My Dad's Better Than Yours.....

My dad is awesome. He's a royal pain in the ass, but Lord knows, I don't know what I would do without him.

His best friend is my ten year old son. Not that he doesn't love my oldest, but my youngest is completely devoted to him.

I seriously sometimes think that he would desert us for his Papa if it weren't for the fact that he really loves me. And he likes playing video games. Which my dad can't stand.

My dad is in town from Colorado for the next week or so and is staying with us. It's okay, because we live in a big house, with a guest room that has its own bathroom and exit point, so we can co-exist in harmony.

Anyway, last night my husband, oldest son, and yours truly went over to a friends house to visit. Dallas chose to stay home with my dad. Upon learning this, my son says, "You trust them at home together?"

Which is a perfectly legitimate question, given the fact that my dad is a six foot five twelve year old. Not in the "I Am Sam" sense, but in the sense that everything is a good time.

We walk in last night and the living room has been converted into a fort.

Every throw blanket, couch pillow and all my kitchen bar stools were involved.



My oldest looks at me and says, "I told you."

I just smiled. These are the moments from when I was a kid that still make me smile.

Once, my best friend and me decided to slide some kittens we had across the kitchen floor. I know, it was mean as hell. PITA would be pissed.

Anyway, to make it extra slide friendly, we sprayed Pledge all over the floor and then put the cats on their bellies and laughed like future serial killers as we slid them back and forth between us.

My dad comes home after we are finished with our game, walks into the kitchen and BUSTS.....HIS.....ASS.

Pledge is apparently hard as hell to get up off the floor.

We admitted what we had done, and even though inside he might've been worried that we were little Aileen Wuornos in the making (without the whole prostitute part), all he said was, "You better get that cleaned up before your mama comes home."

He's a pretty fun guy to be around when you're a kid.

Dude, Where's Your Caretaker???

Every time I get one of those disgusting, this person died in a freaky, weird kind of way email, I wonder why the hell people send things such as this.

And it also just occurred to me that maybe I'm only one of a select few that have morbid, disgusting friends that actually find this kind of shit interesting.

I received one a while back that had a guy flattened under some kind of bulldozer. Seriously.

But before you get to the really nasty pictures, it does warn you.



"If you have a weak stomach, do not go any further."

Who the hell can resist that? Not I.

Maybe that aspect of my personality is why my friends send me pictures of some poor unfortunate soul that was never taught the proper technique for loading heavy equipment on a trailer. Not that I would probably fare any better.

Last night, I was at the Rays/Red Sox game. I'm amazed at people that go to sporting events to get publicly loaded. Not by the 'intoxicated in public' part, but the whole 'let me spend $10 dollars a beer' part.

Anyway, we were surrounded by a shit load of people that were highly intoxicated and what looked like a serious minority of designated drivers or caretakers of their stupid, loud, profanity screaming buds.



It was funny when some guy decided to make it onto the field (why? I have no idea...)and was tackled by three security dudes before he could even get past the bull pen.

Moron.

Toe Jam? Literally!

The best part about Mondays....

I was trying to be optimistic, so I tried to come up with a few, but honestly, I've just sat here, looking at my computer screen for the last two minutes drawing an absolute blank.


I can't think of one thing.


Seriously.


And this Monday, I'm sitting here with my feet pulled up in my chair, contemplating the fact the school starts back in seven days and I've got a broken pinkie toe. Yes. Broken. Function suspended.


I guess stumbling through the kitchen at three in the morning is probably not the best idea. And the damn bar stool jumped out at me.


Jumped...


Out...


At...


Me....



I thought I was going to die. It was a good thing my husband was out of town, because I then crawled to the bedroom, rolled around on the bed moaning loudly for about five minutes (I did catch the innuendo, there, by the way) popped three ibuprofen and prayed for the pain to go away.


My foot is now swollen and slightly discolored. And it hurts to walk. Seriously.


In the process of this post, I did find the silver lining. Lots of feet are A LOT uglier than mine. Seriously.



You'd think he would shave his toes. Or maybe clean some of the toe jam out before taking a pic.

And check these nasty things out...



Holy schnikies. It's call a fungus, dude. They sell stuff that actually cures this kind of thing.


Don't get me wrong. My feet are ugly. But a good pedicure goes a long way in camouflaging ugly feet.

while the mouse is away....

I'm taking a trip.

I leave this afternoon, and I'm not sure when I'm coming back.

My husband and boys are staying home. That's why I'm not sure when I'm going to come home. Lord knows what my house is going to look like when I return. They're pigs. Pigs, I tell you.

I have a little more than three weeks before school starts and I really need to do something before I'm surrounded by the next generation of heathens. Although, I must say that I'm a little tired of having nothing to do. I don't think I was cut out for the whole 'homemaker' lifestyle. I don't bake. Nor have I joined any of those "local mom websites". If my kids come down with a rash, I'm not asking every mom within a hundred yard radius their opinion. I'm just going to take him to the doctor.

My boys know that I'm completely in love with them, but I'm not the Beave's mom, that's for sure.

So, I'm heading to Colorado. It's going to be a vacation with just my dad and me, which I haven't done since I was fifteen. (I'm blocking out the fact that he pissed me off on that trip and I rode a Greyhound bus back to Florida from Amarillo...) I've grown up since then, so when he pisses me off, I can just let loose and vent. No need to spare his feelings. I'm kidding....(for the most part)

Anywayz, I'm riding out there with him and flying home, so I've yet to decide on when I'm coming back. I've debated the different airlines and whether I really want to fly coach. Let's be honest. How often am I going to get to travel without multiple males present?

The last flight I was on with my boys, I thought I was going to choke my youngest. I was sitting in the middle of them, my oldest at the window, my youngest on the aisle. And he had gas. I mean, stink up the entire plane gas. I kept sending him to the bathroom, thinking that maybe if he took a crap, the odorous cloud that was hanging around us would dissipate. After the plane landed, we sat on the runway waiting for an open terminal forever (like twenty minutes) and he thought it would be great to end with a grand finale, an almost constant stream of farts that smelled like something had died up there and was throwing some serious punches to get out....

Anyway, I'm glad to be traveling without them for a change.

My dad lives in Colorado, so I've been before. I've seen all the sights, met all his friends, so hopefully, it'll just be a time to relax. I'm really looking forward to it.

This has been a particularly shitty summer, so I'm ready for something good to come of it.

I'll probably sit on the river and fish. Or I might take a canoe trip. My dad's friend owns several buildings in an old ghost town (called St. Elmo) and he rents out four wheelers, so I might do that one day.

I don't know. Not knowing is probably the best part about it. I love being spontaneous. That is when the best things happen.

I just hope that my husband doesn't destroy my house while I'm gone.

What Language!!

Do you ever wonder the origin of some of our popular sayings?

Maybe I'm just weird or extremely boring, but I'm always interested in hearing where these things come from.

Like 'knee slapping'. What the hell?

What is even more interesting than the phrase, is the fact that there is actually some theories on its origin on Wikipedia.

I love Wikipedia. It's effin' awesome. Just look up a Prince Albert on there. It gives you pictures and everything.

Or 'cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey'. It's apparently some kind of seafaring term. Like 'three sheets to the wind'.

And 'hand over fist', or 'hard and fast'. Who knew?

Then there is Mr. Shakespeare.

He coined the phrases 'fight fire with fire' and 'green eyed monster'. Among others is 'lie low' and 'forever and a day', which I find amazing that one man can actually be given credit, but there you go. Among my favorites is 'what a piece of work is man' and 'where the bee sucks, there suck I'...

Then there are the biblical phrases...

'Love of money is the root of all evil'

'The writing is on the wall'

'Fight the good fight'

But the English proverbs are truly the best.

'A little knowledge is a dangerous thing'

'A fool and his money are soon parted'

How about this one. 'A woman's place is in the home'. Shows you what a bunch of jackasses some of our ancestors were, huh?

'Boys will be boys', isn't that right?

And there are a ton of contradictions. 'Don't rock the boat', but didn't you know that 'the squeaky wheel gets the oil'?

I love our language. It's a beautiful thing. I don't know who said it, but I do know that words are powerful. They can change your life with just a little utterance. For good or bad. And some things really stick, so you should definitely be careful of what you say, because, for the most part, nothing can be taken back.

This is me...

Who are you?

Me? I'm just a normal girl.

A crazy, can't make my mind up, soft hearted, tough, opinionated female that has a slight obsession with shoes, type of female.

I'm a product of my environment, without all the bad shit. I'm truly Southern. Except for the fact that I'm glad the South didn't win. (I could be hung in some parts for that statement, mind you.)

I also have maybe, what could be considered, an unreasonable fear of clowns and the burger king mascot.

I'm also terrified of cockroaches.

I still laugh when some one's name is Cox. Or Peter. Even Richard at times.

I hate smear campaigns, especially when they are sponsored by some generic group that you would have to research in order to find out who is throwing mud.

Sometimes, I don't feel smart enough to vote.

Feeling like a dumb ass is the worst.

I love the fact that I can be anyone on the Internet, but I still choose to be me.

I love when other people are themselves, regardless of the thoughts of the masses.

I laugh at crude racist jokes. And I don't discriminate. I don't care if its about the skinny white girl in the trailer park jokes...

Music is a big part of my life. It makes me laugh, cry, think, can make me feel sexy, or like its going to be a good day, depending on what song is playing when I first wake up in the morning.

I really wish I had a friend in my inner circle that was a gay man, the more of a bitch/diva, the better. (I'm interviewing if anyone wants to try out!)

As a child, I was going to be a rich and fabulous lawyer, that wrote novels on the side, one with fabulous clothes, cars and tons of international travel. Now, I wonder what the hell I could've been drinking. I hate being away from home for more than a week, and it doesn't matter where I'm at.

I love the song Yellow Ledbetter by Pearl Jam, even though I have no effing clue what he's saying. And I don't really want to know, as I think that would take away some of the charm for me.

I wish I owned a red polka dot dress, with a flare skirt and capped sleeves.

I drive a mini cooper, which my husband refuses to go anywhere with me in.

I just heard Eminmen's new c.d., and I feel sorry for him.

I caught my son lying to a girl in a text, so I took his phone away and made a deal. In order for him to get it back, he had to either tell the girl in question in detail what he had lied about or he had to send a text to all of his contacts "I lie to make myself look cool." Is that mean? It took him ten days, but he finally chose the latter. I don't think I scarred him or anything, but you never know with these things.

I hope my sons turn into honest, hard working men that are great fathers. Its my ultimate challenge and dream come true.

I don't know if I'm ready to be the parent of a young teenager. It's really rather rahtarded when you think about it. I'm twenty nine and have a thirteen year old. What the hell were we thinking? However, my son talks to me. He talks to me about things that make me feel extremely old, even though I'm not.

I love the movie "Hangover".

The bad decisions I made as a young teenager has made me an over protective mom. I don't know if its fair or not, but there you go.

I hate the saying "Life isn't fair." It really makes me want to throw something anytime I hear it.

I'm immature. Sometimes.

I love hearing a baby laugh. That for real, belly laugh. That's the best noise in the world.

If I was a guy, I'd probably have a mullet and drive a 1967 camaro with an eagle on the hood, while constantly blaring Lynyrd Skynrd's Free Bird. (That's my favorite song.) Yeah, I know. It would be like Joe Dirt, part two. (I hate that movie.)

I sometimes wonder why I'm here.

I wish I had a cool job, like the Stephanie Plum character in Janet Evonovich's books.

I really wish I had me a Ranger, for those of you that are familiar with the novels...

I want a long vacation without my family. Is that horrible? I truly love them, but I really want a break from them. They are rather needy males.

Drinking wine makes me feel sophisticated, but I absolutely loath the shit. It takes at least a bottle before it becomes palatable.

When I wear heels, I'm just about six feet tall. And it makes me feel powerful. And sexy.

I hate stereotypes.

What type of first impression do you usually project? Me? Everyone usually thinks I'm a stuck up bitch, that thinks I'm better than everyone else.

I'm not. I promise.

WTF is up with The Today Show???

What the hell has happened to The Today Show?

For the last two mornings, I've arisen around seven thirty and tuned into what was once a very informative news program, with bits of humor thrown in to amuse....

And all I've learned is that Bristol Palin is a complete and total moron.

Oh, yeah, and that there is some desperate guy with a more desperate mother trying to marry him off.

I've also learned that there is a lot of fake shit for sale and that BP still can't figure out how to clean their mess up.

All in all, I think my brain has stored even more unnecessary information while watching The Today Show than it has over the last three days of me having a One Tree Hill marathon with my box sets. And that's saying something.

When the going gets tough....

The month of June is usually a difficult one for my family. I usually just put my head down and try to get through it. For those of you that missed it, this is the month that we lost my sister in law and nephew in a tragic way. You can read about it http://girlsaresmarterthanyou.blogspot.com/2009/12/to-make-you-smile.html.

It was six years ago on June 7th, which is just mind blowing to me. Sometimes, the scenes of that time come flying back so vividly, that it might have just happened yesterday....

And, yes, I know it is July, but my melancholy mood remains, as a friend has just suffered a tremendous loss.

Day before yesterday, in the early morning hours, her husband was killed in the line of duty. He was working in Tampa, where a car was pulled over for not having a visible tag. My friend's husband showed up as back up when a warrant showed up on the suspect. He then shot both officers.

My friend, Sara, is nine month's pregnant. The baby is scheduled to be born next week. It was their first child, and Jeff will never see her born.

So, I ask everyone to say a prayer for both officer's families, and to realize that sometimes life is difficult. Sometimes it flat out sucks.

Sometimes, there's not enough money to pay the bills...

Sometimes, your friend pisses you off and you just want to smack her...

Sometimes, your husband acts like a total douche and you wonder what the hell you were thinking...

Sometimes, that bitch in the piece of shit Kia that almost killed you in Orlando makes you want to commit an act of road rage...

Sometimes, your kids destroy your freshly clean house...

Sometimes, you just want to run away...

But, all the time, someone is going through something a little worse than you.

Never ask if it can get any worse, because I promise you, it can, and one day, it might...

Dumb Ass Friends and Dumb Ass Tickets

The other day, an old friend texts me, asking for my address. She then goes on to explain that she is getting married again and having another baby.

(Hey, this is the South. It's how we roll.)

Anyway, this friend just got divorced last year from a guy that she has been with since her early teens. So she's branching her whore sense out. Problem is this.

I went and visited with her at her sister's house about two months ago, where I met her new man.

He's outside, hanging with the men, we're in the kitchen, which is where all the good gossip goes down. She tells me that she doesn't really like him, finds him boring, yada, yada, yada.

So, imagine my surprise when I find out she's actually going to MARRY the boring shit.

WTF?

A little background on my friend.

We met in the seventh grade, where we bickered over some guy, then became good friends.

I remember one instance in eighth grade, sitting in the cafeteria eating lunch. She actually told me that cum would make your teeth whiter. No shit. In eighth grade. Won't ever forget it.

Anyway, the point to this post. Does everyone have that dumb ass friend that just doesn't get it?

Also, pondering her upcoming marriage has made me contemplate all of my friends and their idiotic life choices.

By the way, most of my friends either are or were, at some point in their lives, sluts. Seriously.

Except for my bestie. She is the single exception.

(I promise, I'm not a slut...even if I did get prego at fifteen...Again, this is the South. It's how we roll - and I'm entering a disclaimer here: my husband is no relation...not even distantly...that I know of.)

Anyway, quick story on one of my not so glamorous moments.

A few weeks ago, I'm out in Tampa with a couple of girls that I barely know (long story as to how I ended out with them). Both of them are named Brittany, one is a little ghetto and we are in a not so upstanding part of town club hopping.

Anywayz, I was going to be nice, because one of them had worn not so sensible shoes, so I was going to move the car closer.

I pull into a slot, head into Coyote Ugly, where we stay for maybe an additional fifteen minutes. We then leave, and what do I find?

Two mounted police officers, one of which is writing me a parking ticket.



(I had inadvertently parked in a Cab only zone - five open spots and a cab occupying only one of them, but there you go...)

The ghetto Brittany (long bleach, bleach blond hair, boobs falling out of her shirt, shoes about six inches in the heel, with a juicy tattoo on her neck) proceeds to try to hit on the cop with the ticket book, when I look the other cop in the face.

Turns out I know him. Yes. That's right. I know him.

Our sons played on the All Star team together last year in Little League.

I wanted to die.

Now, don't get me wrong, my husband knew I was going out. He has no problem with this. We don't go out together, unless it is to a friend's house. We tend to (he tends to) act like total morons in public when in each other's presence. That's all I'm going to say about that. Anywayz...

I tell ghetto Brittany to just get in the damn car, snatch my ticket away from the cop, give a little shit to Little League dad, and leave.

I just want to know how long it's going to take before I start hearing stories about me getting ticketed by his partner at two in the morning in downtown Ybor, with two twenty three years old, one of which tried to pick up his partner. That should make for interesting gossip in the stands. Huh?

Deluded Parents and Scary Teenage Girls

My son plays baseball, for those of you that are unaware.

And he's actually pretty good. He turned thirteen in March and is already five foot eight. He's also very fit. These are all great things in baseball. However, this is not his crowning glory.

He's a leftie. And he pitches. Which apparently is a golden ticket. Or so he is constantly being told. So, even at thirteen, we have all these teams that are interested in him playing for them.

Anyway, the point to this post is....some parents are bat shit crazy. Fo real.

If you are anything like me, you would be amazed and downright horrified by the amount of parents that push their children to play a sport that they don't really enjoy and pretty much pimp their kids out to teams to get them recognition. At THIRTEEN YEARS OLD!

There are several types of these parents. The ones that truly believe their boys are going to make it to the bigs and are planning their entire retirement fund around that event, to the ones that are completely deluded into thinking that their child has abilities that he obviously doesn't. It's ridiculous.

Take my son for example. He's good. At pitching.

However, the whole common sense thing has completely escaped him.

For example, we were talking about where ham came from (pigs), then hamburgers (cows), when he asks "Where does chicken come from?"

Seriously.

So, while his athletic ability and physical stature are definite pluses, he's something of an airhead. Even as his mother, I know this. I love him anyway. It's that whole unconditional love thing.

Does that make me mean? I can admit that I am kind of mean. But its not like I run around calling my child, my love, the fruit of my womb, a dumb ass or anything.

And I do encourage him, tell him he can be anything he wants, he just has to apply himself.

But lets be honest. Not everyone has the ability to be a brain surgeon.

Also....

....these little slutty girls now-a-days....

Women, am I lying? Men, hell, even so-called "smart men" are dumb asses when a piece of tail is waved around in their faces.

Alex makes good grades in school, only a hand full of "C's" this year...but that is because, and he has admitted it, that he didn't have any "hot girls" in most of his classes.

I'm terrified. Some little hooch in shorty shorts, boobs bigger than mine, with an all over spray tan is going to molest my little boy.

I was knocked up at fifteen... gave birth at sixteen. I am bound and determined to break the cycle with my child. I really don't want him to wind up on an episode of "Sixteen and Pregnant" on MTV.

I want to know where the hell the male birth control shot is. These damn pharmaceutical companies need to get on the ball. Have they not seen how these little girls are behaving lately?!

If only they could stay babies...


but they do...


grow up...


a little at a time...

Grow up ALREADY!!

Do you ever want to hit someone? I mean, for real? Not just in that fuzzy fantasy land you sometimes go to in your mind, but where you literally have to make a conscious effort not to knock the shit out of the person standing before you???

That's how I feel right about now.

So, what do you do with your pent up aggression?

Do you try to get drunk, bury the feelings of sheer rage? Doesn't that just make it worse?

Do you have sex to maybe burn off some of the energy? (As a side note, I never understood the whole fight and make up theory - seems to me that if someone really pisses me off, the less I want to go to bed with them...but that's just me...)

Maybe you work out, sweat some of the discontent off.

Honestly, when I'm really pissed off, I just have to wait it out. I'm not one to hold a grudge, as fighting pisses me off worse than whatever the original issue was. But sometimes, like now, my husband can make me so pissy that I just want to hit him. I keep telling myself that my adolescent days are behind me and that no real good could come from bloodying his nose, but my physical reaction to anger is sometimes, nearly, almost, as strong as the great wisdom and maturity I've developed over the last dozen years or so...

And I know I probably shouldn't come on here and vent about my other (notice I don't say better) half, as that is a real pet peeve of mine...but right now, my aggravation with him is by far outweighing any couth I have in the relationship etiquette department.

I won't go into detail about what a dumb ass he is, but I figure it is typical male behavior.

What is wrong with the male psyche, that whenever someones tells you they don't want you to do something, come hell or high water you're going to do it just to show them that you can?

I don't want to be his mother. Not at all. I hate nagging. So I don't. But I do get pissed. And sometimes want to resort to physical violence. I won't (at least I'm 99% sure I won't), even if he deserves it....

So that's where I'm at. Pissed at my husband and venting about it out in cyber land.

On a Saturday night.

At home.

On the computer.

I'm so effin' lame.

It's ALIVE!!

Okay, so while I've been a little MIA lately, I promise I'm still among the living.

And I'm actually getting some great material to blog about.

Saturday night, I was in a limo with twelve other crazy ladies on a bachelorette party, where lots of funny shenanigans took place, which I will post about soon, I promise!

I also need to tell everyone about watching New Moon with the husband. You would've thought I was pulling his toe nails out with pliers. Seriously.

And today, I'm heading to Cocoa Beach, where my spring break commences. I'm currently sitting here posting this, fully prepared for the beach while two of my princes(esses) are taking their sweet time on packing a bag.

I hate waiting on people.



I'm sure I'm going to be a total biotch once we finally get on our way, because they are not making sure I'm happy. It's not going to be premeditated bitchiness (no matter the fact that I'm already predicting this).

No.

It's going to come out at the most unexpected times, much like turret's syndrome. I'm going to bust out with something like, "Do you need me to get your balls out of my purse?! What the hell are you waiting for?!", when my husband wants to wait FOREVER and a day to pull out onto the highway. He does this type of thing frequently. And there is no happy medium. He will either pull out in front of someone and make me nearly crap my pants out of sheer terror or he will wait until I sprout a grey hair to make up his mind to go. Drives me effing crazy.

Oh, oh...I think they might be getting close. Let me go kick them in their asses and get this show on the road.



Peace out, girl scouts.

Angle of My Piss

Okay, so I totally found something that is going to make my days much more pleasant..

I've found the secret to peeing quietly. Yes. It's true. I'll tell you how. (and why.)

So, the staff bathroom (the only one that I'm not afraid something is going to jump onto my nether regions if I use) is in a hallway with offices all around. One day, I was walking down this hallway (to the bathroom no less) and heard the sound of a gigantic horse taking a leak. I was kind of embarrassed for the person on the other side of the door, (and concerned because I thought the bathroom was for women only and it surely had to be a man draining his boy bit)when the door opens and out steps this little petite woman.

First off, I was amazed that such a little thing could make such a racket (is that with a 'w'?) and then I was relieved that the one bathroom I was comfortable using wasn't a unisex potty.

(No offense meant, gentlemen...okay, so that's a lie. You may be offended, because I frankly don't give a shit...You guys are disgusting. For real.)

So, it had me slightly freaked out that every time I go to this potty, the sound of me peeing is echoing into the hallway like Niagara Falls.

Anyway, I've since experimented with the angle of my urine. (I really would never have thought that 'angle of my urine' would be something that I would ever say, much less write for anyone that suffers severe boredom and has access to the Internet to read, but there you go...'angle of my urine'.)

I've since found that if you pee on the porcelain, not directly into the water, there is virtually no sound.

*Sigh of relief...

I can now piss unselfconsciously.

Smart Ass

I love some of the assignments some of these teachers come up with. They keep me highly entertained...

For instance, today, I had a group of students that were in trouble that were given a very interesting writing assignment. They were to write an ENTIRE PAGE (oh, no!) on a day in the life from their shoes, their agendas, a poster from their favorite class, the oak tree in front of the school and one of their teacher's, perspective.

A few of them totally blew it, even with me giving them ideas, and hello, in case you haven't noticed, I'm totally the bestest writer in the whole wide world. Right? Right?

Anywayz, one of the boys actually took my suggestions and had me laughing my ass off.

He wrote one from his shoe's perspective, such as how badly he hated having dog crap on himself and how much he enjoyed the fact that his owner talked to him, and even occasionally would sing to him....and how all the other shoes were jealous that they didn't have such wonderful owner's that bathed them regularly and how he was always a-shinin', yo....

Anyway, it was really funny and I hope he sticks with writing, because his imagination might just outshine mine. Maybe...but probably not. :-)

There was this other assignment that I ran across, one that a child had not completed from last month. It was a Valentine's Day resume.

In resume format, you were supposed to list all the attributes you had that would make a prospective valentine desire you.

Am I the only perve in the room?

I totally would've mentioned my boob size, ass shape, shapely legs and the way I fill out a skirt. But I don't think any of the kids did that. Which made me wonder about this generation.

Because if this were MY assignment, I would've headed straight to the gutter with it.

The kids today have no imagination.

So, excluding the kid with the shinin' shoes, I think it's safe to say that all of the good writing jobs are safe for all of us current writer's out here. Especially those of us that enjoy bringing a smile to a reader's face.

I Need, I Need, I Need.....

Do you ever wonder why things happen at the worst possible time?

Four days before I started my new job, my youngest broke his wrist, and it couldn't be a typical run of the mill break....no....It had to warrant surgery, so I missed a day of work for that.

This week we are having testing, very important testing, and while I normally don't mind missing work (I actually relish playing hooky from time to time), I refuse to miss this soon into a job. So, here I am, sick again and having to drag my snotty, congested, eyes watering, scabbed up nose ass to work. It sucks.

But on the plus side, I witnessed a very funny thing happen.

Kids today are asses. They possess no work ethic, nor any moral values worth mentioning. (With a few exceptions to the rule...I don't want to forget my own precious angel, of course.)

One of our deans called some girl down to the office. When she walked in, she had no idea what she was there for. The dean asked the girl for her boyfriend's name, so she gave it. The dean then proceeds to call the boyfriend up. I was almost afraid to ask, but of course, I'm a nosy bitch so I wanted to know if they were caught scrumping in the potty.

Unfortunately, the girl was just spotted making out that morning and the dean wanted to chew the P.D.A loving couple a new one.

This is where it gets interesting.

Turns out the boy that the girl was making out with that morning WASN'T her boyfriend and she totally got busted. The dean was rather embarrassed and vowed that she would be more specific in the future. Instead of asking, "What's your boyfriend's name?" it would go more like this, "Whose tongue did you have in your mouth this morning?"

Serves the little hooch right...He dumped her right there in the office, too.

I'm ready for some hot weather. I need the sun. Seriously. I need the water to warm up, so that I can cool off after the U.V rays eats my skin off. I need to run around in flip flops and tank tops and cut off shorts. I need to have tan lines. I need my hair bleached out naturally so that I don't have to spend a fortune getting it artifically colored. I need to be on the water. I also need an excuse for a pedicure as my feet are beginning to scare me...even worse than normal.

And I need an excuse to wear my new red bathing suit, as I tried it on the other day and I'm totally rocking it. (Not that I'm bragging or anything....okay, so I totally am, but in my defense I've busted my ass over the last year for my body, so I've earned the right.)

I also need my hair to grow another half inch so that I can wear it in a pony tail because I had to chop all the dead crap off the last time I had my hair did, due to flat ironing the shit out of it. I recommend a blow dryer and a paddle brush if you want straight hair. The flat iron is a murderer. Seriously.

This is just a few things I need. I'm sure I could go on...and on...and on...and on...but I won't bore you with the details.

Peace out, peeps.

I was stabbed, once upon a time...

When I was young(er), I worked as a waitress at this little barbecue joint that smokes the ribs in the middle of the restaurant, no air conditioner and concrete floors. The working conditions were atrocious, but the people were some of the best I've ever met.

With a few exceptions, but that's a story for another day.

Throughout the course of my time employed there, there were many pranks that were pulled.

One of which was where I poured mineral oil all in one girls sweet tea (I didn't like her a whole lot and didn't care if she sat on the shitter for the majority of her shift).

Another one, I put a rubber snake in a guys truck that habitually left his window down even though he parked under a group of oak trees. The guy got a shovel (after he finished screaming like a little girl) and proceeded to beat the shit out of his seat four or five times before he realized it was fake.

Another time I closed someone up in the freezer (only for a few minutes, though) and was highly amused at the level of hysteria a middle aged lady (I use the term loosely) can get in just a few minutes.

I guess you could say that I'm something of a pain in the ass, maybe even a little mean at times. And it really was all in good fun (for the most part).

So, I know that I have something coming for me, as I don't include the time that my shirt was frozen into a solid block of ice when I had to change due to barbecue sauce down my front.

There's really no point to this post, other than the fact that I've been reminiscing about some of my old jobs, the good, the bad and the sheer awfulness of some of them.

I do want to point out that I was also stabbed in the leg while working at the above restaurant, so I figure that probably balanced the scales a little bit. It was apparently on accident, but as I didn't get along with the girl wielding the knife, I do have my doubts. I was about to beat the shit out of her until I looked down and saw blood pouring down my leg. Have you ever been stabbed? Not cut, but stabbed? That shit hurts like hell. For real.

At my job as a lifeguard as a teenager, I took a nose dive off my lifeguard stand. How reassuring is that? The lifeguard doesn't even know how to climb up a very large wooden ladder and she's guarding the lives of your children?

I also once worked at a hospital and would take patients for x-rays, M.R.I.'s etc. I quit when I had a psyche patient about ripmy co-worker's hair out from the root and I had to tie her to the stretcher with a sheet in order to subdue her. That one was fun.

So, my work history is long and varied and I wonder what is going to happen in my new job that I will remember years from now (excluding the kid whacking off in class).

I just hope that one student will think that I've made a difference for them. If that happens, I'll think that it was totally worth it. (plus, summer's off BABY)

I hope everyone is having a good week.

Dear Dumb Ass

Dear Mom of dumb ass student,

I apologize for ruining your day by phoning you and letting you know that your daughter has bladder issues and is unable to make it to her class on time.

I apologize for letting you know school policy so that you may talk with your daughter about taking more timely bathroom breaks.

I also apologize for the fact that the apple didn't even take a slight roll away from the family tree and fell in a rotten, gooey heap upon the algae, moldy infested roots of said tree.

I apologize for the fact that you're a complete dumb ass, waste of space and will most likely contribute an exact replica of yourself onto the good/tolerant graces of society.

I would also like to inform you that I'm very glad that I met you in my professional work space, because that made it your safe place, as I refrained from doing what I wanted to do, which was crawl through the phone and let you know all of the above and if you took issue, settle it the old fashioned way.

Sincerely,

The dumb ass teacher you disrespected and left with a foul taste in her mouth.


Honestly....I'm amazed at the sheer stupidity of some so-called adults. This woman was actually pissed that her daughter's teacher took exception to the fact that she interrupted class by entering late, due to the fact that she had to pee.

This is especially galling, as not a teacher at our school would refuse the request to go to the bathroom. If the little twit would've at least went to class, explained that she was in dire need of the potty, she would've gotten a pass and then my work would not have been interrupted and I wouldn't now think that said girl is doomed to a life of crime, promiscuity and complete ignorance of the way the world works.

I actually had to send this girl to the principal, rather than have her stay in my class for the length of the on going lesson. The principal then had to deal with her dumb ass of a mother, and then turn the girl around to, HELLO????... spend the rest of the class period with me.

What a dumb ass. Seriously.

Carcusses and My Library

I'm sitting in my library/computer room, looking at all the books that I've consumed over the years.

I have five big book shelves completely crammed full, some what in alphabetical order. I probably need three more bookcases to get completely organized, but it's okay. Because I love this room. With one exception.

My husband has killed some animals over the last several years and for some reason, he thinks it necessary to stick the dead animal heads on the walls. I've refused to allow him to place them in my living room where their dead, glassy eyes can watch me as I watch television. And the dining room is out. Eww.

So here I sit, with several "trophy" animals staring down at me from their perch on my walls.

We've had long, loud and drawn out debates on the ethical side of hunting. Even though I always win these arguments with my wit and intelligence, it has not deterred him in the slightest from peering through a scope and murdering these poor defenseless animals.

Don't get me wrong. I love me a great big greasy cheeseburger.......or a t-bone steak, but I prefer that the meat come all nice and prepackaged.

And I also wish I didn't have to have these corpses on my walls ruining my most favoritest room.

This goes in the con column of marrying and sharing your life with someone.

But, like I've said before, he better be glad he's so handsome. Or I'm not sure if it would be worth it.



And he cracks me up...(note the porn stash)

Things That Make Me Go "Hmmmm"

Every once in a while I'll ponder the meaning of certain things. (Yeah, I know...scares the shit outta me, too.)

Like for instance, there are a couple of blogs that I read that just make me feel stupid and I wonder why I subject myself. Let me explain.

It's like reading the business section of the paper. Most of the time, I'm not exactly sure what I'm reading, but I keep thinking that I'm going to get smarter if I just stick with it. The big words that I don't understand, the obscure pop culture references, among other things, just skim the surface of my brain and I have no effing clue what is being talked about. But, man, when something clicks, I feel like a damn rocket scientist.

And then it'll occur to me....Why the hell do I bother? Am I a glutton for punishment? Why am I wasting my time reading tripe that I haven't got a damn clue what is actually being discussed?

And I really, really, really hate feeling stupid. Go figure.

Another thing that I don't get. Lady Gaga. Why exactly? Why does someone like her get all this attention? Frankly, I find her unattractive and the music sub par. But then again, any time one of her videos comes on, I find myself watching it with my mouth hanging open in puzzled bewilderment.

And why does she get to make out with Alexander Skarsgard? Life is just unfair at times.



Here's another one.

Why does my body rebel on me every month? If it wouldn't make me grow chin hair and be put on hormone treatment, I would seriously beg someone to rip out my uterus. It's retired anyway and completely redundant at this point.

I also don't understand nipples on men.

I also wonder if ugly people experience love at first sight with someone in their league. Is that mean? If it is, I apologize, but this is something that I've wondered when I see a couple that makes me believe that there is, indeed, someone for everyone.

Like this girl...Did someone see her and think, I've got to have me some of that?


Why do people buy hummers? Does it make them feel powerful? Or more attractive? It's such a douche bag car. Kind of like Ed Hardy t-shirts. Yes, somewhat attractive at times, but it just screams "Look At Me!! I NEED Attention!" Am I the only one that feels this way? Just to be clear, Ed Hardy was in maybe two years ago, but when they started selling so called one of a kinds at Sam's for $19.95, it's definitely a sign that the whole Ed Hardy thing has run it's course.



I also don't understand people that can't hear obvious sarcasm. I don't know exactly how I come across on here, but in real life, I'm a very sarcastic person. It amuses me. And I come off as an asshole from time to time, especially if you just don't "get me". But mostly, I'm full of shit and I know it, and if you have half a brain, you wouldn't let me offend you when I'm not being serious. I'm just screwing around.

Seriously, how do these people make it through life?

I also hate those bumper stickers that say stupidly cheerful things.





Usually, if I'm reading your bumper sticker, it's because I'm tailgating you and I don't give a shit if you "Hate Mean People". That just makes me want to flip you off, that way when I pass you, you'll realize that you should maybe, probably, at the very minimum, go the damn speed limit.

Another thing. If you're from somewhere that has great amounts of snow, do not come to Florida and bore the locals with how cold it is "back home" and say that we're wimps for shivering when the high only reaches sixty. Sure, it's not as cold as a well digger's ass, or a witches tittie (never understood that saying.....how cold is a witches tittie? And is that "ie" or just "y"?) but to us poor Floridians, it's scarf, wool underwear time.

Okay, I've vented enough. I'll end with a little story from last week at school.

So, I'm not sure if this is common or not, but I pray not.

Teenage kids, and this boy in particular, are strange.

I walk into the office late last week and there's this boy boo-hooing in the office. I mean, boo-hooing. Snotting, hiccuping...the whole nine yards.

When I ask what he's in the Principal's office for, I found out that the kid was caught whacking off.......in class....Wth??

What's really disturbing, I had a kid ask me for some lotion yesterday afternoon. Not the same boy. A different one.

Is this normal adolescent behavior?

Genetic Floor Pissing

As a mom of a young man that is almost thirteen, it is a constant battle to keep my house clean. And, seeing as I might be a bit of an O.C.D. control freak, I like to keep a very (very, very, very) clean house.

And he's a pig. Seriously.

I live with three males and I'm completely outnumbered.

My youngest son is ten and while they're completely different in every other respect, they are very similar in the fact that their aim is way off while taking a piss. Knowing my husband, it must be genetic.

We have a big house, so everyone has their own bathrooms. Sounds nice, until you set out to clean them. I enter with caution, a gallon of bleach and rubber gloves.

"Jesus!" is usually the first thing out of my mouth upon entry.

"You've got to be kidding me!" is not far behind.

By the time I finish, my lungs are burning, eyes are watering and I've typically developed even more disgust for my offspring than ever before. Yes, it may sound harsh, but disgust is really the only emotion that moves through my body as I'm scrubbing the piss off the surrounding walls and that little holding area every toilet seems to come equipped with located at the floor where it bolts in.

I have many friends that ask why I don't make them clean it up themselves. Sure, I've done this, but it is never up to my standards.

Put it like this. I once cleaned my oldest son's bathroom and a few days later, he comes out and says, "I love it when the toilet is blue, mom."

And me, puzzled, asked him how the toilet was still blue.

"I've been peeing in the shower so that it'll stay clean."

Huh?

I'm not making this shit up.

One morning, I went in to his room to wake him up for school before leaving for work and you literally could not see the floor. I do my normal routine, lose my mind a little, threaten him with loss of limb if its not clean before I get home from work and head out.

When I arrive home that afternoon, my husband has him in the truck, heading out for baseball practice. He rolls the passenger window down and shouts out at me, "Mom, I remembered to clean my room!" and as I'm about to say thank you, he finishes with this, "I just didn't do it!"

I guess he wanted a pat on the back for at least remembering what I wanted him to do.

I really, really need a maid. Problem is, she/he probably wouldn't clean it to my standards either.

Ball Busters

Could you imagine being raised by a ball buster such as Gloria Allred?



She has done many memorable things within her life time and while I admire many, it seems as though I only see her when someone is screwing someone they shouldn't be (and she typically falls on the side of the woman - who is usually screwing a married man, which I find ironic, as she is a great proponent for legalizing gay marriage. She continually mocks the sanctity of the institution, while fighting for the rights of everyone to join in.) or jumping in on cases that have shit to do with her.

It's actually very smart. If you're a media hound.

She is the one that filed a suit against Jacko when the weird (but talented - I'll give him that much) asshole dangled his baby off a balcony a few years back (for those of you that were living under a rock at the time). She actually notified child protective services, as though they didn't know.

But it did get her name in the news. So, kudos.

Honestly, I've always thought she was a man hater. It seems as though whenever she is on CNN or whatever channel she is currently subjecting their viewers to her holier than thou persona, it is to rip apart some hapless man.

(I say hapless, because ladies, lets be honest - most of the time, men are just dumb asses. Even the smart ones are dumb asses. It's some type of extra gene that comes along with the excess testosterone. Kind of like an extra chromosome, but without the visual bad shit.)

And before anyone thinks I'm against gay marriage, let me assure you that I believe anyone that is willing to subject themselves to anything that can be referred to as an institution should by all means have the right to do so. Especially for those that need a spouse so that they can have health insurance.

Her daughter is Lisa Bloom, who is also an attractive woman that has a tendency to hate on the men on national television.

I guess that apple didn't fall far from that tree.

And to make mommy proud, she even sued the Boy Scouts for not allowing a girl to join. Bet she got an "Atta girl!" for that one.

Is CNN the new Fox?

I was watching the news this morning and CNN was discussing the death of designer Alexander McQueen.

I guess I've been out of the fashion world long enough that I had no idea who the hell he was, other than I recognize some of his crazy ass clothes.

Think Lady Gaga.



Who, other than her, would wear this crap? And Sarah Jessica Parker?

I do have to say that it wasn't always bad. He had some beautiful pieces, although they were a touch eccentric and no "normal" person would ever be able to wear them.

Such as this:



He was definitely an artist that pretended to design clothes.

Anyway, reminiscing over a designer that had the bad taste to "allegedly" kill himself is not the point of this post.

CNN said, and I quote, "Alexander McQueen went out on his own terms".

??????

Is this how you report the tragedy of a lost human being killing themselves?

They discussed the fact that his mother died eight days ago and he must have been depressed.

You think?

Anyway, I will point out that personally, I feel sorry for anyone weak minded enough to end their life prematurely due to their own inability to deal with life. Life.

It sucks. It is hard. People die. Deal with it.

And if you can't deal with it on your own, rather than make your loved ones suffer, get your selfish ass to a shrink and figure it out.

CNN, if you actually read anything other than your own tripe and the New York Post, read this.

Do me a favor. Do not glamorize the poor schmuck's suicide. It's not glamorous.

Just ask the cleaning crew.

EVIL EYED LAURIE

>
Hi.

My name is Laurie and I'm a bitch.

I've discovered this over the last couple of days. I've always suspected, but now I know it as fact.

You want to know how I know this?

Well, I'm the new teacher's aide at my son's middle school. Yes. THE HORROR!

He's adjusting, as he doesn't have any other choice.

And apparently, the newbies get stuck with the bad kids. You know...the ones that scream profanities, destroy school property, break people's noses and let's not forget the worst of the bunch.....the ones that are consistently tardy or out of uniform....but that is a whole different issue.

Anyway, I'm in charge of those kids that make bad choices, at least for the next several weeks, but I have to say that I might have found my niche.

They are terrified of me. Seriously.

And all I had to do was give them the evil eye and scream at the top of my lungs a couple of times. It's pretty amazing, actually.



I already have a REPUTATION.

My son has the insider's view.

He's been hearing either, "Dude, your mom is hot!" or "Dude, your mom is such a BITCH!"

I'm just glad he's my son, because over the last several days, I've realized that I have pretty good kids.

So, thank you, God. You done me right in the whole procreation thing.

Vampire Sluts and Why We Love Them

Okay, so the title was just to get your attention. Mostly.


Okay, so sue me, I love me some good Hollywood gossip. It's really beneath me, yada, yada, so what, kiss my ass.

Anyway, I guess that Kristen Stewart (aka: Bella) had to serve on jury duty last week. Or this week. Or something. Whatever.

I guess she actually got selected and it totally made her lose street cred in my book. WHO IN HELL CAN'T COME UP WITH AN EXCUSE TO GET KICKED OUT????

Really?

1. Q: Ma'am, do you have any family members or close friends with the arresting police department?

A: Weeeellll, a train was pulled on me at a party about a month ago. The arresting officer was definitely there. I recognize him by his gun.



2. Q: Do you have any reason, morally or religiously, for opposing prosecuting someone for the alleged crime?

A: If the defendant isn't Mormon.



3. Q: Are you biased in any way towards people of a differently ethnicity or sexual orientation than you?

A: Hell no! The gayer, the better! I've considered being a lesbian since the eighth grade when Tommy, the little queer, broke my heart and went out with that little chica slut Maria.



4. Cry, sob, moan, blow you nose incessantly. When they ask you what's wrong, point at the defendant and rush out of the room.

*I'm sure this would work if you were called into multiple courtrooms for selection.

5. Start twitching all over and rub your nose like you have a thousand dollar a day coke habit. For extra points, keep flour in your pocket to rub on the end of your nose any time an attorney approaches the juror's box. (You might get arrested, but the charges would fall through after a little bit of investigation.

6. In the manner of Larry Flynt, you could do one of two things. One, wear a diaper or two, a shirt that says "Fuck This Court". One of three things could/will happen.
a. You're held in contempt
b. You're fined
c. You're released from jury duty

Please note: You could really double ensure you won't be serving if you wear both.

7. What are all the other young moronic girls doing in Hollywood? Get arrested, girl! If you are convicted of a crime, you won't even have to come up with an excuse.

Really...how hard would any of this be for Kristen Stewart? Sure, the gossip mags might go a little wild for a while, but aren't they already a little over the top?

And while I know there are some out there that really don't mind doing their civic duty, Kristen Stewart doesn't exactly strike me as the patriotic type



(other than her portrayal of Pat Benatar, even though she was no Cissy Spacek in Coal Miner's Daughter- now THAT my friends, is American.).



If you disagree, I'll water board your ass.

Semper Fi, bitches.

Old Jobs, New Jobs, Broken Bones & Piss

Hot damn!

Okay, so I have two more days at my current job....I'm going to have a hell of a time trying to get everything in order for the next dumb ass...I mean person that fills the position. And the process has been greatly compromised.

Let me explain.

Tonight, my youngest son (he's 10) was at church and the brilliant organizer's of his age group thought that it would be a good idea for the kids to do a relay race....with OTHER children on their backs...

Yes, I know. Morons.

Lets just say that D.C. got his coordination gene from his mother, which means that he trips over his own feet on a regular basis. (Hey, I got beauty and brains - God didn't see fit to bless me with gracefulness, too - what do you expect? A trifecta?)

Anyhow, he takes two steps and does a face plant. AND BREAKS HIS FRIGGIN' WRIST IN HALF!!!!

Baby Jesus, please help me.

So, he was there with my sister in law and I was out picking up dinner when she called, and as I was wearing my ghetto ass slippers (they're actually fuzzy green, with leopard print detailing - don't judge me), I hauled ass home to put on some real shoes and beat a trail to the hospital.

I calmed him down, bless his little heart, and they took x-rays, where it was discovered that he broke one of the bones in his wrist clear through. What was weird, he only broke one of them, which is apparently rare (YAY, D.C., way to be unique) which also made it more difficult to set.

Before they sedated him, he let me know that he had to pee, really, really bad. They wouldn't let him get up, hence, I had to hold a little urinal with him laying down.

I think I traumatized him for life. Not because I saw his wee-wee. No, not that.

I was shaking, as my nerves are never good when traumatic shit is going down and his thing slipped out of the top of the urinal, so he proceeded to piss on him and me both. He's yelling at me at the top of his lungs, I'm trying to grab his thingie and shove it back into the top of the plastic thingie and managed to dump everything that had made it in the urinal all over his lap.

Yes. It was a damn mess.

I'm just glad he was on morphine and I hope the memory might be dim around the edges. God help me.

So, we had to cut his shirt (which piss had soaked) off of him, take the rest of his clothes off and clean him up, remove all the bedding, before we could settle him back down.

I really wish the nurse would have let me help him to the bathroom.

In the end, all the nurses and everyone in the hall way heard him yelling at me because my hand slipped. Yes, they got a good laugh out of it all.

And, honestly, reading this post, I think some type of comedy should be created based on the stupid shit that seems to constantly be happening to me.

I'm also trying to figure out how the hell I'm supposed to finish my job with a gimped up child that can't go to school in a splint AND how I'm supposed to start my new job on Monday when I have to get a cast slapped on him the same day?

Do you think it would be frowned upon if I brought D to work with me my first day on the job?

Proctology and the Lady With Stinky Hands

"You don't have to deserve your mother's love. You have to deserve your father's. He's more particular." ~Robert Frost


Yesterday was a hellacious day.

I had to go for a physical, drug testing, fingerprinting and an orientation.

I was good during the majority of the orientation, but by the time the last speaker was talking, my eyes started to get heavy and my head was nodding off. Apparently, I don't do well when I have to sit for prolonged periods of time with nothing to keep my hands or brain busy.

I was sent to one of my new employer's physicians for a physical and everything was going fine there (I even bluffed my way through the eye exam - at least I think I did) and gave myself a big pat on the back for wearing underwear that day (and they actually matched my bra) when this lady comes in to give me a look over.

She looked in my ears, made sure my teeth were not rotting out and flipped up my gown to feel on my belly. I had only one issue with her.

When she stuck the tongue depressor in my mouth, her hands smelled like B-O. I don't know if she'd been feeling in some hairy guy's arm pits without gloves on or what, but it was disgusting.

My belly was already feeling kind of icky, as I'd been running all over God's green earth and had not had time to eat. When the smell hit my nose, I might've gagged a little. I'm sure she attributed it to the fact that she had a wooden stake half way down my throat, but Lord have mercy! She's extremely fortunate that I didn't vomit on her. (I wonder if she would've cleared me for work if I had?)

Now, I don't know what it is to work in the medical profession, nor do I have any interest in finding out. But for all of you guys out there with stronger stomachs than moi, please, please, please wash your hands with something that kills the horrible smells that you come into contact with.

Another thing I've been wondering.

My dad has got some serious butt hole issues, which he enjoys going into great detail right about the time I'm getting ready to eat dinner (that's when he usually calls). He lives in Colorado and travels the three hours to Denver to see a proctologist to find out why he's having a period out of his asshole.

My question is: What would possess someone to want to look at butt holes all day long?

Can this be normal? I mean, when you're doing your internship and you're choosing a specialty, what makes you settle on THAT? Any profession that has people regularly bringing in stool samples cannot be entertaining, right? Do you enjoy digging around in shit? Trying to figure out what that person ate based on the level of digestive breakdown? What is the draw?

Gynecology? I understand. Even if after you become a gynecologist, you realize that the majority of cooters you're going to be looking at is over weight, diseased, or massively stretched out, the fantasy of it all might lure you in.

Dermatology? Maybe you have a fascination with popping zits and you think squeezing pus all day in enjoyable. I know there are such people.

Certain folks even have feet fetishes, so I get that.

But proctology? It is beyond my ken.

Not the Cleaver's....or even the Griswold's.

Have you ever met those kind of people that are totally inappropriate? Like they have no idea what constitutes being a normal, upright citizen? The one that walks like they have cerebral palsy in the mall, even when the only twitch in their body is the one in their brain that sends electric waves shooting through their neuro pathways which is the only logical conclusion as to why they would behave in such a douche bag, moronic way?

Well......I'm related to them.

Seriously.

I have a relative that cried for five days when his dog died, and I mean hysterically, but when his mother died, he snuck into her house that night and stole her refrigerator.

I have another relative that has five kids by three different men and was caught stripping across the county line in a real dump, where the lice in the toilet pole vault onto your genitals just to catch a ride out of the joint.

Another relative is a witch. Seriously, he (yes, he) believes that if he worships a pagan god, he will develop some kind of super powers like Samantha in Bewitched. If you think Southern Baptists are bad about preaching at you, wait until you get a load of this joker.

I have another relative that once put bullet holes into the back of our car because she was angry with my mom.

Another relative that moved to the mountains in Colorado, changed his name and doesn't wear anything other than flannel. I can't remember what he changed his name to, but its something like Rocky. Yeah, you heard me.

This one girl in the family will go to the beach, meet men and have sex with them while her husband secretly watches.

Another one is a child molester, then there is the con (wo)man, the evil one, the alcoholic, the pill addict and the schizophrenic one (she's actually entertaining to be around).....The list goes on and on. I have an enormous family, and while there are a few of them that I wish would drop dead, as it would make the world an entirely better place, I'm thankful for them.

Even if I don't want to use a wash cloth after them, or randomly tell strangers my maiden name as they might put two and two together and Lord knows who or what they will come up with.

I'm thankful for them because I guess I'm glad that they were the ones stuck with the crazy gene and my branch of the family seems to have escaped it (with the exception of my dad thinking my mom practices voo doo and my brother refusing to get a steady job).

I was talking with my mom a while back and she told me that in some way or another we are related to Lana Turner. All of her grandmother's family were Turner's and one of her aunt's had a room papered with memorabilia from Lana's life. I looked her up and it turns out the crazy gene was definitely fully in place through out her reign in Hollywood and beyond.



I'm just pissed that I didn't inherit her boobs.

Flower Child Wanna-Be

Okay, so a little something about me....I always wanted to be a hippy girl, but I never got into smoking weed or sucking on acid.

I had this boyfriend once that loved huffing gas and would randomly pass out over gas cans, but that was as close as I got to the whole hippy movement.

Oh, yeah, and I once wore flowers in my hair, but I somehow don't think that really counts.



The idea of free love, platform shoes, make love not war sounds so awesome, doesn't it?

But when I really break it down, here's how it goes:

1. Free love = having sex with random strangers and oopsy daisy! I'm knocked up and don't know which pot head to blame.

2. Platform shoes = Really bad corns, balance issues and me towering at six foot two.

3. Make love, not war = smiling peacefully when what I really want to do is knock a biotch out, which in turn leads to repressed emotion, ulcers and many trips to gastroenterologists, psychologists and pharmacists, which then in turn means I'm strung out on pills, everything from anti-anxiety meds and pain pills which leaves me constipated and sends me back to another kind of doctor that ends in "ist".....Or I could go the organic route and self medicate...

So, really, I don't think I'm meant to be a hippy. I enjoy getting my hair "did" too much and I definitely eat meat, which most hippies don't, do they? And any type of clothing made with hemp would probably make my skin break out.

I got to thinking about the hippies because something I read made me think of my childhood summers. Most were spent in this little ghost town in Colorado, by the name of St. Elmo.

In this particular part of the state, there seems to be a lot of older people that have migrated from California and very much seem to be of the seventies era. Lots of long hair, flannel shirts, kerchiefs around their foreheads, flowing skirts and home made beads worn around necks and ankles. They are really pretty awesome.




Anyway, my dad is friends with a guy that owns The General Store (above), among several of the other remaining buildings in the town. But The General Store is definitely at the center of all the action, which is where he rents out ATV's, Jeeps and sells various antiques and touristy post cards, t-shirts and the like.



It's a busy place in the summer...

My first time there, I think I was around five years old and there was no running water on the mountain. Therefore, we used an outhouse and brushed out teeth in the river behind the cabin we always stayed in. We had to travel down the mountain for showers. I remember I once got a bug bite on my ass while in the process of going to the bathroom, so from that time on I would wave my ass in the air while swatting the air around it to keep from getting bitten. I'm sure it was a sight to behold.

By the time I was twelve, we had water! Yay! Then, I really began to enjoy the place. I'm not what you would call an outdoorsy kinda girl (although I love to fish and any water sport, I'm so there), so I really, really, really want to shower at night and flush when I use the little girls room.

I think I enjoyed the history of the place more than anything. The old saloon, the one room school house, and when I was little the mines weren't closed to the public, so we were able to explore and look for gold.



It was the one and only place I ever heard my mom fart. We were walking down Main Street, I might've been six, when she let out a little fart, which I still pick on her for to this day. My mom isn't the "let me let one rip" type, so I just get a kick out of the fact that she will still blush over a little gas she had twenty years ago.

But anyway, I haven't been back since I was twenty four, so I'm definitely due for a trip. I might go this summer and help out in the store.

A picture of my best friend and I my last trip there (she's the one with the big boobs, I'm the one with all the hair):



If you ever make it that way, make sure you swing in and tell Chris and Nora that Laurie says hi. They are two of the eight year-round residents in St. Elmo and nicer people couldn't be found.