Mother Nature, the Other Bitch in My Life

I'd like to lighten things up a bit.  I'm not an unhappy person.  Miserable is not my favorite emotion.  I hate being in an ill mood for very long.  Furthermore, I don't want to spend another ounce of energy on my MIL.  The more time I spend thinking about her crazy-ass, the less time I have for enjoying my life.  She is a pathetic excuse for a human being.  Period.  Exclamation point!  There's nothing I can do about that.  'Nuff said.

Anycrazypsychobitch, have yall heard about the new lipo shot??  Some friends and I have been scouring the internet for information.  Apparently, there is a new cocktail injection for weight loss called the lipotropic injection.  It is actually a series of injections given once a week.  It is made up of B vitamins, and claims to boost energy, metabolize fat, and increase the metabolism. 

My friend, Ophelia, said that one of her coworkers took the shots and lost 22 pounds in three weeks!  That's exactly how much I want to lose, and that's exactly how quickly I'd like to lose it!  May and swimsuit season is that freakin' close!  Tomorrow, my friends, Joanie and Wilma, are going to get their first injections.  I am going on Monday.  I'm excited and can't wait.

What are the side effects, you ask??  Who gives a shit!   Well, from what I can tell, the only possible side effect is injection site irritation.  Those AIDs researchers must have heard my cry.  Screw a cure!  We need something to make you skinny while eating ice cream and watching Oprah!  I'm totally psyched and can't wait to get my first injection.

Leave it to a skinny be-otch friend to be a Debbie Downer, though.  "An injection?!?" said Debbie.  "Isn't that a bit extreme?"  This coming from a girl whose fat jeans are a size 4.  "What about the side effects?  It's too new to know everything about it."

Oh, go eat a cheeseburger and shut the hell up!

At this point, it all became hilarious to me.  Just exactly what is my limit?  Short of cutting off my head to keep from eating, I'm pretty sure the skies the limit.  Not just me...what about all the women in my circle of friends?  Before marriage and children, we were all attractive and thin.  While all my girls are still quite attractive, none of us is sporting a bikini (except for Debbie Downer.  Why do we keep her in our circle again???).  Childbirth and the aging process are hard on a girl!! 

We continue to fight the fight, however.  Madge takes phentermine; she calls it her "crack."  Marcie lives on Oreo's and Dorito's, but she limits her intake to about 37 calories a day.  Harriett is a beast in the gym who eats twigs and berries six times a day.  Joanie tried Alli, but found that carrying around spare panties was not conducive to her life style.  (Apparently, Alli causes explosive bowel movements without warning.)  Leah is a big fan of laxatives.  She will spend eight hours at a buffet then blow it all out the next morning...literally!  We all had a field trip to the Asian community planned for last summer.  Instead of a girls' night out, we were going to have colonics.  It never panned out, but I haven't completely given up on the idea.  

We have all tried extreme measures because, let's face it, losing weight is soooo HARD.  Much harder than the 50 year old grandmother/cougar with rock-hard abs and buns of steel claims it is!  (She's a damn freak of nature.)  Ten minutes twice a week on the Bowflex just won't get rid of that muffin top.  I don't care what Jennifer Anniston says, ain't no way in hell she keeps that body by doing 20 minutes of yoga each.  Maybe some yoga with 4 hours of boot-camp style drills afterwards.  There are lots of reasons to dislike Britney Spears, but you have to appreciate her honesty about the plastic surgeries and hours of grueling workouts she endured to look like she does.  Heck, and she's not even thirty yet!

Uh, because you're not???  There's no way in hell!

I'll keep fighting the fight as will all of my friends.  We have to!  None of us is ready to give up and hit the muu-muu rack at the Dollar General.  We're not ready to show our gray hairs regardless of how expensive the trips to the salon become.  We still buy cute shoes instead of comfortable Easy Spirits.  We've not traded our Victoria's Secret for Hanes Her Way.  The cosmetic industry is definitely getting rich off of our wrinkle cream purchases.

Lord knows, we all have that bikini picture from our college days that we gaze at from time to time.  Not because we wish we were that young again.  Hell to the NO!  Age and maturity are a wonderful things.  Rather, we need a reminder to keep us from throwing in the towel and becoming old ladies.  Mother Nature is a bitch, and we'll continue trying to whip her ass until we die!   

The Devil Wears Merrells

Out of respect for my husband, I've refrained from blogging lately.  The wounds were too fresh.  The events were too traumatic.  Our world has been forever changed.

I'm too pissed to keep it in anymore, though.  Nothing I blog about is slanderous.  It is ALL true.  It may be seasoned with a little humor and sarcasm to make it more palatable, but it's honest nonetheless.  One thing I learned as a teenager is that I am not a good liar.  I don't even try it anymore.

As you are all pretty much aware, my MIL is from hell.  She is a rude narcissist with bad taste and no teeth.  Since I've known my husband, I've had very few joyful encounters with this woman.  She sucks the fun out of life and the life out of the people around her.  If she isn't happy, then no one within her circle of friends and relatives is allowed to be happy.  And if you piss her off...you best be willing to face the wrath known as Judy!

I've always found humor in the Judy antics especially since they were never aimed at me.  When she had her husband arrested and called in the Domestic Violence advocacy group, I chuckled at the unfortunate mayhem in her ex's life.  I liked Richard, and always felt that she was the cause of all the fighting.  Furthermore, I never, for one moment, believed that she was abused in ANY way.  If anyone suffered abuse, it was her ex-husband.

When she got mad at one of her ex's friends and ran him off the road with her vehicle, I laughed.  The man wasn't hurt, and I developed a mental picture of her doing it.  The reality is, she was pissed and wanted that man dead!  Of course, she lied like a rug in church and got the charges dismissed.  The victim was a poor drunk with no money and no lawyer.  He was certainly no match for Judy.

I'm not laughing now, though.  She's since turned her malice to me and my family.  I never DREAMED that a mother could be so vindictive towards her own child.  I knew that she and my son said things to one another that were appalling, but I NEVER, ever dreamed that she would set out to destroy him.  I was wrong.

Since my last blog, a lot has happened.  All of which stemmed from the dog feces on our carpet.  She tried to destroy our family's reputation and traumatize my children.  Yes, this self-proclaimed loving mother and devoted grandmother.  This feeble, battered wife.  This God-loving Christian.  This freakin' Devil in horse shit-encrusted Merrells!!!

I wouldn't piss on her if she were on fire!  My family is strong, and we will prevail.  We've already begun to heal.  She, on the otherhand, is festering in her own venom.  She has her own special place in the depths of HELL.  I sure hope that dog of hers is capable of wiping her big, fat rear when she gets too old to do it because no one in my family will be there for her.  She's lost her son and her grandchildren.  Wow, what a miserable existence.

HAIL, HAIL!  THE WITCH IS DEAD!

And we won't have to pay to bury her!

Loving Families...I Wish I Were in One

We did it again.  I swore we'd never do it, but we did.  Well, my husband did.  I was committed; he caved in.  And he got a good dose of why we vowed to begin with.

I'm talking about asking the MIL to babysit.  I've blogged ad nausem about the disasters that occurred in previous babysitting debacles.  Each time the results were the same -- slap me if I ever get the idea to ask her again. 

Why then, I ask, do we continue to subject our family to her "services"?  I think the definition of stupid is "one who does the same thing over and over expecting a different outcome each time."  Our neighbors should report us to DHS for subjecting our kids to the harmful side effects of the MIL.

It's all my husband's fault.  If the social worker asks, I'm throwing him under the bus.  Ya see, my husband refuses to accept that our lives have changed.  We've changed.  When our kids came along, our priorities changed.  They had to.  He totally sees that I would not be a good parent if I were hanging out at the club every weekend getting my drink on.  What he doesn't see, however, is that he cannot go hunting every time he gets the notion because other things are more important.  No, his hunting is COMPLETELY different!

My ass!  My husband and his buddy wanted to go hunting on a day that I had to be at work early.  Instead of telling his friend he couldn't go because I had to be at work and couldn't get the kids to school, he called the MIL.  If it didn't piss me off so bad, I might have got a good laugh out of it.  I knew it would end badly.  It always does.

Sure enough, the MIL spends the night so that she can hang out with the kids.  We decided to let them stay home from school just to be on the safe side.  As I've mentioned before, the MIL has zero taste and always dresses my kids in the most ridiculous get ups.  I was not going to take the chance that my daughter would go to school dressed like Beth from Dog, the Bounty Hunter.  My son was not going to wear sweatpants and cowboy boots.  I don't roll like that (unless I'm rolling over my DEAD body), and my kids won't roll like that either.

Anycrazy, the MIL spent the night and stayed home with the kids.  Sounds like a simple task, huh?  That morning my husband went on his stupid hunting trip, and I went to work.  I received no emergency phone calls, and the kids were playing outside in the backyard when I got home.  They survived the day without injury.  SUCCESS!  Yes, I'm stupid by definition.  I really thought the outcome was different.  Psych! 

My husband left only one directive for the MIL.  DO NOT LET YOUR DOG IN MY HOUSE!  PLEASE!

She brings her little dog with her everywhere she goes including my house!  Now we have an inside dog so we're pretty relaxed about the issue.  However, my full-grown dog has been house broken since he was 6 months old!  He also gets a bath pretty regularly (well, sometimes...)!  Our dog does not chew on our things either.  The MIL's dog stinks and sheds everywhere.  On one visit, that damn dog chewed up the charger to my son's Diego jeep.  Too bad it wasn't plugged in.  I'm not really cool with torturing animals, but the little shit deserved a good charge of electricity.  Regardless of what MIL says, that dog is NOT house broken.  If let into the house, he goes straight upstairs and takes a dump!  This is why my husband refuses to allow her dog in our house.

We didn't know it when we first got home.  The MIL and the poopinator were gone before the kids started confessing.  It started with my daughter going on and on about how this and that were better in Jackson.  (My MIL is a one-upper who loves to say that everything is better where she is.)  A minor annoyance, but a let it go.  Then my son tells us that MIL let Kate (aka the little shitter) in the house.  Later he explains further...

Kate poo-pooed in my room, and it made me puke!

My husband went ballistic.  Mr. OCD housekeeper did a thorough inspection of the crime scene and sprayed some resolve on the DNA.  Shortly afterwards, he got MIL on the 4-1-1.  I didn't get all of it, but it went something like this:

Why'd you let that damn dog in my house?
Oh yes, you did!  E told me.  He said it made him puke, too.
Well, you have no business telling my kids to lie.

I nearly peed my pants from laughing so hard.  My husband and his mom fight below the belt.  They say God awful things to each other.  I remember the first time I witnessed one of these arguments and the MIL said something along the lines of "You are not my son, and you are never welcome in my house again!"  I was mortified!!  I could never imagine my parents saying something like that to me especially over something silly like missing a Sunday luncheon.  This fight was no exception.  She called him back and told him we needed counseling.  He called her back and said he'd read some of her personal letters, and she was the one who needed counseling. 

Don't come back to my house!
"Don't worry!  I won't!  And I don't want you calling me again.  You are not my son!"
Good!  You're a blah, blah, blah...

I'm honestly too embarrassed for the both of them to continue.  Hopefully, my husband has finally learned his lesson.  Probably not, though.  Just wait until deer hunting season comes along...   

Fat Girl Gris-Gris

I know yall are sick of hearing about it.  Hell, I'm sick of talking about it.  The frustration is just so overwhelming, though.  I'm seriously considering some pretty drastic measures.  If it weren't for the cost, I'd have already had some plastic surgery. 

I'm talking about my fat ass!  Well, that's not really accurate.  It's not my ass that needs the help; it's my mid-section.  I am so sick of being a lardo!  I work out and eat right (for the most part), and have managed to slim down in other areas.  For the life of me, though, I cannot lose the stubborn belly fat!

I think I may be cursed.  It sounds crazy, but I'm serious.  I think some fatty put a gris-gris on me for making fun.  I am literally eating my own words!  Words which are evidently covered in milk chocolate and trans fatty acids. 

I remember when a friend of mine started to have children.  At that time, I was still not married and definitely NOT considering children.  After she gave birth to her first child, she showed me the stretch marks and flab rolls.  I was mortified.  It was then that I exclaimed, "Ain't no way I'm having kids!  I'll just adopt.  Call me vain, but I don't want my body destroyed!"

I should have never let those words cross my lips.  I'm sure as soon as they did, a voodoo priestess was summoned.  I can just see her now mixing up a little chicken feet, toad eyes, and bat blood concoction especially for moi'.

Feet of fowl,

Eyes of Toad,

Make LB reap what she sowed.

With all the powers of blood from a bat,

May the fruit of her womb

Make her FAT!

Poof!  Just like that; I was cursed.  I've been battling hopelessly ever since.

It's torture because I don't have the mind of a fat girl.  In my eyes, I think I'm still a young, skinny hot chick.  Then someone takes a picture, and I see the image of a heifer with a fat belly and a double chin.  It depresses me beyond belief.

I guess I could avoid taking pictures.  Of course, that leaves my kids with no keepsakes once I'm gone.  That would really suck for them.  I know how much I love looking at pictures of my family and me back in the day.  I can't do that to them.  But what's my alternative?

I could invest in a good program like PhotoShop.  Then I could just digitally "enhance" all the pics of me.  Unfortunately, that would require a whole lot of work and a whole lot of time.  Seeing as I'm very lazy efficient, that's just not a good use of my time. 

Why can't liposuction go on sale?  Why don't they offer clearance pricing on older technology when something new comes along?  Or why can't a scientist with some entrepreneurial spirit and a healthy trust fund create a magic pill that dissolves fat cells while you sleep??  Even better...why doesn't Jillian Michaels create a new show for the Not So Big Biggest Loser???  Seems unfair that she and her posse only want to help the morbidly obese.  So I don't need to lose 800 pounds, does that make me any less worthy?

If I ever find that voodoo priestess, I'm going to whip her ass!  That may not break the curse, but it will sure make me feel better.  Hey, and isn't that good exercise???

My Email Rights Should Be Revoked

I suck at email.  Seriously...  I teach computer classes all day long.  I worked in business technology for years.  You'd think email would be a no-brainer.  Not the case for me, though.  Shall I remind you of my little accidental-email-to-the-boss-about-the-boss mishap??  I'm too quick on the trigger.  I don't write, think, revise, think, revise, think, send.  I merely type, send, regret!  It bites me in the a$$ every time.

Today is no exception.  Lucky for me, it wasn't a serious snafu.  The email did not contain any of my trashy talk.  It was to my husband, but it wasn't flirtatious or sexy.  That's not how I roll.  I wasn't giving him a dog cussin' clarifying instructions either.  I was quite embarrassed, nonetheless.

I received an email this morning from my children's preschool regarding Teacher Appreciation Week.  Each year during Teacher Appreciation Week, the parents of children attending the preschool provide snacks and treats to demonstrate our appreciation to the faculty and staff.  I'm not complaining; I'm more than willing to show my gratitude towards them.  Those teachers do great work!  My kids have learned so much there.  I forwarded the original email to my husband to ensure that we remembered to contribute.  My husband replied with he would remember if I didn't.

Being the smarty pants that I am, though, I could not resist.  In response to my husband, I added a little of my own commentary about the festivities.  Since I am a teacher, my email simply stated, "Yes, and you should show your appreciation towards me that week! I work hard for this chump-change!!"

It was meant for my husband, but it went to the administrator who originated the email.  Uh-oh!!

She emailed me back with, "If you taught my children, I would dear :)"

I'm sure she thought I was a straight-up loon!  I know if a parent emailed me stating that I should show appreciation for all the work she does at home, I'd add her to my list of Crazy Folks With Whom I Should Avoid Eye Contact in Walmart!

Even more embarrassing???  How about I cleared things up only to have her probably think that I was trying to sex up my husband while at work!  Seriously, she probably thought I was creeping on my husband in the middle of the day!    

I Hope He Didn't Lose His Eyesight as a Result...

My dear husband has been MIA for the last three days. He went on some stupid hunting trip. I suspect he's merely hanging out in a hotel for a few days since he's yet to come home with any type of dead animal. I know if I could have three days to myself, that's exactly how I'd spend it. Of course, my hotel would be in Paris, France, instead of Paris, Tennessee. Men are much simpler creatures, though.

While the ol' man (that's my biker chick impression) was hunting some peace and quiet turkey, the kids and I spent some good quality time together. We hit the zoo, played a little baseball, shopped, painted some pottery, enjoyed an afternoon birthday party, had a sleep over, and even played Just Dance on the Wii. I rocked it, btw... It was fun!

No, really... I'm not being a smart-ass either. We actually had a great time. With the exception of some accidental bed-wetting (not me; my son), it was all good.

However by the time Big Daddy showed up this afternoon, Mama was ready for a drink break. Too much mommy time is just bad for everyone involved. Before my husband could get both feet in the door, I was off for a little retail therapy. I had a few things to bring back to Old Navy and a couple of items to pick up at the grocery store. I was gone for nearly FIVE hours!

I get my shopping technique from my grandmother and my mom. I'm not happy until I've touched/fondled/handled nearly every item in the store. I peruse the racks and hum to the musak. Oh, the Spice Girls! I love that song! I sing and peruse some more.

I rarely try anything on, though. This is supposed to be fun, remember?? Instead I buy everything I want, and then I return 95% of it. That way, I get another afternoon to myself in order to return the unwanted merchandise. See??? This ain't my first rodeo!

Today I was torturing myself in the swimsuit section. Because I have complete body dysmorphia, I look at the two-pieces. What? I can dream, can't I? Don't worry; I'm not delusional, too. I went to the tankinis. Thank God for tankinis! Even big girls like me can own a two-piece!

Anybigfatass, I was having a dilemma regarding some pink, full coverage bottoms to match a print tank. The tank was green with a paisley print in various colors including pink. The pink, though, seemed to be lighter than the bottoms. See my dilemma? Consequently, I did what any woman would do... I asked a gay guy who worked there.

He and I debated and pondered for several minutes, but I could tell he wanted to get away. I'm thinking, Shit! I know I'm still carrying around those extra pounds, but I'm not grotesque, dude! At one point, I thought I saw him blushing. Was he creating a mental image of me in the swimsuit? Hell, is it that bad?!? I finally let him off the hook thinking he was on his way to the restroom to barf.

That's probably what he was doing, alright... As I reached down to pick up my purse, I saw the most horrific sight. There, for the entire world to see, was my left breast! I was wearing a peasant top with an elastic neckline. I bought it last summer when I was about 20 pounds heavier. I knew it didn't fit as well as when I purchased it, but I had no idea it stretched that much. Luckily, I was wearing a bra. But still!

I wonder how long I walked around the store with my boobage out?!!? They probably have a store surveillance tape to show at the next staff meeting. My wardrobe malfunction will be on Youtube.com video by next week.

That was not the five minutes of fame I was looking for...

Mama Has Super Powers

My husband really pisses me off sometimes.  Alright...I know one of his little "office spies" reads my blog and will go run to him regarding the contents of this blog.  "Kiss my ass!" is all I have to say about that.  Go back and tell him.  See if I give a shit!  If he were your husband, he'd probably piss you off every once in awhile, too.  As much as he'd like to think it, he is not perfect.  I'm not either, but this isn't about ME!  It's about him!  Stay focused, Little Spy.

Anyrat, I'm pissed!  We took the kids swimming this morning.  My son had his brand new pair of Versace Spiderman goggles with him.  The kid has 40 pairs of goggles, but these are his new prized possession.  He loves them!

When it was time to go back to the condo, my husband and daughter left before I could even finish the requisite death threats necessary to get him out of the pool.  After a series of tough negotiations, he got out but they'd already gone.  I dried him off, put his shirt on, grabbed all his pool gear, and headed up to our 6th floor condo for some lunch.

After eating, we headed to my dad's place for some scrump-dilly-ish-ous crawfish, visited my aunt, and stopped for a delicious snow cone.  A nice leisure afternoon in some of my most familiar haunts.  I nearly got the warm and fuzzies with all the nostalgia. 

After some enjoyable family time, we went back to our condo for an afternoon swim.  I dressed the kids in fresh swimsuits while my husband collected their pool gear.  That's when things went bad...

Apparently, the crown jewels were missing a stone!  *GASP in complete shock*  The Spiderman goggles were missing a lens!  And it was all my fault!

WTF?!?!

"If you'd keep up with stuff..."

I did keep up with the stuff.  Everything made it back to the condo, didn't it?

"Not exactly.  Where's the lens?  Where did you lose it?"

Aw, hell...  My head did a complete 360 and the green gunk started spewing.  Linda Blair didn't have shit on me!

Where did I lose it?  Are you suggesting that I lost the lens?  Oh, and I guess I lost it in a specific location to which I can return to retrieve the lens?  I freakin' hate assinine questions like that.

To make matters worse, my husband does this a LOT.  A whole, whole LOT.  My kids think it's my fault when it rains.  Well, if you wouldn't have washed your van...  Yea, and that whole tsunami thing?  That was me.  I didn't mess with the mine, but the earthquake in Cali, well, I just couldn't help myself. 

God, if I only had such power.  I sure as hell wouldn't be wasting it on stupid shit like sending my son into a complete meltdown over a damn lost goggle lens.  I'd be using that power to wreck havoc on Iran or North Korea or some other jacked up place like that.  For that matter, we'd have had a lot more snow days.  And that stubborn belly fat would be HIS-TOR-EEEE!

Jackass!  That's right, JP's spy!  I just called him a jackass.  A jackass who will probably be going without tonight, too!  (Watch...his damn cell phone will start ringing as soon as I press the POST button.)

Hey Moooog!  Do you think you can make me some reward posters at work?  I guess I'm on the hook for a new pair of Spiderman goggles if that darn lens isn't found.

Wait for it.  Wait for it...  *RING, RING, RING*