As many of you already know, I'm the one who "wears the pants" in our household. I know some of you think that a man should have the final say, (as if that's some kind of privilege). Take it from me: being in charge isn't all it's cracked up to be! It's a lot of work, keeping the family in a calm, submissive state. Luckily I'm an office manager by day, so I have plenty of experience when it comes to micromanaging a bunch of dimwits!
My kids already know who the boss is in this house. I removed all doubt one fine day when I pulled the car over and bested Phil in a long distance peeing contest. It's amazing, the things you can settle along the railing of a highway overpass! My kids were impressed too! They no longer put up a protest when I ask them to scratch my back, which is covered in long, rubbery skin tags.
I make all of the house rules. Just last week, after falling asleep on the couch, I awoke to find an old animal cracker stuck to my thigh. Guess what? Kids are no longer allowed on the couch! And when my teenage daughter Darla asked me to offer a "vegetarian meal option" at dinner time, I said, "My pleasure, you fancy bitch! You now have the option of picking the meat off your dinner while you frown!".
You need to practice tough love if you want to raise your kids up right. Like when Brandon asked me to buy him some roller blades, I said "no". Then I gave his cousin $10 to punch him in the shoulder until he cried. Brandon protested by acting the fool and refusing his bedtime. He finally agreed to settle down when I threatened to lock him in the shed overnight with the hornets.
Family members need boundaries, so I've also established a few arbitrary rules just to show that I'm in control. For example, Phil likes to pee standing up, so I make him sit. My son Brandon prefers to do it sitting, so I make him stand. Don't you think I get sick of hovering by the bathroom door, figuring out who is doing what? Sure, I do..but that's the cost of martyrdom. You're not a strong mother unless you sacrifice of yourself to maintain a happy home!
_
Friday, December 3
Friday, November 19
Cowardly travellers!
The hip trend these days is to bitch about the TSA. Folks love getting indignant about their own precious rights, like they're only people on Earth who matter. Well what about those poor schlubs working in airport security, who are just trying to do a job and keep y'all safe? Do they deserve to be labelled as Nazis and pedophiles just because they need to check us out for drugs and knives? No way! They rank among the heroes in my book!
What we have here is just another backlash, and I understand why. It's easy to be frightened by increased security measures. But just imagine what those poor victims of 9-11 would think if they saw you throwing a hissy fit over a nice thorough screening! While you're distracting everyone in the security area with your foolishness, an attacker could be waltzing on through the metal detector with his hairy crotch packed full of ceramic weapons. Feel guilty yet? You should!
Personally I think y'all are acting like a bunch of cowards, afraid to have your unaroused genitals depicted in photographic detail. Some people are such prudes about showing their bodies that they even make up wild stories about how these backscatter scanning machines are filled with dangerous radiation. What they don't tell you is that these machines actually expose you to less radiation than you'd receive from microwaving an entire turkey with your head pressed against the door!
Some of you have asked to opt-out of that form of screening, so the TSA went out of their way to develop an "enhanced pat-down" as an alternative. How did y'all thank them for their consideration? You complained again, even though you have no reason to be so shy about having your camel toes and moobs gently twisted by burly TSA agents. Honestly, get over yourselves! The feel of those big curious hands are a small price to pay for our national security!
Deep down y'all know that you're just being selfish and stupid. That's why you've felt the need to play the "what-about-the-children" card so early in the game. As a mom, I can tell you that the TSA isn't putting your kids though anything that they won't experience during a doctor's visit for a tummy ache. These agents are professionals, after all. They've got sterile latex gloves on and everything. Your kids are going to cry on this trip anyway, so let them get it out of their system during the security screening so they can be quiet during the flight!
You may remain unconvinced...but don't you dare give me that crap about your Fourth Amendment rights! There's nothing in the Constitution about the right to fly. You can just take the damn bus, or a nice long train ride. Then your non-radiated, unmolested ass can smuggle all the drugs and other "junk" that your little heart desires. But don't be surprised if that jihadist in the next seat has the same idea that you do!
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What we have here is just another backlash, and I understand why. It's easy to be frightened by increased security measures. But just imagine what those poor victims of 9-11 would think if they saw you throwing a hissy fit over a nice thorough screening! While you're distracting everyone in the security area with your foolishness, an attacker could be waltzing on through the metal detector with his hairy crotch packed full of ceramic weapons. Feel guilty yet? You should!
Personally I think y'all are acting like a bunch of cowards, afraid to have your unaroused genitals depicted in photographic detail. Some people are such prudes about showing their bodies that they even make up wild stories about how these backscatter scanning machines are filled with dangerous radiation. What they don't tell you is that these machines actually expose you to less radiation than you'd receive from microwaving an entire turkey with your head pressed against the door!
Some of you have asked to opt-out of that form of screening, so the TSA went out of their way to develop an "enhanced pat-down" as an alternative. How did y'all thank them for their consideration? You complained again, even though you have no reason to be so shy about having your camel toes and moobs gently twisted by burly TSA agents. Honestly, get over yourselves! The feel of those big curious hands are a small price to pay for our national security!
Deep down y'all know that you're just being selfish and stupid. That's why you've felt the need to play the "what-about-the-children" card so early in the game. As a mom, I can tell you that the TSA isn't putting your kids though anything that they won't experience during a doctor's visit for a tummy ache. These agents are professionals, after all. They've got sterile latex gloves on and everything. Your kids are going to cry on this trip anyway, so let them get it out of their system during the security screening so they can be quiet during the flight!
You may remain unconvinced...but don't you dare give me that crap about your Fourth Amendment rights! There's nothing in the Constitution about the right to fly. You can just take the damn bus, or a nice long train ride. Then your non-radiated, unmolested ass can smuggle all the drugs and other "junk" that your little heart desires. But don't be surprised if that jihadist in the next seat has the same idea that you do!
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Tuesday, October 19
Starve the artists!
Back in olden times, Richmond's downtown Broad Street was bustling with cars, trolleys, and folks who wore hats and nice wool suits all day (even though it was hot as hell out and air conditioning didn't even exist yet!). Then, in a trend that swept across America, downtown went to shit after everyone fled to live in the suburbs and shop in the malls.
After many years of failed government-led downtown revitalization efforts, this area of Broad Street was blessed with a highly successful, grassroots movement that turned cheap unused storefronts into small art galleries. The success of Richmond's First Fridays art walk led to the opening of many neat local restaurants and stores. Once again, art and culture proved to be the simple, low cost way for a city to revitalize its downtown.
The Richmond city government has taken a lot of criticism for their lack of support, and for wasting gobs of money on a few big stupid revitalization projects that have amounted to jack shit. Well I happen to think that the city was wise in withholding their monetary support! You might even say that the Richmond city government deserves most of the credit for this downtown renaissance!
The fact is, artists and creative types do their best work when they're broke! The days of benefactors and life-like stone sculptures are over! Today's art is a crude, outsider affair, curated by desperate, hungry galleries.
By withholding support from the art movement in downtown Richmond, our government has helped create a culture of bored and mostly sober creative young people who have nothing better to do with their energy and idealism than work tirelessly and selflessly to restore our downtown for us! Believe me, as soon as you give these artsy non-profits a little walking around money it's "Goodbye, revitalization." and "Hello, heroin addiction!".
Keeping these art galleries and their related organizations perpetually on the brink also helps prepare for the next stage of revitalization, when all the poor art galleries will get priced out by condos and chain restaurants. Where art galleries and new local restaurants now stand, filling the streets with art walkers and foodies, we will soon see high-end strip clubs, tourist T-shirt shops, and other fun destinations!
So it's really no wonder why the city isn't rushing to give this area the special "art district" zoning that they desire. This period of local art culture is merely the pupa stage of the true revitalization. The eventual future of downtown Broad Street is so bright with 2-story Burger Kings and Books-A-Million Megastores that your average hipster artists will need a darker pair of sunglasses to wear at night!
So what becomes of them? Why they'll simply go elsewhere, hopefully to move in and revitalize another horrible area, such as Manchester, or the insufferable East End. And when they're done getting things moving there they can be replaced, once again, by warehouse condos and urban malls, filled with well paid young professionals, who'll continue to move here in droves to live in a city with a thriving arts community!
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After many years of failed government-led downtown revitalization efforts, this area of Broad Street was blessed with a highly successful, grassroots movement that turned cheap unused storefronts into small art galleries. The success of Richmond's First Fridays art walk led to the opening of many neat local restaurants and stores. Once again, art and culture proved to be the simple, low cost way for a city to revitalize its downtown.
The Richmond city government has taken a lot of criticism for their lack of support, and for wasting gobs of money on a few big stupid revitalization projects that have amounted to jack shit. Well I happen to think that the city was wise in withholding their monetary support! You might even say that the Richmond city government deserves most of the credit for this downtown renaissance!
The fact is, artists and creative types do their best work when they're broke! The days of benefactors and life-like stone sculptures are over! Today's art is a crude, outsider affair, curated by desperate, hungry galleries.
By withholding support from the art movement in downtown Richmond, our government has helped create a culture of bored and mostly sober creative young people who have nothing better to do with their energy and idealism than work tirelessly and selflessly to restore our downtown for us! Believe me, as soon as you give these artsy non-profits a little walking around money it's "Goodbye, revitalization." and "Hello, heroin addiction!".
Keeping these art galleries and their related organizations perpetually on the brink also helps prepare for the next stage of revitalization, when all the poor art galleries will get priced out by condos and chain restaurants. Where art galleries and new local restaurants now stand, filling the streets with art walkers and foodies, we will soon see high-end strip clubs, tourist T-shirt shops, and other fun destinations!
So it's really no wonder why the city isn't rushing to give this area the special "art district" zoning that they desire. This period of local art culture is merely the pupa stage of the true revitalization. The eventual future of downtown Broad Street is so bright with 2-story Burger Kings and Books-A-Million Megastores that your average hipster artists will need a darker pair of sunglasses to wear at night!
So what becomes of them? Why they'll simply go elsewhere, hopefully to move in and revitalize another horrible area, such as Manchester, or the insufferable East End. And when they're done getting things moving there they can be replaced, once again, by warehouse condos and urban malls, filled with well paid young professionals, who'll continue to move here in droves to live in a city with a thriving arts community!
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Monday, August 2
Protective instinct!
There's nothing like a mother's love. There's also nothing like the rage and viciousness of a mother whose child is in danger. It's such a rush to feel my primal senses take focus, as threats are dealt with in a definitive manner.
It was the first night of our family camping trip. Little Jailen and I took the car out to pick up some food at the local mini-market. It was real small place with four tall aisles, a sad produce cooler, and a deli in the back. While I shopped the aisles, Jailen went to the produce and ate some grapes. That's when someone grabbed her arm and dragged her behind the deli counter. I was oblivious.
Apparently this place had a little security camera, and this older woman who was running the place had seen Jailen, and dragged her back there to show her on the monitor how she got caught. That's when I started calling out for my baby. Long story short, she lectured me for ten minutes before I lost my patience, grabbed the security tape, and body-checked her old ass straight into a soapy utility sink. I was in such a huff as I stormed out that I almost left Jailen behind!
The need to protect your young never goes away, even as they get older. Darla is 17 now, and though she's been through a lot she still doesn't know the dangers out there. That's why I was concerned when she began dating a college boy named Bradley. He's 19, but he almost looks younger than her. He's weak. I knew he wouldn't be able to protect her or provide for her. I couldn't stand the idea of this guy ending up with my daughter!
Unfortunately the more I tried to break them up, the more she fought me, and the more he tried to get on my good side. So one afternoon I told him that I had terrible menstrual cramps, and the only thing that made them tolerable was some marijuana. I asked him to get me a good amount so I could eat it (in brownies!) rather than smoke it. Bradley was arrested on the way back to our house that night. The traffic stop was based on an anonymous tip, and he had enough in his possession for a felony charge.
Well as it turns out, poor Bradley's parents live outside of the country, so there was nobody around to bail him out. I don't think anyone even knew he was missing, because he was stuck in jail until his court date. What he didn't know was that my cousins work in that facility, and I told them to make sure that he didn't get a chance to call Darla until she found a new boyfriend. Honestly, that's all I said!
I guess they must have gotten the wrong idea, though I honestly don't even know all of what went on since the arrest. From what I could gather, the guards dragged him from his bed in the night, and they got one of the other prisoners to tattoo his face to look like ladies' make-up. He was returned to general population, and then a few days later he was moved to the jail's infirmary. They say he's spent the last month recovering from multiple injuries, and is now fighting an advanced staph infection. He was so bad off that they even had to push out his court date!
So as you can see, a mother's drive to protect her young isn't always about lifting a wrecked car off of a baby. Sure, the adrenaline can sometimes throw me into a ruthless berzerker mode. Other times it's just a nagging feeling that you've got to do what's right. I know it may seem like overkill, but you can't argue with results; little Jailen still samples all the grapes she wants, and Darla has been hooking up with her supervisor at Qdoba. Aww yeah, free burritos ya'll!
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It was the first night of our family camping trip. Little Jailen and I took the car out to pick up some food at the local mini-market. It was real small place with four tall aisles, a sad produce cooler, and a deli in the back. While I shopped the aisles, Jailen went to the produce and ate some grapes. That's when someone grabbed her arm and dragged her behind the deli counter. I was oblivious.
Apparently this place had a little security camera, and this older woman who was running the place had seen Jailen, and dragged her back there to show her on the monitor how she got caught. That's when I started calling out for my baby. Long story short, she lectured me for ten minutes before I lost my patience, grabbed the security tape, and body-checked her old ass straight into a soapy utility sink. I was in such a huff as I stormed out that I almost left Jailen behind!
The need to protect your young never goes away, even as they get older. Darla is 17 now, and though she's been through a lot she still doesn't know the dangers out there. That's why I was concerned when she began dating a college boy named Bradley. He's 19, but he almost looks younger than her. He's weak. I knew he wouldn't be able to protect her or provide for her. I couldn't stand the idea of this guy ending up with my daughter!
Unfortunately the more I tried to break them up, the more she fought me, and the more he tried to get on my good side. So one afternoon I told him that I had terrible menstrual cramps, and the only thing that made them tolerable was some marijuana. I asked him to get me a good amount so I could eat it (in brownies!) rather than smoke it. Bradley was arrested on the way back to our house that night. The traffic stop was based on an anonymous tip, and he had enough in his possession for a felony charge.
Well as it turns out, poor Bradley's parents live outside of the country, so there was nobody around to bail him out. I don't think anyone even knew he was missing, because he was stuck in jail until his court date. What he didn't know was that my cousins work in that facility, and I told them to make sure that he didn't get a chance to call Darla until she found a new boyfriend. Honestly, that's all I said!
I guess they must have gotten the wrong idea, though I honestly don't even know all of what went on since the arrest. From what I could gather, the guards dragged him from his bed in the night, and they got one of the other prisoners to tattoo his face to look like ladies' make-up. He was returned to general population, and then a few days later he was moved to the jail's infirmary. They say he's spent the last month recovering from multiple injuries, and is now fighting an advanced staph infection. He was so bad off that they even had to push out his court date!
So as you can see, a mother's drive to protect her young isn't always about lifting a wrecked car off of a baby. Sure, the adrenaline can sometimes throw me into a ruthless berzerker mode. Other times it's just a nagging feeling that you've got to do what's right. I know it may seem like overkill, but you can't argue with results; little Jailen still samples all the grapes she wants, and Darla has been hooking up with her supervisor at Qdoba. Aww yeah, free burritos ya'll!
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Tuesday, May 25
Drive politely!
I know I get silly on this blog sometimes, but operating a vehicle ain't no joke, y'all! Crashes are a top killer in this country, and I ain't trying to die or kill nobody. That's why I don't play when I'm behind the wheel! You may be a good driver too, but that doesn't mean everyone else is. That's why I remain as patient as possible when I'm behind the wheel, and I'm always considerate of others!
If there's one thing I hate it's when I can't pull out onto a main road because traffic is so heavy. So when I see someone waiting to pull out of a gas station or whatever I'll be nice and slam on my breaks to stop traffic and let them out. Or if I'm busy with my phone at a 4-way stop, I'll just wave several cars through and yield right of way while I handle my business. Some people seem confused by this, then they proceed through slowly and nervously. I guess they're not used to people being gracious like I am!
Sometimes when I'm ready to leave a parking space I'll notice that some driver behind me has come to a stop and put on a blinker in my direction. While I appreciate his politeness in letting me out, I try to be the bigger person and wait for him to pass, which sometimes takes several minutes. If he doesn't go after a while I'll roll the window down, and signal with my hand for him to pass. Then I'll pull out of the spot when traffic allows.
A driver should be focused on the road, but it's also important to keep your passengers in mind. My kids often come along when I run my errands, and I know how bored they get watching the same old DVDs all the time. That's why I like to entertain them by doing some of their favorite things, like blowing through a red light, or racing teenagers from the county who meet in the Food Lion parking lot.
Of course we all had to deal with inattentive or aggressive drivers on the road. I don't waste time with passive responses, like swerving or honking my horn. When I see another driver acting the fool I move to a safe distance from their vehicle. Then I calmly follow them to their destination, and teach them a lesson that they won't soon forget. That way the roads stay safer for everyone!
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If there's one thing I hate it's when I can't pull out onto a main road because traffic is so heavy. So when I see someone waiting to pull out of a gas station or whatever I'll be nice and slam on my breaks to stop traffic and let them out. Or if I'm busy with my phone at a 4-way stop, I'll just wave several cars through and yield right of way while I handle my business. Some people seem confused by this, then they proceed through slowly and nervously. I guess they're not used to people being gracious like I am!
Sometimes when I'm ready to leave a parking space I'll notice that some driver behind me has come to a stop and put on a blinker in my direction. While I appreciate his politeness in letting me out, I try to be the bigger person and wait for him to pass, which sometimes takes several minutes. If he doesn't go after a while I'll roll the window down, and signal with my hand for him to pass. Then I'll pull out of the spot when traffic allows.
A driver should be focused on the road, but it's also important to keep your passengers in mind. My kids often come along when I run my errands, and I know how bored they get watching the same old DVDs all the time. That's why I like to entertain them by doing some of their favorite things, like blowing through a red light, or racing teenagers from the county who meet in the Food Lion parking lot.
Of course we all had to deal with inattentive or aggressive drivers on the road. I don't waste time with passive responses, like swerving or honking my horn. When I see another driver acting the fool I move to a safe distance from their vehicle. Then I calmly follow them to their destination, and teach them a lesson that they won't soon forget. That way the roads stay safer for everyone!
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Wednesday, May 12
The parent trip!
Mother's Day this year was a bit of an eye opener for me! My oldest left with her friend the night before and didn't even bother calling or coming home until Monday. Little Jailen made me a card out of construction paper that said, "YOR A MEEN MOMMY". And 9-year-old Brandon bought me a talking plastic pig that's supposed to help me with my diet by oinking insults whenever someone opens the fridge.
What I've realized is that my kids don't necessarily like me. But I happen to think that this is the way it ought to be. I'm not here to be their friend! I'm here to toughen them up, and that's exactly what I do. I make them watch old episodes of OZ. Later, when they refuse to behave, I threaten to call the police to come arrest them. I tell them about how they'll be taken to jail where there's nothing to eat but bread and water and ass.
It's important for kids to understand that they are second class citizens in the household. When dinner is ready you should be sure that mommy gets her plate first, then daddy. Then, maybe, the kids. Sooner or later your kids will learn that beggars can't be choosers, so they can either eat mommy's pizza crusts or go hungry! It may sound harsh to some of you, but I can assure you that my kids are grateful for everything I give them!
Parents today are always spoiling their kids, then regretting it later. I'm so sick of seeing ugly little kids out there bossing their parents around and eating McDonald's all the time and wearing store-bought shoes. Kids should be treated like orphans, wearing burlap clothes, making their own shoes, and occasionally being rewarded with a dinged-up apple as a treat.
I'm not what you'd call an overbearing parent. I've always taken a laissez-faire approach to child rearing. If their housekeeping chores are done, and they've checked their own homework then sure, they can do whatever the hell they want as long as it doesn't annoy me. But as soon as I start getting letters from the school it's goodbye privileges and hello Step dad Phil staying home and bossing them around while I'm out drinking!
My kids know that I'm kicking them out when they turn 18. That's why it's only fair that I help prepare them early for a long life of loneliness and neglect. The best way to learn self-reliance is by yourself. In these sparse conditions that I have provided for them, they are learning independence and survival skills that will serve them all their lives! Soon enough, when they're out there in the world making their own money, they can eat all the cereal and use all the paper towels that their hearts desire!
What I've realized is that my kids don't necessarily like me. But I happen to think that this is the way it ought to be. I'm not here to be their friend! I'm here to toughen them up, and that's exactly what I do. I make them watch old episodes of OZ. Later, when they refuse to behave, I threaten to call the police to come arrest them. I tell them about how they'll be taken to jail where there's nothing to eat but bread and water and ass.
It's important for kids to understand that they are second class citizens in the household. When dinner is ready you should be sure that mommy gets her plate first, then daddy. Then, maybe, the kids. Sooner or later your kids will learn that beggars can't be choosers, so they can either eat mommy's pizza crusts or go hungry! It may sound harsh to some of you, but I can assure you that my kids are grateful for everything I give them!
Parents today are always spoiling their kids, then regretting it later. I'm so sick of seeing ugly little kids out there bossing their parents around and eating McDonald's all the time and wearing store-bought shoes. Kids should be treated like orphans, wearing burlap clothes, making their own shoes, and occasionally being rewarded with a dinged-up apple as a treat.
I'm not what you'd call an overbearing parent. I've always taken a laissez-faire approach to child rearing. If their housekeeping chores are done, and they've checked their own homework then sure, they can do whatever the hell they want as long as it doesn't annoy me. But as soon as I start getting letters from the school it's goodbye privileges and hello Step dad Phil staying home and bossing them around while I'm out drinking!
My kids know that I'm kicking them out when they turn 18. That's why it's only fair that I help prepare them early for a long life of loneliness and neglect. The best way to learn self-reliance is by yourself. In these sparse conditions that I have provided for them, they are learning independence and survival skills that will serve them all their lives! Soon enough, when they're out there in the world making their own money, they can eat all the cereal and use all the paper towels that their hearts desire!
Tuesday, April 27
Officer "Perky" rides again!
I had quite a harrowing experience this last weekend y'all! I was driving home after some dancing and drinking with a friend up in Maryland. She invited me to crash at her place just outside of D.C., but I always prefer to wake up in my own bed. As I was cruising down the highway through Northern Virginia at about 1:30 in the morning I started to get hungry! So I pulled off a random highway exit, and of course nothing was open. As I tried to find my way back to the highway, and while checking my replies on Twitter , I suddenly noticed that I was being pulled over by a damn cop!
Normally in this situation I'd look for an out, like not stopping the car until I passed over into the next county, but there was no such opportunity here. The best I could do was spray a bunch of fake Drakkar Noir air freshener to cover up the smell of weed and all the beer I'd spilled on my crotch at the bar. I finally came to a stop at a particularly unsafe spot in the road.
I quickly applied some horny-looking lip gloss. The cop appeared next to the car and started talking before I could even get my window rolled down. I couldn't peg this guy at first glance, because he wasn't young enough to be a prick, but also not old or ugly enough to accept a traditional booty bribe. He asked me to please turn down the volume of my Ke$ha album, and stop trying to light the wrong end of my cigarette. That's when I knew I was dealing with a total jerkface.
At his request I slowly and deliberately retrieved my license and registration from my purse (and I mean SLOWLY, cause I wasn't trying to get my taze on!). But I did let my emotions get the better of me, because as I was collecting these items I was calling him names and asking if he didn't have anything better to do, and also informing him that I didn't do nothing.
The officer took my stuff back to his car for what seemed like a really long time. Thankfully I have a clean record because I never get caught for anything. To keep it that way I had to take inventory of my situation. I had a handful of crushed Adderall in an envelope in the middle console, and I certainly didn't want to get caught with that, so I snorted it all up lickedy-split. Then I remembered the bottle of Jack Daniels under my seat.
Before he got a chance to finish what he was doing in his car I jumped out of my car's driver side door and stood there glaring. The loudspeaker came on, "Miss, get back in your vehicle!". I quickly unscrewed the cap from the booze and chugged about half of it. Now he'd never be able to prove that I'd been drunk before he pulled me over! Then I set the bottle on the ground, leaned up against a my car, and cross my arms like I was hot shit.
The officer slowly stepped out of his car and stalked over with a scary look in his eye and the smile of a man possessed. That's when his walkie-talkie went off with some emergency "Attention all units!" bullshit. He listened for a second more, then cut the volume down. "Looks like it's your lucky night, you fucking low-life. Try not to kill anybody, and don't you ever let me catch you around here again!". He threw my license and registration at my feet and walked briskly back to his car. Then he cut his sirens on and took off.
I drove home feeling pretty good about myself. My clean record stands, and I discovered that I had a nice fat joint in my cigarette pack to smoke on the ride home. You know how it is with weed and booze sometimes! I was so damn tired that I could barely keep my eyes open. The next thing I was started awake while driving 40mph down the wrong side of a road with both left tires in a drainage ditch! I was able to pull back onto the road, but when I got home all the grass and shit from the edge of the ditch was stuck up under my muffler and catalytic converter, and some of it was on fire! I threw a bunch of rocks and sand from our driveway at it until the fire went out. You know, that cop wasn't kidding. It really was my lucky night!
.
Normally in this situation I'd look for an out, like not stopping the car until I passed over into the next county, but there was no such opportunity here. The best I could do was spray a bunch of fake Drakkar Noir air freshener to cover up the smell of weed and all the beer I'd spilled on my crotch at the bar. I finally came to a stop at a particularly unsafe spot in the road.
I quickly applied some horny-looking lip gloss. The cop appeared next to the car and started talking before I could even get my window rolled down. I couldn't peg this guy at first glance, because he wasn't young enough to be a prick, but also not old or ugly enough to accept a traditional booty bribe. He asked me to please turn down the volume of my Ke$ha album, and stop trying to light the wrong end of my cigarette. That's when I knew I was dealing with a total jerkface.
At his request I slowly and deliberately retrieved my license and registration from my purse (and I mean SLOWLY, cause I wasn't trying to get my taze on!). But I did let my emotions get the better of me, because as I was collecting these items I was calling him names and asking if he didn't have anything better to do, and also informing him that I didn't do nothing.
The officer took my stuff back to his car for what seemed like a really long time. Thankfully I have a clean record because I never get caught for anything. To keep it that way I had to take inventory of my situation. I had a handful of crushed Adderall in an envelope in the middle console, and I certainly didn't want to get caught with that, so I snorted it all up lickedy-split. Then I remembered the bottle of Jack Daniels under my seat.
Before he got a chance to finish what he was doing in his car I jumped out of my car's driver side door and stood there glaring. The loudspeaker came on, "Miss, get back in your vehicle!". I quickly unscrewed the cap from the booze and chugged about half of it. Now he'd never be able to prove that I'd been drunk before he pulled me over! Then I set the bottle on the ground, leaned up against a my car, and cross my arms like I was hot shit.
The officer slowly stepped out of his car and stalked over with a scary look in his eye and the smile of a man possessed. That's when his walkie-talkie went off with some emergency "Attention all units!" bullshit. He listened for a second more, then cut the volume down. "Looks like it's your lucky night, you fucking low-life. Try not to kill anybody, and don't you ever let me catch you around here again!". He threw my license and registration at my feet and walked briskly back to his car. Then he cut his sirens on and took off.
I drove home feeling pretty good about myself. My clean record stands, and I discovered that I had a nice fat joint in my cigarette pack to smoke on the ride home. You know how it is with weed and booze sometimes! I was so damn tired that I could barely keep my eyes open. The next thing I was started awake while driving 40mph down the wrong side of a road with both left tires in a drainage ditch! I was able to pull back onto the road, but when I got home all the grass and shit from the edge of the ditch was stuck up under my muffler and catalytic converter, and some of it was on fire! I threw a bunch of rocks and sand from our driveway at it until the fire went out. You know, that cop wasn't kidding. It really was my lucky night!
.
Monday, April 12
Backstage bound!
I was brought up to appreciate a good rock concert. I had a wild older cousin named Lazarus who used to take me to all kinds of shows before he died. He said it was important for my education. We'd go to see the heaviest bands, and scam drugs in the shadiest parking lots. I was young and timid at my first few shows. Then I got the hang of it! Now I thrash out with my fuckin' rash out, and it's just about the best release I've ever known!
I decided it was time to teach my daughter the ways, so I treated us to a recent concert at one of Richmond's hottest venues. It was some sort of indie rock band, which sounds really lame, but at least it's rock. Y'all remember rock? It was that shit we used to get pregnant to before rap showed up and took over as the official soundtrack of teenage sex and not pulling out like a gentleman. But I digress.
Darla wasn't sure how to dress because she didn't know the band either, but I knew what to do. When it comes to concerts you can never go wrong with sleazy high heels and slutty ripped jeans, fishnet accents, and no bra. We got to the show about the time the openers were done, so there was a 20 minute window to meet the band early. I tried to convince Darla to help me blow these two bouncers at the side entrance to get us backstage, but she helpfully pointed out that they were actually just a couple of overweight dudes waiting for a bus.
After getting our tickets at will call, having our purses checked, and swallowing a sleeve of crushed amphetamines in the bathroom, we were just in time to see the headliners. The view from the back was boring, so it was time to enlighten my daughter on another fine point of rock concert theory: Reaching the front row at all costs.
Once you weave through the first few layers of people who seem to need their own personal space, you start to find yourself in a rather impermeable concentration of people. Dudes will widen their stance or stiffen up to block you out if you're all "'scuse me...'scuse me", so forget that noise. Don't say a word until you're ready to make your move. Then punch whichever elbow is attached to their drink hand, and when they turn to look you just slide around the other side of 'em.
At around the fourth row we came upon a group of real hard asses. These kids didn't have drinks or anything, but they weren't about to move for anyone. The show started so we had to lay low for a bit. I held up my cell phone and filmed the performance of the first two songs for my blog, but I won't post it because the video came out like shit. Then I really needed a cigarette, so I smoked it secretly by cupping it inside of my hand, and blowing all the smoke into the full, curly hair of the girl in front of me.
The crowd got really excited when they heard the intro to the next song, so I used the distraction to slip the air horn out from the large make-up bag in my purse. Then I started blaring it into my armpit where no body could see each time the singer sang the chorus. As the bouncers moved in from the front I slipped the horn into the tote-style purse that the girl in front of me was carrying, and I began pointing at her from behind. She and her friend were carried off, and me and Darla were in the third row! And with the use of proper timing and clumsy dancing we quickly made it up to the front!
What's so important about being in the front row, you ask? Well you never know, you might end up like Courtney Cox or something! In fact, Darla got invited back stage herself, and she brought me along because I was her ride! Unfortunately I had to sit outside the lounge on a folding chair while listening to three roadies gangbang my daughter in the next room. It was silly if you ask me! Don't they know about the pleasures that only a freaky groupie cougar-milf can bring?!
.
I decided it was time to teach my daughter the ways, so I treated us to a recent concert at one of Richmond's hottest venues. It was some sort of indie rock band, which sounds really lame, but at least it's rock. Y'all remember rock? It was that shit we used to get pregnant to before rap showed up and took over as the official soundtrack of teenage sex and not pulling out like a gentleman. But I digress.
Darla wasn't sure how to dress because she didn't know the band either, but I knew what to do. When it comes to concerts you can never go wrong with sleazy high heels and slutty ripped jeans, fishnet accents, and no bra. We got to the show about the time the openers were done, so there was a 20 minute window to meet the band early. I tried to convince Darla to help me blow these two bouncers at the side entrance to get us backstage, but she helpfully pointed out that they were actually just a couple of overweight dudes waiting for a bus.
After getting our tickets at will call, having our purses checked, and swallowing a sleeve of crushed amphetamines in the bathroom, we were just in time to see the headliners. The view from the back was boring, so it was time to enlighten my daughter on another fine point of rock concert theory: Reaching the front row at all costs.
Once you weave through the first few layers of people who seem to need their own personal space, you start to find yourself in a rather impermeable concentration of people. Dudes will widen their stance or stiffen up to block you out if you're all "'scuse me...'scuse me", so forget that noise. Don't say a word until you're ready to make your move. Then punch whichever elbow is attached to their drink hand, and when they turn to look you just slide around the other side of 'em.
At around the fourth row we came upon a group of real hard asses. These kids didn't have drinks or anything, but they weren't about to move for anyone. The show started so we had to lay low for a bit. I held up my cell phone and filmed the performance of the first two songs for my blog, but I won't post it because the video came out like shit. Then I really needed a cigarette, so I smoked it secretly by cupping it inside of my hand, and blowing all the smoke into the full, curly hair of the girl in front of me.
The crowd got really excited when they heard the intro to the next song, so I used the distraction to slip the air horn out from the large make-up bag in my purse. Then I started blaring it into my armpit where no body could see each time the singer sang the chorus. As the bouncers moved in from the front I slipped the horn into the tote-style purse that the girl in front of me was carrying, and I began pointing at her from behind. She and her friend were carried off, and me and Darla were in the third row! And with the use of proper timing and clumsy dancing we quickly made it up to the front!
What's so important about being in the front row, you ask? Well you never know, you might end up like Courtney Cox or something! In fact, Darla got invited back stage herself, and she brought me along because I was her ride! Unfortunately I had to sit outside the lounge on a folding chair while listening to three roadies gangbang my daughter in the next room. It was silly if you ask me! Don't they know about the pleasures that only a freaky groupie cougar-milf can bring?!
.
Thursday, April 1
Funny bunny!
When I need a break from the distractions of life, I simply take some time to get in touch with my spirituality. I usually do this by dropping acid and walking around in public places. This activity allows me to see things as they are, without the oppression of my conscious mind. So last year, on Easter Sunday, I woke up early and dropped five hits of LSD. Then I drove out to Maymont Park, which I thought would be quiet for the holiday.
Well as it turns out, everybody goes to Maymont on Easter, and they bring their kids. There's Easter egg hunts and everything. It seemed like a bit too much of a crowd for the state I was in, but at least they were all in a good mood. I began to feel pretty weird, so I wandered to the safety of the "bamboo forest" area and snuck around through the tall bamboo.
I lost my bearings a bit in there, but felt pretty safe. It was quiet. I took out my one-hitter and took a had a nice fat hit of some weed to smooth things over. As I finished my exhale a fast moving Vietnamese family of four came hiking through a side trail and right through my smoke. Why does weird stuff like that always happen when you're tripping? We may never know.
Although my stomach felt dull and numb I sensed that I had to pee. This was bad, because the bathrooms at Maymont can be weird. They're these small, echoey out-buildings. Most of the light is coming from the opened rectangle windows along the top of the walls. This creates an refraction of light and outside sounds that can be dangerous to the psychologically sensitive. I decided to focus and just get it over with.
I kept my head down, hurried into a stall, and did my business. Knowing the danger, I glanced quickly at the mirror on my way back out. I couldn't help but notice that I had a long diagonal pen mark across my neck. I decided to try to get it off with some wet paper towel. Ten minutes later I'm walking back out of the restroom with part of my neck rubbed red raw and water all over my messed up shirt collar. Stupid mirrors! They always get me!
I wandered around the back of one of the maintenance buildings and sat down to get some peace. That's when, out of nowhere, the cutest little calico bunny appeared around the other side by some bushes. I stayed still as he casually hopped over. I held out some tender grass for him to eat, and before I knew it I was holding him, eyes shut, fully in tune. I have no idea how long this went on.
My trance was broken by a screaming girl, followed by a boy, both of whom had discovered me and my bunny. I looked down and the stupid thing was lifeless in my arms, eyes all bugged out. Apparently it was extremely diseased or something because it's neck was all bloated and wormy looking. I guess that would explain it's unexpected friendliness. I jumped up, tossed it's body into one of the kid's little baskets, and calmly walked away toward the exit of the park.
At first I put the whole experience down to just being a bad trip. But now that I've examined that day further, I realize that I learned something. I learned that the conscious mind is there for a reason, and it's best not to leave it unguarded. That's why I get shitfaced each night before bed. It keeps me from having any more realistic dreams about that fucking rabbit.
.
Well as it turns out, everybody goes to Maymont on Easter, and they bring their kids. There's Easter egg hunts and everything. It seemed like a bit too much of a crowd for the state I was in, but at least they were all in a good mood. I began to feel pretty weird, so I wandered to the safety of the "bamboo forest" area and snuck around through the tall bamboo.
I lost my bearings a bit in there, but felt pretty safe. It was quiet. I took out my one-hitter and took a had a nice fat hit of some weed to smooth things over. As I finished my exhale a fast moving Vietnamese family of four came hiking through a side trail and right through my smoke. Why does weird stuff like that always happen when you're tripping? We may never know.
Although my stomach felt dull and numb I sensed that I had to pee. This was bad, because the bathrooms at Maymont can be weird. They're these small, echoey out-buildings. Most of the light is coming from the opened rectangle windows along the top of the walls. This creates an refraction of light and outside sounds that can be dangerous to the psychologically sensitive. I decided to focus and just get it over with.
I kept my head down, hurried into a stall, and did my business. Knowing the danger, I glanced quickly at the mirror on my way back out. I couldn't help but notice that I had a long diagonal pen mark across my neck. I decided to try to get it off with some wet paper towel. Ten minutes later I'm walking back out of the restroom with part of my neck rubbed red raw and water all over my messed up shirt collar. Stupid mirrors! They always get me!
I wandered around the back of one of the maintenance buildings and sat down to get some peace. That's when, out of nowhere, the cutest little calico bunny appeared around the other side by some bushes. I stayed still as he casually hopped over. I held out some tender grass for him to eat, and before I knew it I was holding him, eyes shut, fully in tune. I have no idea how long this went on.
My trance was broken by a screaming girl, followed by a boy, both of whom had discovered me and my bunny. I looked down and the stupid thing was lifeless in my arms, eyes all bugged out. Apparently it was extremely diseased or something because it's neck was all bloated and wormy looking. I guess that would explain it's unexpected friendliness. I jumped up, tossed it's body into one of the kid's little baskets, and calmly walked away toward the exit of the park.
At first I put the whole experience down to just being a bad trip. But now that I've examined that day further, I realize that I learned something. I learned that the conscious mind is there for a reason, and it's best not to leave it unguarded. That's why I get shitfaced each night before bed. It keeps me from having any more realistic dreams about that fucking rabbit.
.
Thursday, March 25
Home buyers remorse!
When my ex-husband Kevin and I bought our first house we were so excited. But then Kevin got called up for active duty, leaving me alone in a new home with our daughter Darla, who was only 5 at the time. I wasn't very comfortable with the idea, but we didn't have a choice. Unfortunately my instincts were right! That hundred-year-old dump was haunted as shit!
I'd originally set up the master bedroom in the back of the house, but there was something really wrong with that space. At night I'd have trouble sleeping because I was hearing deep whispering voices accompanied by a chill breeze, and a strange smell like a burnt up wig. Sometimes I'd be woken up from what felt like a cold hard slap across my tits.
My daughter Darla slept more deeply than I did, so I made her move in there. On the very first night she came into my room at around 3 a.m. crying about nightmares and asking to sleep in my bed. I said, "No ma'am!". I sent her right back in and locked the door from the outside. Sorry, but I didn't need her "bringing something back" while I was trying to get my rest!
After about a week I noticed that she was developing strange fears, like fear of the dark, and mirrors, and teeth, and her bedroom. I had to figure out something before things got any worse. I went out and bought a Ouija board. I kept asking questions and hurling insults, but as soon as the little oracle started to move around in response I would toss it off the board so the spirits wouldn't get a chance to speak. Then I just burned the board.
Darla kept a complaining about hearing voices and getting shoved around, so I went online to look for answers. I discovered a method that sounded just crazy enough to work. I called in a favor from a friend at the morgue who scored me a jug full of blood that he'd drained from a dead whore. I baptized my daughter in that room with the blood, surrounded by decorative black candles. I couldn't believe it, but it worked! Things were calm for several nights in a row! I immediately put the house on the market, and it was sold within a week to another unsuspecting young couple.
What's really weird is how I forgot all about this experience until just the other day. I was browsing through Target when a frail, elderly woman came around the corner of an aisle and gazed with worry into my eyes. The she leaned forward a bit, grabbed my wrist, and dry-heaved. She looked up, pointed at me with her other hand and said, "I know what you did in that house! You've cursed your daughter for all her life!".
After the initial shock I yelled, "Fuck that!!".
"Your horrible deed that night led to her miscarriage!", she scolded. I didn't know what else to say, so I just yanked my arm loose and hurried back up the aisle. She hollered after me, "She'll never be free! And that family you sold the house to? They're all dead!". I could not believe she had the nerve to say that. What a crazy old bitch!
_
I'd originally set up the master bedroom in the back of the house, but there was something really wrong with that space. At night I'd have trouble sleeping because I was hearing deep whispering voices accompanied by a chill breeze, and a strange smell like a burnt up wig. Sometimes I'd be woken up from what felt like a cold hard slap across my tits.
My daughter Darla slept more deeply than I did, so I made her move in there. On the very first night she came into my room at around 3 a.m. crying about nightmares and asking to sleep in my bed. I said, "No ma'am!". I sent her right back in and locked the door from the outside. Sorry, but I didn't need her "bringing something back" while I was trying to get my rest!
After about a week I noticed that she was developing strange fears, like fear of the dark, and mirrors, and teeth, and her bedroom. I had to figure out something before things got any worse. I went out and bought a Ouija board. I kept asking questions and hurling insults, but as soon as the little oracle started to move around in response I would toss it off the board so the spirits wouldn't get a chance to speak. Then I just burned the board.
Darla kept a complaining about hearing voices and getting shoved around, so I went online to look for answers. I discovered a method that sounded just crazy enough to work. I called in a favor from a friend at the morgue who scored me a jug full of blood that he'd drained from a dead whore. I baptized my daughter in that room with the blood, surrounded by decorative black candles. I couldn't believe it, but it worked! Things were calm for several nights in a row! I immediately put the house on the market, and it was sold within a week to another unsuspecting young couple.
What's really weird is how I forgot all about this experience until just the other day. I was browsing through Target when a frail, elderly woman came around the corner of an aisle and gazed with worry into my eyes. The she leaned forward a bit, grabbed my wrist, and dry-heaved. She looked up, pointed at me with her other hand and said, "I know what you did in that house! You've cursed your daughter for all her life!".
After the initial shock I yelled, "Fuck that!!".
"Your horrible deed that night led to her miscarriage!", she scolded. I didn't know what else to say, so I just yanked my arm loose and hurried back up the aisle. She hollered after me, "She'll never be free! And that family you sold the house to? They're all dead!". I could not believe she had the nerve to say that. What a crazy old bitch!
_
Wednesday, March 17
The curse of St. Pat!
I was lucky enough to inherit my beautiful head of red hair from my grandfather, a hardworking Irish immigrant. He always used to say that I had, "a merry bit of Ireland" in my eyes. He passed away when I was very young, but I never forgot about him. And I was delighted when I discovered that my first child, Darla, was born with his same smile!
As y'all know, it was my mom who took care of Darla for the first few months of her life. Mother was terribly upset when I swooped in later and took Darla away with me to live. She told me that it wasn't fair to either of them, after letting her get attached. I told her, "Too bad, bitch! It's MY baby!". It was pretty hardcore.
Like all young mothers, I loved my baby as much as I loved to party! So naturally I was pissed when St. Patrick's Day rolled around and I couldn't find a babysitter (I wouldn't give Mother the satisfaction!). Rather than be stuck at home I just decided to take Darla out on the town with me. She wasn't looking very festive as a brunette, so I dyed her hair orange and bought her a green-lettered "Party Till You Puke!" onesie.
It actually worked out great because drunk people love babies! Folks were buying me drinks and we were dancing and having a great time. As the night wore on I had bar hopped until there weren't any more bars to hop to. Little Darla was passed out on my shoulder like an angel. As I strolled back to my apartment I heard some janky ho calling me from a nearby stoop. She coughed and asked me if I wanted to huff some green paint! I'd never tried that before, so I did.
Of course being a lightweight at the time, I couldn't handle my fumes! I got dizzy as shit and could barely stop myself from getting sick. I stumbled for a block or two, but couldn't go any further. I laid Darla down on the trunk of a parked car and sat down on the curb so I could put my head between my knees. As the nausea subsided a bit I heard a car door slam shut.
As I opened my eyes I noticed that the parked car was driving off with Darla on it! Thank god there was a red light at the next intersection. I managed to grab her just before she rolled off! The driver noticed something was up and got out of the car. I panicked. All I could think to do was to grab a hunk of loose asphalt from the gutter and throw it at his head! I heard him scream out as I hurried back up the one-way street.
As if that weren't enough, I ended up getting stuck in the apartment with my baby for several days because the police told the newspaper and local TV stations that they were looking for a crazed woman with green paint on her mouth carrying an orange baby. Take it from me kids and don't mess around with spray paint. That crap does not want to wash off!
.
As y'all know, it was my mom who took care of Darla for the first few months of her life. Mother was terribly upset when I swooped in later and took Darla away with me to live. She told me that it wasn't fair to either of them, after letting her get attached. I told her, "Too bad, bitch! It's MY baby!". It was pretty hardcore.
Like all young mothers, I loved my baby as much as I loved to party! So naturally I was pissed when St. Patrick's Day rolled around and I couldn't find a babysitter (I wouldn't give Mother the satisfaction!). Rather than be stuck at home I just decided to take Darla out on the town with me. She wasn't looking very festive as a brunette, so I dyed her hair orange and bought her a green-lettered "Party Till You Puke!" onesie.
It actually worked out great because drunk people love babies! Folks were buying me drinks and we were dancing and having a great time. As the night wore on I had bar hopped until there weren't any more bars to hop to. Little Darla was passed out on my shoulder like an angel. As I strolled back to my apartment I heard some janky ho calling me from a nearby stoop. She coughed and asked me if I wanted to huff some green paint! I'd never tried that before, so I did.
Of course being a lightweight at the time, I couldn't handle my fumes! I got dizzy as shit and could barely stop myself from getting sick. I stumbled for a block or two, but couldn't go any further. I laid Darla down on the trunk of a parked car and sat down on the curb so I could put my head between my knees. As the nausea subsided a bit I heard a car door slam shut.
As I opened my eyes I noticed that the parked car was driving off with Darla on it! Thank god there was a red light at the next intersection. I managed to grab her just before she rolled off! The driver noticed something was up and got out of the car. I panicked. All I could think to do was to grab a hunk of loose asphalt from the gutter and throw it at his head! I heard him scream out as I hurried back up the one-way street.
As if that weren't enough, I ended up getting stuck in the apartment with my baby for several days because the police told the newspaper and local TV stations that they were looking for a crazed woman with green paint on her mouth carrying an orange baby. Take it from me kids and don't mess around with spray paint. That crap does not want to wash off!
.
Thursday, March 11
Little punks!
My son Brandon has always been a bit of a loner. He's not really into stuff that the other boys are into, like sports and breaking things. I've tried my best with him, but no matter what I do he keeps quietly reading books and listening to all kind of pussy music on the local "indie" radio station. Well now I've got some new concerns, mostly with this new group of friends he's been hanging out with.
Now I realize these boys are just fourth graders, but I get the feeling that they're up to no good! One of them is named Matt, and they all love to hang out at his house because it's close to the school and his mom doesn't care that they like to play outside all the time (even though I called her and told her that they're safer inside). She also lets them play Guitar Hero even though that music is full of bad messages and satanic stuff that their minds aren't ready for.
Another thing that bothers me is how they all dress like little preppies in clothes that look like they came from The Gap. To me there's just something wrong with a kid that doesn't want to dress like a schizophrenic homeless person. Brandon insists that their parents make them wear that stuff but I'm not so sure. They look a little too comfortable in those khakis.
I've also been noticing that a couple of them spike their hair up like little jerks, and sometimes wear bracelets or necklaces that are supposedly made for boys. Thankfully Brandon already knows better than to wear that kind of stuff. Hopefully before he's tempted to try anything like that he'll remember how I grounded him for a month during Summer vacation when I caught him drinking out of one of the pink tumblers from the cupboard.
But what's really weird about his little pals is how they really mind their parents, and they all get pretty good grades. That's just not normal for 9-year-olds! It's been rubbing off on Brandon too. He been even more serious lately about things like his homework and his manners. It's driving me nuts! I'm starting to suspect that one of his little asshole friends is slipping him some A.D.D. medication or something. If this crap keeps up I'm going to forbid him from playing with those boys (at least until he graduates elementary school).
_
Now I realize these boys are just fourth graders, but I get the feeling that they're up to no good! One of them is named Matt, and they all love to hang out at his house because it's close to the school and his mom doesn't care that they like to play outside all the time (even though I called her and told her that they're safer inside). She also lets them play Guitar Hero even though that music is full of bad messages and satanic stuff that their minds aren't ready for.
Another thing that bothers me is how they all dress like little preppies in clothes that look like they came from The Gap. To me there's just something wrong with a kid that doesn't want to dress like a schizophrenic homeless person. Brandon insists that their parents make them wear that stuff but I'm not so sure. They look a little too comfortable in those khakis.
I've also been noticing that a couple of them spike their hair up like little jerks, and sometimes wear bracelets or necklaces that are supposedly made for boys. Thankfully Brandon already knows better than to wear that kind of stuff. Hopefully before he's tempted to try anything like that he'll remember how I grounded him for a month during Summer vacation when I caught him drinking out of one of the pink tumblers from the cupboard.
But what's really weird about his little pals is how they really mind their parents, and they all get pretty good grades. That's just not normal for 9-year-olds! It's been rubbing off on Brandon too. He been even more serious lately about things like his homework and his manners. It's driving me nuts! I'm starting to suspect that one of his little asshole friends is slipping him some A.D.D. medication or something. If this crap keeps up I'm going to forbid him from playing with those boys (at least until he graduates elementary school).
_
Tuesday, February 23
Phil is busy!
My new hubby Phil is at it again. I keep telling him that his damn friends need to stop calling here, asking him to go do stuff with them. Phil's a married man, which means his ass is busy! He doesn't have time to go whorin' around with his blotchy-faced buddies at the off-tracking betting parlor or whatever! So tonight and every night, he's here at my goddamn beck and call because the bitch knows what's good for him!
He doesn't know it, but I overheard him the other day, talking about how much he misses hunting season with the boys, or the occasional week in Vegas. He even had the nerve to refer to all his vacation time as wasted on what he referred to as "Jocelyncations". Apparently he doesn't like being forced to go with me when I visit my peoples in Jacksonville every year. Tough tit, hubby. That's your job!
He's also been trying to sneak out with his friends on weekends, especially during football season. But then I catch on and remind him that I need him to drive me and my friends down to the Wicker Barn (wicker outlet!) in Augusta, Georgia. He should be happy! This is his chance to drive his precious Caliber , while me and my girls get drunk in the passenger seats and laugh and carry on like a bunch of cackling hens!
In an effort to keep the peace, I've made a deal with Phil. For one night each month I'll stay home and babysit my kids so he can go out and do something he wants to do. The only condition is that he needs to bring my preteen son Brandon along so the boy can learn from being around the guys. What he doesn't know is that Brandon is mommy's little snitch, so if there's any funny business it's Phil's ass!
_
He doesn't know it, but I overheard him the other day, talking about how much he misses hunting season with the boys, or the occasional week in Vegas. He even had the nerve to refer to all his vacation time as wasted on what he referred to as "Jocelyncations". Apparently he doesn't like being forced to go with me when I visit my peoples in Jacksonville every year. Tough tit, hubby. That's your job!
He's also been trying to sneak out with his friends on weekends, especially during football season. But then I catch on and remind him that I need him to drive me and my friends down to the Wicker Barn (wicker outlet!) in Augusta, Georgia. He should be happy! This is his chance to drive his precious Caliber , while me and my girls get drunk in the passenger seats and laugh and carry on like a bunch of cackling hens!
In an effort to keep the peace, I've made a deal with Phil. For one night each month I'll stay home and babysit my kids so he can go out and do something he wants to do. The only condition is that he needs to bring my preteen son Brandon along so the boy can learn from being around the guys. What he doesn't know is that Brandon is mommy's little snitch, so if there's any funny business it's Phil's ass!
_
Thursday, February 18
Unhappy hour!
The folks at work have been treating me differently ever since I took over the office. I understand if they're apprehensive about being friends with me. I'm their boss now. I've also fired all their stupid friends, so naturally they're worried about their own jobs. Still, it's only business. There's no need for them to be a bitches about it!
What really sucks is how I never get to hear any good gossip or anything because nobody ever wants to chat with me, or take smoke breaks together. The only time I hear about anything juicy is when I'm eavesdropping. So on Tuesday afternoon, while monitoring a few people's personal calls through our phone system, I heard one of the girls talking about how they were all going to happy hour that night. Nobody invited me, so I had to invite myself!
Buffalo Wild Wings is a favorite spot for the gang at my office. Everybody was happily sipping their first drink when I showed up. It looked like some of them even brought friends. They didn't even see me coming as I bumped up into the group with a "Hey, y'all! What're y'all doing here?!". They weakly greeted me. I could tell that they needed my help to get the fun started!
I headed over to the bar and ordered everyone a shooter that an old bartender friend of mine said he named after me: The HPV. I'm not sure what the name means, but it's made of hot sauce and cranberry vodka, and it gets you fuuuucked up! I brought 'em over to the table on a tray. I couldn't believe that a few people didn't want one! I turned on the pressure and convinced everyone to try it. This was supposed to be a party, after all!
I took a moment to teach everybody how to take this special shot. You place it on the table, wrap your lips around the shot glass, sit up, and tip your head back. Once you've swallowed the shot you've got hold the glass there with your lips and use your tongue to lick the inside of it clean. You should have seen them! They were all chocking and gagging like a bunch of punks, and I was laughing my ass off!
After that I slipped off to the bathroom where I ran into the new wife of Andrew, our youngest associate. She said that he had invited her along to meet everyone. I told her not to be nervous, and asked her if she wanted a bump of coke to help her socialize. She said okay because she was feeling a little anxious. Then the bitch proceeded to snort up a big fat line I had just cut for myself right off the bathroom counter. I was impressed!
We got back to the group and she starts acting really weird. She was all bug-eyed and asking everyone if they wanted to go party somewhere. I didn't want anyone to think that I had given her anything so I just left. On my way to my car I stopped to let all the air out of the tire of the girl whose call I'd monitored earlier. Serves her right for not inviting me!
So imagine my surprise when Andrew comes storming into my office this morning in a pissed off mood. Apparently his wife had kicked a drug habit before they'd met and now she's back on coke. They got in a fight and she's already left him to stay with her old drug dealer ex-boyfriend. How was I supposed to know that bitch was a junky? I told Andrew that he could have the afternoon off to go get his wife back. He didn't seem very happy with that suggestion, so I told him to get out of my face before I fired his ass.
_
What really sucks is how I never get to hear any good gossip or anything because nobody ever wants to chat with me, or take smoke breaks together. The only time I hear about anything juicy is when I'm eavesdropping. So on Tuesday afternoon, while monitoring a few people's personal calls through our phone system, I heard one of the girls talking about how they were all going to happy hour that night. Nobody invited me, so I had to invite myself!
Buffalo Wild Wings is a favorite spot for the gang at my office. Everybody was happily sipping their first drink when I showed up. It looked like some of them even brought friends. They didn't even see me coming as I bumped up into the group with a "Hey, y'all! What're y'all doing here?!". They weakly greeted me. I could tell that they needed my help to get the fun started!
I headed over to the bar and ordered everyone a shooter that an old bartender friend of mine said he named after me: The HPV. I'm not sure what the name means, but it's made of hot sauce and cranberry vodka, and it gets you fuuuucked up! I brought 'em over to the table on a tray. I couldn't believe that a few people didn't want one! I turned on the pressure and convinced everyone to try it. This was supposed to be a party, after all!
I took a moment to teach everybody how to take this special shot. You place it on the table, wrap your lips around the shot glass, sit up, and tip your head back. Once you've swallowed the shot you've got hold the glass there with your lips and use your tongue to lick the inside of it clean. You should have seen them! They were all chocking and gagging like a bunch of punks, and I was laughing my ass off!
After that I slipped off to the bathroom where I ran into the new wife of Andrew, our youngest associate. She said that he had invited her along to meet everyone. I told her not to be nervous, and asked her if she wanted a bump of coke to help her socialize. She said okay because she was feeling a little anxious. Then the bitch proceeded to snort up a big fat line I had just cut for myself right off the bathroom counter. I was impressed!
We got back to the group and she starts acting really weird. She was all bug-eyed and asking everyone if they wanted to go party somewhere. I didn't want anyone to think that I had given her anything so I just left. On my way to my car I stopped to let all the air out of the tire of the girl whose call I'd monitored earlier. Serves her right for not inviting me!
So imagine my surprise when Andrew comes storming into my office this morning in a pissed off mood. Apparently his wife had kicked a drug habit before they'd met and now she's back on coke. They got in a fight and she's already left him to stay with her old drug dealer ex-boyfriend. How was I supposed to know that bitch was a junky? I told Andrew that he could have the afternoon off to go get his wife back. He didn't seem very happy with that suggestion, so I told him to get out of my face before I fired his ass.
_
Wednesday, February 10
My horny Valentine!
Y'all give me a hard time, like I'm some kind of bitch. Well I'll have you know that I'm a very romantic, giving kind of woman! And even though I enjoy a "open relationship" (don't tell my husband!), I always show him an amazing time come Valentine's Day. It's a good wife's duty!
The first gift I'll offer my hubby is a jumbo 7-11 Valentine's card. Inside he'll find a fresh copy of his favorite porno mag. Who needs the chafing associated with cheap lingerie when you can get the same effect by laying a copy of Juggs magazine across your back?
Of course we'll send the kids to babysitter for the night so we don't keep them up with all our loud freaky sex! We'll end up doing it on the sink, in the baby's crib, and maybe on a loose bed of my grandfather's ashes. And when that's done, we'll fondle each other with cold cuts in front of the fridge à la 9½ Weeks.
There are several other sexy tricks I use to get Phil off. But his favorite is when I crush beer cans by slapping them against the counter with my floppy left tit. He also likes when I grind on top of him in reverse cowgirl wearing a Michael Vick jersey and matching jelly shoes.
But enough about us! Valentine's Day isn't just about committed relationships like mine. It's about old fashioned romance! Young love! You guys can go cheap when a girl is still smitten! Just bring a homemade card and a little McDonald's surf n' turf. The gift doesn't have to be pricey either. Might I suggest a lovely crack stem rose from the gas station? Don't forget the Chore Boy!
The first gift I'll offer my hubby is a jumbo 7-11 Valentine's card. Inside he'll find a fresh copy of his favorite porno mag. Who needs the chafing associated with cheap lingerie when you can get the same effect by laying a copy of Juggs magazine across your back?
Of course we'll send the kids to babysitter for the night so we don't keep them up with all our loud freaky sex! We'll end up doing it on the sink, in the baby's crib, and maybe on a loose bed of my grandfather's ashes. And when that's done, we'll fondle each other with cold cuts in front of the fridge à la 9½ Weeks.
There are several other sexy tricks I use to get Phil off. But his favorite is when I crush beer cans by slapping them against the counter with my floppy left tit. He also likes when I grind on top of him in reverse cowgirl wearing a Michael Vick jersey and matching jelly shoes.
But enough about us! Valentine's Day isn't just about committed relationships like mine. It's about old fashioned romance! Young love! You guys can go cheap when a girl is still smitten! Just bring a homemade card and a little McDonald's surf n' turf. The gift doesn't have to be pricey either. Might I suggest a lovely crack stem rose from the gas station? Don't forget the Chore Boy!
Thursday, February 4
Losin' the weight!
Bikini season is right around the corner, folks, and it's time to lose those Winter pounds! A few of the girls at the office have had success with Alli, so I've been giving that a whirl. Unfortunately you can't eat badly on this stuff because it turns your food's fat content into a heavy orange grease. This nasty stuff ends up leaking right out of you like liquid gold!
I've had to resort to wearing adult diapers everywhere. It's not easy because they fill up quick, so instead of sexy love handles I've got a soggy diaper muffin-topping over the waist of my low-rise jeans. And try flushing one of those babies down! It turns even the most powerful toilet into a Bangkok stew pot. But at least I get to eat what I like!
Of course I'm still trying to cut back and be sensible. Instead of ordering a Triple Whopper from Burger King I've decided to settle on the Double. That's a savings of over 250 calories! Or instead of a tasty Big Mac, I just ask for two Big Mac Wraps. Low carbs means more yummy meat for me!
I've also been forced to stop buying snacks for the kids. Those tasty single-serving packs just tempt me too much! I always catch myself eating up their Lunchables, or polishing off a whole box of Fruit Roll-ups. The cupboard is so empty that I've had to give them my Dexatrims to bring for their snack at school.
I'm also encouraging my hubby Phil to shed a few pounds. But I'm not nagging the poor man; I'm using modern behavioural training techniques. When I catch him eating fattening foods I'll sneak up and perform a "Cup and Serve". Simply put, I fart quietly into my own hand, "cupping" the gas, then open my palm to "serve" it in Phil's face. It always succeeds in putting him off his food!
And yes, I've cheated a little! I've gorged on the occasional bucket of chicken here or there. But I always make up for it by getting my next lunch at Subway. I'd eat there more, but it's not very appetizing. Their employees tend to forget that the food safety gloves exist to protect our food, not just to protect their hands from money, trash, and cold cut juice.
_
I've had to resort to wearing adult diapers everywhere. It's not easy because they fill up quick, so instead of sexy love handles I've got a soggy diaper muffin-topping over the waist of my low-rise jeans. And try flushing one of those babies down! It turns even the most powerful toilet into a Bangkok stew pot. But at least I get to eat what I like!
Of course I'm still trying to cut back and be sensible. Instead of ordering a Triple Whopper from Burger King I've decided to settle on the Double. That's a savings of over 250 calories! Or instead of a tasty Big Mac, I just ask for two Big Mac Wraps. Low carbs means more yummy meat for me!
I've also been forced to stop buying snacks for the kids. Those tasty single-serving packs just tempt me too much! I always catch myself eating up their Lunchables, or polishing off a whole box of Fruit Roll-ups. The cupboard is so empty that I've had to give them my Dexatrims to bring for their snack at school.
I'm also encouraging my hubby Phil to shed a few pounds. But I'm not nagging the poor man; I'm using modern behavioural training techniques. When I catch him eating fattening foods I'll sneak up and perform a "Cup and Serve". Simply put, I fart quietly into my own hand, "cupping" the gas, then open my palm to "serve" it in Phil's face. It always succeeds in putting him off his food!
And yes, I've cheated a little! I've gorged on the occasional bucket of chicken here or there. But I always make up for it by getting my next lunch at Subway. I'd eat there more, but it's not very appetizing. Their employees tend to forget that the food safety gloves exist to protect our food, not just to protect their hands from money, trash, and cold cut juice.
_
Friday, January 29
Blessed day!
My sweet doggie Muffin has been found! One of my peoples down in Southside called me up and said she saw Muffin with some dudes I used to mess around with. The bad news is that these guys are into dog fighting. I didn't know if I should be more afraid for Muffin or those other dogs!
The majority of Richmond's stray or stolen dogs end up in the hands of dog fighting kennels. Most of them are used as simple bait in fight training. But there are exceptions, such as my incorrigible Muffin. Take one look at him and you know he was born to fight, because he bites people who look at him. It does seem like fun, but that sport is too dirty for my baby!
I rolled down there last night in the Caliber to bring him back home. Kinda sketchy, I know, but these guys know better than to fuck with me. I sent one of their cousins to the hospital a while back. About a month after it happened he told people that he still has nightmares of me coming up behind him in the dark with that broken bottle. What a punk!
So I get to the spot, which is out on a dirt road, and there's already cars all over the place. Getting to the pit was no problem because they had that same cousin in charge of "security". I got back there just in time to collect Muffin before his next fight. A few people tried to say something until I turned my head and shot them a look. Then shit got real quiet, except for one nervous sounding fart.
I led Muffin back out front and put him in the car. I scolded him for running away and getting into this mess. He just huffed and laid down in the back seat. I felt so lucky to have him back, and I figured since I was already there I might as well ride the streak and place a bet on the next fight. This was a wise notion, because I won $50! Muffin's getting some new booties!
The majority of Richmond's stray or stolen dogs end up in the hands of dog fighting kennels. Most of them are used as simple bait in fight training. But there are exceptions, such as my incorrigible Muffin. Take one look at him and you know he was born to fight, because he bites people who look at him. It does seem like fun, but that sport is too dirty for my baby!
I rolled down there last night in the Caliber to bring him back home. Kinda sketchy, I know, but these guys know better than to fuck with me. I sent one of their cousins to the hospital a while back. About a month after it happened he told people that he still has nightmares of me coming up behind him in the dark with that broken bottle. What a punk!
So I get to the spot, which is out on a dirt road, and there's already cars all over the place. Getting to the pit was no problem because they had that same cousin in charge of "security". I got back there just in time to collect Muffin before his next fight. A few people tried to say something until I turned my head and shot them a look. Then shit got real quiet, except for one nervous sounding fart.
I led Muffin back out front and put him in the car. I scolded him for running away and getting into this mess. He just huffed and laid down in the back seat. I felt so lucky to have him back, and I figured since I was already there I might as well ride the streak and place a bet on the next fight. This was a wise notion, because I won $50! Muffin's getting some new booties!
Wednesday, January 27
My babies hongry!
I came home last night around 11:30pm, drunk as a skunk, to discover that my damn kids were still up and running around the house. They said they hadn't had any dinner, and they'd gotten into my case of Red Bulls from Costco and made a big mess of it. The babysitter wasn't even there. He'd left a note about needing to bail his girlfriend out of jail.
My comfy bed was calling to me, but I knew my kids needed some food in their stomachs or they'd never get to sleep and they'd be impossible to wake up in the morning. I also had a pretty good case of the beer munchies. The only thing open was the Wendy's drive-thru, so I drove us over real quick and pulled up to the speaker. The lady came on and I ordered myself a combo.
Of course my kids were so hopped up on caffeine that they couldn't think straight and didn't know what they wanted. I heard one of them say, "Happy Meal!" and I said, "No baby, this is Wendy's, they got a kids meal...". A truck pulled up behind us in the line. I don't think he had his high-beams on, but his headlights were still shooting right through the back window of our car, which I can't stand.
I continued to try to get an order out of my kids. "Jailen, you want some apple slices? How 'bout some chicken nuggets baby? Do y'all think Orenthal would like a Jr Bacon?" (I'd left the baby at home 'cause his car seat is a pain in the ass). I looked back and three more cars were lined up. I decided to just order whatever, and of course the kids started to bitch and cry but by that point I didn't care.
I drove up to the window to pay, and unfortunately I'd forgotten to bring the purse that I keep Phil's credit cards in. All I had was my back-up card which has a bad strip, so the lady had to run it several times before manually typing it in. Then she handed me our dranks and a bag.
She said, "I'm still working on getting your Double with pickles and three Frosties, so please pull ahead to the door up on your left and we'll get those right out to you." I said "Naw.". For a minute she just stared at me while I sat there. "Ma'am, please pull ahead so we can keep the line moving". I replied, "No, that's okay, just do your best".
The cashier sighed and slammed the window shut. She came back three minutes later and handed us our stuff. Then she shut the door again and stared at me while I inventoried our bags to make sure we got everything. Well I'm sorry, but I've been burned before by these late-night losers.
Just then the guy from the truck behind us got out and came up to the window between my car and the drive-thru window. He banged on the window and yelled something at the cashier. I wasn't sure how to let this guy know how rude that was so I decided to just drive off while he had his ass pressed up against my car. I heard him swear as I took off, and me and the kids had a good laugh.
I pulled around and parked behind a large van near the entrance where I could watch the guy leave without him seeing me. The kids were whining for their food but I told them to wait because nobody's allowed to eat in my car but me! The guy pulled around and we followed him all the way down to the highway ramp. That's when I speed-dialed the police and reported him as a drunk driver. It took us another ten minutes to drive home from there, and by then the kids were fast asleep in the back seat. Screw it, more nuggets for me!
_
My comfy bed was calling to me, but I knew my kids needed some food in their stomachs or they'd never get to sleep and they'd be impossible to wake up in the morning. I also had a pretty good case of the beer munchies. The only thing open was the Wendy's drive-thru, so I drove us over real quick and pulled up to the speaker. The lady came on and I ordered myself a combo.
Of course my kids were so hopped up on caffeine that they couldn't think straight and didn't know what they wanted. I heard one of them say, "Happy Meal!" and I said, "No baby, this is Wendy's, they got a kids meal...". A truck pulled up behind us in the line. I don't think he had his high-beams on, but his headlights were still shooting right through the back window of our car, which I can't stand.
I continued to try to get an order out of my kids. "Jailen, you want some apple slices? How 'bout some chicken nuggets baby? Do y'all think Orenthal would like a Jr Bacon?" (I'd left the baby at home 'cause his car seat is a pain in the ass). I looked back and three more cars were lined up. I decided to just order whatever, and of course the kids started to bitch and cry but by that point I didn't care.
I drove up to the window to pay, and unfortunately I'd forgotten to bring the purse that I keep Phil's credit cards in. All I had was my back-up card which has a bad strip, so the lady had to run it several times before manually typing it in. Then she handed me our dranks and a bag.
She said, "I'm still working on getting your Double with pickles and three Frosties, so please pull ahead to the door up on your left and we'll get those right out to you." I said "Naw.". For a minute she just stared at me while I sat there. "Ma'am, please pull ahead so we can keep the line moving". I replied, "No, that's okay, just do your best".
The cashier sighed and slammed the window shut. She came back three minutes later and handed us our stuff. Then she shut the door again and stared at me while I inventoried our bags to make sure we got everything. Well I'm sorry, but I've been burned before by these late-night losers.
Just then the guy from the truck behind us got out and came up to the window between my car and the drive-thru window. He banged on the window and yelled something at the cashier. I wasn't sure how to let this guy know how rude that was so I decided to just drive off while he had his ass pressed up against my car. I heard him swear as I took off, and me and the kids had a good laugh.
I pulled around and parked behind a large van near the entrance where I could watch the guy leave without him seeing me. The kids were whining for their food but I told them to wait because nobody's allowed to eat in my car but me! The guy pulled around and we followed him all the way down to the highway ramp. That's when I speed-dialed the police and reported him as a drunk driver. It took us another ten minutes to drive home from there, and by then the kids were fast asleep in the back seat. Screw it, more nuggets for me!
_
Thursday, January 21
Muffin gone wild!
Poor Muffin! He doesn't get out much, and doesn't get much exercise. I also think that spending all his time alone in our tiny backyard (behind a 7-foot privacy fence) has driven him a little bit crazy! Honestly, he hasn't been looking right lately:
So a few days ago, on an unseasonably warm morning, I loaded him into the car and drove down to Richmond's beautiful "Fan District", because it's such a lovely place to take a stroll. It felt really good, with Muffin trotting along merrily while I power walked in my cute shorty shorts and Winnie the Pooh hoodie.
There are only a few businesses peppered throughout this neighborhood, including a small real estate office. As we strolled by it Muffin came to a dead stop and began motioning towards the office door. That stubborn dog wouldn't let me pull him another inch! I walked back to try to drag him out of his stance, but he growled real low and wouldn't budge.
He started scratching at the base of the door and groaning, so I decided to just let him in to find out what he wanted so bad. As soon as the door was breached Muffin shoved his way through, dragging me behind. He was sniffing all over the floor like a maniac! A few agents were sitting inside at their dark wood desk, probably wondering what the hell we were doing.
They found out soon enough, as he crouched down on their beautiful hand-woven wool rug and took a massive liquid shit. He then took two dainty steps, kicked his hind legs a few times towards the mess, and walked back outside. All I could say was, "Sorry, he's been sick!" as we both high-tailed it out of there. Muffin and I ran down the side alley and up a few blocks to avoid further scrutiny.
Now that Muffin had taken care of business he became more difficult to walk. He was yanking me all over the place, but I held my arm tight and pretended like we were still just out for a leisurely walk. We passed a bench by a bus stop and there was a nice looking old black gentleman sitting there. He stared at Muffin like it was the devil or something! He didn't even notice my cute shorts!
As I passed I said, "Good Morning!" in a sing-song voice. He didn't say a word, he just kept staring. I didn't want him to think that there was anything to be afraid of so I walked Muffin closer to him and said, "What's the matter? Don't you know how to say good morning?!". After about ten seconds he finally looked up at me and mumbled, "OH, good morning, good morning..". I just shrugged and we went on our way.
As we headed down another cobblestone alley a small white cat darted out from under a fence around the end of the alley. Muffin couldn't resist! He yanked me so hard that the bathrobe belt I'd been using as a leash came loose from his neck! I followed him down the side street but it was too late. What sucks is that he wasn't even wearing his collar or tags! I hope he finds his way home soon because there's a big bag of dog food here that's gonna go to waste!
.
So a few days ago, on an unseasonably warm morning, I loaded him into the car and drove down to Richmond's beautiful "Fan District", because it's such a lovely place to take a stroll. It felt really good, with Muffin trotting along merrily while I power walked in my cute shorty shorts and Winnie the Pooh hoodie.
There are only a few businesses peppered throughout this neighborhood, including a small real estate office. As we strolled by it Muffin came to a dead stop and began motioning towards the office door. That stubborn dog wouldn't let me pull him another inch! I walked back to try to drag him out of his stance, but he growled real low and wouldn't budge.
He started scratching at the base of the door and groaning, so I decided to just let him in to find out what he wanted so bad. As soon as the door was breached Muffin shoved his way through, dragging me behind. He was sniffing all over the floor like a maniac! A few agents were sitting inside at their dark wood desk, probably wondering what the hell we were doing.
They found out soon enough, as he crouched down on their beautiful hand-woven wool rug and took a massive liquid shit. He then took two dainty steps, kicked his hind legs a few times towards the mess, and walked back outside. All I could say was, "Sorry, he's been sick!" as we both high-tailed it out of there. Muffin and I ran down the side alley and up a few blocks to avoid further scrutiny.
Now that Muffin had taken care of business he became more difficult to walk. He was yanking me all over the place, but I held my arm tight and pretended like we were still just out for a leisurely walk. We passed a bench by a bus stop and there was a nice looking old black gentleman sitting there. He stared at Muffin like it was the devil or something! He didn't even notice my cute shorts!
As I passed I said, "Good Morning!" in a sing-song voice. He didn't say a word, he just kept staring. I didn't want him to think that there was anything to be afraid of so I walked Muffin closer to him and said, "What's the matter? Don't you know how to say good morning?!". After about ten seconds he finally looked up at me and mumbled, "OH, good morning, good morning..". I just shrugged and we went on our way.
As we headed down another cobblestone alley a small white cat darted out from under a fence around the end of the alley. Muffin couldn't resist! He yanked me so hard that the bathrobe belt I'd been using as a leash came loose from his neck! I followed him down the side street but it was too late. What sucks is that he wasn't even wearing his collar or tags! I hope he finds his way home soon because there's a big bag of dog food here that's gonna go to waste!
.
Thursday, January 14
More money saving tips!
I've gotten so many emails thanking me for my original list of money saving tips for single moms. Of course no thanks is necessary. We girls have got to stick together! Some of those who've contacted me have received a few bonus tips in response, and I'd now like to share those tips with the rest of you. If we all stay on track then we might just make it out of this Obama recession!
I'm a frugal drinker, as y'all know. So when I finish an expensive bottle of wine I don't just throw the bottle in the recycling bin. That's wasteful! Instead I break the neck of the bottle. Then I return it to the store and tell the clerk that it broke when I tried to open it. In most cases they'll give me a replacement bottle free of charge. You just have to remember to rotate which shops you go to, and make sure that they carry your brand.
Flowers are another easily returnable item. Phil is always buying them to keep himself out of the doghouse. After about a week I bring them back to the shop and demand some new healthy ones. I'll argue if necessary, but not for long. If the clerks continue to refuse I'll simply dump the dead stems and dirty flower water on their feet and leave. Their manager will hook me up later when I explain how their employee slapped the vase out of my hands.
Another big waste of our good money is birth control, like that silly NuvoRing. It doesn't really matter what you use as long as it's sure to kill sperm. Usually a dusting of cocaine on the gentleman's penis will do. But lacking that, I go with a scrunchy soaked in bug spray. Talk about a warming sensation! Maybe your fool boyfriend will complain that his dick doesn't work for a week after. Tell him that you're just that good!
Of course the cost of these luxury items aren't your only concern. There are other necessary expenses, like the large sums you're forced to spend on your loved ones. Who needs it? I've recently discovered that simply denying to further support my mother has caused her to be transferred from that crappy nursing home to an even crappier state-run facility. Now my monthly "Mom" costs have dropped down to $0. Why doesn't everyone do this?
I took this little maneuver a step further. I pretended that my kids live with my mother instead of me. Once the school calculated her (lack of) income they decided to give my kids free lunch cards. Some of the teachers have even started buying my kids clothes and winter jackets. The savings are so significant, sometimes I'd swear I was made of money!
Speaking of schools, I've gotta mention school fundraisers. They're just a great way collect quick cash after normal business hours. The catalogs and other materials are easy to get your hands on, and your kids don't need to know any better. It's all about "charity", so don't sweat it. None of your neighbors are actually expecting your kid to come through with that $30 can of spicy peanuts, or that $12 roll of Christmas wrapping paper. If they come around asking just convince them that your kid messed up the order because he has mild autism or something.
I'm a frugal drinker, as y'all know. So when I finish an expensive bottle of wine I don't just throw the bottle in the recycling bin. That's wasteful! Instead I break the neck of the bottle. Then I return it to the store and tell the clerk that it broke when I tried to open it. In most cases they'll give me a replacement bottle free of charge. You just have to remember to rotate which shops you go to, and make sure that they carry your brand.
Flowers are another easily returnable item. Phil is always buying them to keep himself out of the doghouse. After about a week I bring them back to the shop and demand some new healthy ones. I'll argue if necessary, but not for long. If the clerks continue to refuse I'll simply dump the dead stems and dirty flower water on their feet and leave. Their manager will hook me up later when I explain how their employee slapped the vase out of my hands.
Another big waste of our good money is birth control, like that silly NuvoRing. It doesn't really matter what you use as long as it's sure to kill sperm. Usually a dusting of cocaine on the gentleman's penis will do. But lacking that, I go with a scrunchy soaked in bug spray. Talk about a warming sensation! Maybe your fool boyfriend will complain that his dick doesn't work for a week after. Tell him that you're just that good!
Of course the cost of these luxury items aren't your only concern. There are other necessary expenses, like the large sums you're forced to spend on your loved ones. Who needs it? I've recently discovered that simply denying to further support my mother has caused her to be transferred from that crappy nursing home to an even crappier state-run facility. Now my monthly "Mom" costs have dropped down to $0. Why doesn't everyone do this?
I took this little maneuver a step further. I pretended that my kids live with my mother instead of me. Once the school calculated her (lack of) income they decided to give my kids free lunch cards. Some of the teachers have even started buying my kids clothes and winter jackets. The savings are so significant, sometimes I'd swear I was made of money!
Speaking of schools, I've gotta mention school fundraisers. They're just a great way collect quick cash after normal business hours. The catalogs and other materials are easy to get your hands on, and your kids don't need to know any better. It's all about "charity", so don't sweat it. None of your neighbors are actually expecting your kid to come through with that $30 can of spicy peanuts, or that $12 roll of Christmas wrapping paper. If they come around asking just convince them that your kid messed up the order because he has mild autism or something.
Thursday, January 7
Mistress of the hunt!
I've always loved the wilderness! Of course the beach is still my favorite vacation spot, but I also try to set aside a week each year to spend in beautiful Western Colorado. The cool dry air, fresh clean waters, and uneven population ratio of women to men suit me just fine!
My last trip to Colorado started with the usual day of travel that I always dread. To make matters worse, I worked a half day before the flight. It happened to be the day of our office chili cook off contest! I had to sneak into the conference room before I left to steal a few large gulps of all six chili varieties. I don't think the last two had a chance to really cook all the meat! My stomach was churning!
As you can imagine, my fellow first class passengers didn't appreciate my sickening chili farty pants none too much. My body is a finely tuned instrument, but on that afternoon I was playing a symphony of sour notes! But don't get me wrong; I didn't waste good money on First Class tickets! I booked Phil and I in separate seats, then I asked the clerk at our terminal to find us two seats that were together, and he gave us last two seats up front. Thanks again, Terry!
After landing in Albuquerque (and driving three more hours by car) we made it to our rental cabin. But this was no cabin like I've ever seen! This was a big beautiful wood house in a neighborhood of nice homes, nestled in a nice woodsy area! What could be more perfect? I was so excited that I ran straight into the backyard to set up a nice deer blind!
A Deer Blind is basically a couple big pieces of plywood with a small hole cut out of the middle for your gun to go through. Then the whole thing is painted like branches and leaves. It's an ideal set-up for poaching deer in a neighborhood like this, where the animals have never been hunted. Talk about easy meat! With my butchering skills and Phil's taxidermy abilities, we actually made some money on that vacation!
Fishing is another favorite pastime of mine, and Colorado's rainbow trout is as plentiful as it's Fat Tire beer is overrated. Experts like me will tell you to catch your fish with care, and release them back for the benefit of future generations. Then we show up later to catch and keep those same big healthy fish using large nets and minimal effort! They don't call us "the experts" for nothing!
After a week of these activities I always feel relaxed, but also a little worn out. That's why Phil and I spent our last day at the nearby hot springs resort. After drinking some local beer (which seems stronger at those higher altitudes!) we relaxed and fingered each other in almost every hot tub on the premises. I don't know what the secret is, but those healing mineral hot spring waters do wonders for my syphilitic sores, and somehow shrink my hemorrhoids down a little!
_
My last trip to Colorado started with the usual day of travel that I always dread. To make matters worse, I worked a half day before the flight. It happened to be the day of our office chili cook off contest! I had to sneak into the conference room before I left to steal a few large gulps of all six chili varieties. I don't think the last two had a chance to really cook all the meat! My stomach was churning!
As you can imagine, my fellow first class passengers didn't appreciate my sickening chili farty pants none too much. My body is a finely tuned instrument, but on that afternoon I was playing a symphony of sour notes! But don't get me wrong; I didn't waste good money on First Class tickets! I booked Phil and I in separate seats, then I asked the clerk at our terminal to find us two seats that were together, and he gave us last two seats up front. Thanks again, Terry!
After landing in Albuquerque (and driving three more hours by car) we made it to our rental cabin. But this was no cabin like I've ever seen! This was a big beautiful wood house in a neighborhood of nice homes, nestled in a nice woodsy area! What could be more perfect? I was so excited that I ran straight into the backyard to set up a nice deer blind!
A Deer Blind is basically a couple big pieces of plywood with a small hole cut out of the middle for your gun to go through. Then the whole thing is painted like branches and leaves. It's an ideal set-up for poaching deer in a neighborhood like this, where the animals have never been hunted. Talk about easy meat! With my butchering skills and Phil's taxidermy abilities, we actually made some money on that vacation!
Fishing is another favorite pastime of mine, and Colorado's rainbow trout is as plentiful as it's Fat Tire beer is overrated. Experts like me will tell you to catch your fish with care, and release them back for the benefit of future generations. Then we show up later to catch and keep those same big healthy fish using large nets and minimal effort! They don't call us "the experts" for nothing!
After a week of these activities I always feel relaxed, but also a little worn out. That's why Phil and I spent our last day at the nearby hot springs resort. After drinking some local beer (which seems stronger at those higher altitudes!) we relaxed and fingered each other in almost every hot tub on the premises. I don't know what the secret is, but those healing mineral hot spring waters do wonders for my syphilitic sores, and somehow shrink my hemorrhoids down a little!
_
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