My parents weren’t go-out-and-do-shit parents. Meaning, you know how there are those one parents where every weekend they had this hike or that museum planned to go and do? Yeah. My parents weren’t those parents. For most of my youth, we were poor so it was hard to do stuff.
Looking back I could say that I wished that they were those parents. But I don’t. Not really. We have never really been ‘that family’. We did go and do things. The things we did do were fun times. So I like the fact that what we did meant something… because I think that, from the outside looking in … many of those families are not happy ones behind closed doors. Generally speaking anyway.
(Yes I am aware that this is not all cases and that there are those truly happy 50’s white picket fence chocolate chip cookies when you got home from school families.)
When I was really little my dad drove truck so he was gone during the week a lot of the time. I remember missing him a great deal, and I think that him being gone is the main reason why I was drawn to him the way that I was. I would wait and wait to see or hear his semi truck pull up outside and run as fast as my little feet could move me across the gravel into his bear-arms.
I have always thought that my dad was the coolest dad on the planet.
I remember this one time when he came home, he wanted to take me and my mom out to dinner. As promised, we went to dinner in his truck. When we got there, he came around to get me out of the passenger side. I was so small then; the length of the step from the truck to the bottom step seemed a mile long. I blindly, and in an excited hurry grabbed the steam/exhaust pipe instead of the handle.
I can still feel the pain on the palm of my hand when I think about it to this day.
I screamed and cried as he rescued me and rushed me into the restaurant where I promptly placed my hand in a big glass of ice water. He sat right next to me and told me jokes to try and make me forget about the burn.
“How about I punch you in the other arm. You won’t feel your hand then.”
We used to wrestle.
He used to give me “Monkey Bumps” cause he thought that shit was funny.
He helped me with my math homework. I really suck at math.
He likes to sing. He has a pretty good voice.
He tried to get me to golf. I sucked.
My dad taught me how to drive.
He made me walk to the store when I got my period to buy tampons.
We fish. A lot less than I would like, but…
As I grew into into me, only a hormonal teenager, we began to beef on a daily basis. I don’t know where the rift began, but I know where it ended: When I moved out. He and I are so much alike that it is frightening. Our strong personalities under one roof with one of them being an authoritative figure was like mixing oil and water.
I pushed, he pushed harder. I yelled, he yelled louder. I slammed doors, he slammed harder. But when push came to shove, I knew that he loved me. Maybe that is why I pushed so hard. Maybe … that is why he pushed back that much harder.
Would I change it? Nah. I think that all of the tumultiousness that was our father daughter relationship made us that much more awesome today. He has put up with a great deal of shit with me and my wanting-to-do-it-the-hard-way every time.
When I enlisted in the Navy, and actually followed through with leaving for boot camp,and then tech school… and then a ship… I think that he realized that there was something within me that I actually took away from the things he used to preach to me as a kid. When I returned home, and saw him for the first time, wrapped in his bear-arms again, I truly felt like a little girl again and I remembered that I loved him. We just kinda fell into something pretty great from that moment.
But it wasn’t perfect. *I* wasn’t that great of a daughter all of the time.
I got married before D and didn’t tell my parents until afterward. My selfish ass didn’t consider that maybe my dad wanted to walk me down the isle.
I got my dad fired from Metro. (I didnt know at the time) He had bags of bus fare in his room to turn in, and I stole so.much.change. What I didn’t know, is that he almost faced criminal charges for it. (I later found this out after jokingly telling him that I was the one who stole the change)
The cops were called to my house several times. Because of my fight instigation.
I am pretty sure that I told my dad that I hated him angrily… one time too many.
Above all, my dad has always embraced me for me. He has expressed his thoughts as to who he thought that I should become, but understood (after some adjustment) and accepted who I chose to be and how I chose to live my life and conduct my business. I think that I can say that he is proud of me.
But most importantly, my dad is an honest man. He treats my mom with the utmost respect. My dad (thinks he) is funny. He lives life with an “it is what it is” motto. He isn’t perfect, but he always stands up for what is right and what he believes in. I may not like it at the time… but that doesn’t matter. I know when I call him and I ask him for his advice, he is gonna give it to me. No sugar coating. No bullshit. None of it.
And that is more than I can say for most people in the world.
What kind of relationship do you have with the dad in your life?
Have you ever done something that made your dad burst with pride?
What is the worst thing you ever did as a teen/kid and got busted for?
Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaappy fucking Monday. Do you have a case of the Monday’s today?! I have just the thing:
You. Are. Welcome.
What did you do this weekend? I spent a good portion of it packing.
While I was packing, and going through the boxes upon boxes of pictures and letters and cards that I have accumulated over the past freaking decade (Jesus I am old) … I found a letter from my Papa. He used to send me letters when I was younger all the way up to when I was in the military. He typed them on his typewriter … and signed them in pen “With Love, Your Papa”
I miss him. For a man of few words, he always knew what to say to make me feel better. And it was always the truth. I miss him every day … but today more than most days … because reading his letters reminded me of his voice. He and I speak often. Today he told me that he loved me and that he was proud of me. It was something that I needed to hear.
Other than that, I don’t have much else because this weekend was filled with 409 and packing tape. And wine. And laughter.
So rather than repeating myself in a blog about how much I love my friends and my family, I will spew some random thoughts that I have had in the recent days:
Sometimes I think that people want something to be that isn’t meant to be so badly that they try to force it to be. If it isn’t meant to happen, no matter how much you try to force it … it will not end up being. And if it does, it will be a disappointment.
Praying works. I am no Christian Christine, attending church in my nicest dress every Sunday morning, but I am a spiritual person. And when I pray, I feel like my soul is being heard. Like the ears of the goddesses are open and willing to hear what I have to say.
If you are a genuinely good person, things will work out. A few of my really good friends are struggling right now, and I want them all to know that I am confident in the fact that because they are amazing individuals with hearts the size of Manhattan … that the struggles will do nothing less than make them stronger, better people because of them. Keep your head up. It is gonna get better.
2 ladies can do anything if they put their minds to it. (Example: Moving an antique wood dresser up 3 flights of stairs. In flip flops. Example: finding a free couch, moving it from the apartment it was in down a flight of stairs and cleaning the ever loving dog hair shit out of it and then recruiting two hot boys to move it up the same aforementioned 3 flights of stairs while we went shopping.)
I don’t like people. In the last 3 days, I have seen an ugly side of people that I am pretty sure I knew existed but wished did not. It takes a sad, pathetic individual to drag someones name through the dirt with tasteless jokes and commentary hours after their passing. It isn’t even the media that I am referring to either. It is people whom I have called friends. I get that we don’t all have to agree. I get that we all have different opinions. On the same note, we should all have respect. And class. And tact. Right now, it is missing, and that makes me sad.
I am really excited for so many reasons. Things in the life of Wicked are changing. For the better. I have lived in my own world of happy for a good moment now, and with this recent house-with-a-backyard-for-the-same-rent-I-pay-here discovery… it just keeps getting better. My family is growing. (andnotintheimpregnantway) We are evolving and creating new traditions.
Lastly, I would like to see the following movies:
Up
Ice Age 3
My Sister’s Keeper
The Hangover
The Proposal
Year One
And
The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3
Do you have any random thoughts to share? Open statements to get off of your chest?
What movies do you want to see or have seen recently that you would like to recommend?
224 days until the end of Winter Quarter. What does this mean? I am finished with this certification program. (Not school… just this program. I haz big dreams)
117 days until I boobie smash with my ladies. My soul sistahs.
90 days until X turns 9. My kid is almost a tween. WTF.
43 days til Tarable, Me and D’s first annual BestFriendIversary. We are gonna do something super out of the ordinary every year. This year is still in discussion. I will keep you all updated.
20 days until our Luau party.
16 days until Charli turns 2. Why do I feel like she is already older than that. Let potty training commence!
11 days until VEGAS. I have tried on outfits, ordered bathing suits, made all but 2 reservations and bought shoes. A bitch is ready.
9 days until my 8th wedding anniversary. According to Wikipedia, I should be expecting something bronze or made of salt. This is exciting information.
2 days until WE MOVE INTO OUR NEW HOUSE WITH A FENCED BACKYARDANDMYOWNROOMFORMETIME! WOOOOOOOOOOOO!
You Go. T Minus ________:
Given the serious nature of Friday’s blog, I skipped my Friday Eye Candy.
Today is a sad day. (Or yesterday if you are in another place on the globe… or reading this on Friday)
I am heartbroken. Like, my heart hurts in my chest right now.
I have something important to say. I need to get it out. Sooo… If you don’t like it, then don’t ever in your life come back here again.
It is tacky and tasteless to talk shit about a person after they die. Especially when that person changed a good portion of my generations lives at one point or another. Especially less than 6 hours after they pass away. Especially when that person obviously had some sort of psychological issues related to the fact that he lived in a fishbowl from as far back as he could remember.
I get that many people dislike his eccentric and questionably inappropriate behaviors. I truly do. In fact, when all of the accusations came to light, I was angry. I had a hard time listening to his music with the same level of respect as before. Lets be real. I told jokes and talked shit. It took me a long time to really get past whatever I thought he may have done. I was more in disbelief than I could ever put into blog form because for all of my life for as far back as I can remember…
I idolized this man. I loved him. His music, his music, his music. His dance. His imagination in his videos. His talent. His heart.
I danced the Thriller dance. Like a pro. Billie Jean was most definitely not my lover. I Rocked with MJ all night. I didn’t stop til’ I got Enough. I told every one I knew to Beat It as often as it was applicable, and sometimes even when it wasn’t. I PYT’d on a regular basis. I checked with the (wo)Man in the Mirror. I mastered the moonwalk … and when the time came to hold hands with my neighbor … I did and sang every last word of We Are the World.
It is not funny to make jokes right now. It just isn’t. Like it or not, Michael Jackson was the King of Pop. He spent decades entertaining us. Inspiring us. Making us laugh. And love. And sing. And most of all … dance.
His music has a way of making you happy. I can’t think of one single MJ song that I don’t turn up as loud as I can when I hear it. (Okay maybe just a couple) But you get my point. When I work out, I always start my run with PYT. That song can take me from meltdown moment to a whole new me just by hearing it. Ask any one of my girls that were in Nashville.
PYT is MY song. So is Dirty Diana. Heal the World. Black or White. Remember the Time. Blah. How do I even begin to list them all?!
I am not a bandwagon riding, renewed fan who is all of a sudden all MJ all the time because he passed. I have always been a fan of MJ. Even after the jokes and the odd things he did. Even after the court settlement. Even after he named his kid Blanket. (I mean, REALLY?! who names their kid that?!) I have honestly grown to feel sorry for him. Not like ‘awwwww’ feeling sorry. Because that is not even close to it. I just couldn’t imagine a life like that. I have no idea what it would have felt like to put a pair of his shoes on. I couldn’t imagine living in the kind of fishbowl he had spent his whole life living in.
What I do know is that Micheal Jackson having everything anyone could have ever possibly dreamed of wanting is real life proof that it doesn’t buy happiness.
So do me a favor. Please. Don’t bother leaving your negative ass opinion. Or your sick joke.
Instead, close your eyes and try to think of at least one moment in your life where one of his songs made you happy. Where it gave you that pep in your step. Where you grabbed a hairbrush and sang “Don’t stop til you get enough” as if you were him. In concert. Hold that memory with you. Right next to your heart. Because above all, beyond anything, all he ever wanted was to give you that.
If you feel like it, share your favorite MJ song/video… and if it has a memory attached… I would love to hear it.
You know the drill… I blog about totally inappropriate shit… (sometimes literally) and sometimes, you throw up in your mouth a bit.
If you are interested in participating, reading more train wreck worthy blogs… Click the pic below and enter the hub of TMI Thursday….
Alright, lets get right to it.
Once upon a bunch of BJ’s ago, D was having my Wicked Special. We had been drinking (duh) and fooling around for several hours. (This was back when we had time for foreplay… pre-kids… etc.)
So I go down, fondling and licking and doing the things that us girls do during BJ’s.
He starts to squirm a little. The typical pre-cuminyourmouth squirming that boys do. So I go at it harder. And wetter. I play off of his squirmy self and sexyimgonnacumsoongirlymoan noises.
And then he came. Hard. Like convulsions.
There I was, trying to be all post-bj-lovey on his penis when it happened. A funk so awful that my nostrils cringed.
That motherfucker SBD WHILE HE CAME IN MY FACE.
D: “I tried to clench it in!”
Me: “You didnt try hard enough, apparently. I am disgusted.”
D: “Babe. I am sorry.”
Me: “You farted. In my face. While you came. And I had to find out about it afterward.”
D: “At least it happened at the end.”
Me: “Are you kidding me? How does that benefit me?!”
D: (heh) “I guess I am the only one who really benefits here.”
Me: “Right. You are an asshole.”
D: “I would kiss you but… you taste like nut and smell like ass.”
Me: “I fucking hate you.”
D: (Leaning in for a kiss) “I was KIDDING!”
Me: “Whatever.”
This is an intro kinda to who they are in relationship to me and how we got here.
I am still pondering what specifically intrigues her about my parents … other than how freaking awesome they happen to be. Mostly anyway. I didn’t always think that they were though. In fact back in the day, I used to think that my parents were the strictest, dumbest people on the planet to ever live in the history of parents.
‘Used to’ being the key phrase.
My parents and I have an interesting relationship. I know now that when I don’t like something that they have to say… I politely with an attitude say good bye and hang up or leave. Usually when I dont like what I am hearing it is because they are telling me the truth. I am going to eventually want to hear the truth, but sometimes my dad chooses to shove it down my throat at the most inopportune fucking times sometimes. I love that with us, what you see is what you get. I don’t have to lie. I don’t have to pretend that everything is wonderful. If they want to drop by, I don’t feel like I need to rush around and make my house pristine. It might just be fucking messy. And if it is… they don’t judge me for it. My parents just kinda get it. And me. They get that I am pretty much not going to front about shit, and that, no matter what… I am always going to be me. I love that my parents have just accepted and embraced me for who I am… and not try to mold me into something that they think I should be.
Because of the above, I can say that I am blessed. And mean it. I know this because when I talk to other people about how they have to hide a part of themselves in order to please their parents … I have had to bite my tongue … because I am confused as to who in the hell these parents think they are for making their kids lives such turmoil that they can never really be themselves around them?
If you were to ask me who I am more like … my mom or my dad … I would have to say my dad. My dad and I didn’t really begin our relationship until I got back from boot camp. When I was little, I was all about some “daddy’s girl”. Even as a teenager, I knew that with just the right tone… I could pretty much get what I wanted. When it was good it was great. When it was bad though, ask anyone who was around us back then. It was bad.
I remember one time during one of our biggest fights, my dad and I were in each others faces. We were yelling. I am sure I told him to fuck himself. If I would have had the ability to step out of my body to see what I was doing, I probably would not have been in my dads face like that. With no fear. No capacity about how my father (have you ever seen my dad?) could have broken my little 16 year old ass in half if I said just the right (read: wrong) thing to set him off in that moment.
And believe me. I tried as hard as I could to make my dad the purplest piece in life as often as I could. Did I pick fights with him? Yep. I sure did. Why? I don’t know. Maybe it was because as much as I knew that he could knock me cold the hell out with one punch… he never would.
This also leads me to my next thought. The reason I never fought with my mom this way was because she would knock me out. And she did. It only took once. I don’t remember what I said, but it was something to the effect of calling her a “bitch” and/or “fuck you” during a disagreement. She hauled off and slapped the shit out of me.
I am pretty sure that the only time I ever cuss at my mom in an angry moment now is when we are on the phone. And even then. My mom has a mean left hook. I am not really trying to fuck with her.
So I am frustrated with this blog and I am going to end it here. Squish, if you are out there… I need some direction. What intrigues you? What do you want to know? I could go in so many ways… and because of that I am not even sure if this blog even makes sense.
Do you want to hear more about the parents? If so, what?
What kind of relationship do you have with your parents?
If you could pick celebrity parents, who would they be and why? (They dont have to be a couple)
If you don’t, you totally should. This show is the best 30 minutes of my night. It is 30 minutes of clowning all of celebrity-reality-television-moments. When you click the link, just press play on the video in the upper right hand spot below the navigation bar. It plays the latest episode in full. The other video’s are the blogs. Equally funny but you gotta dig for good material. Anyway, I have a dorky-but-funny-white-boy crush on him.
So last night, during D’s Father’s Day Naked Sensual Massage (please read it while your inside voice speaks in Austin Powers) we were totally cracking up at pretty much the entire episode. I got done (read: bored) massaging his back so I just kinda layed down next to him and snuggled all cute-like next to him. (shut up) So I start to doze off, and am awakened by a peni-nudge and D on his back, not on his stomach as he was 30 seconds prior.
Me: “So what you are saying is…”
D: (giggling like a 2 year old) “Mmmmhm. You know what is next.”
Me: “Oh I do?”
D: (still kid-giggling) “Dont play like you are new to this.”
(He had been hinting to happy endings… but I thought he was talking about that Disney movie.? No? Just kidding it is totally NOT a Disney movie… hehehe. Anything with Tom Arnold is not appropriate for children. )
Anyway, D was expecting a Fathers Day happy ending… so I shall do my wifely duties and oblige. Normally, I am able to 1) multi-task and listen to whatever is on TV while doing the do without it affecting any sort of concentration, or 2) tune it out if it is distracting. I am not sure if this malfunctioned because of my aforementioned white boy crush or if it malfunctioned because I had gotten so relaxed to the point of dozing that my game was off.
Either way, Joel McHale came back in full force from commercial, talking about someone interviewing a man named Mike Hawk.
I tried so fucking hard to ignore it.
I attempted to provide the happiest of endings… but I. Just. Could. Not. Do. It. Especially considering the fact that good ol’ Joel took it upon his HILARIOUS self to say Mike Hawk as many times as humanly possible in the 30 second segment.
I couldn’t multi-task. I couldn’t hold in the inevitable, uncontrollable giggles that were resting at the tip of my throat. (PUN INTENDED)
I fell out. Choked. (yes on it) and was consumed by this tidal wave of laughter (yes it was still in my mouth). The kind that makes you snort. Multiple times. This display sent D into laughter as well. I know for a fucking we-have-been-married-for-almost-8-years fact that he was stifling as much laughter over Mike Hawk and the ironic timing of Joel McHale’s repetition of it as much as I was if not more. Add in me snorting and choking on his cock and it was over.
There we were, d.y.i.n.g. of uncontrollable laughter.
D: “You snorted. On my cock.”
Me: (wiping tears) “I know. I was there.”
So I tried again to end this night happily. 3 times.
“Mike Hawk Mike Hawk Mike Hawk” replaying in my head, sending me into fits of snorting laughter. If you didn’t know me, you would think that I was loaded or something. It took 3 attempts and meditation-like concentration to not literally ROFL during this blow job.
And as he came….
D: “MIKE HAWK!!!!!!!!!”
Fucker.
D: “Did any come out your nose? I was aiming for the frothy walrus or the angry dragon!”
Me: “Fuck you.”
D: “No thanks, you already did. Gnite.” (insert snoring here)
Fucker. He is lucky it was Fathers Day.
Have you ever gotten a Brazilian Wax? Thumbs up or Thumbs Down?
What would you say would be a deal breaker for you on a first date?
What one word would you use to describe yourself?
Hello! I hope you all had fantastic weekends with the people you care most about. I know I did. Mi Familia is back and as chaotic as always. I am currently loving every minute of it. (ask me next week)
On Saturday after the gym I decided to hit up some yard sales on my way home. I have been looking for a few key items (a couch for Tara, clothes for the kids, a foot locker for X, and cool picture frames/dishes/vases to add to my “collections”) I think I picked up my love of yard sales from my mommy, and I enjoy having non-pottery-barn-or-ikea-mass-produced items in my house. I mean, some of the things are really cool but I hate walking into a friends house and being like “OMG I totally have that too!” to 4 or 5 things on display.
I stopped at this one by my house on my way to the gym. I found this kick ass mirror. The kind that is a full body mirror but is on its own stand. I dont know if it is considered vintage or not… but it looks old school to me. I had not gone to the bank yet so I didnt stop. I figured that if it was meant to be, it would still be there when I returned.
Guess what? It was.
I am going to refinish it to a darker wood stain eventually, but this bad boy was $10… talked down from $15. Right?!
I then stopped at a community garage sale. I hit the 2T girl clothes mother-load.
The problem: This bitch thought her yard sale clothes were the best thing since sliced bread.
The t-shirts were $2 a piece and the pants/skirts $3. Granted, they were all in really good condition but I am not really up for paying more than $1 for stuff like that. Especially when I am interested in buying more than 1 item. Yard sale purchases should be negotiable.
Me: (walking up with a pile of shirts and pants and 2 pair of shoes) “Hi.”
YardSaleBitch: “How many things do you have there?”
Me: “4 shirts 2 pants 2 shoes. I would like to offer you $10 for the clothes and then 4 for the shoes”
YSB: “DO YOU KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE KIDS CLOTHES ARE?!”
Me: “Uh, yeah I have kids.”
YSB: “These prices are firm.”
Me: “Really?! I get that you like your stuff, but dont you think this is a little steep for used kids clothes… at a yard sale?”
YSB: “Um. These are NAME BRAND.”
Me: “Well then you can haul your NAME BRAND items home today then. I would rather pay full price than buy shit from you. Have a good day.”
YSB: (talking to her friend) “It isnt my fault she doesnt know quality.”
Me: (stopping and turning) “Excuse me?!”
YSB: “I was talking to my friend.”
Me: “ABOUT ME. Let me tell you something. I am not going to make a scene because there are kids here, but you are about the snottiest, tackiest woman I have ever met and I am not going to stoop to your level. HAVE A GREAT DAY.”
And I got in my Tara’s Escalade and left.
It sucks because I really liked the clothes. But I would rather not pay that bitch a fucking dime. Luckily, the lady with the mirror had a shit ton of cute stuff for Charli for $.25 a piece. Take that YSB. Right in the ass.
Now on to the business of my next Creative Parenting venture. Are you new to my blogs?
I like to creatively punish my kids.
Like: X kept leaving the lights on. So he went a day without any power. Cold showers and all.
Or: When he kept trying to wear the same clothes every day so I made him wear the same clothes for an entire week.
*grin* He will always remember these moments. I wont be the mommy known for ass whoopins. I will be the mommy known for these things.
For those of you who didnt read TMIT last week, Xavier stole $50 from his cousin when they were in California. We pondered what we would do when he got home for punishment.
This is what we came up with:
Now I introduce Xavier George: Inmate # 1488720 of the House County Jail
We held court. D gave the synopsis of what he was accused of. Xavier did the right thing and plead guilty. He was sentenced to 5 days in jail (with 3 days suspended) 45 days probation and 100 hours community service. He is going to spend the good portion of the summer working this off.
If he violates his probation, the other 3 days of jail will get fulfilled. I am typing up the terms of probation tomorrow.
So his room was stripped of everything but his bed, 1 pillow and 1 blanket. He had his desk and we gave him 1 book and some paper and a pencil. He wrote definitions of words that I picked that were related to his crime and sentences in his words using the words I picked that showed he knew what they meant. He was allowed 3 meals a day. Those consisted of oatmeal and toast for breakfast and D went and bought the Banquet TV dinners for his lunch and dinner meals. Blech.
Oh well. If you do the crime you gotta do the time. He didn’t get gourmet food like celebrities do.
I had him write a paper about this experience that I will share with you all tomorrow. I really really hope that he learned from this experience. I dont want to have to kick his ass, nor do I want to have to bail him out of real jail.
In other news, Father’s day has been relaxing for all of us… and I am not looking forward to going to work tomorrow. Boo.
Have you ever been to jail? Did you learn your lesson?
Have you ever scored big while thrifting or yard sale-ing? What was your big find?
What (other than sleeping all day) would you rather be doing tomorrow than working?
I have my babies back in my possession. I can touch them and pet them and kiss them and tickle them and squeeze them see them and hear them purr be loud as fuck in my face.
I can also smell them.
For those of you who aren’t parents, you may not understand this phenomenon. As soon as my kids were born (read: as soon as they were cleaned and wrapped in the hospital blanket) I buried my nose into them and breathed my babies’ unique scent. I still bury my face into their hair and smell them during cuddle time. Even Xavier … except now it is less than before because he no longer smells like baby and smells more like stinky boy.
My kid or not, I am not a fan of eu de stinky boy.
Anyway, I love all newborn baby smell. I love to sniff them and I am pretty sure if they had a newbornbabysmellpurfumeorroomspray I would buy it. (Hmmmm… This might make a killing.)
I also have my papa cat back in my possession. It is a different kind of smelling with him though. It is a “lemme smell ya dick in my face” kind of sniff out. 1) I want to touch it and him all sexy-time like with my vagandmore… but also mama cat needs to inspect her property to make sure other pussy’s werent all up on it while he was away. The inspection went in his favor and he left mama cat purring contently in the early morning hours of his return. (This doesnt have anything to do with the dirty text messages that were exchanged between us. When did wildcats start texting!?)
Mama cat is happy to have her pride home. I think that next time the amount of time I will be away from all will have to be much shorter. This trip made me realize that I need a certain kind of stimulation… and not just any stimulation either.
I need my family. Annoying, frustrating … happy and sad … I need them.
What animal do you think you most relate to and why?
Welcome to my own special regular Friday blog where I open the ‘floor’ to give you all the opportunity to cuss out whomever royally pissed you off this week so that you can let it go and truly enjoy the weekend.
That is all we really want to do right?!
Dear POE,
I have been a part of many organizations. I get that with every big deal signed, there is a level of ass kissing metrics that have to go along with it. I really do get it. But I have never, ever had this level of juvenile hand holding in a group of adults. Ever.
What gets me is that your selling point in my interview was the fact (and I remember that it was repeated across the 3 people who separately interviewed me) this establishment prides itself on zero micromanagement. That, we are all adults and it is not a babysitting organization.
Tell me, what would you refer to this as then? Nannying? Adult Care?
I call it babysitting. Like with a motherfucking baby monitor by your ear so that you don’t miss a single motherfucking breath taken.
There are ways to go about what you are trying to do without handcuffing us all and making us feel like we are trapped in little boxes full of ticky tacky.
I am just saying.
Dear Gym Rat,
1) your Nike napsack on your back is not cute. It doesnt hold your water. Wanna know how I know? Because you kept “dropping it” on the floor so you could bend over and pick it up in front of the personal trainer that all of the ladies at the gym drool over every single day.
2) He is out of your league. Shit, he is out of my league.
3) if you aren’t going to work out, then leave. You doing circles around the cardio area made me nauseus and furthermore you were wasting paper towels too. You werent even using the cardio equipment that you wiped down. I am no tree hugger and even I know that is plain ignorant and wasteful.
4) You need to be working out because you are not cute. Neither is the way you switch your hip in front of the aforementioned PT. I am pretty sure I watched him throw up in his mouth the last time you shook your nasty booty in his face.
Bottom Line: Not cute. Not one iota. So knock it off before you catch me on an outwardly bitchy day and I tell you about yourself.
Dear Tarable,
I miss you.
Dear KittyFace,
I want them to come home too. Tripping me and breaking my neck isnt going to make them come home any fucking faster. GET OUT OF MY BUSINESS. BLAH.
Alllllllso as promised I am gonna in a nutshell call X’s out.
He ‘found’ $50 in his pocket. After further investigation, he did not actually find it in his pocket. He stole that shit from someone who it was given to as a graduation gift.
Right.
1) He did come clean about it.
2) He apologized to those who he affected by doing it.
3) Kanisha gave me the best idea for creative punishment ever: He will wear a sign that reads “I am a thief” one day when we have a bajillion errands to run. I may also make him write a couple of sentances to carry with so when people ask him questions, he will have something to answer with other than “I dont know”. We will see.
Kanisha rules. The end.
Lastly, before the Friday Eye Candy, I just want to say that I truly appreciate all of my friends. The ones who listen. The ones who let me cry. The ones who let me be a cunt when I need to be one. Especially the ones who respect me and understand me. I am finding thorns in my friend-bush and I am frustrated and confused as to how to help our friendship grow into pretty flowers.
I dont know. I just needed to put it out there in the universe. It helps me clearly figure out what I need to do.
And now. Friday’s Eye Candy is:
Paul Walker. His piercing blue eyes make my naughty bits tingle a lil’ bit. A lot bit actually. My favorite are pics when he has a bit of a scruffy face. Like this one:
Mmmmmmmmmmm.
Feel free to email OR comment me with Friday Eye Candy suggestions.
