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.

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.

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 Had to Go Back To My Roots (And NOT In a Good Way)

Okay, so.  I'm originally from this small town in north Louisiana. There weren't a lot of things to do there. Mostly Drink, Fight, or Have Sex.  I had my share of throw downs in my day. One of my favorite sayings is "Don't make me go back to my roots!!". This means "Don't piss me off to the point that Imma hafta drag you around by your HAIR!!".
Anyway, we're on out way home this afternoon from running errands. We turn onto our street to find it's blocked by some teen girls in their FINEST skank-wear who were walking SLOWLY down the block to their house.  We slowed down and rolled along behind them until they noticed we were there & SLOWLY got the hell out of the way.  We're starting to pass them when one of them began yelling at our car.  Oh no she di-in't!! I yelled to TWH "Stop the car!!". He did & I got out and sweetly asked her if she'd mind repeating what she'd just said. Now this little bitch Angel had obviously seen one too many episodes of Jersey Shore and just thought she was The Shit. She sneers "I SAID there wasn't any call for yo att-i-tude". At this point I'm having to remind myself she is but a product of her environment Teen and say "The only one here with ATTITUDE seems to be you. The next time you walk down the street, be a little more considerate and GET OUT OF THE WAY of the traffic M'kay."  I'm getting back in my car when I hear it "Dumbass!!". This little Bitch just called ME a dumbass!! I jump out of the car AGAIN, go down to the house where this fucking heiffer was attending a "Party" and demand to see the adult in charge.  Someone finally comes out and I, in no uncertain terms, told her if that I did NOT appreciate the kids in HER care blocking the road, mouthing off to me, and then calling me a dumbass. I also mentioned to this "lady" that perhaps her kid needed a better class of friend and if the best her kid could befriend was that kind of classless, ghetto trash then maybe she needed to look at how SHE was raising HER kid.  Yep, once again, I'm out there making friends!! THIS is why I'm Not Down With OPC. The fact that these kids are our future makes me shudder in fear!!

I'm a Social Goober

Okay, so. In one week (ONE WEEK!!!!) I will be attending my 3rd Sweet Potato Queen weekend. I'm so excited I can barely STAND it. If It wouldn't be totally stupid, I'd start packing already. This Parade??  THIS is my CHRISTMAS!!  I divide time into years by Parade time. It's the be-all event of the year for me. I freakin' love this shit!!
Having said that, I will admit, this weekend is also a huge challenge for me. Because I'm one of the most socially awkward people you will ever come across.
During Parade weekend I will suck at the following:
1) Meeting new people. I suck at this. Fortunately, I'll have my Wife-in-Law with me and my darling friend Erica. These two do NOT meet a stranger.
2) Making small talk.  I REALLY suck at this. I can carry on a well lubed conversation, no problem. Stand me next to someone and ask me to throw out a series of banal comments in the hope that one of them will spark a conversation?? Won't happen.  I'm incapable of doing this. I will stand uncomfortably and stare longingly at the door waiting for someone better at this to come out and save me from the horror that is small talk.
3) Observing social cues and acting on them. This one I UBER SUCK at. I don't even know where to place the blame for this horrific social failing. Also, due to the fact that I have very few (read: NO) verbal boundaries (once you can get me to talk) events like this are more difficult. And usually more uncomfortable.
With that in mind, I'd like to pre-apologize for any and all uncomfortable pauses brought about by my complete ineptitude at small talk. And those caused by my verbal diarrhea. Both will most likely occur.
Sorry Y'all...

I'm NOT down with O.P.C.

Okay, so. Here's my (probably not so) dirty little secret. I'm not a fan of Other Peoples Children. Hell, there are days when I'm not that fond of my OWN children. Why in the hell would I like other peoples??  I'm sorry, but I find nothing endearing about the little shit who felt compelled to inform me that what was on the television in the shop was "inappropriate". I, of course, felt compelled to tell him that he wouldn't know if he weren't WATCHING. I could have gleefully tripped the kid who told me my son's Origami Yoda "Doesn't even LOOK like Yoda".  This was after he asked if it WAS a Yoda. Some of the kids I see are entitled. Some are mouthy, others are just downright spoiled assed rotten. And not in the good way.

This is not to say I dislike ALL O.P.C.  There are some I find absolutely delightful that I DIDN'T give birth to. However, they are rare.