Blind Date that Sucked, literally and figuratively...

In the Powder Room blogged about a horrid blind date, and author Kerry Rossow did it beautifully. I especially liked where she said, "Topless men sporting mullets shouldn't throw stones." She asked our stories in the comments. Mine is too risque I think for her page, so I am posting it on my little corner of the internet and linking to it with a word of caution.

I am not sure how I ended up on a date with this guy, like I deleted it from memory, but I'm pretty sure a friend hooked us up. I really don't remember because our date was that bad. I know there is no way I found this gem of an asshat myself, like this just goes under rocks I would dare not move.

We went to some attorney's house. The attorney and his wife were people I knew from the country clubbish scene already. He had no idea I knew these people. It seemed to bother him that I did know these people, like somehow that moved me up a class system he didn't expect making us more equals or something... Whatever. The country clubbish scene was full of people I have little respect for, but this guy, he was just another gold diggin whore kissing ass for the networking. So, we already disagreed on self respect... Not a good start.

We partied in their house, a huge historical home re-done to modern times. We all drank wine. The attorney gave me my own bottle of Shiraz from his private expensive stash of wine, and kept offering to give me random things from the house, like some painting, a candlestick... It doesn't sound bad does it? Haha. Wait.

They smoked marijuana and rolled some ecstasy, things I didn't do at all. I was really shocked by this because the attorney was considerably older than me. It was like watching peers of my parents roll E. I assure you he does not do that at the country club.

Eventually, the party moved to the hot tub, with us in bathing suits except the attorney's wife, who was fully dressed sitting outside on the patio next to us, close enough to conversate (I don't think that's a real word). This is where my date was serenading me with sweet talk like, "I'm from the Pakistani Mafia." Then he told me all the history between the Pakistani mafia and the Italian mafia in town, citing people I know and pizza I love. You know, normal first date stuff like who murdered who, when, how they got rid of the bodies... He was obviously showing off.

At some point, the attorney, who is considerably older than me with some obesity issues, asked if I'd sit on his lap. Of course I declined that offer. He continued to ask repeatedly throughout a span of an hour, making me feel more and more uncomfortable by the second. Then I noticed his penis peeping out of the water as he is asking my date if it's ok if I sit on his lap. I clutched my date in desperation and whispered in his ear, "Please don't say yes." So my date picked me up and handed me over to the attorney.

The whole time, the attorney's wife is screaming at him, "She doesn't want you. You are old, fat and ugly, she doesn't want anything to do with your small wrinkled dick." As soon as my body left the hands of my date into the arms of the attorney sitting only a few inches from his hard on, I flapped like a fish and got out of the hot tub. The wife and I hung out on our own the rest of the evening, making fun of the men behind their backs.

So then we crashed at the house. I didn't have a ride home. I was drunk from the wine. My date of course was fucked up beyond repair and shouldn't be driving, and the attorney had quite a few guest rooms. I think ours had its own bathroom. Anyway, my date then wanted to have sex. He begged. Yeah. Men are so stupid sometimes. So I made him go down on me, and after I got mine, I rolled over and went to sleep like a master playa. I also made him apologize to me the next day, and I made him take me home, and I made him buy me breakfast. Fucker might of been from the Pakistani mafia, but bitch, please, I listen to TuPac.

I'd love to hear about your memorable blind date stories, good or bad.

My Christmas Story: The Love Shines Through

If you want to make this blog reading more heartfelt and gushy, listen to this song my mother wrote and performed, back when Prodigy was the internet...

I never believed in Santa. When I was a child, my parents were Born Again Christians. They felt in their heart that it was best we focus our festivities on the birth of Christ, and in that spirit, they told me straight up from the get go that Santa wasn't real. They only told ME that. Maybe it's because I didn't believe it anyway. I don't know, but I do know my sister believed in Santa for years, and I helped keep that belief alive for a while, probably until she made me mad in a fight and in the name of childhood fairness of an eye for an eye, I probably told her he wasn't real just because she hurt my feelings.

My parents were one of the few in the church who felt that way because most kids in my school, that church's school, did believe. I got in lots of trouble for freeing everyone from the lies and deceit. I was simply leading a rebellion against Old Saint Nick. Nothing major.

I like that I never believed. My fondest Christmas memories from my childhood are of me wrapping gifts. I used to ask my mom to let me wrap my sister's gifts. I loved putting them under the tree from the moment the tree was up. One by one. Accumulating a wealth of presents to give away. That was the best part of Christmas. The spirit of giving. Of course I didn't know what that really meant back then.

And as I grew older, into the teens and early adulthood, I enjoyed shopping for others. I was one of the few who put a lot of thought into every gift I gave. I wanted to give someone something useful, something that wouldn't be returned, something they wanted, and something they would tell everyone about after the fact. I also wanted to be classy with it. It wasn't like I was buying toothbrushes for people like my sister did. Nope, I was all about silk boxers and a red rose for my man, foot massagers, Estee Lauder, Ralph Lauren...

In high school, my part time job was in gift wrap for a department store, so not only did I enjoy my employee discount on the best of the best, I also enjoyed wrapping gifts. Our bows were hand made, every gift. I also made bows for the trees in the store, and helped decorate those as well. Once I learned that skill, I enjoyed putting up two trees for my parents' house. We had a blue and silver one in the sunroom, and a red and gold one in the living room. No more did our tree look like it came out of a Chevy Chase movie.

Christmas was my favorite holiday, up until the point where my father passed away. Christmas of 1998 was the last Christmas I had with him, and it was one I will never forget. After opening our presents, we drove 2.5 hours to my grandmother's house like every year. My father's cancer was not standing in our way. He felt awful. Sick. He started shaking a lot, and we all decided at my grandmother's house to take him to the ER. I thought I was going to lose my father on Christmas. He left the ER with a little more time to live. I was grateful. So grateful.

Meanwhile, my grandmother was busy taking care of everyone. She cooked Christmas dinner, was handing people presents to unwrap, doing everything within her power to make Christmas magical regardless of the circumstances. We didn't realize, not one of us, what she knew. That was her last Christmas with us. She was on her death bed. Her liver was failing, and I remember her stomach was bloated from the fluids. Still, despite the excruciating pain she felt, she managed to smile. The entire day.

I think it was the day after Christmas, she went into the hospital. I remember visiting her and being the only one in the room with her. She grabbed my hand, pulled me closer to her, and told me she had died before. Months before this, she was clinically dead for a moment before they revived her. When she died, she saw a white mansion surrounded by a white garden, and it was like a comforting blanket of peace wrapped around her. "I never felt so peaceful before," and with a desperate look in her eye, she said, "I want to go back. Tell everyone to let me go." She passed away shortly after.

On the day of her funeral, it snowed. A freak snow storm hit, one the weathermen didn't see coming. We couldn't bury her because there was so much snow. They were the biggest flakes I've ever seen, and I lived in Wyoming for years. It was so unusual, I still to this day think she made it snow somehow, not because it was unusual for that kind of snow to hit us and only in the area we were in, but also because I was strangely comforted by it.

The following March, I lost my father. Then the month after that, cancer also claimed my grandma's sister and my father's sister. A month later, my aunt was diagnosed with breast cancer. That summer my brother went to prison. Then my aunt with breast cancer had a successful surgery, one where the nurse met my grandmother's ghost holding my aunt's hand. Then another aunt passed away that fall. The year of 1999 was not my year, and cancer is my enemy. I guess I was lucky because I survived it, with everyone in my family dying like that, but it was not an easy year.

I have not liked Christmas since then. I can't find my Christmas spirit for the life of me, and I hate Santa Claus. I try every year to put up a tree. Bake cookies. Listen to Christmas carols. Shop. All of it feels like work, a job in the fast food industry. I look at the time hoping more than a minute passed since the last time I looked. It's really sad too because I know all those who passed on wouldn't want me to feel this way. They all worked so hard to make my Christmases special so that I could enjoy it for years to come. But it's not special without them.

We no longer visit my father's side of the family, especially since most of them are gone now. His parents were gone before he passed, but all his siblings died within a year of his passing. We no longer go to my grandmother's house. Instead, my grandfather comes down and joins us all at my mom's house. I don't think my mother enjoys Christmas like she used to either.

Now I'm a mother. And the circle of life happens. I am no longer the child who sees magic in Christmas. I am instead the one making it magical. It is not a magical process, but it is worth it. And some day, everyone will be coming to my house for dinner. And there will be a day when I know my time is coming, and I'm going to do everything in my power to make things magical for my kids, maybe grandkids if I'm lucky, one last time. And after I'm gone, the same love that shined through me all those years I stopped enjoying Christmas, the love that kept me baking cookies and decorating the house, that love will shine through my children.

The moral of the story is this. Christmas is about the accumulated wealth of gifts you are giving away, the department store tree, the chaos of putting dinner together, the living room full of wrapping paper, the cookies, the family you hate talking to that you are stuck spending the day with, the "my my my haven't we gained weight" comments, football... Memories. It is about family. These are the things we do for our family. Completely unnecessary things we do to give our loved ones a smile. Christmas is the birth of the ultimate sacrifice made for love.

Whether you are the merry little elf who overdosed on happy pills fa-lala-lalaaaing around the house like it's Pinterest, or the bitter old geezer who shot Santa and ate the reindeer for dinner, your time here is short. The legacy you leave behind is up to you. Tis the spirit to give. Not the gift, but your heart. As children, we receive a lot of love, but as adults, we give a lot more of it. And that is the true meaning of Christmas.

Whether I mean it or not, I'm smiling really big when I say Merry Christmas. I wouldn't say it if I didn't want you to feel it.

I lost my marbles so I borrowed some from my bartender

This is NOT Louis.

My title makes sense I swear to Chocolate it will make sense.

My mother decided to take me out for drinks on Black Friday with our favorite bartender who now works at a place where drinks are so expensive, we plan our trips and look forward to it. It's one of those restaurants local doctors and hoity toity's brag about going to because they are so outrageously priced for the area (not that bad for New York City).

Anyway, the bartender, Louis, has been a favorite. Not only can he make the best martinis, ones I can actually drink without it being too sweet or too alcoholly, but he's like therapy. I call him my therapist. One who has no license and we do hug and kiss, so ethics is kind of out the window too on that. Really we do. I tell the husband. He's stuck with it. We don't make out. We just greet each other with a big hug and a good smack on the lips. People in Europe do that.

Last night, we get there, and Louis talked a lot about his real therapist. He has PTSD like I do. We've talked about it before, and this therapist is a good one. Actually, I've not gone to therapy for my PTSD because the therapeutic choice of all choices is to ask you a bunch of questions about the trauamatic incident making you relive it over and over again, and that made my PTSD worse, not better. I think I have PTSD from the therapy of my PTSD because seeing a shrink makes me all kinds of I want to throw up. This therapist, however, does not use that therapy. That, I would go to.

At some point in the conversation, Louis hands me 2 marbles from his pocket. He said that one marble is, "Everything is going to be ok," and the other marble is, "I'm going to be all right." Put them in your pocket and you'll be amazed how many times you reach in your pocket and can feel these marbles reminding yourself that everything is going to be ok and you are going to be all right.

Well, being female, I don't have a pocket most of the time, and if I do, well let's just say i frequently find 20 dollars I have no idea where it came from last year in a pocket... My purse is also a bad idea. It hoards pieces of chocolate and what nots that I wouldn't tell the difference between a gumball and a marble while fishing for that cell phone. But my wallet, now I go into that baby too many times a day. So, that's where I'm keeping my marbles. My wallet.

Now I don't think Louis is aware that I actually lost my marbles and went to the farm. That totally gives this an angelic God appeal to it, like the Lord, He works in mysterious ways. Louis followed his instinct and it was exactly what I needed when I needed it.

And to make it more special, the marbles were made by Louis's father. He made marbles for a living.

So this black friday, I'm thankful for marbles. I'm thankful for awesome bartenders too. I left that bar with a good buzz from a good martini (my mom was driving) and some replacement marbles. Now their prices don't seem that extreme afterall.

Crazy, Unwell, Whatever.

I'm at a gas station and a guy walks up to pay right behind me right as I say, "I'm going to try some birth control and see what happens." What was the conversation? Mind you, this is the gas station I go to all the time. They know me. They will let me leave and come back to pay for my gas.

I approach the counter with my Diet Coke and Donut. I repeat that like there's something wrong with it. The woman didn't think there was something wrong with this. I think it's obvious. DIET soda and a DONUT. Diet and Donut do not belong in the same sentence together. BTW, the donut was delicious and it was worth every calorie.

With that said, for more oxymoronic nonsense, I tell the lady...

Me: I stopped taking my medication because it makes me gain weight and I'd rather be crazy than fat.

She, Debbie: (Laughing Hysterically) What were you taking? Something for your anxiety?

Thought note here: My anxiety is that obvious I see.

Me: Well actually the doctor diagnosed me with bipolar during PMS. He was like, "Your moods are leveling out I think these meds are where they need to be," when really I just started my period.

Debbie: (Laughing hysterically)

Me: (as I'm walking away) I'm going to try some birth control pills and see what happens.

Guy: (Weird look)

Me: Well, not for birth control, for the hormones. Well.... Debbie's seen my kids. I obviously need birth control too...

Debbie: (Barely able to hold herself up laughing)

I left. Like that. Just like that.

The memoirs of my day vacation: The Mayhem

So after the chaos came the mayhem. This is the time where the chaos morphs into shenanigans.

Did you miss Part 1 of this post? Check it out here.

We get on the road for our little day vacation. Wait. My nephew has no clothes to change into. My middle kid has no CLEAN bathing suit (as if we are going to have time for swimming now). I need a new camera because these iProducts suck at picture taking concerning lighting, pixels, and speed. The Canon Rebel we own is having battery issues ever since the children gooed it with schmooze (isn't that what attacked the My Little Ponies? I need flutterponies in my house stat). Plus the Canon has a lighting issue I can't troubleshoot. Then the thing I bought since then sucks ass, like I paid 50 dollars for something that works like those old school key chain cameras you could by for 5 dollars (or a Go Diego digital camera). Diet Coke. I need Diet Coke for the hotel room because how much you want to bet they decided to sleep with Pepsi like every hotel out there?

I go to Walmart. I make the husband drive the kids through BK for their dinner while I run in and grab shit. I grabbed boxers, shorts, t-shirt, and socks for the nephew. Bathing suit for the middle kid. Camera of awesome for my husband and I. Diet Coke for me. Shit now I'm hungry and I told the hubs not to get me anything, so I grab a sub and cheesesticks and wedges (waiting 20 minutes for 5 people to do closing duties first telling me they'll be with me in a minute because that's Walmart Customer Service at its finest). I go to pay, and I see my nephew. He walked all over the store looking for me, now he has to find the husband and kids who came in the store. After verbally assaulting my husband's common sense in front of Aisles 1 through 6 with a colorful vocabulary, and then sitting at a bench for 20 minutes, I see my nephew return. They went back to the car.

Husband was an ass and got me eating and driving.
Notice my safe procedure of driving with my knee?
10 and 2. Hands should be on the 10 and 2.

We finally leave. Finally. I'm driving because you'll see why in a minute.

I get an hour east before I get pulled over by Carl Winslow. He asked me if I knew how fast I was going. Of course, I had no flippin clue. I told him that I was listening to my kid talk and Michael Jackson's Billie Jean was playing and I was getting jiggy with it at the same time. I even turned up the volume of the CD player to prove it. Billie Jean. That explains everything. He asked me 5 more times if I knew how fast I was going. No. I don't know. According to him, I was ONLY going 81 in a 55. And I quote him, thrice, "You. SMOKED. Me.!"

I thought this was Derpy enough to post.
I'm too sexy for my Carolina Whopper my husband ended
up getting me.

You smoked me. YOU SMO-OH-KED ME!

You. Smoked. Me.

That would explain why I was driving listening to Billie Jean shaking my ass trying to figure out what my 6 year old was saying and then I looked in my rear view mirror and could barely see a car with flashing lights on it, like I had to squint my eyes to make sure I wasn't seeing the reflection of someone's LED headlights invented in hell hitting someone's brake lights a certain way with the atmosphere spreading it out and bouncing it off a tree. No, it was an actual police car. I'm so observant to notice him before he got here. If more people would pay this much attention on the road and pull over for emergency vehicles like this... And I even thought to myself, "Oooh, someone must be in trouble, or they are going to be in trouble." So I pull over to let him through. No. He was trying to catch up to me. I was probably fleeing from the police for a couple miles.

Well. This isn't good is it? And I haven't had a ticket in like 6 years. 81 in a 55, now that can't be cheap. Shit. This is gonna suck, but I'll take it like a man, no, I'll take it like a whore.

Then he asked, "Where are you heading?"

Well shit.

Mind you, Saturday, the day before, when I was taking food to my mom, I was driving behind some guy on this road going about 3 miles over the limit and a state cop was coming toward us, does a u-turn and flashes his lights, so I thought I was getting pulled over. I start to pull over thinking he's not going to believe that I'm taking food to my sick mom, watch. Then he went around me and pulled over the guy in front of me. I wasn't about to pull over make sure I wasn't part of the deal. Nope. I kept going. Just like Dory says, "Just keep swimming."

So this time, I don't have such a good story. Nope. No sick mom. No dying grandma (like that one ticket I got in Ohio in 1998), no uncle's funeral (the one I got in Ohio in 1999, they really don't give a shit in Ohio).

Figured I'm best off to go with the truth. The first time the kids caught wind of where we were going.

"We're heading to Pittsburgh. Planning to hit the zoo tomorrow and then watch the Steelers practice."

The cop, Carl Winslow (without the mustache), was like, "Oh really. Well then, I guess I won't give you a ticket after all since you are a Steeler's fan. Give me a minute."

He came back with a warning telling me how much it's worth. I'm here to tell you. Fuck Geico. Switching to the Steelers can save you 300 dollars or more on a speeding ticket.

As the cop walks away, my nephew says, "You should let your husband drive now." My 6 year old agreed, "Yeah, let daddy drive." Then the other 2 chimed in, "Mommy move over. Let daddy drive." My nephew comes back with, "yeah, you just lost your driving privileges with that." So I let the husband drive.

Here's the issue. Here's the reason why I drive everywhere. Here's the reason why my husband sits in the passenger seat all the time. I'm a control freak. I can't stand it when someone else drives. I have to drive. I get anxiety and panic attacks. I think we are going to die. He is swerving too far to the right. He gets up on people's asses before braking or switching lanes. He didn't really look in the left lane good enough before switching. Quit riding that guy's ass, he keeps stomping on his brakes. We're going to die. We're going to die. I told you people I'm catwoman. Does that not sound like a cat in a car?

My husband at the infamous gas station that I did totally
confuse for a bar because after I had my wine, they played
our song and we danced to it. Right where he's standing here.

So we stopped for gas. College town infamous for block parties, belligerent football fanatics, and partying in general. It's a sin to go there according to some guy from my old church that's a reason I don't go to church anymore. I figured I'd go in and look for some anti-anxiety meds. My options were Benadryl or a sippy cup of Cabernet. So basically, I stopped at a gas station for a cocktail. I stood outside the gas station by the door drinking my wine smoking a cigarette with the fam in the car (avoiding possession of an open container), and yes I made them wait (5 whole minutes). People were walking in and out, college students, party animals right?

Instead of being all "woohoo let's drink" about it, they looked at me like I was a crackhead. The ghetto looking guy wouldn't even make eye contact. So I tried to be funny. These 2 girls walk out with a guy lagging behind and I'm like, "Yeah, the husband is driving. I can't ride with his driving sober." Apparently, I'm not funny. They just looked at each other and walked away really fast. FUCK YOU college students being all serious and maturity snooty. You'll crack. When you graduate, you'll be doing 3-somes with random married couples experimenting with drugs because you're too motherfucking uptight for 21. I've seen it happen to a lot of people. It's not like they were enrolled into Harvard or anything. They should leave and go to Harvard or something because they are making that town look bad. They are killing the reputation alumni for years worked so hard to achieve.

So we leave there. The wine was exactly what I needed. I was relaxed and happy for a good 20 minutes, and then I clonked out. This is why I don't usually drink wine for fun because it always wears off too fast. So then I woke up 20 minutes out of Pittsburgh. I woke up the kids so they could see it.

It's really neat how it happens. You are driving down the road, and you see stuff that looks like suburbia and businesses like the Sprint store, a billboard... then country for a second and then another exit of some lights here and there. You go in this tunnel and as soon as you exit the tunnel, the world lights up like fireworks, downtown Pittsburgh. Bridges, tall buildings, all lit up beautiful.

So basically, you are driving. Darkness. Boring stuff. Darkness. Boring stuff. Tunnel. Hold your breath. Make a wish. and

We did not take this fabulous picture obviously.

It's a magical I couldn't refuse my children.

We got a little lost finding the hotel. Humans amaze me with the whole invention of GPS and stuff, but we are still pretty fucking stupid and useless when it comes to cataloging information. The map came from some place showing the location of the hotels. I can't remember if I ganked it from Google Search or from hotels.com, but it was off by a block and wrong street name and what not. Whatever. We found it. Eventually. It was a fun drive otherwise. It was just late.

We get in the hotel, and the suite was sweet. The kids went to bed and right back to sleep. The guy working there probably thought I smoked crack too. That's okay. He didn't judge me for it.

My girls in their bed

My nephew in the sofa bed.

My husband drinking beer in the kitchen. 

Wasn't this a fabulous idea? It's a hair thingy and drink holder for while you shower, or poop.

PART III of this post Here

The Memoirs of my Day Vacation: The Chaos

The kids were restless and the nights were drunken stupors at home, in the kitchen, with the fish, Fishy. No he was not hurt during any of it. But it was a good clear indicator that it was time. It was time to get the fuck out of here and go somewhere else. Anywhere else but here.

Embrace Yourself: I will flip between verb tenses. Just try to follow me anyway. 

Mind you, I'm in need of a real break. Not that whole, "Hey you didn't get to sleep for 2 days so here's a few hours to dream about Sylvester Stallone." Yes I needed that sleep and wet dream, but it's not a break. No, I need a break from all the needy demanding people in my life. This includes my kids, other people's kids, my friends, my husband, my mother, my sister... People seem to think I'm a robot with magical batteries that never needs recharged and a magical wand who bibbity bobbity boops solutions to everyone's problems, wants, and frivolous whims. I have spoiled all those around me, and I'm paying the price.

Instead of doing my viciously desperate, well-earned ME TIME, I did a family thing. I'm going to have to wait until some fairy godmother decides to finally grace me with her presence for the metime shit. For many reasons, it also had to be a mini-vacation.

I didn't tell anyone my thoughts outside of hinting to the husband (and neighbor) that I want to try to hit Pittsburgh on his days off. I'm a spontaneous person. I want to get in the car and just go. I can't do that anymore with kids. So I was googling the options of what to do without actually planning or setting anything into stone. There's a reason for that. Unforeseen Circumstances. Mine are more random than Insane in the Mom-Brain and contributes to the chaos. The more planned an event is, the more chaotic it is when life throws me curve balls. This is why I can't be anywhere on time.

Two days before this event, my mom falls at work. Fractured her hip. So I told myself we weren't going. On Saturday, instead of being in Pittsburgh, my mom came home from the hospital, and I made Chicken, Fettuccine Alfredo, and a Spinach and Artichoke dip (all from scratch), doubling the recipe, cooking for my friend and her son who popped by and helped, my husband, my nephew, and my kids with my half, and the other half going to my mother, her husband, and my family who came in town to help my mom. Confession, the dishes from this chaos are still in my sink, growing a civilization. It's scheduled to get washed after I post this part of the blog series. To clue you into the chaos, I used every pot and large bowl I own.

In that, I also did 3 loads of laundry, went to the grocery store 3 times, and picked up my nephew. I had him for almost a week, and his mom came and got him on Friday. He wanted to immediately come back to me because he didn't have WiFi there. She steals it from her neighbor and best friend for 20 years. So I contacted that person, found out the problem, bought her an upgraded Net Gear and brought it to her just so my nephew could have WiFi and stay home, all on Friday, and still, he had issues staying with his mom. In her defense, she is trying. She just has no concept of responsibility, and I helped my parents raise her that way. But this is her growing up period. Better late than never.

I also found out with this dinner I made people that my sister's inlaws take my sister's kids on vacation. They took them to Cedar Point earlier this summer. This weekend, they will be taking them to Virginia Beach. Last year, they went places with them too. They don't take my one nephew. He's excluded because of his autism and the fact that he isn't related to them by blood like his siblings. He was my sister's kid she already had entering her relationship with her soon to be ex. This is why she steals WiFi from her friend. She just left her husband. Divorce is pending. That is never cheap.

So of course, my heart goes out to my nephew. Fuck. We have to go to Pittsburgh. He has to come with us.

First obstacle. The husband. This whole summer, I had someone else's kid here. He's sick of it. I am the pied piper of children, and it drives him insane. People send me their kids when they can't handle them. When they need someone to straighten out their kids. YET, these same people want to tell me how to parent or mock my parenting. I'm too nice. I don't discipline enough. I know. Stupid people are stupid. Anyway, Saturday night, I tell my husband about this. He surprised me. He was on the same page. Whatever it takes to bring my nephew, we're bringing him. Too easy.

Second obstacle. The car. My husband's Mustang fits 4 people. My Escape fits 5. I need something that fits 6 people. We could just take 2 cars, but I don't want to park in the city with two cars with someone trying to follow me and keep up, and if they don't, they are lost forever. But now it's Sunday. No rental car place is open in town. I had to go an hour south out of my way to an airport to get a rental car. And I did.

I called, reserved the car, and as I was leaving to drive down to get it, I remembered, the kids lost my ID. They played in my wallet sometime in May and I haven't seen my driver's license since. My oldest swore she put it back in my wallet, and my husband searched my whole wallet 5 times for it and nothing, so I thought my oldest was smoking her cereal with that. Now, I have to take my husband and kids to go pick this thing up. I did. We get in the car, start driving south, and I think to look in my wallet just to see if my kid isn't smoking cereal. I find my ID. In my wallet. Like my child said.

Third obstacle. The hotel. Most hotels will allow maximum occupancy of 4. Sometimes I sneak in number 5 just because she's three. But 6, not happening. I could get two adjoining rooms, or a suite that fits more. Well a lot of places today have regular hotel rooms and then a room they made just a teensy bit bigger and call that a suite. Assholes. That's not a suite. It's the hotel room people getting a hotel room SHOULD be getting. A suite is supposed to have more than one bedroom, a living room, and a mini bar. So after picking up the rental car, I sat on Google for an hour looking at hotels before I finally got smart and went to hotels.com just so I could enter adults and children.

Remind you, my nephew is 13, on the autism spectrum. He's going to be picky. The stupidest thing could set off a meltdown or throw his balance off to fully enjoy himself, at least until he grows up a bit and gains some coping skills. So this was a smart move on my part because I could let him see pictures of the hotel rooms and have a say in where we stay. I do think it's important for kids his age to start making decisions anyway. To have a say. To live with the consequences of their choices and watch others experience those consequences with them. To hear your input in your decision making process.

He really liked the main ones the hotel website search results gave us. They ranged in price greatly too, but I know he likes a little privacy, his own space, and I don't like those bigger rooms claiming to be a suite because we would still be on top of each other. Only one place had an actual suite for less than 450 dollars a night. My nephew only wanted to make sure he would have a television near the sofa so that he could hook up his xbox. I know. I agree. But you pick and choose your battles wisely with kids.

So I called and reserved a room at the Residence Inn. Then I jumped back on Google and printed maps, destination information, etc. The husband and nephew played video games while I did all this.

So then after all that, I packed. It was already way later than I wanted to leave in more ways than one. It was evening already. Dinner time. We haven't left yet. And I just realized at that point, I hadn't had coffee yet. I did all this BEFORE I was coherent. There were times I thought, "Fuck it, we can't do this. I needed to plan this shit days ago." Then I reminded myself, "Stop, embrace the chaos."

Part II is The Mayhem.

The Village Idiots

It takes a village to raise a child, so they say. I still have yet to see this "Village." If any of you know where the fuck it is, let me know. I bet it's in El Dorado. I definitely have very little help with the kids. While I can't seem to find this village, I know it has to exist because I always seem to run across a village idiot. That guy or girl who has to tell you how to raise your kid, with fucked up advice, in a judgy, you suck, you shouldn't breed sort of way. You know, Stranger Danger.

It happens to all the parents out there, especially the parents of a kid with special needs. Why? Bullies always target the special needs. They act all holier than thou but they are bullies who fuck with special needs people. They deserve your spit for that shit. Yes I'm telling you to spit in someone's face.

But really what it is, people are like wolves. They prey on the weak and injured. They prey on children and parents who are busy taking care of their children. If they can, they will prey in packs. But not all of us parents are weak. Some of us, you don't want none of it. Some of us are tigers and we strike back. We strike hard. We leave a mark.

Prime example. From the Grunts 11B Facebook page...

Ok. I prefer life when people actually mind their own gotdammed business. If it doesn't concern you in anyway conceivable then shut the fuck up and move out. I just returned from the dentist where my 4 yr old special needs son had some work done. My boy loves his daddy and on occasion likes to pop out and scream boo to scare me to get a laugh. As I'm sitting in the waiting room playing angry birds to pass the time while my wife is in the back with my boy, my son pops out and gives a grinning roar to scare me and starts laughing. All good fun right? Wrong. Some cunt slurping waffle has the audacity to open her dick socket and proceed to tell me to "control my fucking kid." Not wanting to upset my son by going with my first reaction, my wife and I take the kids to the car. I turn around and go back in to get an Appointment Card for the next visit (or so I said). I find this bitch ranting to the others how some folks shouldn't be parents. This of course is unfuckingsat. I proceed to give this twat the what for in a fashion so colorful that dentists walked out of their respective offices to see what was going on. The bitch just sat there like a coward not saying a word until I was finished with her chin still on the floor. After the debacle I turned to the receptionist and simply asked, "Can you send a reminder in the mail for his next appt?" As i was leaving the waiting room erupted into applause. The moral of the story is?
~Cowboy

I never am so fortunate enough to have someone with me to watch the kid(s) in the car so I can go back in. So I have to tone my response down a bunch of notches, though the one time I let it all out, my kid behaved perfectly for a whole week I scared her that much, and it was funny because I never seen a fat guy run so fast before in my life.

I don't think I've shared this story yet in fear that A, I might be judged. B, it would confirm all of your suspicions of my crazy. C, I might scare you. D. someone might report me to the police. Maybe I have shared it in an earlier post. I do remember typing it up at some point, but I don't know where or why. Anyway... This is definitely a story of what you should NOT do.

I was driving through a Burger King. I had my oldest kid with me, and she was I think 2 at the time. Because I knew we were just driving through without getting out of the car, I let her come with me in just a shirt and diaper, a last second decision made on my way out the door. She was not wearing pants or shoes. I rarely do this, but don't judge people who do because I'm definitely neither the first nor the last parent to do such a thing.

I get to the drive thru window, and they can't take debit card orders in the drive thru because their machine is down, but they can if you go inside. I argued with the person working there.

"Can't you just swipe my debit card in the machine you would use to swipe it if I were inside?"

No.

"I don't understand. You have access to a working debit card machine that you are choosing not to use?"

We just can't take your debit card through the drive thru.

"But you can inside?"

Yes.

"Then why can't YOU use the machine I'd use inside? I have a toddler with me. She's not wearing shoes. Trust me, it would be a thousand times easier if you walked to the debit card device and swipe it for me than to make me come inside and do it myself."

I'm sorry. You'll have to come inside.

So fuck all. I went inside. With my kid. Because she wasn't wearing shoes, I had to carry her. The entire time. Easier said than done.

I place my order. They hand me cups to get the drinks myself. I carry my kid over to the drink area, and the little metal rods you place your cup on to get your drink from the machine were so far apart, there was no placing the cup down and it staying there. It takes two hands to then get a drink because one needs to hold the cup, and the other push the button. I needed a third hand or a place to stick my kid. I had no place to stick the kid. The area for the tray in front of the soda fountain machine was disgusting. It was covered in 50 different shades of sugary sticky goop with condiments (like someone had fun with ketchup). So I propped my knee up to the edge of the tray area, let my kid straddle across my thigh like a horse, and I poured two sodas like a boss.

Mind you I'm double jointed... Well at one point during the whole thing, my knee started slipping, and my kid started slipping more toward the knee. I needed her back closer to my hip. So I for whatever reason, with whatever I was doing, like my hands were doing one thing and I had to act fast or the kid might fall, I did some sort of thing where you know how you have a kid on your hip sliding south and you nudge the kid up in a way where she kind of flies up, like you throw the kid back in place almost... Something like that, I stuck my foot up on the EDGE of the tray area to incline my leg so she'd go sliding back toward my hip, all for a split second like just the nudge I needed to get her back in place, and put my knee back. I'm not even sure my foot touched the edge. Like all I did was throw my knee upward really fast for a second wiggling my ass to scootch a kid back in place.

I finished getting the drinks. This guy walks up next to me and starts rambling on about something. I wasn't paying attention too much because I don't know. I WAS BUSY. Fuckturd. Anyway, I was just like, "uh huh. Yeah. Thank you." Walked away to the straw area. He followed me and kept talking, all calm. I was like, "Uh huh. Cool." And I walked back to the area where you wait for your food. He followed me. Kept talking.

Finally I started to pay attention, and he was pissed that my foot might of touched the edge of the tray holder thing for an entire second, that I was smearing my germs all over the place his food would touch. I was like really?

At first, because he was calm, I was calm. It went something like...

"Dude, I have a kid on my hip who I can't put down. I needed two hands to get those drinks. I'm amazed I did it with absolutely no help from you I should add. And it's not like that tray area isn't already disgusting number one or there'd be a poopy peed filled diaper ass on it for minutes as opposed to the sole of my shoe for a split second, if it even touched it. Second, your food is coming wrapped in paper and put on a plastic tray. If you are dumb enough to unwrap your food and smear it across that disgusting tray holder, you get whatever is coming to you in the realm of germs."

Then somehow it escalated where he was screaming, I was screaming, he told me I shouldn't have kids, I shouldn't breed, I'm a bad person, I'm the antichrist...

To top it off he looked like Michael Moore. An obese version of Michael Moore.

I did tell him he looked more gross than all the germs on the bottom of my shoe.

Anyway, as we were screaming at each other, me getting all ghetto overusing the fuck word, with my kid on my hip the entire time, the staff at Burger King just stood there with their mouths hanging open. Finally I looked at them and said, "I told you. I told you it would be a million times easier for you to swipe my damned debit card your damned motherfucking self than forcing me to come in this fucked up joint and dealing with assholes like this fuckhole over here. I hope you're fucking satisfied. I hope this made your job so much more motherfucking easy on you. You lazy asswipes."

So then I stormed out with 2 sodas, 2 bags, and my kid all in my arms, and I get to the car (well small SUV, Ford Escape). I put the bags on the hood of my car. I laid the sodas on the hood of my car and spilled them all over myself and my kid. I get the kid in the car seat. Michael Moore look alike comes out, sees me struggling with soda all over the place, and laughs. LAUGHS. So I launched both sodas at the Burger King, smacking what's left of the soda all over the window of the building. I get in the car. And fat ass is now in the parking lot. Walking. Laughing. So I popped the bitch in reverse, gassed it up good, aiming for him. I really was aiming for him. I never seen a fat man run so fast before in my life. Then I drove off, laughing. Pointing and laughing. He was breathing heavily and possibly might have had a heart attack, one I was totally prepared on blaming Burger King's food on.

So basically, I probably tried to hit Michael Moore with my car once. I've also been known to hit people with my grocery cart, drop cans of green beans on their feet, and things like that. I stopped with the aggression route just because I'm tired, I'm not as insulted anymore, and I definitely do not want assault charges placed upon me. I now scream random things. Like now, I'd tell Michael Moore in the soda section, really loud for the whole restaurant to hear me, "Please don't talk about your herpes in front of my child. They have a cream to help with the burning if it's bothering you that much."

Now that is definitely an old blog post... 

Some stupid Air Force story because why not?

So a grunt on the Grunt Facebook page I like shared a story about BMT. I can't tell these guys my stories because I was Air Force, and Army guys always thinks they are bigger more ferocious people, so everything I say is invalid (well that and I'm a girl and should be making sammiches in their small minds, and I'm the type of girl who serves men knuckle sandwiches so yeah...). I know the truth about the branches. I'm cool. Some Army are badasses, yes, but when shit gets crazy, too hot to handle, who do they call? The Air Force. and duh. Air Force spawned from the Army. We became our own branch when we met aliens. People need to learn their history... So with that said...

In tech school, during the weekends, we had regular instructors act as our MTL's (babysitters). I liked these guys because we didn't know enough about each other to hate each other yet. So, of course, that means I'm comfortable enough to fuck with them on a meaningless level. I go to the acting MTL who was playing cards with people, and I told him so and so had a stripper in their room. He freaked the fuck out. Threw his cards. Stood up cussing like he was about to kick some ass. He marched, stomped, like a toddler throwing a fit, all the way to the room, with a possy of Air Force students all ready to stir the shit pot. He pounded on the door like the police. The door opens, and as he opens his mouth to scream, he sees it. The floor stripper. That thing where you strip the old wax off the floor... He turned red, apologized for bothering anyone, his possy was cracking up, and they left with their tails between their legs...

And NO, I didn't get in any trouble over it. Dude had a sense of humor. 

Bet you didn't know I was a rebel at the pool today...

Today, I got yelled at by a lifeguard because she thought I was going to slide down the slide with the 3 year old, and I wasn't. I was just trying to get her to slide down. You would think the fact that my fat ass itself wasn't anywhere near the slide (I was standing the whole time, and we are talking a 3 foot slide if that) would clue the poor daft blond teen. I had to scream across the pool because bitch wasn't getting a clue. Cmon now, if I went down that slide, with my boobs, in that bathing suit, I'd flash the whole world and give all the married men wet dreams for the rest of their lives. I'm not in the mood to take on a mob of jealous wives. That should also have been obvious to the silly blond girl.

THEN, I got dirty looks from lifeguards when the pool closed. Three year olds have to do EVERYTHING THEMSELVES, including getting out of the pool. So we humored her, let her back in long enough to walk herself out since her stupid father had to go and carry her out knowing much better than that... Then I told the hubs, "I don't think they approve our parenting." He's like, "Just wait until they have kids. Karma's a bitch." I'm like, "How much you want to bet they read my blog and be like, 'it's like she really gets me,' having no idea they just eye rolled the person who wrote it..."

A couple years ago, a lifeguard whistled me for employing the use of the F-word with my husband. See, my mother in law was in town. She's a bitch. She's worse than that, but we'll stop at bitch today. She was in town. We planned for days to take the kids swimming that day. MIL was all for it. Not one complaint. Not one "I don't really want to." No, it was, "They'll love it." Now I know some women hate the pool because bathing suits, but this woman is from Puerto Rico. She goes to the beach and the pool all the time. So when she made my husband leave me with a baby and two toddlers who can't swim by myself at the pool last second decision so she could instead go antique shopping, this momma wasn't happy. Of course, that day, my oldest daughter, like 4 at the time, befriended the kid who won't listen to anyone and breaks all the rules, so when that girl dove into the lazy river to swim with the current, my daughter followed. I lost my mind. Called the hubs. Demanded he get to the pool. He did. He was pissed. AT ME. Fucker what? Fucker you pissed at me? So was his mom. This was before i knew she was a cunt. I went off on him. 3 snaps and a neck roll. Nobody was around who could hear us but the lifeguard and my kids. I couldn't even hear other people's kids screaming.

So what does life guard do? Blows his whistle. Yes that ballsy little zit faced snot blew his whistle at me, mid rant. "Don't use the f-word." Fuck you talkin about? What fuckin F-word? "That F-word." Why? "Kids are present." Where the fuck do you think they come from? "It's a bad word. You shouldn't be using it." Really? Bad word? Well I'm French. It's not a bad word in France. "You are not French." Baisez-vous! Oui je suis. I am French.... That shut him up. BTW, I'm not French. I eat French Fries a lot, but I dip them in ketchup and that's pretty American.

I don't get lifeguards. I guess they get bored and have to troll once in a while, though the ones I seem to attract the most attention from don't seem to always require intellectual stimulation so I'm not really sure.

I also discovered today, at the pool, in the bathroom waiting for a kid to pee, I have my mother's ass. It's her ass. Not her sexy young woman's ass. No. Her I got old frumpy yet incredibly sexy for reasons beyond my understanding ass. She didn't really form it until her 50's. I'm no where near my 50's. My ass is aging too fast. I know. I know. I should try pilates or something.

And I need to clean my house like a cat in heat needs to go outside, or the vet... I'm vowing to do so tomorrow because my fortune in my fortune cookie says, "You will soon achieve perfection." Good enough for me. I think I'm even going to scrub the shower and change the shower curtain (if I can find the new shower curtains I bought for such an event). Yeah. It's been that long.

That last part was random. I know. I should probably end all my blog posts with the status of my house, not to brag, but so that you guys feel good about yourselves. It's almost like watching an episode of hoarders except I actually clean all the stuff a lot. You just can't tell. BTW, I always clean with the kids present. Yeah, I basically nail Jello to a tree on a regular basis. Of course, you can't tell because the Jello keeps sliding off, but that doesn't stop me from trying ALMOST every day.

And swim carefully. Lifeguards be tryin to catch you swimmin dirty. Remember also, a drowning kid is usually a very quiet kid. Don't trust a lifeguard to figure it out. They are too busy saving you from the Fuck word.

10 Things I learned so far today, before 10AM...

1. Zip ties are awesome. It's like the new duct tape.

2. If you are looking under your hood and see your car battery in a place that makes you think, "These engineers are so stupid to put a car battery there," it's very possible the engineers aren't stupid and the car battery slid out of place.

3. People who know how to jump cars don't always know when to jump cars. This woman was offering a thousand times to give me a jump, while my car was running, just because I had the hood up. I. love. her.

4. When wires are sparking from hitting the belt in the car, the burning smell resembles that of a single cell organism in a petri dish.

5. My mechanic is a little OCD

6. I might drive a little crazy, like it's not normal for kids to go "weee!" while driving on the interstate is it? I also realized, like an epiphany, they do that frequently when I drive, the "Weeeee!" and only when I drive.

7. Pre-school wasn't cancelled on Wednesday. Oops.

8. All carbs turn into sugar. I didn't know that.

9. Billie Jean is not Michael Jackson's Lover.

10. I have awesome cleavage.

Donna's Day

About 7 years ago, I was on the phone with my best friend and sisterwife. "Jamie, I have something to tell you." and she responds, "I have to tell you something too." We argued about who was going to go first for a few minutes, she telling me to go first, and me telling her to go first, and she did. It was about her two year old.

"Deziray is not going to make it. We have just decided to unplug the machines keeping her alive." She tells me the whole story, and in the middle of me apologizing profusely, she asks, "What was your news?" I was like, "I can't tell you. Nevermind it." She was like, "Tell me," and I'm like, "I have to tell you but I can't now." She's like, "You're pregnant." There I am wailing in tears, "I'm so sorry, yes. I'm sorry." The day I found out I was pregnant with my first child was the day my best friend found out she was going to lose her youngest.

Deziray was diagnosed with a brain tumor when she was 6 months old. They performed a surgery and removed it. According to the autopsy, she had fully recovered from the cancer. She was a cancer survivor. But, with all that cancer involved, she was prone to infection. She went to the ER sick, and they transferred her from her usual hospital to another one. We don’t know exactly what caused Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome, but we have suspicions. It's possible the nurse gave her too much oxygen regardless of my friend challenging the levels of oxygen. It's possible a nurse at the other hospital complicated the infection trying to use a less than sterile trach tube. It's possible the body organs just shut down from infection causing the ARDS, and it's possible the ARDS caused the organs to shut down one by one. Either way, that girl survived cancer.

I do feel guilty for being away when my friend experienced all this. I feel guilty for never really knowing Deziray. This was probably the most ultimate sacrifice I made by joining the military.

I don't do well with feelings. I don't really like having them. I hate sorting through them. I hate trying to identify them, and even worse, I hate finding words to describe them. Love is an easier topic to discuss than sadness, regret, understanding, acceptance… Between losing my father to cancer and losing my niece to post cancer treatment, I really don't know how to respond when I read stories of other people who experience anything similar. My heart wants to jump through whatever obstacles the internet might bring and just hug the person and tell them everything I feel and tell them everything is going to be okay and how awesome they are and how amazing their children are, but then the other part of me wants to bury all those feelings. What if I insult? What if I say something wrong? What if I add to their hurt by accident because irony is a bitch like that?

And now as a parent, when I read stories about pediatric cancer, my heart can't take it. My kids. I just want to hug my kids and hold them because some day, I might not get that luxury, and it's not fair that I get to when other people out there don't. I should not feel guilty for hugging my kids. I don't want to think about any of it. I don't want to think about a child suffering. I don't want to think about parents losing their child. I WANT to think about DIY crafts and how I need to clean the house. I want to laugh at internet memes of cats wearing glasses and unicorns farting rainbows.

But today is Donna's Day. Her mom wrote out the events of Donna's story one September ago, and it needs to be read. Yes it will make you cry. Yes it will make you want to jump in the internets and hug the pictures of that baby. Yes you will embark on an emotional rollercoaster in a matter of hours. But it will also give you hope. Amidst the fears of death, this story inspires you to truly live. She will make you feel. 

Not only is Mary Tyler Mom, Sheila, one of the best writers I ever had the pleasure of reading, but she is also one of the kindest people I have ever had the pleasure of cyber meeting. She thinks like a poet, and she describes the things we never think to describe. No better person can tell Donna's story than her (no offense to Mary Tyler Dad), not just because she's Donna's mother, but because she is who she is, a very beautiful person on the inside and out.

READ DONNA'S STORY

Donna left more behind to her family than memories. She left a legacy. Hope. Her love shines through the tragedy and reaches out beyond the grave to others facing the same fight. Donna's Good Things is a nonprofit organization with the following mission statement

"Our mission has grown and is guided by Donna’s approach to life. We aim to:
Provide joyful opportunities for children facing adversity, be it economic, familial, social or health related;
Encourage your good things by providing an online community where folks can share in words or photos something they've done influenced by Donna's inspiration.

Donna was in treatment for cancer for two and a half years, from the age of 20 months. Much of that time we spent in worry and anxiety. Donna herself, though, was a happy little kid. We played through her fears, delighted in her growth, and loved her. During that time, Donna taught us the value of finding joy in the dark moments, and finding hope in even the most hopeless times. To those who are facing dark and hopeless times, we hope to help you find that joy. And for those of you with health and happiness, we want to help you reach out too."

Donna's Good Things is totally involved in an event to raise money for the St. Baldrick's Foundation. You can get involved too. You can donate. You can join in and shave your head (that takes more courage than I have). You can also share Donna's story and links to the event. Giving 10 dollars to help fund the fight against cancer is awesome and the world needs that, but if you can touch someone like Donna has, you are contributing something more valuable than money. If you are in Chicago, you can attend the event in person at the Candlelight Restaurant on March 30th.

From Sheila,

"The purpose of the Donna Day campaign is to raise $ for our head shaving event on Saturday, March 30 in Chicago.  It is our second event.  Last year's started with a goal of $20K and we raised $79K!  This year we have many fewer heads to shave and have set a goal of $30K.  Our oldest shavee is 89 years old and she is doing it with her daughter, a returning shavee for us.  WOW!"

DONATE

I thank you Sheila, from the bottom of my heart, for sharing your story with such grace and beauty. I thank you for all the good you do in this world. You are one of the reasons God has yet to smite us all into pillars of salt. Your light gives me hope about the world we live in. Donna inspires me to be bigger than my problems. She has taught me that no matter how fragile our bodies may be, our spirit can remain strong.

To all you readers out there, you can go beyond hoping and become part of someone's hope. Now go be awesome. LIVE and GIVE. Ha, Dr. Seuss watch out, I'm starting to rhyme. We going to battle like rap artists some day, me and Dr. Seuss.

Happy Pills for all the Assholes! Make it happen!

So yesterday, I had a horrific migraine most of the day. I suffered through it at the kids' school Valentine's Day Party (that's suffrage people), but once the kids were laying down... I had plans to hang with a friend last night, so I couldn't over medicate. I really swore this migraine was tension related, even if most of them anymore are not, and I was tense. I tried to make the husband rub my back and all it did was make his hands hurt.

So I took half of a Flexeril, muscle relaxer. Now these usually make me loopy, like imagine if the blond from all the dumb blond jokes were real and dyed her hair brown, that would be me on muscle relaxers. But they killed the migraine within 20 minutes, and every time I'm in a lot of pain like that and it goes away that fast, I get a buzz from that alone. The epidural gave me a huge buzz because we are talking a huge pain that just went away. Aleve will sometimes give me a buzz if my period cramps are bad enough. It's one of those buzzes that's like being high as a kite mixed with having a couple drinks. I just become one fucking happy bitch, like a severe case of the happy and wonderfuls.

One thing I swear all that did to me last night... I would almost swear everyone was on drugs, at least the nice people were.

Before heading over to my friend's house, I had some other errands to run. I took that muscle relaxer, went to BP (for the blue zombie drinks) and talked to a girl who I would swear was high. I go to Walmart (diapers and beer), and I talked to a woman who was suffering from MOM, but I think she was on some sort of prescribed happy pill or antianxiety med. Then I talked to a dude who was definitely on some sort of speed, like energy drinks, diet pills and cocaine. Like he didn't have the attention span to listen to himself finish what he was saying. Regardless, all those people were the nicest people.

Then I left my wallet at the counter because I do stuff like that with a pain be gone buzz, so some guy chases me out the door screaming at me to give me back my wallet, and he stopped me right next to these people socializing at Walmart because that's where you go to mingle. It was a cluster of women, the ones who inspired that guy to write the "you think you're cooler than me" song, high maintenance, low IQ... If they were moms, they'd be June Cleavers because they think they are cooler than me. The one dude in that group was looking at me like I was on crack "you forgot your wallet?" and I smiled and was like, "Migraine." He smiled and nodded like, "Awww," like he totally got it. The girls then looked at me like I was Satan walking in their church. How dare I speak to their really cool super awesome guy (who I think might of had a couple drinks), and one said something nasty that I totally ignored as I walked off, and all I could think was, "I bet they'd be nicer if they were medicated. Like we should make it law to force assholes into taking happy pills."

I really think I'm on to something, like a cure for asshattery.

On a more serious note, ladies... Why would a man surrounded by "beautiful" women ignore them to pay attention to the girl in black pants and a dark blue MedExpress t-shirt with a black leopard print jacket? My hair was crazy too, and I had makeup under my eyes. Why? Because women need to understand, you can't cover ugly with make-up and fashion. If your personality is the reason people created words like cunt, and a guy is with you at all, he probably cheats on you to get a break from you. I mean really, if the best thing you have to offer people about yourself is what anyone can buy from a cheap whore, you have nothing to offer. That is why men with women like that stop to pay attention to women like me. It's because I'm not an asshole. Men, while they really do like boobs and ass, deep down inside, they like women who are confident. I don't have to tear people down to make myself appear taller.