was terrifying to behold.
We tried medication. Stays in THREE different mental health facilities. Group homes. Rehab. She was kicked out of them all..We exhausted every avenue open to us as well as ourselves and our financial resources. We snooped, pried, questioned, double checked, gave space, took away everything, gave everything. Anything we could think of to try and make this child happy and whole again. All to no avail. Her Darkness had consumed her. Swallowed her up whole. There was absolutely no room for us, our worries, our attempts to help. There was only the next thrill. The next high. The next person to screw. The next...whatever.  We'd lost. We didn't give up, but we'd lost all the same.

One weekend, I faced the Darkness alone.  TWH & TB were away for the weekend at a Scout Camp-out. I'd gone and collected Chelsea that Thursday morning from the Sheriff's Department after she'd been picked up after her latest disappearing act.  She'd been back home for a little over 24 hours.  I was in the kitchen when she came out of her room and asked to go to a friends house for the evening. like it was the most natural thing in the world. When I told her "No" she flew into a rage the likes of which we'd never seen.  She attacked me.  She flew at me screaming like a banshee and began punching me anywhere she could land a blow.  I tried to hold her off. I would not defend myself. I would not strike this child because I was afraid. I was afraid all the anger & frustration I'd felt at her behavior would coma out and I'd HURT her. I held her at arms length as best I could until she bit me. She bit me the way a caged animal bites. She bit me with all the hatred she could muster. She bit until she drew blood. I let go.  I let go & she ran off into the rainy March night.

She was gone for five days. We knew she'd been found when we got a call from Child Services telling us they were filing charges against us for abuse because Chelsea had shown up in their offices with two black eyes. She said I did it.  She'd finally come up with a way to get out of our house and punish us for our "Transgressions" against her.  Abuse charges.

What followed were months of  "Supervised" visits with her & her "Foster" mother, interrogations by detectives, & endless court dates. She managed to keep herself in check for roughly a month before her pattern resumed with her "new" family.  She ran away after she attacked her foster "sister".  She was found and placed in a group home. (Her second at this point).  She attacked another girl there, was charged with assault, and ran away a week later.

She was 16 years old.
We haven't seen her since.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is that some people do truly come into this world "Broken".  Some vital piece of their very Soul seems to be missing.  I have no better way to say it.  There is nothing anyone can/could say or do to fix that.

Don't blame the parents of this madman.  Blame the madman.  He made the choice to commit the atrocious crime he did.  HIS choices. HIS atrocity.  HIS Darkness.

His parents may have done all they could and lost the battle anyway.

We did.

And we have to live with that.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

Okay, so. Most days, TWH & I ride into work together. When I pick him up in the afternoons, we exchange the usual pleasantries. Among those is "How was your day??" TWH will usually add "Anything interesting happen today??". My typical answer is "Not really". I'll throw out a tidbit or two but it's never anything truly noteworthy. Let's face it, Not every week is a Chicken Shit Husband kinda week.  Today, however, I had something to tell.

TWH: So, how was your day??  Anything interesting happen??

Me: I almost accidentally said Twat at work today. There was that.

TWH: You almost said WHAT??

Me: Twat.

TWH:  How do you "Accidentally" say that??

Me: A client & I were discussing Game of Thrones & how Sansa seems to have the worst decision making skills in the history of EVER. (SPOILER!!)  Even when she was given the opportunity to leave King's Landing, she chose to stay.  I told him I was all like "You stupid Twaaa...TWIT!!".

TWH: Anybody buy that??

Me: Not really. They've met me.

TWH: Anybody say anything??

Me: No.

TWH: Then they couldn't have been surprised.  I can't believe they'd expect anything less at this point.

Me: Is that Good or Bad

TWH: Yes.

Yes is his go-to blanket answer he gives when he knows there is Potential for Pouting. He will neither deviate from or elaborate on his answer.

I usually end up pouting anyway.  Mostly because somehow, somewhere, in that "Yes" I'm supposed to be mildly insulted.  I think...

Rainstorms & Rainbows

Okay, so.  Yesterday, TWH & I spent the ENTIRE DAY on the sofa watching stuff on Netflix & not doing Jack Shit.  We're recovering from basically the whole month of June where we didn't spend even one weekend at home in our own bed.  We were being lazy slackasses & enjoyed every damn minute of it.

Anyway, at one point during the afternoon, it clouded up outside for our daily thunderstorm & the house got all gloomy. Now, we didn't have any lights on & since we weren't doing Jack Shit, there were going to be no lights turned on as that would require actual effort.  I made some inane comment along othe lines of "Here comes our daily rain". TWH looks at me and says "I can barely see you there on the other end of the sofa. Where'd you go??"  I lifted up my shirt to show him my boobs and asked "Can you see me now??"(because I'm all classy like that) to which TWH responded "Oh look!! A rainbow!!".  I laughed & told him if I ever broke down & got a tattoo it'd be a rainbow across my boobs.  Hell, maybe I'd get one over each boob. Then I'd have a DOUBLE rainbow!!

Oooooohhhhhh...  A Double Rainbow....

TWH wasn't on board with that so much.

Things I Should NOT Have to Say.

Okay, so.  Things I should NOT have to say.

To The Crackhaid Dawg: No, I am NOT scratching your ass.

To The Little Dawg: Dammit, stop biting me on my ass.

To TB: I put "Do Laundry" on today's chore list like you asked me to.

I love TB and the Dawgs, but really... Enough already.

I'm considering hiding in my closet with a pie and some vodka.

Except I'm on a diet because I'm at Full-Term Pregnancy weight AND I'M NOT PREGNANT.

And neither of those things is on my diet.

Somehow hiding in the closet with a six pack of sugar free Jell-o and a bottle of water doesn't have the same comforting ring to it.

Le SIGH....

I Have a Theory

Okay, so.  I have a theory T may be a Test From God.  I may be failing.

Take yesterday, for example. It was slow in the shop. T decides to watch a movie on his phone. While he is watching said movie, he is providing running commentary. "No. Oh no!! Don't do THAT!!"  "Oh. He's just DEAD..."  It went on.....  And on....  Aaaaannnddddd ON.   He was wearing his headphones y'all. I couldn't hear shit about the movie BUT his running commentary!!

Amazingly, I held my tongue. I just gritted my teeth & kept reading Game of Thrones. (I HATE Jeoffrey & Cersei)

Later T was reading People magazine.  I was reading my book.  T begins commenting ON THE STUFF HE'S READING!!  Oh. Dear. God!!

I begin responding. "I read that."  "I read that too."  "AND that."  Finally my eye began to twitch & I HAD to say something.
"I've read it. I've read the whole damned magazine.  I have already seen everything contained in between the covers of that magazine. I do not NOW nor will I EVER require your running commentary on a magazine. Or a movie. Or anything. Really. So for fuck's sake WILL YOU STOP!!"

He got vewwy vewwy quiet after that.

I kinda apologized later. I just felt like THIS all day yesterday...





And he was stepping ALL OVER my last nerve!!

I probably owe him some Reeses Cups or something...

Why Yes...

Okay, so.  At work, I am usually the one who answers the phone. I'm not exactly sure how or when this duty fell to me primarily but it has. I also do most of the bathroom scrubbing, sweeping, straightening, sign making & mail sorting. I use all this to my advantage on Secretaty/Executive Assistant Day & guilt T into a free meal so don't think I'm complaining.
Anyways, typically right before & after a big Holiday or Vacation we get about 50 gajillion phone calls with people wanting to know the following:
Are you open??
Are you both working??
What time do you close??
Have you/when are you gone/going to lunch??
Are you busy right now??

I can answer these questions civilly up until about lunch. Depending on when lunch is.  Recently, right before a major Holiday, lunch didn't happen until about 2PM or so. To say I was getting a little cranky before would be understating it somewhat. I had my head down and was going balls-to-the-wall cutting hair when the phone rang. I answered like THIS:
"T's Barber Shop. Yes we are open. Yes we are both working. Yes we are busy. No, we haven't gone to lunch. No, I have no idea when we're going to lunch AND we close at FIVE. Is there anything I failed to cover??"
To his credit, the client on the other end of the line responded with "Nope. That pretty much answered all of my questions. I'll see you later."
All the clients who were IN the shop at the time were laughing their asses off.
T was NOT amused.
At ALL.
Not even a little.
He kind of fussed me.

UNTIL...

He was telling this story later that day as an example of my insolent behavior.
It just so happens the client I said all that to was sitting in the shop waiting for a haircut. He spoke up and said:
"That was me who called. I found her answer to be extremely helpful & concise. She answered all my questions BEFORE I even asked them".

HA!!!  Suck on THAT!!

Now T tells that story as an example of my insolent behavior & how I get away with it.
And as a cautionary tale to some of our newer clients that I haven't broken in good yet.

T often fails to appreciate my genius.

The Universe Loves Me... Part 2

Okay, so. I said in my earlier post, TWH was out of town this week.  We usually have lunch together a couple of times a week while T hits the gym.  Since I was Lunch-dateless this week, I called my friend Lann to stand in.
At around 10 this morning, Lann calls me to tell me he had to "Run to the courthouse" (He's a Sheriff's Deputy).  An hour or so later I texted him to see how things were going. He texted me back to tell me he was gonna be a little longer than he thought.  An hour later, he's still at the courthouse. An hour after that, he's STILL at the courthouse & there's no end in sight.
By this time, I'm pretty sure my insides had begun to eat themselves.
That's when it happened.
The Universe sent me a pizza.
A Large, half-cheese, half-pepperoni, piping hot, disc of cheesey, yummy, goodness.
FOR FREE!!
So I texted my friend.
"The pizza place across the street just sent over a freebie pizza"
"I totally caved & ate some"
"The upside is, there's pizza here whenever you get done"

He finally showed up around 3 to get a haircut.  He apologized profusely & we decided to do it another day.

So now I have a lunch date with one of my favorite friends AND I got free pizza.

The universe loves me!!

Hello, I'm Bitchy McBitchypants

Okay, so. I am currently hiding in my bedroom writing this. Mainly because my laptop stays in the living room. On the coffee table. So I have no real place to write. Obviously, the Dawgs don't give a shit about whether or not I'm writing because one will merrily bite my fingers as I type and the other will just bark at me incessantly.  The Human types aren't often a whole lot better.  So I haven't been writing. And it's making me cranky.

Not to say that's the ONLY thing that's making me cranky. Since the beginning of June, I have made 2 (8 hour) trips to Austin, TX. I have pulled up floors in 2 bathrooms & repainted one of them. I have gone up to see the In-Laws. Aaaaaaaannnnnnnddddd.... We're leaving for Florida.  In between all of this I have struggled (unsuccessfully) to keep up with the house, the laundry, & various appointments.

Now, I felt a great deal of accomplishment at getting the floors & walls taken care of.

I thoroughly enjoyed my trips to Austin to visit both of our families.  We're currently looking into moving there.

I can't wait to go to Florida.  I love the beach.

I just haven't stopped much this month and it's making me tired.  Couple that with the fact that TWH is out of town (again).  Which is voluntary on his part (again).  Which means I'm doing EVERYTHING here for a few days (again).

Throw that ALL together, toss in some PMS for good measure and you've got the perfect recipe for One Cranky Mama.

I'm gonna take the first opportunity I get to sleep in my own bed on a Sunday and SLEEP IN.  I pity the fool who disturbs my slumber...

Fathers Day

Okay, so.  I struggle with Fathers Day.  I've mentioned before that my Dad was a selfish dick who pretty much only cared about himself. I talk about him in the past tense because I haven't seen him since my MeeMaw's funeral & I haven't actually spoken to him in about 6 years. I also haven't missed him. He wasn't really present when I was a kid and he's totally MIA now.  I don't know much about being "Parented" by a loving father who imparted nuggets of wisdom & helped mold me into who I have become as an adult.  I basically look at my FB feed where everyone is praising their Dads and proclaiming the love they have for them and go "Huh".

Then I have TWH.  This man is the best I could have ever asked for in a Father for my children. He is loving, compassionate, patient, thoughtful, smart, funny, and stern when he needs to be.  He is molding our children into Good People.  He makes sure Miss A knows her worth as a young woman in today's world. A world where so many young women value themselves by what others see in them.  He has taught her that brains will ALWAYS trump beauty in the long run. That any young man who truly treasures her will truly respect her. And he's instilled just enough love of all things Geek to make her cool.

He has helped TB to become the loving, funny, sweet, compassionate young man he is today.  He has fostered his love of video games, music, AND working with his hands. He is patient with this child who so often makes it difficult to be patient with and has corrected him with both kind and stern words as the case warranted.

I have TWH's Dad to thank for the man my husband is today.  His father taught him about the kind of man he should grow up to be.

I am so profoundly grateful to these two men for showing me what Fatherhood truly is. And for showing my children too.

Thank you Tommy for raising the wonderful man I was fortunate enough to marry.

Thank you Shawn for being who you are. For providing our children with a wonderful role model. For being an all around wonderful husband, friend, support system, and good sport.

I love you more than you will ever know.

The Tale of the Chicken Shit Husband

Okay, so.  Earlier this week, Wednesday-ish, a guy comes into the shop, removes his ball cap, and says with a sigh only the bone crushingly oppressed can muster "My wife is MAKING me get a buzz cut and I was told to come see you". (Talking partly to me, partly to the shop at large).

T: Your wife is MAKING you get a buzz cut??

Chicken Shit Husband: Yes. I don't WANT one but she says I'll be cooler with it when I'm working & stuff.

Me: Okay, have a seat.

I get him settled and begin asking him the obligatory questions about overall length, etc.

CSH: I don't know exactly how short she wanted it.

Me: Well...  Did she mention any numbers?? 2, 3, 4?? Anything to indicate what she wanted the end result to be??

CSH:  She mentioned some numbers but I can't remember what they were.

Me: I tell you what. We'll start out longer and work our way shorter until YOU'RE happy. How about that??

CSH: Okay.

I fire up the clipper, snap on a blade and get ready to cut.  HE LEANED AWAY FROM THE CLIPPER!!  I try again (because I'm nothing if not persistent) and he leaned away AGAIN!! What. The. Fuck?!?!

Me: Is there a problem??

CSH: I'm not sure I want to do this since I can't remember what my wife told me. I'm gonna go GET HER & bring her back here so she can just TELL you what she wants.

Me: Alrighty then. Whatever makes you more comfortable.

He leaves. Never to be heard from again.

UNTIL TODAY!!  Oh yes folks!!  HE CAME BACK!!

CSH: You remember me from earlier this week?? Yeah, well I lost the fight. I'm gonna sit here & wait for my wife. She's on her way here.

T: You're really gonna do it this time huh??

CSH: Yeah. I told her about the mix up with the numbers & she told me she'd make it easy on me & to just get a zero all over.

T: A ZERO on your WHOLE head??

CSH: Yeah.

(Note: A zero is SHORT. A zero is what most Military & Police get on the sides. The only way to get shorter is with a RAZOR)

Me: (After he sits around for about 20 minutes) Are you still wanting to wait for your wife or do you want to go ahead & get started since you have your instructions??

CSH: I guess we can get started.

I get him all situated. AGAIN.  I fire up the clipper. AGAIN.
You know where this is going.

He chickened out. AGAIN!!

CSH: You know, I think you might be able to talk to my wife better about this. Maybe she won't argue with YOU.  I'm just gonna go outside & smoke until she gets here.

Me: Of COURSE you are!!

He fled. Never to be heard from again.

Because if he comes back a third time, I'm gonna tell him to take himself, his hair, and his WIFE to fucking Supercuts.

Let THEM deal with that shit!!

Running Shorts, How I Loathe Thee

Okay, so.  I have come to hate, hate, HATE the running shorts as a style thing.

If you ARE NOT RUNNING, then WHY are you wearing RUNNING SHORTS??

If it's obvious that you DO NOT RUN, then WHY are you wearing RUNNING SHORTS??

They look stupid with your flip flops.

They look stupid with your Sperrys

They look stupid with (hand to God, I HAVE seen this) your Uggs.

Then again, Uggs make EVERYTHING look stupid.

Just go get a pair of REAL, non-elastic waistbanded, button & zipper shorts already.

Quit looking like a jackass.

Thank you,

MBM

DIY MIA

Okay, so. I decided this past weekend would be a good weekend to knock out a couple of small household renovations. Y'know, like yanking out a counter top and replacing it with tile, installing new sinks, faucets, & light fixture, along with repainting & installing shelving in two closets.

We spent the entire weekend either at the home store, outside cutting tile or getting tools & supplies out of the storeroom, locked in our bathroom, or in a closet. Every time we opened a door, the Dawgs were standing there looking at us with reproach & giving us The Guilt.  We had to keep them out mostly to keep Tigger from eating EVERYDAMNTHING. I swear that Dawg is part garbage disposal.

I began Saturday bright eyed & raring to go. Sunday I started off slow but got into the zone. By yesterday my enthusiasm was beginning to wane. By 9PM last night, while TWH was still fiddling with the plumbing for the sinks, I was almost in tears. I was tired, I was sweaty, & I was D.O.N.E.  I was about two minutes away from screaming "I don't give a shit if the fucking pipe fits!! We can get the right piece TOMORROW!! I just wanna get a shower & GO. TO. BED!!".  I managed to say that with far fewer swears & through gritted teeth.

I did learn a few things though. Yelling will ALWAYS make shit worse.  Gulping iced coffee is second only to mainlining caffeine for a buzz. A splinter under your fingernail hurts like hell, and TWH & I make one hell of a team.

We also make Awesomeness like THIS:

Yep. Worth it!!

Boy Parts vs Girl Parts

Okay, so. TWH & I were taking our evening showers. I went first & was standing at the sink taking out my contacts, etc., when this conversation occurred.

TWH: Baby, could you go grab me a pair of underwear & put it on the counter so I don't have to traipse through the house nekkid??  (Note: This is 10ish feet)

Me: Okay. Y'know, I'm just as nekkid. Do you think TB is supposed to be LESS traumatized by THAT if he see it?? (Note: Maybe we should just shut the damn door)

TWH: Maybe.

Me: How do you figure?? At least you two have the SAME parts.

TWH: I know I  would rather see a nekkid Woman who isn't my Mother than a nekkid Man.
          And if I had to choose whether to see my Mom nekkid or my Dad nekkid, I'd rather go BLIND.

I think he hit upon a Universal Truth with that one.

Bitten

Okay, so. I'm walking through the house minding my own business. The Little Dawg is jumping all around my feet & legs trying to get my attention. Because he loves me. When I didn't IMMEDIATELY stop & love on him (what was I thinking??) he tried a new approach. He bit me on the ass. Yep. You read that right. He bit me ON. THE. ASS.
Fucking fuzzy ingrate.

Tigger. (TLD) He's cute, but he's a killer.

Stats

Okay, so. Every now and again, I take a look at all those statistics that come up when I pull up my Blogger homepage. Here are the keywords people used to find my blog.

prim & improper
down with opc
prim and improper
prim and improper pics
sarcasm regarding raising children (I'm guessing finding my blog was a HUGE disappointment here)
And last but not least:
STUPIDITY RAISING CHILDREN
There are so many ways I could go with this one I don't even know where to start.

Hey, You Asked...

Okay, so.  Today I sent T what may perhaps be the strangest text he's ever received or ever WILL receive from me. It read "May be late back from lunch. Have to go have SODA washed off my car".  I actually completed this task and made it back to work before T.  I'm just starting a haircut when T strolls in, phone in hand and asks "So, how did you get soda on your Jeep??"
Here's what happened:
I'm pulling out of the parking lot after having lunch with TWH. I'm pulling out & turning right onto this 4 lane street then going through an intersection to get into the left turn lane so I can pull into the shopping center where the Starcrack lives.
The far right lane finally clears. I'm pulling out when this BMW pulls this move where he's in the left lane going WAY fast, runs right up on the stopped car at the end of the line then CHANGES LANES almost slamming into Miss Scarlett (my Jeep). We both slam on our brakes, mouth obscenities at each other, then I finish pulling out and am on my merry way.
I've gone through the intersection and am sitting in the turn lane when BMW guy pulls up next to me, STOPS IN TRAFFIC, (Not stops FOR traffic. He blocked a lane.) rolls down his window and starts YELLING at me.
Douchey Fuckwad: Blah, blah, blahdey, BLAH!?!?!

Me: (Rolls down window) WHAT!?!?

DF: I said What were you THINKING!?!

Me: I can tell you what I wasn't thinking. I wasn't thinking some Colossal Fatass who'd managed to squeeze himself into his tiny Entitlement Mobile was gonna almost kill me because he's a Dickhead who decided to treat the road like it's his own personal Autobahnn!!

In retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have called him a Fatass because he got PISSED!!

DF: Fuck you you Fucking Bitch!!
(Note: This to me just proves my point as well as shows he has both a pitiful imagination AND vocabulary)

Then DF reaches his little chubby arm out of his little sports coupe and throws his soda on my car!!  Since I think he was trying to throw it IN my car and just couldn't manage it, it kinda lost some of it's dramatic impact. (pun)

Me: HA!!  Nice arm!! You must've been a terror in bitty ball!!

Then I turned into the shopping center and continued on to the Starcrack while he continued yelling at me then began yelling at the people he was holding up who were yelling at him.

I related all this to TWH who witnessed the near miss but not the scene that followed.  His comment was "You shouldn't have rolled down the window". Because there always has to be a moral to the story.

However, the Marine that was in my chair offered a moral I like SO much better. His moral was "THAT'S why I always conceal carry".

Now I just hafta convince TWH it's a good idea for me to have a gun.

Trading Up

Okay, so. Last night TWH & I were discussing how long we'd been together.

Me: We'll have been together 14 years on our "Other-versary"

TWH: 14 YEARS!! Good Lord!! It's time for me to trade you in for a younger model.

Me: OR you could just plastic surgery me up to LOOK like a younger model. It's a win-win!!

TWH: How do you figure??

Me: You wouldn't have to go through that awful breaking-in process. Also, I'm geeky enough that I get just about all of your jokes. That's not gonna come with a younger model.  I get all my shit yanked up & smoothed out.  Win-win!!

TWH: You have a point.

Me: So, plastic surgery it is!!  Woo-Hoo!!

TWH: Um... NO.  If I'm keeping ya, I'm keeping THIS version of you.

Me: Well, DAMN!!  Not even getting my eyes done??

TWH: We'll see...

I'm wearing him down!! Slowly, but still... I could be 45 with 25 year old eyes yet!!

Awards Day

Okay, so. Today was Awards Day at TB's school. He's in the 7th grade. His school is 6th 7th and 8th grade. Your basic Jr. High. (This is relevant later, I promise).  The ceremony is by invitation only. If your kid is getting something, you get an invitation. I guess this is because space is limited and having the parents of non-recipients attend isn't really feasible. That, and it'd be kinda mean.
The ceremony (ALL things really) is held in the cafeteria. The tables fold up to make a bench with a back. Now while this sounds pretty nifty, let me add that the tables fold up to make the most uncomfortable damn seat you will ever have the misfortune to sit your ass on for several hours at a clip. The bench that goes with the table is made for early teenager ass. Not 40 year old have had multiple kids so it's spread a little since I was 13 ass. Dear God, deliver me from this fucking bench!!
So we sit there growing increasingly MORE uncomfortable while the assistant principal calls names for everydamnthing. Sports, Art, Perfect Attendance.
Let me address Perfect Attendance for a moment. This/these kids(s) are the educational scourge we all dread. THIS is the kid that will show up with the lung they coughed up on the bus IN THEIR BACKPACK and a case of Tylenol so they don't break their 'record'. Their parents can kiss my ass. And start paying my insurance deductible. I have those little fuckers names now.  I'm calling Mommas.
This one kid got perfect attendance for the third year running. He's in the 7th grade. Remember the little factoid I threw out there at the beginning of this pointless babble?? Go back and re-read it. Yeah, you're laughing now. Poor lil' Bastid.
Anyways the Assistant Principal Lady FINALLY calls TB's name. TWH & I smile giant smiles. Smiles of pride (TB made the A-B Honor Roll) and relief (Our time of Abject Misery is coming to an end).  We make it to the end of the Ceremony, grab our kid, and get the hell outta dodge. My ass is now flatter and not the good "Have you lost weight" kind of way.
I have to repeat this torture next Tuesday when we attend TB's Spring Concert for Band. God help me.
Me AND my ass.

On My Way Back

Okay, so. Monday I kinda had a breakdown. It was awful and tear stained and snotty and full of paralyzing agony, self pity, and self doubt.
I spewed it out all over my blog. I tried just writing it in my journal but it didn't seem enough. I started this blog last July as a lark but what began as a lark has become an outlet. A lifeline of sorts.
I put my humor and my pain here. I considered putting just the humor but that didn't seem genuine. No one is happy all the damn time. So I write it all. The good, the bad, and the ultimate fails that are my life.
I realized today that I'm on my way back. I realized it in traffic. I was calling some girl who was too busy putting on her makeup to actually drive a "Stupid Twat" and yelling how that was "An AT HOME job" when I realized that I actually cared enough to bitch. For the first time in days I cared enough about what was going on around me to form an opinion and voice it. The bone crushing apathy is lifting. It's not gone but it's packing up and getting ready to leave for awhile.
So many of you commented Monday. So many of you lifted me up. I am so grateful for that.
I'll be back to full on snark soon. Promise.

I Just Can't

I have a love/hate relationship with the Springtime. I love the hope and renewal that come with the blooming flowers and the new life.

I hate the springtime because one of the worst events of my adult life happened in the springtime.

In the Springtime, I gave custody of my sweet, precious Miss A to her Father and Stepmother.

I did it because that's what she said she wanted. As her Mom, I felt like that was the right thing to do because you are supposed to put your child's needs above your own.

Most days I feel like I can live with that decision. Then there are days like today. Days when I feel like there's a hole in my chest. A ragged gaping wound that the bandage has been ripped off. Exposing it. And the pain is so great. So overwhelming.

Days like today when I force myself to do even the most mundane task, then end up sobbing in the drive thru line at the bank.

The worst part is, I don't know WHY. I have never known WHY and it eats at my very soul.

I am not whole. I am parts. And they are broken.

I smile. I go through the motions. Some days I almost FEEL whole. But really, I never will be.

Days like today, I feel like the greatest failure as a Mother and a Human Being.

Days like today are so very hard.

Days like today I just can't. 

Converse, Blue Jean & T-Shirt Girl Goes Shopping

Okay, so. Miss A is here for the weekend & we took her shopping for her summer wardrobe. I find it easier to shop with her than my Wife-in-Law Amy does so I offered to take her.
Of course while we were out I picked up a few things for myself.
2 Dresses
2 Skirts
1 Pair Linen Pants
1 Cotton top
2 Cardigans
1 Pair Wedge Sandals
I now own THREE dresses!! Of course, I bought them for some weddings I have coming up but still...
And TWO skirts!!  One of them is even a Gap Khaki (for fucks sake) skirt.
The Wedges are self explanatory.
I am turning into a real Honest-to-God grown up. TWH & I were even talking about where we could go just to wear this shit.
I may hafta go lie down.
I feel like I've crossed over into some bizarro world.


P.S. Before you think I strayed too far from my roots/comfort zone, I also came home with two pairs of Levis. Like Converse, Blue Jean & T-Shirt Girl would come home without THOSE!!  Maybe one day I'll post pictures of me looking all like a Girly-Girl & shit.

You Wanna Do WHAT With My Chicken?!?!

Okay, so. We have been dilligently working on our house. We're hoping to have it ready to put on the market by the end of the year.
I'm out last night watering the flowerbeds when TWH strolls up to keep me company. I get to the bed where Gwenyth lives and was watering away when TWH asks "So what are you gonna do with your chicken when we put the house on the market??"
WHAAAAAAAAAAATT???
Me: I'm planning on leaving her right where she is. Why??
TWH: Are you sure that's a good idea?? She's not... Exactly for EVERYONE.
Me: Are you saying people won't like Gwenyth?? How could they NOT like Gwenyth?? She's full of  Awesome!!  And Whimsy. Awesome Whimsy!! THAT'S what she's full of!!
TWH: Baby, she's full of something, but I don't think it's what YOU think she's full of.

I guaran-damn-tee you that when the house goes up for sale, Gwenyth will be in charge of holding the "For Sale" sign.
Mark my words.

The Return of the Octogenarian Athlete

Okay, so. Right before Christmas, I encountered the Octogenarian Athlete. It was a horrible, eye searing event that left me speechless.
Today I saw him AGAIN!!  His love of spandex is still abundant. Every time I see/talk about him all I can see is Eddie Murphy in The Nutty Professor when he first becomes thin and he's out shopping and yelling "Spandex!!  ALL SPANDEX!!"
What absolutely did me in was he was standing next to a table talking to a girl.
Who was seated.
At eye level with his "Package" as it was presented snugged in all it's spandexy glory.
He does NOT wear underwear.
He was gently rocking back & forth.
A benign pelvic thrust, if you will.
Not blatantly obvious. Just slightly disturbing.
Especially if you're sitting eye level with it.
The girl he was talking to was doing her full-on best to look him in the eye and JUST IN THE EYE.
I, however, could only look at the floor, the ceiling, ANYWHERE but at the O.A.
I obviously do not have the massive self control this young lady displayed.
I fall more along the lines of Austin Powers. "Moley, moley, moley!!"
I'm okay with that.
Of course, I don't have some strange guy standing around with his dick in my face.

I Think T is Trying to Kill Me

Okay, so. T & I are going to lunch. He usually drives because my driving scares the shit out of him. That, and he usually knows where in the hell he's going. I am hopelessly Directionally Challenged.
Anyway, I go to get in T's truck. I open the door, put my foot on the running board, AND DAMN NEAR SLIDE OFF.
Me: What in the hell did you do to your running boards??
T: I cleaned my truck yesterday.
Me: Did you OIL them or something??
T: I put Armor-All on all my black. (His words, Hand-to-God)
Me: So you DID oil your running boards.
T: They're a little slick, I guess.

We arrive at out lunch destination. I grab a handful of napkins and wipe down the running board on my side of the truck. So I don't die.
T: What the hell are you DOING??
Me: Wiping the oil off. You're just gonna have to think of some other, less obvious way to kill me off.
T: ??
Me: I know this is payback for the toilet paper roll last week. You're gonna hafta try harder. Bastid.
T: Oh Jesus...

I'm relating this story to TWH on the way home. I told him it was a damn good thing I DIDN'T bust my ass because my last words to T, before I lost consciousness, would have been "You're paying for this!!". TWH said "No. Your last words would have been "You're fucking paying for this!!"

I Love that man!!

I Work With a Man

Okay, so. I work with a man. it has its pitfalls. Like this, for example.

Yes. It's the new roll ON TOP of the old roll!!

I took a this picture a couple of weeks ago and Tweeted it along with the caption "I work with a man".  I fixed the roll, griped at T, then continued my day.

T is not easily taught. Of course, this is a NEW development. Maybe he's devolving or something because today it happened AGAIN. I decided to take action.

I grabbed a sharpie and wrote the following on the EMPTY roll:

Really?!? Just fucking REALLY!?!?!

How hard is it to put the NEW ROLL on the HOLDER?!?!

Stop being an asshole and perform that EXTRA STEP already!!!

Love,

ME

Yes, I really managed to fit all of that on the empty roll. There's a surprising amount of space on them.

If that doesn't work, I'm taking a page out of The Bloggess' book and investing in a shit ton of post-it's.

That'll fix his ass.

I Suck at Twitter. Apparently.

Okay, so. I was at lunch with TWH today when this teenage girl walks in with her Health Class/Sex Ed "Baby". She was holding it all wonky-like.  No real Mom could have EVER held her baby like that. I, of course, jump on Twitter and report "At lunch watching a teen girl fail the Mommy Test. Abysmally." Followed by "It's like a horror show you can't NOT watch".  I didn't Tweet any follow-up information. Thus prompting some of my FB friends to respond with a mixture of horror & concern.
In order to lay everyone's fears to rest here's what happened:

I'm sitting in a booth at lunch. It was a banquette seat and the women next to me had piled all their shit right where I needed to slide in to my spot. I totally rubbed my ass all over their purses. I say it's their fault for not moving it and will maintain that opinion until I DIE.

I'm chatting with TWH & look up to see a VERY young mom walking in with a baby. First I was prepared to hate her because the baby was TINY and so was she. Then I noticed she was carrying her baby in the weirdest & most unsafe manner I'd ever seen. THEN I noticed the baby was plastic. It was a Sex Ed "Baby"!!  Upon arriving at her table the "Mommy" plunks her "Baby" down on the table and sticks a "Bottle" in it's mouth while she whipped out her phone and began texting. Probably about the crazy woman that was staring at her and trying to take her picture surreptitiously over the booth behind her.
No, I didn't get the picture. Dammit.

I can only guess that this girl is gonna get a crappy grade on this project.
I also hope she has no immediate plans for procreation.
Like I said in response to my friend Stacey O. "If that "Baby" had been the raw egg WE got in High School, it'd have been an omelet by now".
Poor little plastic "Baby". She's gonna grow up to be a Methhead/Hooker Barbie because of her shitty infancy.

Springtime

Ah, yes. Springtime. When the days are longer. I can play in the flowerbeds when I get home. I listen to children riding their bikes & neighbors mowing their lawns before dinner.
And the drunken bitch down the street screaming profanity at her children.
I love springtime.

Adventures in Margaritas

Okay, so. TWH & I are originally from this tiiiiiiiiinnnnyyyy little town in north Louisiana. This town is dry. I shit you not. After I have no idea how many years of hard fought council meetings and such, the Pizza places were finally allowed to serve BEER. Yep we're progressive as hell here in the Bible Belt.
My hometown being dry led to the existence of a small town (I think it was ACTUALLY a village) called Dixie Inn. Dixie Inn was a red light, 4 liquor stores, and a Hamburger Happiness when we were growing up.(It's that and a couple of restaurants now) It's just outside the city limits and it's sole purpose is to make sure the citizens of my small town can get liquored up at will.  Many a high school weekend began with us pooling our money and driving out to Dixie Inn to procure the finest Boones Farm and Budweiser had to offer.
When we went back to our hometown for Easter a few weeks ago, I took the opportunity to meet up with a girlfriend I hadn't seen since high school. We agreed to meet at a Mexican restaurant there in D.I.  TWH & I got there early. (Side note: TWH was there mostly because his folks sold their house in town and moved out to their place on the Lake Claiborne which is 40 minutes or better from anywhere and I have no idea how to get to or from there. In another 5 years or so, I may be able to do it on my own but it's still new and I'd wind up in Arkansas if I tried to make the trip myself)  Anyways, we went in & got a table. We decided to have a drink while we waited. Our server came by and we both ordered a Top Shelf Margarita on the Rocks. And a water. Ya gotta stay hydrated.  Our server turned to go then paused. She turned around and asked "Top Shelf... You mean Patron right??". We said yes, indeed, that's what we meant by Top Shelf and server girl very nearly SKIPPED off to the bar. I asked TWH "Is it just me or does Server Chickie seem a little extra excited about our drink order?". TWH said he figured they'd probably had that bottle of Patron for YEARS and they were gonna have to dust it off and break the seal on it to make our drinks. I'm surprised there wasn't a band.

P.S. TWH says that if I keep blogging/tweeting about drinking that people are gonna be surprised when they meet me & I'm sober.

P.P.S. I argued that, conversely, if they ever meet me and I'm shitfaced they'll think it's par for the course.

It's kind of a win-win don't ya think??