Ssshhhh...!!!

OMG!  I am home alone!  All I hear are crickets outside my window (and the clicking of my laptop keys)!  For the next 15 minutes, I get to enjoy PEACE and QUIET.  No Phineas & Ferb blaring from the TV, no Kids Bop 17 turned up full blast, no fighting over a toy that's been missing since 2006, no screaming because "she touched me," no crying because "she pinched me"...  Can you identify which child is the aggressor at our house???

Back in the day, I'd have the stereo blasting.  I'd be dancing around the house in a little t-shirt and panties (because I'd just gotten out of bed), and I'd be singing into my hairbrush.  Back then, of course, I didn't realize the value of silence.  I didn't know what it was like to desperately need some quiet time alone.  Now it seems to be all that I dream about.

Crap!  My time is almost up.  I have six more minutes of solitude.  I can't help but feel ansy like I should be doing "something" with this precious, yet quite rare, commodity.  Maybe I should unload the dishwasher or start some towels?  That's what my OCD husband would do.  Aw, screw it...  I'm just going to sit here and enjoy.  I'm surprised he hasn't called yet to leave me a list of the things I should be doing while he and my little hellions darlings are gone.

Damn!  I'm down to two!  What to do with my last two minutes of "me" time???  I wonder if convicts think like that?  Do they say, "Well, I've just been convicted.  I guess I better drink this liter of whiskey and make mad, passionate love to my german shepherd girlfriend before heading off to the pen for the next seven years."

Time's up!  Back to mass chaos!

Courtroom Drama

First off, I have a question for you seasoned bloggers.  What the hell is a "meme?"  I've seen it used on several blogs, but even using my context clues I cannot figure out its meaning.  It's making me crazy like those big, green, pus-filled zits TG used to get when we were in middle school.  I couldn't talk to him because I couldn't stop staring at the zits!!!  Any way...  How about a little story???

Today was an incredible day for people-watching.  I took the day off so that I could go down to 201 Poplar to take care of an unfortunate little traffic citation.  If you aren't from around here, let me give you a brief glimpse of 201 (as my homies refer to it).

201 is the justice complex for Memphis and Shelby County.  It houses several courtrooms as well as the pokey.  This ain't no Barney Fife-type pokey either.  This is the real deal!  It's like the inner sanctum of HELL!  There some live-ass criminals up in there!  And I had to mingle with those criminals as I made my way to traffic court.

As I entered the complex, I had to walk through a metal detector and my belongings were scanned on a little conveyor belt like those in the airport.  I was stopped and questioned by the guard.  Apparently, I had a "weapon" in my purse.  He showed me the screen and asked if I was carrying scissors.  Yikes! 

No sir.  I don't have any scissors, officer sir. 

"Ma'am, they are right here on my monitor." 

Uh...I guess I'll just dump out the contents of my purse??  Sir, yes sir?

He was right; I was armed.  I had to forfeit a pair of eyebrow tweezers that were in my cosmetic bag.  Guess I'll be sporting the au naturel uni-brow from here on out...

When I got upstairs to the courtroom area, I sat near a young brotha and his peeps.  Apparently, he "had caught a drug charge."  He claimed the weed was his, but not the pills.  Damn those cops! as if it were their fault that he "had caught a charge."  Not that his stupid ass was involved in a criminal act and should be punished!!!  NO!  He and his mama were cutting up like they were at the Comedy Club.  Apparently, this was not his first trip to 201.

When the courtroom doors opened, people were piling in.  They packed us all into the courtroom like sardines.  Sergeant Hardass wouldn't let us sit where we wanted to.  We were seated in the order we came in.  "Slide on down, folks!  Don't leave any room."

On my way in, I noticed a court clerk.  She was an extremely LARGE woman with hideous taste.  She was wearing some black polyester pants, white sports socks, and some black Merrell's (like the MIL from hell wears).  I tried to capture her ensemble with my cell phone, but she got away too quickly.  THAT, I thought, was the most felonious thing I'd seen all morning.   Other moments that made me gasp???  People going to court LATE!  People wearing shorts and undershirts!  People wearing their hats and sunglasses in front of the judge!  What happened to Contempt of Court???  I was appalled.

 After my ticket was dismissed, I had to go down to the basement area to pay the court costs.  As I descended down the escalator, I noticed all the camera crews and the gazillion people lined up waiting to get into another courtroom.  I walked passed them on my way to pay my fine.  Being the hopeless rubber-necker that I am, I could not help but stare and wonder.

By the time I'd paid my fine, the news anchors were interviewing this small, unassuming black woman.  She looked like a normal person; not a celebrity.  Then it dawned on me.  Ah-ha!  The Lester Street murder case was going on today!  This must be one of the family members.  The Lester Street murders are famous in that they featured on my favorite show, A&E's The First 48 Hours!  Dude killed his brother, his wife, and some of the kids -- seven people in all.  And my man, Tony Armstrong, and his team got him to confess ON THE SHOW!  Sucks for his attorneys...

If that courtroom wasn't standing room only, I would have stayed.  Most people would have hated spending their day off at 201.  Not me, though.  That was the best free entertainment I've seen in a very long time!!! 

Memoir Monday - Our Wedding

Ey-yite, bitches!  It's that time again -- Memoir Monday!  Check out Travis, the creator and demi-god, at I Like to Fish.  Dude is hilarious, and so are those who participate in this little soiree.

Since Valentine's Day and chocolate and love are still fresh on the brain, I can't help but think about my wedding day.  The day on which my husband and I were joined in holy matrimony until death. do. us. part.  That beautiful day when all things are perfect.  That special day when this man and this woman were joined for life.  A day not to be outdone by any other!  A day that will remain fresh in my memory for the rest of my life.

It went down like this...

My husband and I met in January of 2002.  It didn't take long before we were doing it several times a day completely in love!  By May of 2002, we were shacked up and still doing it as often as possible without getting chafed.  

By August, we nearly dead from all the doing it realized we'd finally met the right one.  That, and I hadn't started my period.  Uh-oh!  What now??

"Let's get married, baby!"  This was on a Friday.  The following weekend was Labor Day weekend.  We already had plans to go to Nashville for a football game.  I guess that's as good a time as any, right??

We had less than a week to "plan."  Monday, we went to the courthouse for a license.  Check.  Tuesday, I found a dress.  Check.  Great, but where will we get married?  And who is going to marry us.

My husband, God love him, is a resourceful, simple man.  He knows everyone in our area and is related to about 80% of them.  While at work, he had an epiphany and was so excited when he called me to tell me that he'd found a resolution to our little clergy/facility problem.  I wish I'd recorded this conversation on my voicemail.  It was a classic.  Unfortunately, I will have to go by what I remember...

"Hey, baby!  I've got good new!"

What?

"We can get married at the little gazebo in the town square."

Aw, that's nice.  Yes, that will work.

"Oh, and I found a minister to marry us."

Really??  That quickly?

"Yep.  Frank is going to marry us." 

Frank?

"Yea, baby.  Frank!"

But I thought he was your janitor/handy man?

"Well, he is.  But he's a preacher, too!  He's even got his own church!  I think there are only about 20 people in the congregation all of which are kin folks, but he's official!"

This was Wednesday.  I was desperate. 

That Friday, we were married by Frank during my husband's lunch hour.  We literally walked across the street from his office to the gazebo, got married, grabbed some lunch, and headed to Nashville. 

I cried the entire time.  I was the eternal bachelorette.  I could not believe what I'd just done!  I'm not sure if it was because I felt like I was losing my identity or the pregnancy hormones.  Regardless, I cried off and on for the next 72 hours.

A lot has happened since then.  I lost that baby, but I really did find my soulmate.  In fact, that miscarriage made me realize just how lucky I was to have married such an awesome man.  He was so caring and compassionate -- nothing like the boyfriends before him.  He loved me; it was obvious.

I've never regretted marrying my husband.  He's pissed me off a time or two, but no regrets.  I do wish that our wedding day would have been more "traditional."  And it would be nice to actually have some photos from that day.  I think the wedding we had is actually very fitting.  It was quirky and funny much like we are as a family and as a couple.  It cracks me up just thinking about it!   

My Son's Curse

I'm such a little thief.  I totally borrowed this idea from Moooog at Mental Poo.  He's always got very cute (de-)motivational posters on his blog.  He makes them at bighugelabs.com.  I seized one of those rare, but awesome, Kodak moments and wanted to share.

My son will probably need years of therapy over this one.  Why do moms feel the need to take humiliating pictures of their children?  Why am I one of those moms???

It never fails, though.  No matter where we go, my son must test and tune the toilet first thing.  It's like his little body clock say, "Now's your chance, dude!  Go stink up the restroom!"  What is his deal?

Today we went to a little girl's birthday party.  He was so excited to be there!  They had a big Bounce House with a slide - his absolute favorite!  Wooo Hooo!  He and his sister climbed in while I found a seat.  My daughter came down the slide so I expected my son shortly afterwards.  When he didn't show up after a few minutes, I went to look for him.  Once I realized he was not in the party room, I walked straight to the restroom.  Sure enough, there he was.  Sitting on the pot.  With a trash can in front of him.  And the door wide open.

When he gets really excited, stressed, nervous, etc., he has to puke and poop.  It's as natural to him as having to brush his teeth in the morning.  Sometimes when he's REALLY psyched about something, he'll go at home (usually when we are running late and have no time) and then again at our destination.  I feel bad for him, but he doesn't seem to mind it.  It's just part of his regular "preparations."

I remember being a very nervous child.  I puked a lot, too.  I distinctly remember standing in line for the Pirates of the Carribbean at Disney World holding a styrofoam puke cup.  Pretty gross, I know, but what was I supposed to do???  I wanted to ride!

I also used to puke on the first day of school every year.  Without fail, my mom would have to pull over to the side of the road so that I could vomit.  Once I got to school and saw my friends, I was fine.  I didn't stop doing it until high school where I discovered "liquid" courage.  After a few beverages, I had nerves of steel.  Screw first impressions; give me another!

My husband is pretty bad, too.  When he's troubled about something, he does like my son.  He, too, has frequented every toilet in the tri-state area.  He's the first person I ever met that actually kept a roll of toilet tissue in his car.  I'd heard of keeping your Sonic napkins in case you are at a Kegger in the bottoms, but carrying actual toilet paper???  Very weird.

I guess son just didn't have a chance.  It's his destiny.  And now it's been captured in pictures and my blog for ETERNITY.  Please don't call child protective services on me. 

   

The Cell Phone Tumor

Have you ever come in contact with a stranger who annoyed you so badly that you just wanted to say something to them???  Yes, I know I'm more irritable than usual right now, but this lady at McDonald's got on my last. freakin'. nerve!

First off, she's one of those who has a cell phone attached to the side of her head.  I don't mean she has one of those ear pieces; she has an actual flip phone that apparently grew from a seedling and is now attached to her ear.  (I'm lying, but that would be whacked and very funny.)  The entire time she is in front of me in the line, she's talking on her damn cell phone.  She's ordering in between the "hold on a sec."  Even when I'm not on my period, this makes me want to rip someone's head off!  I'm no effin' Emily Post, but that's just rude as hell! 

She pays and tries to juggle two big ice cream cones still talking using the bent-neck technique.  Of course, the girl at McDonald's is trying to conduct business and cannot finish her transaction until she takes her freakin' change!  Luckily, one of her kids came to rescue the ice cream.  You'd think all that hassle would have gotten her off the phone, but no.  She just kept bumping those gums.  Blah, blah, blah...  If I weren't so doggone pissed, I might have found something even more humorous in her conversation.

I turned to look at the woman behind me who was also annoyed, and we both shook our heads.  Get off the damn phone, bi-otch Lady!  Hello??  Your kid's hair is on fire!  Your left boob is hanging out of your shirt.  Look!  You just won the lottery!!!  Oblivious to everyone around her, she walked back to her table in the play area.

When my kids and I got into the play area, she annoyed my ass again!  Apparently, she and her kids had been there for quite some time.  They'd already eaten, but now she was "treating" the kids to an ice cream cone.  Treat, my ass!  Not only was she attached to her cell phone, she was glued to her laptop as well!  Seriously!  Once she back down at the table, you'd have thought she was watching some Brad Pitt porn.  (I don't think he's actually done any.  That's just me wishful thinking.)  Her kids called, but she never took her eyes from the screen.

Of course, it's Saturday and the trough was crowded especially in the play area.  This was no time for loitering!  Eat your shit, and get the hell out!  It ran across my mind, but I bit my tongue.  After a few moments of scanning the room for a seat, we found one directly across from her!  As much as I'd rather not look at her any longer, my daughter refused to let me sit on the opposite of the table.  I was left no choice but to sit facing her and her kids.

Since I am a terrible people-watcher, I was forced to stare at her while the kids played.  Lucky for me, she was so engrossed in whatever it was she was viewing on her laptop that she never noticed me.  Again, I am annoyed. 

Why don't you at least look at your freakin' kids sitting there???  Looks like they haven't had a brush through that ratty hair in a week.  Obviously, you don't pay them any attention when they are getting dressed either because their clothes don't match.  I cannot believe you took your family out in public looking like something one of my dog's chew toys so you can get some free WiFi and porn a cheeseburger!  Get your fat ass up so some other folks can eat.  This isn't a truck stop! 

When we left, her ass was still sitting there.  On the phone.  Staring at her laptop.

It may be time to up my dosage...

Chasing the Dragon, Um, Dress

Oh, I'm sitting in some dangerous territory right now. I'm secretly perusing eBay for some springtime deals. I found 'em, too! Sheesh, my husband will literally have my ass if he finds out. I wonder if I can get a WiFi connection in my closet?? Maybe I'll just set the alarm on my cell phone for 2 a.m. He'll be sound asleep.

Seriously, that's how I feel. It's like I'm a junkie trying to hide my addiction. Today, I was bidding on a very cute smocked dress for my daughter. I was winning! I was so proud...until the last five minutes. That is when some crazy interloper began to rain on my parade. She outbid me with 4 1/2 minutes to go!

Take that! I upped my bid. I'm winning again. How you like me now, heifer?! Then she did it to me again. Uh-oh...OMfreakin'G! There's only 1 minute and 30 seconds left! That's when I had a stupid-ass idea an epiphany. Hey, I'll just put in some outrageous bid so that she can't possibly beat me. Yes! Ten seconds...nine...eight... seven...six...wait, how much is it up to now??? Five...oh shit; she's not going to bid anymore?...four...three...I'm dead...two...Congratulations! You won! :(

Here is today's expensive lesson in humility!

The euphoria was momentary. I ended up paying way too much for that freakin' dress. Yes, it's cute. No, it is not worth what I paid.  Why in the world do I do crap like that? Now I don't even want that damn ratty thing!  My big, fat competitive spirit bit my big, fat ass!

Oh, I'll get over it, though. No, I never learn my lessons that quickly. It will probably take bankruptcy and foreclosure for me to stop buying so much STUFF! Of course, then I'll probably just buy too much STUFF at the Goodwill.  Apparently, I'm bound and determined to fill my house with as much STUFF as I can possible acquire. 

Ummmm... *That's me sighing a great big, ol' sigh.*

Where's that bottle of Vodka???

A Danger to Society

Uh-oh! It's the week of her PMDD, and Mama didn't take her meds this morning!

Some people think that taking nervous medicine is actually a requirement for teachers. Not so. There are lots of teachers who come to school unarmed. Of course, they probably talk to their staplers during their planning periods. Don't get me wrong; I'm not knocking those who prefer to befriend staplers or any other office supplies. I guess whatever gets you through the day, right?

For me, though, I MUST take my medication without fail. Every single day. If I don't, there is H-E-double hockey sticks to pay the week before Eve's little curse! Thanks, bi-otch! I can literally feel the blood rushing to my face every time Johnny does something stupid like squirt Germ-X on his friend or chew the keys off the keyboard. Just because. Yes, Johnny is in high school.

You can only imagine how extremely dangerous it is for me to walk around amongst the common folk. It's damn-near as lethal as putting Anthrax in the sweet tea dispenser. I am seriously NOT in my right mind, and cannot be held responsible for anything I say or do. At least, that's what my lawyer says.

Today I nearly busted a blood vessel. Picture it. Last period of the day. The students are taking a test. Junior starts scraping something on the bottom of the desk which makes a noise similar to that of metal grinding. Shortly thereafter, laughter ensues because it's. SO. freakin'. hilarious! (Doesn't take much to entertain them...)

As I reprimand Junior and his silly posse, Ellie Mae starts to wander around the room. While we are still taking a test! Apparently, the boy sitting four rows over asked her something. WTF??? Did I mention we were taking a test?? Junior and his posse found this, too, very amusing. Hilarious. We're at school, dammit! Don't they realize fun is not allowed!! I'm usually pretty laid back, but remember?? I'm not on my meds today? Any way... After a screaming tirade a polite consultation, I finally got the three year olds teenagers back on task.

OMG! Why do things always go apeshit when I am experiencing the symptoms of PMDD? Praise Jesus that we only have about 20 more minutes of school. If Ellie Mae and Junior can just keep it together for 20 more minutes, I'm home free! But do you really believe that's what happened? Come on now... I don't roll like that.

As we were wrapping up, I received an email from my son's preschool teacher. She wrote to tell me that, for the past two days, my son has arrived at school having not been fed lunch. She said that on Tuesday she gave him a Pop-Tart because that was all she had. Today, she actually bought him something to eat in their cafeteria. WTF?!?!

I know I'm all over the place, but bare with me. My kids go to daycare each morning where they are fed breakfast and a hot lunch. Directly after lunch, they catch a bus from daycare to preschool. Apparently, the daycare sent my kid to school with NO LUNCH!! Even though my family is probably the only ones actually PAYING at the facility, my kids are not getting fed??? See, I told ya. Apeshit.

After dismissal, I got my husband on the 411. He called the daycare where they acknowledged that, yes, he was not fed on Tuesday. WHAT?? Who does that crap??? I got in my car with my heart pounding out of my chest and my head literally about to blow off. I know it would have been a mess, but that's where I was. By the time I got to the daycare, I was clutching my ears to avoid a nasty explosion. When I walked in, the director addressed me right away. She could tell that Maniacal Mama had just arrived.

Here's what happened: Yes, his bus showed up before he'd been fed on Tuesday. She spoke to the preschool and offered to personally bring him a meal. It was an error; she apologized. Today, however, my son did get fed. He chose not to eat stating that he didn't like what was served. He ate the corn and fruit, but not the main dish. In other words, he lied.

Phew, thank God! My kid is a liar, but I am thanking the Big G! Things could have gone horribly wrong. Some heads were about to roll. See? A crazy person...what kind of adult does that? Well, I know those parents at the Chuck E. Cheese, but besides them... Okay, that dad who killed another parent over a kids' hockey game. But not me; I am not a weave snatchin', bottle bustin' brawler. That was my sister.

Don't worry; tomorrow will not go like this. I've already put my pills in my purse.

Memoir Monday - More Mardi Gras Mayhem.

I was so wrapped up in my own saga that I nearly forgot about this special day.  It's Memoir Monday, a little sump'in, sump'in Trav-O, at I Like to Fish, puts together each week.  No relation to Steve-O, but I bet he'd staple his unit to his leg for $20.  The man rocks!  'Nuf said.

Since I'm still pissed about the fact that the state of Tennessee doesn't acknowledge Mardi Gras as an official holiday, I thought I'd post another little Mardi Gras Memoir.  Tomorrow is the big day, boys and girls!  Don't forget to show the girls (.)(.) to the men with trinkets!  Throw me sump'-in, Mister!!

This is not me or my friends.  

Don't worry; Scotty is not in this one.  No, but I'm sure there was another douche bag in my life in 1994.  Luckily, my Alzheimer's has helped me forget about one or two of them.  Scotty, though??  That's one stain on my past that can't be removed even with the best drugs and alcohol.  But I digress...

In 1994, I was living in Memphis getting the life sucked out of me working at a Fortune 500.  One morning after hitting the snooze 487 times, I drug my butt out of bed and hit the shower.  I think it was a Thursday.  After the shower, I turned on the radio to listen to my new favorite, commercial-free radio station.  It was rocking.  I was rocking!  Thanks 96X; I needed that!

Late as usual, I rush out the door...and fall flat on my little ass (no typo; it was little - and firm - back then)!  There was about 3 inches of ice caked on our front steps!  I had to carefully use the handrails to get to my car.  I'm from South Mississippi, for crying out loud.  We don't have ice!  When I grab the door handle to get in, my freakin' door handle falls off!  That sucker was frozen! 

The signs are falling on me like a ton of bricks, but I can only think of one thing.  I'm going to be late for work AGAIN!  I hop in my car using the passenger's side door, and hit the road.  That's when I started to notice that the traffic was unusually light.  There were hardly any cars on the road.  Hey, what happened to that red light??  It's not working so I'm going.

Once on the 240 loop, things were more normal looking.  I still have no clue that Memphis has just been hit with one of the worst ice storms in history.  Remember, I'm still listening to that awesome commercial-free radio station!  As I get off the expressway onto a major thoroughfare in the downtown area, I come to a red light.  There are cars gliding like skaters across Union Avenue.  I, personally, did a 360 when the light turned green.  Still, I am hell-bent on getting to work.

When I finally get to my building, there's NO ONE THERE!  I'm talking about a 18-story high rise!  When I got to my office on the 7th floor, I couldn't get in.  The lights were out; the door was locked.  Crap!  Where is everyone???

I called my boss at which time he informed me about the ice storm.  He must have thought I was a complete idiot.  Hell, I was a complete idiot!  Power lines were down and 3 million people were without power.  I think my little apartment complex was the only one in the tri-state area with power. 

Being a responsible young lady fresh out of college, ya know what I did??  Got my girls on the 411, packed my bags, and headed to the tropics.  Tropical Isle on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, that is!  Yep!  Screw some ice and snow.  I met my girlfriends in New Orleans where we made out with some random guys, did body shots with some other random guys, showed our tits enthusiasm for big beads, and basically THREW. DOWN.

Every time I see the commercials for those Girls Gone Wild videos, I cringe.  I'm waiting for the day that one of my students says, "Hey Ms. B!  I watched an old video of my dad's, and there's this drunk girl who looks just. like. YOU!  hahaha!  Funny, huh?!" 

BUSTED!!

To Hunt or Not to Hunt? That Is the Question.

It's on!  He went hunting this morning...after I'd been up all night with my puking daughter.  So, let's do a recap. 

We got 4 million inches of snow.  Schools were closed.  Kids stayed home with mom.  Mommy and the kids were house bound due to road conditions.  For eight days.  Dad spent Sunday with the kids (his small token) while mom worked out and got the grocery shopping done.  Sunday evening #2 starts puking.  Dad goes to bed at 7:30 p.m. due to an exhausting day of "Daddy Time."  (Just ONE, not eight.)  Monday morning, 2 a.m., Mom is still up with a sick kid.  It's now 7:30 a.m. on Monday morning, and Dad's gone hunting.  Un-freakin'-believeable!!!

Attention hunters! 

If you see a 6'4" figure wearing a bright orange Vols sweatshirt, tan Carhartt jacket, and some shiny, new, insulated, waterproof, $180 LaCrosse boots purchased by his caring mate, SHOOT!  It's the Big One that got away last season! 

Of course, you should keep the boots as a token of my appreciation.  Silly rabbits don't need warm boots.  And now that his reproductive health is in danger, he's no good for the rabbit population any way.

UPDATE:  The large Easter Bunny shown above surrendered peacefully at 10:45 a.m. this morning.  No weapons were discharged.  No one was harmed during the incident.  Thus far, no one has been charged with a crime. 

I'm still not sure if I will withhold the goods.  We'll just have to see how much help he is to me today. 

A Regular Valentine's Day Scrooge

Uh-oh...I feel my PMDD rearing its ugly head!  There will be hell to pay around here.

As most of you are well aware, I recently got the chore pleasure of spending eight glorious days cooped up in the house with my little hellions darlings.  Mommy was nearly committed to the nervous hospital on day seven, but she survived.  My kids and I had lots of bonding time while my husband got the luxury of going to work each morning. 

Each day from 6:30 am until 4:30 pm, daddy went to work while we were all stuck in the house.  While I was busy with incessant temper tantrums, agonizing time outs, and tireless refereeing, he was hanging with his friends at work.  I'm sure they were laughing and chatting it up as I struggled for 4 hours to get my daughter to take a 4 minute time out.  Yea, but he's got a job to do.  The man is bringing home the bacon so your kids can have food on the table and clothes on their backs.  Blah, blah, blah...He works for the Post Office, for crying out loud.  He's not doing brain surgery.

Any hoo, take my home confinement mixed with my monthly PMDD and Voila!  Complete disdain for the spouse right now.  Seriously...  It's a good damn thing he hid the steak knives from me during those snow days, or he'd be sleeping with one eye open.  He just looks at me, and I growl. 

To top it all off?!?  Do you know what he had the nerve to tell me in regards to our President's Day holiday tomorrow???  Oh, I forgot to tell you.  I'm going rabbit hunting with my friends.  I'll be back around 2 or 3 pm. 

WTF?  Am I dreaming or did that asshole my husband just say he was going to have a little fun on his day off???  Is he freakin' serious?  Does he enjoy the idea of carefully inspecting his meals for chards of glass or rat poison?  Does he care anything about the well-being of his children?  Forget about me, the fantabulous woman who brought his offspring into this world...  What about the kids?  Haven't they been subjected to enough "Mommy Time?"

Where's that bottle of Vodka; it's time to get drunk. 

He also had the audacity to state that if I would do some pole tricks cuddling, he might consider canceling his plans.  Wait?!?  So you want me to be a little submissive in order for you, the creator of half of their DNA, to spend time with your own children???  Is that it?  I have to prostitute myself so my kids can spend a little time with their daddy.  Screw you!!

I've got a new plan.  How about I withhold the goods until the real Easter Bunny stands on his head and shoots popcorn out of his ass??  Seriously, I've never resorted to those kind of tactics before.  I think it's silly and cruel to use sex as a weapon.  I don't mind giving it up a little extra from time to time so that I can buy something new.  That's not prostitution; that's more like showing my gratitude.  But withholding (this is where you gasp in horror) ???  That's awful!

Yep, but that's the plan...  Stay tuned.  If he goes hunting in the morning, it is on like Donkey Kong!

Ode to a Diva in the Making

Today is my daughter's fourth birthday.  Yes, the baby is the BIG 0-4!  I know; I've had plenty of time to lose the baby weight.  Thanks for noticing, though.  I remember when I discovered I was pregnant with her.  I cried like a baby.  WTF!?!  How could we have been so careless?  We already have a five month old, for crying out loud!  What am I going to do with TWO babies?!?!  It was my husband's fault.

Once I saw that little peanut on the ultrasound, though, I completely forgot about the hell that would soon follow with two babies.  My husband, Mr. Frugal Pants, was hoping for a boy.  The only way he could come to terms with a new baby is to pray that the baby #2 could use all the hand-me-downs of baby #1. 

At 14 weeks, we discovered it was a girl.  Shot his plans right out of the water.  Each time we went for a subsequent ultrasound, he'd ask the tech if any new parts had formed in the groin area.  Nope.  Suck it up, Tight Wad.  It's a girl.  You'll be paying, one way or another, for the rest of your life. 

Oddly enough, she was born on a day much like today.  It was in the midst of a blizzard.  Well, what we call a blizzard down here in the South.  In retrospect, that blizzard was God's way of giving us a taste of what was to come.  Our little girl is as unpredictable as the weather.  She is a force to be reckoned with.  She will not be ignored.  She is beautiful and deadly all at the same time.  But I digress... 

She was about three weeks early.  I'd been to the doctor earlier that week and found out my blood pressure was through the roof.  I was still having horrible headaches so I suspected that my pressure was still high.  I called my doctor who told me to meet him at the hospital.  He just wanted to monitor my blood pressure for  awhile.  No biggie.

Since it was snowing, my husband drove me to the hospital otherwise I'd probably gone by myself.  When I got there, they hooked me up to a blood pressure cuff and check my pee for protein.  Luckily, I wasn't toxic...yet.  After several hours of monitoring, my doctor decided that, while I wasn't toxic, my pressure was not going to stabilize.  I had to stay.  I would have my baby that day.

Holy crap!  My son!  What am I going to do about my son??  By this time, my husband had his aunt go pick up my son from daycare.  But what would I do with him for the next few days???  My MIL (no relation to a MILF) had planned to come down and watch him when the time came, but we're early and it's snowing!

Su-PER MIL to the rescue!  She can leap tall buildings in a single bound and drive two hours in a snow storm to rescue her grandson.  I know I give her a lot of crap, but my MIL was there when I needed her.  She picked up my son at the aunt's house, and stayed at our house with him while I was in the hospital.

No one really had any idea that I was having a baby that day.  It was weird because the hospital was full of friends and family when my son was born.  But my husband and I were the only ones there to see baby girl come into the world.  That's all we needed, though.  It was a special time for the three of us.

To say our lives have not been the same since would be an understatement.  That first year was terrible.  My son didn't even learn to walk until she was a few months old.  I spent many days just sitting in the recliner.  I'd put one kid on one leg and the other on my other leg.  What else could I do?

Those days are gone, thank the Lord.  They've been replaced with the happier days of fighting, whining, and arguing.  And people wonder why I'm on medication crazy...

Memoir Monday - Mardi Gras Mayhem

(Hey guys and gals. It's Memoir Monday time! This is where you write down a story about yourself, steal my button down there, drink a beer, and call it all a win. The only rule is that it has to be true, other than that, there are no rules. I need you to join this week! Once you post, let me know, and I will link you up down there for all my kick ass bloggy followers to go and read! Y'all are the greatest, and I love you. If you want to see all the Memoir Monday posts, just click on the brand new button!!)

It's at this time of year that I get homesick. Mardi Gras is a tradition celebrated for many, many years in the area I grew up. As a child, it was one of my absolute favorite holidays. We got out of school for three days! What kid doesn't get excited about a school closing???


This is not me or my friends.  This is just a pic I found with google.
You get the idea, though.  Mardi Gras is not for amateurs.

As a teenager, it was a vital part of my social existence. Being at such and such parade was more important than being at the homecoming football game. I didn't visit my dying grandfather in the hospital, but you can bet your sweet ass I was at the Pass parade. (I was a self-absorbed teen with no good sense. Don't worry; karma has been kicking my ass ever since.)

Skipping out on the final hours of my grandfather's life was not the only stupid thing I did as a teen. Nope. Dating Scotty was the dumbest. Hands down. Scotty was my first experience with a "bad" boy. He was originally my sister's boyfriend. He was very sexy with jet black hair and blue/green eyes. Scotty never had problems getting girls. He looked hot in his parachute pants and could break dance better than anyone I knew.

Any way... My sister went out of town one weekend, and Scotty moves in on me. We did it. (I was an awful sister, too. Now you know why Karma is such a bitch to me.)  It was my "first" time. Of course, it was coerced and totally against my will. Afterwards he said he loved me, though, and the rest was history. We began doing it regularly dating. It makes me nauseas just thinking about it.

Fast forward a year or so... It's Mardi Gras! Time to party! Let's stock the cooler with some refreshing beverages, put on our sexiest Mardi Gras shirt, and wear the really BIG beads from last weekend's parade. Throw me something, Mista! Wooo Hooo!

As was typical of Scotty and me, we were fighting the weekend of the Bay/Waveland parade. Instead of going with him, I decided I'd go with my girls. I'm so finished with him. I'm going to wear even more blue eyeliner and spray my hair even bigger so I can meet a new, sexier guy. That was ALWAYS my plan knowing that I really hoped to find Scotty so we could kiss and make up.

Sure enough, he was there. He was there with some other girls. Some pretty girls. I was pissed! And drunk! (Where were my parents???) I flirted with every guy I saw. When you are drunk like that, even Jack Black can look like Brad Pitt. So there I was hanging with the girls, flirting with Brad Pitt, dancing in the streets, catching beads, kissing old men for paper flowers... Ahhh, a blissful day. I darn-near forgot that Scotty was there.

He didn't forget me, though. He was watching me like a hawk. He was pissed! How dare I "disrespect" him in front of the entire world???

Scotty was a very jealous loser boyfriend with a terrible temper. He and I used to get into scraps just for kicks. Not really, but to say I loved drama back then is an understatement.  In retrospect, what the hell was I thinking???

As is natural when you drink lots of cheap beer, I had to pee. I made the mistake of going to the wall behind the movie theater bathroom by myself. Scotty was there waiting for me. He had that familiar look on his face so I ran. But I was too drunk and he was too fast; he caught me. We got into it behind the movie theater.

There were thousands of people at the parade, but not a single soul back there! Scotty slapped me around and choked me out until I couldn't breathe. He would not let me go! He kept me pinned down. All I wanted to do was leave, but he enjoyed torturing me.  This went on for what seemed like hours.

Meanwhile, my friends were panicking because they couldn't find me.  Drunk and hysterical, they flagged down a cop to report me missing only to find themselves under interrogation. Because they were only 18 and drunk as skunks! I finally convinced Scotty that I loved him more than ice cream, and we headed back to my friends. Of course, I looked like death on a cracker. My extra blue eyeliner was all over my face. My coiffed mall hair was a big, fat rat's nest.

When I came walking up, my friends were crying.  That's what you do when you are drunk, and you can't find your friend.  From what I can recall, I merely asked the police officer what was going on. He slapped the handcuffs on me and threw me in the back of his car. Of course, by this time Scotty had faded into the crowd. What a DICK concerned boyfriend!

Off to jail I go... I'd never been arrested before so I was hysterical. OMG! A very cute and sweet officer in booking put me in an isolation cell. He knew I'd never make it in the drunk tank with the 800 other parade goers involved in illegal activities. I called home. My dad answered. He hung up on me. I would have to stay. Finally after everyone sobered up, my friends were allowed to bond me out. Scotty and I were back together by the end of the week.

Ahhh...true dysfunction love!

TMI Thursday -- My Mommy Body

Thanks to Liv at http://www.livitluvit.com/, today is TMI Thursday. The deal is you must expose yourself to the world. And if you want to read some funny stuff, go on over to her website. Beware, though. You may not want to read her blog at work. Your boss may get the impression that you like your job and are enjoying your silly little assignment. I am very apprehensive about participating in TMI Thursday. After all, I do have my reputation to protect. LOL!


In all honesty, I'm pretty much an open book. What you see is what you get. I have nothing to hide. I don't lie because it requires too much thought. Regardless of how I try, I cannot hide my emotions very well either. As hard as I may attempt to conceal them, they are always visible on my face. If you do not really want the truth, do not ask me.

As a result, I am not sure what constitutes TMI! I mean, how much is "too much?" My threshold is probably much wider than that of my peers. When I think of TMI, my mind goes to the greatest depths of the gutter. TMI makes me think of raunchy, unadulterated, scary smut -- the kind of smut that can only be accessed through a man named Ahmad using a special knock and a secret password. I need a shower just thinking about it.


My TMI story today isn't exactly, well, "too much information," in my opinion. In fact, I think it fits more into the category of Public Service Announcements. However, I bet there are one or two of you who will say, "Oh, LB! That's more than I ever needed to know about you." Regardless, I feel it's my obligation to say it.


Girls, if you love your girls (.)(.) and want them to stay perky, DO NOT have children. In addition, if you like your nice taut belly take your birth control every day like clock work and avoid the pee-pee at all possible cost. My 7th grade sex ed teacher told me that even getting too close to that thing while you're nekked can get you impregnated! It may or may not be true, but why chance it?? Yet, I digress...


Now that I've had two children, I look in the mirror and want to cry. My boobies are a hot mess! They look more like what you'd see on a milk cow instead of a diva like me. I can't even stand for my husband to touch them because they gross me out. (Apparently, though, he has no issues.) Since I had to put off the boobie surgery until I find an ingenious way to make a quick five grand because my husband says "we can't afford it," I'm back to feeling extremely self-conscious. I won't even undress in front of folks at the gym.


But that's not my only flaw...oh no. I've had two c-sections. I never got stretch marks from either of my pregnancies, I am scarred for life nonetheless. Now I have to lift my c-section flap to see my bikini area. Of course, I don't know if "bikini" area is the appropriate term since this body hasn't seen a bikini since 2004. I think that flap bothers me more than my ugly boobies.

I am currently on a quest to get back in shape, but it's hard. Things have moved. They jiggle and point downward. Think Irene from the Hallmark Cards. Not a pretty picture, huh?

I don't know what type of surgery the 61 year old BowFlex granny in the purple bikini had, but rest assured I do not look like her. Right now. But if I get back down to my fighting weight, I'm going to post a life-size picture of yours truly in a string bikini all over this internet. Until then, though, a peek at a nekked LB is just WAYYY TMI!

Back to Work...Life Is Good

Yes!  There is a God!  We are going back to school and work tomorrow!  Woo Hoo!

Don't get me wrong.  The timing of our winter storm could not have been any better.  I was literally on the verge of...well, let's just say it was not going to be good for the 16 year old darlings in my classroom.  God works in mysterious ways.  He knows my limitations.  Let's just say that some days I find it necessary to hide the scissors.

Yep, the break was good.  For a day.  Okay, maybe two.  But we've been stuck in the house for five freakin' days!!!  My preschoolers cannot take anymore "mommy time."  We've colored, we've glittered, we've cut, we've glued, we've painted.  'Nuff's enough!  Mommy's pooped and in need of a little adult interaction.

I do not see how stay-at-home moms do it!  I'm too lazy to stay home.  Hell, my husband might expect me to start cleaning house, doing laundry, and cooking.  Phew...  That wears me out just thinking about it.  No sirree, Mister!  I'm going to work where things are less chaotic.  I'm going to work so I can catch a few laughs with my friends.  Oh, and mold the minds of tomorrow's leaders!  Seriously, though, I think may vomit if I have to watch one more episode of Yo Gabba Gabba! 

Keep trying, keep trying.  Don't give up, don't give up!

I did get a little "grown up" time with my husband each afternoon, if that's what you want to call it.  But his idea of grown up time involves lots of grab-tail and groping.  Get off me, please!!!  Funny, maybe, but not very intellectually stimulating...  Of course, I guess some folks might not consider talk about DM's cankles and white shoes in the winter (GASP!) intellectually stimulating either.  It's all about your perspective, honey.  You like to talk about politics and the life cycle of an amoeba; we like to talk about PMS and the horrors of vertical stripes with madras plaid.

I am looking forward to getting back to business tomorrow.  Of course, by next Thursday I'll probably need a nervous pill.  But for now, let me enjoy my excitement. 

Woo Hoo!!!  I can't wait for my alarm to go off at 5:30 am tomorrow morning!  I can't wait to argue with my daughter about which shoes she will wear.  I can't wait to tell my son 500 times to get his damn clothes on!  I can't wait to put my make up on as I drive to school because I'm running late.  I can't wait to run through the attendance doors at 7:19:45 a.m. and untangle that dang pen to get signed in before 7:20 a.m.  I can't wait to spend 3 hours in homeroom so the Juniors can take their writing assessment.  I can't wait!!! 

Ummm, I think we might need just one more snow day!

Memoir Monday with a Moral - Don't Bite the Hand that Feeds You!

First of all, let me just say that if you ever want a really good, laugh-out-loud, belly laugh, you have to read Travis' blog at I Like to Fish.  He is phenomenal, and my new crush!  I have no idea what he looks like, but I love his writing.  I stalk him every day like he were Brad Pitt.  He is the inventor of Memoir Monday.  In his own words:

This is where you write down a story about yourself, steal my button down there, drink a beer, and call it all a win. The only rule is that it has to be true, other than that, there are no rules. I need you to join this week! Once you post, let me know, and I will link you up down there for all my kick ass bloggy followers to go and read!

Since I love his stuff so much, I've decided to play along.  It took me a little while to decide on a story since most of my memoirs are merely tales of poor choices made following a wild kegger at some fraternity house.  Oh, I have plenty of those stories.  Unfortunately, the details are foggy or completely gone as a result of the damage done to my brain cells.  It's probably a good thing.  What goes on at the club, stays at the club.

Today, though, I think I will impart a life lesson to my friends.  Well, there are actually several life lessons in this story.  The main one, though, is be careful what you write in an email and make sure you hit the NumLocks when addressing it.

Back before I was married with kids, I had one of the most mind-numbing jobs in the world.  I worked in finance for the government.  It even sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud.  The government actually hires real financial analysts??  You're kidding, right. 

It's true.  I was an MBA working for the government.  It was the worse job I ever had.  Pushing shopping carts in from the rain at the supermarket was a better gig than this one.  Every day I worked there, I got dumber.  I felt like a useless waste of space sucking up valuable oxygen.  Precious oxygen needed by the folks working hard at McDonald's to ensure my fries were cooked just right.  I prayed every day that something or someone would save me from the boredom.

Are you getting the picture yet?  This place SUCKED.  The only bright spot was one of my coworkers.  He and I could, at least, enjoy a few laughs each day as we mulled through the tedium of financial analysis (quit laughing!).  There were probably five analysts in total.  He and I were the only ones under the age of 50 who didn't pour Vodka in our coffee mugs to get through the day.  No, but we did find great enjoyment in the incompetency around us.

Our boss was no exception either.  When I first started working there, we worked for a guy named Tim who had absolutely no idea how to spell finance much less operate an Excel spreadsheet.  He had a bachelor's degree in forestry.  I am not making this up, either.  I shit you not...  Dude was the manager of finance with a degree in forestry.  Meanwhile my friend and I were both MBAs.  What the hell were we doing there??

I asked myself that every day.  I asked him that, too.  We were in cubicles opposite each other, but we preferred email for our banter.  It was kinda hard to talk about our coworkers when they were sitting two feet away.  Instead, we'd just email each other all day long and laugh until we fell out of our chairs.  I imagine the others never thought a thing about it.  They must be hitting the sauce, too.

Any hoo...  Forestry degree dude gets a promotion.  (Have you ever wondered why the government is so jacked up?!?!)  And in walks Ms. I've-worked-for-the-government-for-25-years-and-that's-all-the-credentials-I-need.  You guessed it...another incompetent in charge of the peanut gallery.  It's a good thing we were only analyzing MWR (Morale, Welfare, and Recreation -- didn't think it got much better, did you?).

Like I said, in walks the new manager.  No degree; she managed the NCO club for years and was promoted.  Are you still following me?  She made schedules for bartenders and ordered cheese sticks from Sysco before becoming my finance manager.  She was a piece of work, too.  She treated us all like we were her wait staff!  She was a certified bi-otch with a fat arse and bad taste for fashion.

My co-conspirator and I were in CHECK heaven.  Every day we'd ramble on and on about her ad nauseam.  Check out the high waters and the polyester blouse!  Oh, she's got camel toe!  Other times we'd say stuff like, Dumb as a bag of Mississippi Mud...  You will not believe what ridiculous task she has me on today.  I am literally sorting paper clips.  Please stab me!  Just poke my eyes out so I don't have to look any longer!

One day we were up to our usual.  We were chatting back and forth about who was given the dumbest assignment for the day.  We were in a pissing match to see who would be the biggest putz by 4:00 p.m.  His email started with "You will not believe what she wants me to do...."  I responded with, "Oh yea, well I have to do this..."  This went on all day.

At around noon, Boss Lady comes over and asks me to create some asinine report by the end of the day.  As was typical, I decided to email my friend to confirm the absurdity of the report in question.  We went back and forth with some expletives calling her this name and that.  In my final response to him, I took a different approach.  I started a new thread.  Dun, dun, dun, DUN...  My fatal mistake.

Ya see, we all had very similar email addresses for interoffice communications.  I was fin2, he was fin1, another lady was fin3, and so on.  You get the picture?  We all had fin and a number at the end.  Except for the Boss Lady.  She didn't have a number at the end of hers.

So I type my friend a new message and go on and on about her incompetence.  I cannot remember the message, but one line still sticks with me.  Just who the hell does she think she is any way???  I was on a roll and ripped her a new one in my email.  It was all in fun, after all.  No one would read it but my friend.  No harm, no foul.

WRONG!  See, I'd just had to reboot my computer because it froze up on me.  Now you know when you reboot, the keyboard goes back to default.  The NumLock key is NOT on.  When I sent the message, my number pad was not typing.  Instead of to fin1, I sent the message to fin.  AKA the Boss Lady.

OMG!  She, the director, the officer in charge, the personnel representative all bombarded me.  I was in one meeting after another that day.  I wanted to vomit!  Why me, God?  I was just trying to have a little fun in this hell hole!  I quit that day and never returned.

In retrospect, it was probably for the best.  I was literally taking hour long naps in the stalls of the restroom every day.  A little piece of me died every day I was in that joint.  I never ratted out my friend though the superiors pressed me about it.  Believe it or not, he still works there.  I imagine he's taken to putting Vodka in his coffee mug like the rest of them.  I'm not sure about Boss Lady, though.  She's probably working at the White House.  Hey, maybe she's in charge of the troops in Iraq!!!