Coming to an end....

It's Labor Day weekend, and while everyone is planning bar-b-ques and beach/pool outings and celebrating Monday off...I am panicking about the pool in my parents subdivision closing.

I don't know if you people realize....but when I am tan, I look 30 lbs lighter and 6 inches taller. I need to be tan. I need to lie out and fry my precious skin. It's a sickness and I have not found a 12 step program for this. I have to be near a pool to get maximum tanning. I cannot lie in my backyard. I can't even get down to the beach, because my previously broken foot doesn't work well on sand. Actually, it sucks. I look like an elephant waddling and clomping. Not a pretty sight.

I seriously am going to have to start spray tanning or fake baking. Which brings me to another problem. Do you tan the areas that are usually covered by your bathing suit? I am cringing at the thought of having to lift my fat bags for the sprayer person to spray my belly....and the claustrophobic tanning booths freak me out with the handle bars on the ceiling.....oh, and you know what else irks me? You have to PAY for this kind of tan....as if!

"Maybe" I should just lose 30 lbs and embrace my paleness.....who am I kidding? Holy Hell.....

Piss and Vinegar

We have a new member of our family. Her name is Charlie. Charlie is a 10 week old black lab puppy. She has puppy breath and the softest fur you could ever imagine. She bites with her little razor teeth, but usually only the kids. (So, I am safe?) She loves to go outside and roll around in the grass, and chase butterflies and run so her floppy little ears bounce in the wind. She is sweet and shiny and loved so much.....but you know what? The damn thing won't piss or shit outside. I mean, we will be out there for 20 to 25 minutes with her....she'll prance inside and squat on my beloved black plaid carpet. Holy Hell.

I should probably back up and tell you that we don't have a fenced in yard. We have an invisible fence and a doggy door, so when she is old enough to train, she will have 24 hr access to the yard.....but at the moment, we have to stay outside with her. Which is irritating. Especially when she decides to pee on black carpet. Wanna know what sucks about black carpet? You can't see wet spots....so, usually I find the wet spots with my feet. I spend all day chasing dog around, because I am waiting for her to squat. The rest of the main floor is tile or wood floors....so does she piss on a hard surface? No, she goes for the absorbant, beloved, black plaid carpet. I sop up piss with paper towels, clean the floor, and then shoot up the pad with a syringe full of white vinegar (it cuts urine smell...oh, and I also have a special padding that doesn't absorb liquids...so I got THAT going for me) So, basically, I spend my days chasing Charlie with paper towels, Resolve and a syringe. I hope to God I never answer the door with the syringe in my hand?

Poop. Now, call me crazy....but I'd rather her just poop in the house. First of all, it's solid and doesn't leave any residue. It doesn't absorb into the carpet. But it stinks to high heaven. I mean how could such a huge smell come out of a little ass......and that's another one of my hobbies: watching her pink eye to see if it starts to protrude...that's when you know she's about to blow. What has my life come to?

Piss and vinegar.

It's Always About The Strippers

So...I've not blogged in some time. For many reasons. One part is that I've just not been feeling the funny. Life is pissing me off. It's hard to be vulgar and funny and when you're just not feeling it. Okay....I'm feeling the vulgarity...but not the funny. Whatever.... Another part is that Donna writes about dogs fucking and all other types of nonsense and really....who can compete with that? Honestly...what can I possibly write about that would topple that mound of insanity?

So....I'll just write about my daily life and hope it at least entertains a person or three....so here it goes.

My day started out with my friend Foti....a.k.a. Fake Date Foti...He's like, well, the guy who invites me out to events that his regular trampy girls can't clean up well enough for. Me? I'll doll up....extend a hand...behave myself...and then all is good. EVERYONE needs a fake date....and I'm your girl.

So Foti was experiencing his first trip on the South Shore Train line to Chicago...he was off to his first game ever at Wrigley Field. So looking forward to it -- and what happened? Well the train hit a car....he calls me at approximately 9-ish and says...."Nance...I'm looking out of the window of the train...and the ass of the car is under the train car. You may have to drive me to Chicago."

My response? No fucking way...get a shuttle..unless there is a promise of dinner and a handsome man involved at the end of this journey...I'm SO not on this journey.

In the interim, my son Jack called. He's 16...working in Chicago half of the week as a life guard and living my nephew. Here's the deal: Jack: "Mom...I just got hit by a car." Me: "Ummmm Jack...shut the fuck up...that's not funny."

Bottom line is that he broke ONE TOE. ONE!!! Who in the hell gets hit by a car and only breaks one toe....What the Fuck...

So Foti...He sat for 2 hours on the unmoving train....and eventually got on his merry way......arrived in Chicago ..... And then...

He called and said he wanted to go to a strip club...and would I find one for him as he doesn't know Chicago at all. Sooooo....being the good Fake Girlfriend that I am? What did I do? I GOOGLED this shit...I googled strip clubs....I looked at pics of naked strippers...I determined that some are better than others....and then chose one for Foti....the most expensive one...cuz I'm a bitch and Foti needs to appreciate what I do....damnit!!!

It'a been a stressful day...but in the end? It's always about strippers...

Libby

Talk about a heartbreak.

Losing a puppy exactly 48 hours after you got her.

A sweet, 12 week old black lab with paws the size of hockey pucks and long legs any girl would dream of.

Gone. But not forgotten.

A friend saved her from the streets and I welcomed her into my heart. A heart that had been closed to the idea of having another puppy in my life. I opened my heart for Libby...and God took her home. I was meant to give that dog the best 48 hrs of her short life. She was meant to find me to help me realize that I am ready for a 4 legged bundle of joy. My heart has been opened.

I will always remember that sweet Libby.

Was Jesus a drunk?

Just when I thought I have seen or heard just about anything, I was proven wrong when I attended a festival thrown by my church. A Catholic church. A Catholic church across the street from my neighborhood. Ran by carnies that obviously aren't from this side of the tracks.

Let's talk about the appearance of a traveling festival carnie, shall we? Jorts seem to be the pants of choice. And I don't mean those ridiculous jean shorts that men wear with socks and sneakers and Nascar t-shirts or tucked in golf shirts and belts....I'm talking about the jean "capris" that boys wear that are usually hanging down so half of their boxer-clad ass is showing. Usually, there's some grafitti-looking logo on the back pocket of a dragon or a tiger or something and then that pocket has a chain that is attached to their wallet or maybe a nipple, or God forbid, their pecker. Usually black sneakers and tatted up legs complete the ensemble....someone I'm hoping action-packed NEVER brings home to meet me. The chicks look like they've been rode hard and put away wet. Usually, with a tattoo inching up their neck from inside the collar of their uniform shirts. I spoke to 3 chic-carnies...and they were all smoking Newports. Newports and jorts...wow, they rhyme.

So, action-packed decided she wanted to ride on the carousel....We handed the carnie 2 tickets, and she jumped on a horse. The carnie flipped a switch, and off action-packed went. At this time, the carnie noticed my sexy stocking I wear to keep swelling down. I told her my story, and she pulls up the pant leg on her tapered mom-jeans to show me her scar on the top of her foot...(I should add she was wearing flip flops and that her feet were the color of dirt)...."You still taken the pain pills?" Uh, you talking to me? "I'm still taking the vicidin, even after 2 years....I just keep getting them because my boyfriend likes to crush them up and snort it. I have to hide my purse from him cuz he'll take all of my shit and not leave anything for me. I stills got pain. You stills got pain?" (at this point I am wondering why in the fuck people like her think I want to talk to them) "My boyfriend is a fucking spic. Those fucking spics are thieves. He takes my drugs. He has an addiction problem. I's don't know why I don't kick him to the curb. Shiiittt, he rocks Momma's bed all night...those spics fuck like rabbits. Good and fast." Huh? Huh?

So, action-packed is off the horse and running across the grass to the choo-choo train. All righty, all aboard. I swear she isn't 5 feet away from me and this female carnie sees the sign I must have written across my forehead that reads: "Tell me your shit...I wanna know" She starts by talking about how quiet festival is for a Saturday night...and I made the mistake of asking if Friday night was more crowded. "This fucking 'n' (now, I am going to jump in here to tell you that she used the 'n' word in whole...and as much of a non-filtered vulgar person you all think I am, I refuse to use that word, and even typing 'n' bothers me, but....) took my purse and ran off with it. And I was yellin at that fuckin 'n' to drop my fuckin purse, I had my cigs and mys money in that damn purse. Fuckin' 'n'...they're all thieves..." (I was going to tell her that spics fuck like rabbits, but decided to bite my lip) "My bosses kid ran after him and got my purse....all my cigs were in there...." At this point, I decided to go to the beer tent....

So all of us school parents and alums and friends of the beloved principal that retired, are all in the tent sporting green and waiting for her "toast/roast" to begin. The priest (um, I so shouldn't type this...but, uh, nobody likes the priest) is standing on the stage saying a prayer and half of the people in the tent are ignoring him....Which I find funny. Hey we all know I'm going to hell...so he throws his hands up in disgust and walks off the stage...which, Thank God another parent noticed and asks if I saw that or I would have thought I was dreaming...then, the toasting begins for KB, and people would not shut up in the back of the tent...SOOOO...unfiltered-mouth turns around and yells "Shush!"...which helped, of course, and then I clearly noticed it was the priest talking. (I'm going to hell, remember?) And at this point, I notice he's downing plastic cups of red wine....great. Was Jesus a drunk? I don't think so?

I drag my kid out of there, and as we are driving home down our street...we notice a gaggle of people walking through my neighborhood. I am like half-tempted to roll window down and tell them to stay home...but it IS a fundraiser afterall, so I just wave and smile. I hope none of them stole a carnie's purse or bought the priest a drink...oh, who am I kidding? I hope they did...and then went home and fucked like rabbits high on vicidin.

Ummmm....Okay...Donna (a.k.a. "sunshine") has been on a roll.....a roll that I've totally expected of her. Me? Not so much....not feeling a theme for the blog...not feeling the funny....but whatever...my life is a bit a of mess so why not laugh.

So....I'm currently single...kids away on a vacation with their dad who always shows them a good time.... Can I write -- as Donna does -- about vibrators, ugly dog sex, diagonal sleeping husbands and gargling snores? Absolutely not..although I have experience (huge, pages of experieece with it...).....Here's what I can discuss..

#1 I need a book called "Dating for Dummies"....Thinking I may have a sign above my head...that only I don't see...that screams
"SINGLE" .....while not a bad thing, I'm not sure what to do with it. Creepy guys....wierd requests...Just not sure how this all happened....

#2 Told my long-time hair sytlist to "go for it"...and now Im a blond...and rocking a puerto rican tan...because I can...is this a good thing? Most likely no....but I'm still going to go for it. Cuz it's ALL about me...

#3 While I appreciate the good wishes and nonsense that ensues...let's be clear: I've not been playing checkers for the last several months....have you all not gotten the memo? Let's be clear once and for all: until further notice...it's all about me...

#4 It's all about me...have I mentioned that? Just checking...Come the end of the summer it'll change...but for now?....


Let's be clear.....It's all about me...and it needs to be that way...and too bad if you don't like it...if so...I'll see you later rather than sooner...

N-

As Seen on TV...

Aviator man has decided that I am not entitled to a good night's sleep. I don't know who died and left him the sleep-decider person....but he's about to be introduced to his new sleeping digs: sofa city. Snoring. He has been snoring. And sleeping diagonally. I don't know which is worse. He sleeps on his back, without a pillow (they're in a heap on the floor between the bed and the nighstand, WTF?) and gargle-snores. SOOOO irritating. So I nudge him. About 6 times one night. And then he looks right at me and makes some pissy remark at me. Listen, aviator man, I'm not the one gargling while lying diagonally in our bed. Geesh.

So, I'm one of those that after I've been disruptly woken up...I can't go back to sleep. So I stare at the ceiling. Or check my iPhone. Or I crutch myself to the bathroom....but mainly I end up turning on the boob tube. And then I get sucked in. Shit.

Infomercials. Worst invention EVER! Usually the oddest products. Usually end up at Bed, Bath & Beyond with an "as seen on tv" sticker on the front of the box. Ok, so I really was concerned that someone had slipped me some sort of hallucenagin (sp?) before I fell asleep the other night....I saw a commercial for some sort of chopping device called "Slap Chop". It's this chopper thing that you can use to chop onions, nuts, etc....and not have to use a knife and if you act now, you will get bendable cutting rubber thingy, so you can fold and slip chopped items into pot or plate, etc....oh, and if you REALLY act now you'll get not one, but TWO of these fuckers PLUS a grating thing for cheese...It gets better....the guy doing the info is the ass wipe from downunder that wears the headgear microphone (Oh, I don't know, a reg clip on mic doesn't work for him?) that has replaced that hyper fuck, Billy Mays. (RIP khaki pant, blue shirt wearing cokehead?) So this ass wipe is promoting the "Slap Chop"...and some high school intern whose daddy owns the company decided to "funk" up the commercial a bit....he decides to turn it into a fucking club remix..."slap your troubles away..." "watch this" Oh, fuck me.

Have you seen Booty Pop? Do you know what these are? Panties with padding on the ass...yes, I said it "ass padding"....So, you're at a club...and some guy is noticing your lucious rump...you hook up, you go home with him, you undress in front of him...and wa-la...you gots a flat ass! He's gonna kick you out to the curb. This is worse than a padded bra.

The Magic Bullet. I have to tell you the truth about this product. So, I had never seen this infomercial before. I had no idea what the product was. 4 or 5 Christmases ago, I was opening presents at my Mom and Step Dad's house. My mom has this big grin on her face and hands me this large, rectangular box. She's all excited and says "Look at what McGuyver got you!" (We call my step dad that because he is always fixing shit with bread wire twisty things and duct tape, but in a good way) "He got me one, too!" So I start ripping the paper off...and I see this big white box with the words "Magic Bullet" written across the front of it. Now, I should also add the fact that my step dad is from Germany, and sometimes gets confused with things...and at this point, I'm thinking that McGuyver bought my mom and I each a vibrator. I look over at Aviator man who is smiling, but I can tell he's not sure what's in the box, either. And I mean this is a BIG box, and I'm wondering if it's a party pack of vibrators...and I am freaking out, because wouldn't YOU if you thought your stepdad bought you a party pack of vibrators???? My mom is all "open it! Open it!" And I'm all...it's ok..."I don't want to open it all up"...and my mom is "but there's all different colors, so people know which one is theirs if you have a party!!" OMG! My mom thinks I'm gonna have a vibrating bullet party with all of my girlfriends to pleasure their vajayjays with? She rips the box from me and opens it up....And I realize it's a kitchen blender with all different attachments, including cups with colored rings so your guests know which cup is theirs. Of course, it's a blender....would you have known it was a blender. And then the following week, I saw the infomercial. (Can I just add here that I use this bullet, weekly?)

I swear to God that Cathy Mitchell probably has some sort of porn or sex industry background. GT Xpress 101. That's the grill thingy that puts all of your food in a semi-circular pocket....Have you ever watched how she lures the old dude into her pocket meals? Have you ever watched how her wig slips in this infomercial from the excessive sweat that is dripping off of her forehead into said pocket meal? Doesn't that sound yummo?

Ron Jeremy originally was the celebrity endorser for "Extenze". The male enhancement pill that is all natural. People. Seriously, if ingesting something from nature made your peepee large, you would see men smoking bongs and chewing cud 24-7...first of all, why would ANYONE want Ron Jeremy promoting ANYTHING for them? He is nas-tee...OMG...I get it....he and Cathy Mitchell!!!!!

Top That...doggy style

I've taken a couple of days off...not because I've been busy...but because I don't know how I am going to top my blog about the smell levels....seriously, the pressure is on? Oh, corn cock....I wish I had more stories about you....I wonder if he got married...or if his wife likes anal?

I drove to LaPorte, yesterday, to see a client. And I saw 2 dogs fucking on top of a dog house. (Wonder if they like human-style?) Yes, I admit I slowed down to see if the canine porn show was still going on when I was driving home...it wasn't...but, seriously...do dogs spoon after coitus? Do they have foreplay...is sniffing each others rockets and onions their idea of foreplay? Does the male dog take the bitch (it's appropriate, here) out for a rawhide or Beggin' Strip before he mounts her? Does the she-dog have an orgasm...does the he-dog feel inadequate when she doesn't? Does he ask her if was good? Does she tell him, no and that his breath smells like shit? Do they do it in front of the puppies? I mean they do it on top of a dog house? These are the thoughts that were in my head while driving the 'hoe, home...I have officially lost it.

The level of smells.....

A couple of blogs ago....I introduced you to a couple of my favorite terms for disgusting aromas..."smells like ass" and "crotch rot". I "invented" these one night after a couple friends and I were discussing some of the worst things we have seen and/or smelled. This just proves how I didn't have much of a life before I met Aviator Glasses-Man (that's new nickname for my hubby....he wears these Aviator sunglasses that make me, well...I need to keep SOME things private).

So this "smell scale" has a bad to worse rank. Let's start with the least offensive of the bunch:

Last Night's Sex....this is pretty self explanatory. But the background story is quite interesting. I was away at college (Texas Tech...go Red Raiders), and this girl that lived down the hall from my dorm asked me to watch her puppy while she and her boyfriend went home for the weekend. Her high school sweetheart didn't make it into Tech, so he moved to some apartment in Lubbock and went to a community college. Now, we all know that when your boyfriend has an apartment, there is no way in hell you will be staying in your dormroom....so, she stayed at this apartment EVERY night while her poor roommate had to make up excuses everytime her parents called and she wasn't there (this is before cell phones, I know ANCIENT!) He suprised her with a golden retriever puppy for her birthday. (Who the fuck gets a puppy in an apartment...again, he didn't get into Tech...) So, I say that I will watch the dog while they're gone. I decided it would be easier just to take dog with me for the day. I walk into apartment, and about fell over from odor. You got it: "last night's sex"....let me give you a visual...there were black fabric couches in the living room with "passion puddle" stains all over it, a black fabric chair with "passion puddles" all over the arms and cushions and even the kitchen chairs had "pp" on them. I go into the bedroom to get the dog out of the cage...and yes, you are correct, black sheets, comforter, etc...with more of this "screamin' semen stain" all over it. The poor dog is wagging his tail against the wall of the cage, I think he knew he was going to get some fresh air....Now, if you knew someone was entering your apartment...wouldn't you make the bed, try to hide stains and spray some lysol....? "Last Night's Sex"...#4

Curry Fart.....this experience occured when I was 8 in the back of a '79 Chevy Monte Carlo....it was silver on the outside and burgandy velour on the inside. My Mom was recently divorced from my dad and we moved into an apartment complex....it was actually a really cool place to live, because there were a lot of kids my age and a really cool pool. We would take turns carpooling to school. I was sitting in the back of this Monte Carlo, one morning, on my way to school.....Dr and Mrs "SomeIndianName" were in the front seat and their kid, me and another neighbor kid were in the back. Dr and Mrs "Indian" were really nice. The father loved to make jokes (they weren't funny, but his accent was)...one day he said he had a new game he wanted to share with us....his kid was bright red and was on the verge of tears...we were like "whatever", "what's the game?"...Dr "Indian" says: "It's called Guess What We Had For Dinner Last Night" and he would give us a clue....by now, his kid is sobbing....I'm sitting in the middle and the other neighbor kid is egging Dr "Indian" on...at this point, I am thinking I may be in some trouble now....and then, it happened: Dr "Indian" ripped a fart (I swear he shat in his pants...it sounded like a wet one)....and said "What do you think we ate?"...I'm about to vomit, and am stuck between these two kids and nowhere near a window....the neighbor kid yells out "Curry!"...and Dr and Mrs "Indian" are laughing in the front seat..."YES!!!"...we pull up to the school, and I swear a fart cloud emits from the car as we get out....the rest of the day, I was constantly asked by teachers if I had eaten curry, lately.... "Curry Fart"...#3

Smells Like Ass.....now this order derived from a plethora of events....I went into a prospective client's house that needed a new kitchen. These people were NOT clean and when I walked through the living room, past the couches, on my way to kitchen...all I could smell was stinky butt. Then, there are those stinky guys that drive trucks all day and when you get into the truck, you get it: you can smell more stinky butt. You go to the movie theratres, sit in the chair...and ugh, stinky butt....Apparently, some people do not know how to wipe their ass, correctly...or that changing your underwear everyday isn't an option..it's a RULE. And "yesterday's ass"? That's just ass gone really bad. That's when you don't wipe correctly (or hell, when you don't wipe at all?) and you got that monkey butt/orangutan ass thing going with the chaffing and poop pellets all tangled up in your rectum hair (mmm....what's for lunch?)...and you constantly pick at your pants (I've seen people smell their fingers after doing that...WTF?)...."Smells Like Ass"...#2

Crotch Rot....this is the worst smell on my list....now, I had to experience this with the crooked lady at the grocery the other day....but I am grateful to say that this odor is pretty rare. I am responsible for creating the term, but I am not responsible for creating the smell.....one of Texas Tech's finest grid-iron boys shared this story with me. A girl that lived on the same floor as me in my college dorm, got around. She never showered much and was game for just about any sex act. She had a pretty extensive porn collection and loved to act out her favorite scenes...so, apparently, she was at a party discussing anal sex with some of the football team. (I am warning you, this next story might be too much) One of the players admitted that he hadn't had anal sex with a girl and she said if he wanted to try it out on her, that it would be fine....so, since the Everclear-Kool Aid punch was flowing that night, he took her up on her offer. A half an hour later, the guys said they saw him jump in his trunk and bolt out of the parking lot. She came back to the party and started two stepping to some Garth....one guy decided to check on his buddy back at their house. He walked into to find the guy screaming in a hot shower....then he jumped out and brushed his teeth for 20 minutes....apparently, he did the butt-deed with her and then she asked if he would go down on her...he obliged (as most Southern Gentleman would) and said he thought he was going to die. he said the smell of her vagina reminded him of a garbage dump, and to make matters worse, when he got home, he found corn on his dick...."Crotch Rot"...#1 (The corn-dick part was just a bonus....)

Fat Bags

I have bodacious ta tas. I'm not bragging, I am simply stating a fact. I do not like them. In fact, I hate them. They get in the way and they're high maintenance. I don't see what the big fascination is about them and why there are millions of stupid names for them....torpedos, fun bags, money makers, chi chis, cha chas, humpty dumplings...oh, and my favorite? Jugs. That was my nickname when I was 13....Jugs. Can you imagine walking down the hallway in Jr High School and having guys yell out "Hey, Jugs!" Holy Hell. I don't care what you call them, in all actuality they're just 5 lbs of fat with a nipple on them...well, in my case 10.

They're high maintenance, too. When you are bigger than a DD, you have to order your bras off of websites that are either porn related or ugly, fat people related. Seriously, what would be scarier than seeing a huge ass set of knockers coming at you in a leopard print bra? Grrrr....While I'm ordering my brassieres from overtheshoulderboulderholder.com....the itty-bitty-titty committee girls are going into their local Victoria's Secret to buy some cute bra that comes with a "cutlet" you can stuff into it(the only cutlet you'll see this girl with is the veal on my dinner plate)and straps the size of dental floss. The straps on my bra are so wide, you could use them as racetracks for your Hotwheels or Matchbox cars.

And they're heavy.....you better not be close when I peel my bra off....they usually hit the floor with a thump. I throw them back over my shoulders if I need to walk anywhere. Or sometimes, I just tuck them into my pants...I swear one day I will be hunched over enough that I will eventually be bent in half at the waist permantly...

Oh, and lets talk about sex with big tits....so, I have learned, the hard way, that I need to keep a brassiere on during sex whilst "on top"....(since a hard helmut and hockey goal keepers mask is not appropriate bedroom attire)....I got a concussion AND a black eye the last time I rode my cowboy. Yee Haw...ouch.

Firsts...and other things that never change.

So while Donna was at the local grocery store yesterday, being traumatized by some poor creature's "smelling like ass" perfume, I was home plotting today's activities.

When I realized that today was the first day of summer camp for my kids, I decided that it was time for me to get back into somewhat of a routine as well. I delivered my three youngest to their proper destination this morning and then walked into the fitness center and signed myself up. Working out is not something I've ever done. Unless you include the month or so of Pilates classes I attended before the bottom fell out of my life. The last several months have been quite shaky for me -- full of ups and downs. Little by little I've crawled out of the hole and, with the help of many friends, have begun to patch up that horrible bottom. Today felt like a good "first"...the first of many days to come and I figured I might as well try to look my best -- and therefore, feel my best -- while I hit that particular road.

So off I went, paid the fee for the first month...and then stopped in my tracks. Where would I start? This place may as well have been some foreign land where I didn't speak the language. Should I take the machine next to the woman in her mid 60s? I thought that certainly I could look cool working out next to her. How much of a hard-ass could she be? But then she turned around and I realized that her ass was literally in much better shape than mine. Another look around proved inviting. There was a man, easily 70, preparing to hit the tread mill. Of course I could not look ridiculous next to him. While I admired his willingness to get up and at 'em, I felt absolutely sure this was my spot.

I got my iPod ready, put the ever present Blackberry in it's little perch on the machine's magazine rack, cracked a bottle of ice cold H2O and I was ready to roll. Or so I thought. This AARP card carrying senior citizen kicked my ass. I mean this guy could RUN. I did my best for 45 minutes or so...not a fast paced run...just a nice, steady good jog that produced a good sweat and a respectable rise in my heart rate. Giving up was not a option at first, but eventually I did...I didn't want the old guy's ego to swell too much.

Next on the agenda? The beach. It's a beautiful day here in LB -- 85 and full on sun. I took my three youngest plus a couple of bonus kids down for the afternoon. Our Long Beach lake front is stunning and I thought the kids would love a day spent hanging out with their friends. Now when I was a kid, a day at the beach was a treat. For sure not something we did very often. And the local pool? It always smelled funky and was filled with odd children who most likely ran with scissors and never learned to play well with others. But today I noticed some distinct similarities between my childhood and those of my kids and their friends.

As I looked along the lakefront I noticed kids skipping stones, playing on rafts, digging for water (as in digging to China for water), building sandcastles complete with twigs and leaves meant to be the trees surrounding the moat they'd built. I watched a friend teach my group of kids the proper body surfing technique -- the looks on their faces and the sound of their laughing was priceless. I fed them peanut butter sandwiches with chips and bottles of water...and turned a blind eye when their fingers got sticky with melting Twizzlers.

This is what their summer and mine should be about. Firsts...and lots of other things that never change.

Smells like yesterday's ass.....

So, I just got back from the local grocery store that basically will cost you $20 to just walk in there.....you know the kind of place: where you walk out with one plastic grocery bag and a $35 bill. The kind of place where a box of crackers will cost you $5 here, but $3.39 at WalMart....It's close, it's on "our" side of 12 and it's small enough for me to walk around the store on my crutches without breaking in to a sweat.

I've been going to this store since I was a squirt...on Saturday mornings, my Italian daddy and I would go and pick up cold cuts (lunchmeat for you non-guido types), later I would go with my mom to see who's who and who is wearing what and driving what....then, when I was old enough to go, solo, I would troll the aisles looking for a glimpse of some young, hot LB ass....I was always on the lookout for DC(and that doesn't stand for Diet Coke) the most beautiful boy in LB-land.....hmmm.....ok, back to this shit....it was always the place for social gathering and FIP sneering. Us at them...and they at us, the locals.

So, I drag my 2 offspring with me to the over-priced grocery, this afternoon....action packed was pushing the cart, (she was aiming at anything breakable, I swear to God) and the good one was crossing off items from the list. We caught up with a friend of mine in the baking aisle and started to discuss what we were making for dinner: homemade pizza for her, steak for us. We were just chatting along as the kids were about to kill each other.....when all of a sudden.....this cloud of ass-smell drifted from behind me. My friend had a look of sheer horror on her face when she saw what the ass cloud was emmitting from. All of a sudden, my kids got quiet, and their eyes almost popped out of their heads at this sight. I knew I would have to turn around...even though I was quite aware I couldn't escape with 2 crutches and 2 kidlets.

I held my breath, grabbed onto my crutches for dear life, and pivoted towards the smell. God as my witness, I think I experienced something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. The smell of ass, no, let me reword that: the smell of yesterday's ass with a hint of crotch rot (I know, vulgar...no other word could describe it) was standing in front of me. Holy Hell, people. Holy Hell. Holy Fucking Hell. Can you smell that? There was a crooked lady leaning on her grocery cart, chewing on her dirty fingernails that I am pretty sure was shit and not dirt, wearing a size 3XL stained wife beater with her droopy tits swinging about. She had, I am almost sure, red pants with jizz stains on her thighs and orange crocs that she could barely cram her feet into. Her hair looked like a rodent was going to crawl out of it at any moment.....oh, and the smell....the smell.....I think the inside of my nostrils are burnt forever. I think I just puked in my mouth, a little.

I know I am not Miss America, by no means....but I make a huge effort to not run into this grocery store with out showering or primping, first. There are still some hot LB guys running amok in there, and you will never see my tits swinging in that grocery. There is an unwritten rule at this grocery store: only the beautiful (and clean) people shop here. The people that live on the north side of 12....well, some people on the southside do, but these are respectable and clean people....THIS ass cloud lady was not from our world and I am not sure how she got in.

Apparently, this crotch rot queen decided to follow me and the kidlets around the store. I can't move fast and I am trying to help action packed steer the cart while the good one keeps asking "what is that smell?" I am so paranoid that people are going to think it's us...I am trying to trot on my crutches to get to check out line. My kids start to head towards their favorite cashier (you know, the one that passes out dum-dum suckers...I love the coconut ones...)...out of the corner of my eye...ass cloud is trying to beat me to the same cashier....so I grab the good one with one of my crutches and stop him in his tracks...he caught on and pulled us into a breathe-free lane...aaahhhhh...relief. Wasn't even pissed off that my bill was $110 and my cart wasn't even full. Just get me out of here.....Holy Hell.

Just Felt Like A Rant

So...Donna has outted me. Nice.....

Let me start with this statement: No...I absolutely do not like to leave Long Beach. There are only three ways in...Through the marina and up Lake Shore Drive, down Karwick Road or down Moore Road and then left or right depending upon your destination. Okay...if you want to be sneaky you can scoot in through Michiana or whatnot, but those types of shenanigans don't fly with me.

And here's another statement: Why SHOULD I leave Long Beach. It's summer...what the fuck. The only reason I live here is because of the summer. And well, the soon-to-be-ex talked me into it...but that's a whole different talk show. But any case, our lake front is stunning and one of the best kept secrets around. If you spill our dirty little secret, I'll kick your ass, so beware. Lake Michigan is like a damned ocean from the vantage point of my beach chair. What's to leave? Would I leave to venture into Michigan City? Only when absolutely necessary. A Long Beach Snob? Perhaps, but I'm thinking God invented the internet for a reason. If I need to buy clothes for the girls? INTERNET. If I need to score cleats for my boys? INTERNET. If my oldest needs some godforsaken day-glow belt to add to his repertoire? INTERNET. If I need food? Not a problem....Al's is on MY side of Karwick and 12, thank you very much.

Now. This is not to say that I don't appreciate the occasional jail break. What's a jail break? Well, it's when I run away from home for a night or two and re-charge the mom-batteries. I get to pretend that I'm not just a mom and a soon-to-be-ex-wife. Always a good thing....see older posts for more info on that kind of nonsense.

Now, I've not posted in some time as we had a major storm roll through here a week ago today. A BIG ASS STORM. A storm that stole my electricity and forced me to live not unlike the Amish for five days. Yes, that's right. I was living like an Amish woman, albeit one with over priced highlights and cute high heels. A friend, after discussing NIPSCO, said "Fuck them!" And my response was "Really? Do you think if I took one for the team, they'd restore my power?" Okay...I really wouldn't go that far, but every now and then desperate times call for desperate measures. Just saying...

And yes, I did run to Donna's every damned morning like a junkie looking for crack in order to charge my Blackberry, iPod and Mac...but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Andy is allegedly looking to hit me up for the extra $15 that Nipsco is billing them this month, but that's a no-go. I'll continue to lurk in the shadows with all of the Bic's I've stolen from him....okay, fine...I didn't just use them to light candles...whatever.

Moral of the story? I don't have one...too bad, so sad...just felt like a rant...

Holy Hell...

Chips and FIPS

Where should I start? I know....let's talk about the mass consumption of potato chips I seem to have started this summer. I swear to God my lips are swollen because of the salt that has entered the cracks in my bulbous lips from the sunburn I continuously get from my lack of sunscreen applying ability.....I think I'm going to blame my bloated stomach and face on the salt consumption, too. What in the hell is wrong with me? I'll tell you what's wrong with me...I have an addiction to Hawaiian onion Krunchers...and cool ranch Doritos......and then I wash down those chips with Diet Coke....which is basically sodium water. It's a vicious cycle....and it won't slow down for me to get off.....(and as I am writing this, I am waiting for hubby to get home with Chinese food...Hello? MSG?)

So, now that I am out of chips and almost Diet Coke (which is the nectar of God, as far as I am concerned)...this means I will have to visit WallyWorld. That is the armpit of Michigan City....fuck me. I am really starting to appreciate Nanner's snobby excuse that she hates to cross 12.....I swear to God that everytime I go there, I spend the entire time shaking my head in disbelief....there must be some sort of whistle or siren or some sound that is emitted from speakers atop of this WalMart that only the most fucked-up pajama wearing, no bra whilst in a dirty white see-thru t-shirt wearing, dirty Sponge Bob slippers shuffling, NASCAR t-shirt with cut off sleeves so you can see nasty pit hair clad, thong peaking out off muffin topped jeans (WTF?) women screaming at their foot pajamed-clad kiddies can hear....blech.....or I could go to grocery store down the street and spend $45 on 2 bags of chips and a 12 pack of DC......

But if I go to that store...then I have to deal with the snobby FIPs....for all of you non-LB types...FIP stands for Fucking Illinois People....this is the swarm of summer people that invade Long Beach from Memorial Day to Labor Day. They have summer houses up here where the wife and kids stay while hubbys commute back and forth to the city (read: fuck their secretaries in their wife's house). I should shut my hole and just be thankful they spend their money here and help boost our economy...but, really...we're talking about me and my no-filter of a mouth. Now, I have lived in LB my whole life (except for the 4 1/2 years I escaped to Texas...but I got sucked back) and you would think that the locals would have some sort of advantage....but noooooo....these FIPs roll in with their big-ass SUVs and park in 2 spots at the grocery store.....drive down Lake Shore Drive (LSD) like fucking Indy race car drivers...and think they shit gold bouillons and that we should bow down to them. Well, you know what? Fuck You. (I just want to add here that a lot of these summer people are actually very nice and I actually consider some of them friends...key word being "some") Fuck You, all, unless you want to hire me and my boys to build you a house....then I'll kiss your gold-producing-shit-ass.....

Hi. My name is Donna and I'm.....

So, I'm watching the Weather Channel....and I'm watching the Tornado Warning that has been listed for Chicago. Now....I know all of you think I'm this strong girl that's not afraid of a rat...but storms? Storms scare the shit out of me. I am admitting that I am a storm pussy. Hi, my name is Donna and I am a storm pussy.



Some people make comments to me how they love to sleep when it is storming out. Or how they love to go watch the storm come over the lake. Me? My heart rate is up and I am scooping up my keys, purse, laptop and iPhone so I can high tail it to the basement and assume my favorite place: under the pool table in the fetal position. I think it all stemmed from living in Wichita Falls, TX. They had a big ass tornado suck that city and spit it back out in '79...that is why I am a storm pussy. I blame it entirely on the WF tornado of '79....yep, yep I do.



I try to act cool and calm in front of my offspring...no need turning them into storm pussies, too. But, I am guilty of shuffling them down to the basement anytime I think the wind is just a wee bit too strong. Great....60 to 80 mph winds heading towards us....Nanner is in Chicago in the middle of this....maybe this weather is following her.



Nanner just got her power back on like 36 hrs ago. We had a huge ass storm come through on Friday with 90 mph winds....people all around us lost power and just now are getting it back. Nanner, being one of them, would show up every morning at 7:30 to juice up her gadgets...including herself, with coffee. Wait until Potter gives her a bill for $15 for using our outlets...ha ha.



Our area is now in a Tornado Watch, Flood Watch and a Thunderstorm Warning. I am literally shitting and pissing my pants as I type this because I am less than 20 ft from a window...I mean I have big trees in my yard and they could fall down on my house. I mean I could give 2 fucks about the house...but if it hits the garage....my prized possession, the black 'hoe, could get scratched....oh, and my kids...I don't want them to get squished, too....oh, and Potter....oh, and I really like my Tiffany lamps, and I would miss my plaid carpet...oh look, a squirrel!



Now we're placing bets on if our pizza will get made and delivered before power goes out and we get hammered by this storm. Hey, I have to feed my family...proprities. Action packed was sent to her room for being a PITA....I have to remember to go get her if sirens go off....FUCK....now we are in a tornado warning...I gotta go....change my pants, that is....and get my prized possessions into the basement....I wish I could get the 'hoe down the stairs....

facebook

Facebook is the best thing around since sliced bread and Diet Coke. Although I am tired of people inviting me to join their farms, mafias, cafe worlds, underwater sea prisons, etc.....I swear to God someone is going to invent an fb sex den, next.....Pokes? Pokes are great. If they're from a girl, it's all "hey, thinking about you...LYLAS...tee hee"...if it's from a guy, it's all "I'm gonna poke you hard, baby....you like the way I poke you? I'll do it again....grunt grunt"....personally, I like my guy pokes. How else can I get poked without having to shave and change out of my granny panties....? Priceless.

The Inbox is my secret weapon. I can whip messages off to people left and right and never worry about running into them....because believe me, some of the shit I write in those inbox messages would make for a very awkward moment if I ran into the recipient.....except, this morning, I sent a message to a guy I know about gay men sex....I can't WAIT to see him. I'll let you know how that goes.

IM....this is still a bit clueless to me....I have over 400 fb friends, yet when I click on the box to see who's online...I never have more than 30 friends name pop up. So, do people block me? Are they hiding from me? What the fuck? I have things to say? I want to talk to you, but not in person...and I'm not ready to hand you my cell number so we can text....alas, I always have the inbox.

Statuses have gotten me in some deep shit. Apparently my fingers lack the same filter that my mouth does. My statuses will never ever be about sunshine and rainbows...oh Holy Hell. I like to ram my sarcastic wit down people's throats....I'm not sure how to be sweet...I lost all of the info I learned in debutante school. For Pete's sake, at least I can still curtsy. And I still have the dress....not that I can fit into it....

I love to leave comments on people's walls...although I have noticed at times that my comments disappear? It's that God Damned delete button...I wish I could virtually delete certain people. Hmmm....We can talk about that another day....

Consequences

What a day.....what a day. I am sitting here, burnt to a crisp and happy as a fucking clam. I am that much closer to being dark enough that I can convince y'all that I am 30lbs lighter and 6" taller....I figure between being tan and wearing a black bathing suit, it could happen.

Spent most of the day at the KW pool with Texas and Nanner...some other fellow mommas showed up with their offspring...so kids were entertained. Action packed had a couple of melt downs, but Mother of the Year, here, ignored her...and she eventually piped down. I should probably back up and tell you about my visit to Dr. Bone, yesterday. He removed the stitches and graduated me from the cock blocker air cast to a geriatric-looking rigid "shoe". It only covers my foot and not my whole foot and shin, so I am on track to walk, soon....I am still using my sticks...but, I decided to be all dangerous and just use one to walk down the winding sidewalk to the pool....It took me a while, but I made it....flopped my ass on a plastic lounge chair and all was good. Until, I could smell myself from the large amount of sweat emitting from my pits and pores. Texas was all like: "you should get in the pool....". Yeah, I took that as a dare, and gimp/limped my way to the pool stairs and hopped in. So, this big girl was all spread eagle on my blow up raft, floating away in the pool...discussing the hot bullshit gossip that is going on right now, and in the back of my head...I'm thinking: how in the HELL am I going to get out of this pool? I haven't mastered climbing up stairs...I'm still crawling my way up....Another mother came to the rescue and got me a plastic chair to get out....or, I'd still be in there....which maybe wouldn't be so bad? The water would feel good since I AM burnt to a crisp...consequences.

So this bullshit hot topic gossip is really eating at me...it's one of those things where you don't want to get involved, but then again, you don't not want to get involved. A beloved member of our school community is no longer involved with our school....and we can't stand it....we want her back...and we're hatching a plan...and I'm probably going to go to hell for it...oh well, never stopped me before, right? Consequences.

I'm going to take my crispy ass up the stairs, and hit a cold shower....and probably scream...which will irritate the family...ha ha....consequences....

No Other Way

So Donna is cooking...cooking food, cooking up a plan to fix the leak...cooking up a way to walk...cooking up a way to drive and not have Dr. Bone get pissed about it even though she bribes him with cinnamon rolls and I'm sure that's why the visiting Texan is baking at the moment. An overachiever from way back, the Gimp is....

Me? Spent my day running kids to and fro...that's what I do. Watched the teenager who resides here play basketball...worried about how I would ever get the house picked up so a hoard of his friends could show up tonight and trash the place all over again, while I enjoy it....spoke to a friend about some issues going on in his life and stressed my own. Hit a doctor's appointment and perhaps making a call that is ill-advised -- or NOT?

Me? Figuring out how to get through the week without being too much of a vulgar bitch....but I just love it so. What else would I do with my time? The vulgarity offsets the basic worries of life as a single mom....it makes me happy and gets me through. And why not laugh at life...what else can you do?

Now? I'm off to figure out how I'll feed the throngs of kids coming over tonight and how I'll stay awake long enough to be sure that nothing unsavory goes down. Then I'll sit back and realize how great things really are....

On deck for tomorrow? More of the same...and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Productive

That is the goal for this week. Texas and I decided last night that we were going to be productive this week. Hmmm...now I haven't been productive in 4 months...unless you count being a pain in Hubby's ass as productive. So, we got up this morning and showered (productive), put away laundry (productive), made beds (productive...do you see the pattern), drove around to take pictures of LB, stopped at Al's (although productive, it always turns into a social situation because everyone in LB goes to Al's at least once a day) and came home to be productive in the kitchen. Homemade cinnamon rolls (shit, my thighs just expanded as I typed that) with maple sugar-coffee frosting (pop! went my effing button) and chicken pot pie were made in the kitchen of love. That's what Texas calls my kitchen: the kitchen of love. You know what I call it since Texas has been here? The kitchen where Donna's ass will grow to the size of Cowboy Stadium. Oy Vay.

So, as cinnamon rolls are being placed in greased pans (with real, salted butter...I think Paula Deen just came at the thought), I hear a steady stream of water from the basement. Now Texas' daughter, Texas Jr, is residing in the basement for the summer....and I KNOW she didn't ask permission to install a koi pond or some other water feature down there...so after my freak out scream, everyone ran to the basement to find the water source. Apparently, the pipes from the kitchen sink have a nice big hole in it. And, apparently, nasty ass water from dish washer has now found it's way to my basement carpet. Yummy. I'm hoping my Step Daddy (who I lovingly refer to as McGyver) will be productive in fixing said leak.

Now, being a rebel and all...I, once again, have ignored Dr Bone's advice and borrowed a smaller air-cast/boot thingy from a friend down the street.....This thing only comes to my ankle and is about 2" thinner than the other boot. (I don't care what you people say...you CAN tell the difference if something is 2" smaller) I feel like a new woman. I have been walking without leaning to one side (my nickname could be PISA...ba dum dum) and think I may be able to show up with one crutch to Dr Bone's office, tomorrow. He doesn't know I traded boot AND he still doesn't know I've been driving. Will be driving myself there, solo, Thank You Very Much.

Oh, I also just polished off half a bag of chips while typing this blog....now THAT'S productive.

Jail Break

So.....I had me a bit of a jail break yesterday....

I pawned off the kids (thank you very much) and high-tailed it to Chicago with my friend Kevin. Yes, Kevin! You're infamous now that you've made the blog!!! Kev and I road-tripped to Chicago and hit up the Blues Fest. Then, after only three hours and four over-priced Miller Lites a piece we were back on the road to Indiana. It was a great day, filled with human oddities and all sorts of nonsense.

Let's see....we saw some great blues, played by...well never mind, that's best left for another day...We saw Hispanic men who sold watermelon from the back of trucks (while repeatedly rocking the sign of the cross -- what was THAT about?). Then there was the character who thought it proper to wear a bright orange Bears parka and a ski hat -- considering it was close to 90 and muggy, I'm thinking it was ill-advised, but whatever. Then there was the senior citizen in pink who wore Chiquita banana head gear -- it was quite the look, by the way....the two cyclists in full on bike shorts and helmets who got their groove on and danced the day away....Oh, yes...it was a day.

Upon returning to LB Kevin and I picked up some of our respective demon spawn and hit up the Tree House as the four Miler Lites just didn't do it for us. I was able to get some school house gossip out of Kevin and his 7th grade daughter -- Donna, we really need to talk -- and after giving my kids entirely too many quarters to play random video games, I then enjoyed the Anderson deck with a friend and a bottle (or two) of Chardonnay. Shocking, I know. The quote of the night? When my seven year old said, "Erica? When did my mom stop paying you to be our nanny and start paying you to be her friend?" Nice....I've now sunk to an even lower low....sweet.

Later? Found that I had entirely too many teenagers playing hoops in the driveway...not even sure how many....the neighbors for some reason frown on this...the LB cops have been summoned a couple of times due to their shennanigans, but I could give a shit. The sound of kids shooting free throws makes me a happy girl. And then later? I couldn't find my oldest kid who had only returned from Chicago a short time ago. Always nice when you lose of 6'3" 16 year old. Good parenting, no?

It's now 7:00a.m. -- just back from taking my ungrateful 14 year old to a basketball tournament.....he's an incoming freshman and playing with the varsity team in a tournament taking place in some god-forsaken corn field three hours south of here. Proud of him, but honestly...anything even three minutes south of LB is a nightmare. I so dodged THAT bullet....

The moral of the story? Jail breaks are good for the soul. Get yourself one and you'll find your batteries re-charged and your attitude adjusted.

Just saying...

Baby Steps....or things I did today that I'm not really supposed to?

I seriously need to learn how to walk. I need to figure out how to move my left foot in front of my right. I have no problem dragging it to meet the right...but I cannot seem to get it to move ahead, like a step. I know it's a mental block...but seriously? I'm just about 40, and I can't walk. Am I going to be a gimp forever? Because that will suck and I cannot fathom the thought of Nanner following me around with that God Damned flip for the rest of my life. Although, I must say...I enjoy standing erect (yes, I said "erect". Enter penis joke, here...geesh) and not having to sit in rolly chair all day....but this walking thing....Holy Hell. Dr Bone wants me to wean myself off of crutches in the next 2 weeks...actually, 12 days....yes, I'm counting...wouldn't you?

So, I tried walking with one crutch...that didn't work. This stupid air cast/boot makes my right leg 3" taller than the other. So, not only I'm a gimp...I'm a limpy gimp. Yes, I said that...and yes, that's funny. I thought I would just bi-pass the one crutch thing and go straight to walking...but that's not working, either....so, if any of you readers have any advice....think about what you are going to type, mull it over in your head that I will not mock you, and THEN type it into the comment box at the end of this post....I will not accept anything that includes the following: be patient, it takes time, or stop whining...

Ok, so like the BEST part of the day...is that I took Andy's beemer for a drive around the neighborhood...uh huh...I DROVE!!!! For the first time in 4 months....4 MONTHS! Can you believe that shit? I drove. I can use my elephant foot on the accelerator and I brake with my left foot. I don't have the real hang of it quite yet...so you may not want to follow me! I'm thinking I am going to sneak over to McDs to get a Diet Coke before I DRIVE myself to a meeting...ha ha...did you catch that? DRIVE. MYSELF. Hot Damn! Holy Shit! Oh, should I mention Dr Bone said not to drive for 2 weeks? Ok, 12 days....but who's counting?

Doomed

Okay you Gimpy piece of wonderfulness...

Here's the deal...

1. I'm over the snark about serious shit....time for both of us to get past the bad attitudes of others. It's been a rough few days...perhaps several months...time to get back to bitching about in- breds, wearisome morons and those we feel are beneath us. Because, yes, we're kinda fun...

2. I need your snark....it's like crack to me...a day without some inappropriate, ill-placed, badly derived comment from you is like a day with freaking sunshine...it's just a no-go.

3. Let's face it...I'm 44, a soon to be divorced mother of five....certainly there is some funny it that. Or at least there better be because if not you may find me and my brood shacking up with Cabana Boy Andy, Shanna, Evanne, the dogs and God knows who else in the white trash kiddie pool all summer.

4. As you pointed out....I cannot date locally as you will kick my ass. The LB gene pool is quite small. In fact, I cannot date anyone at all as my girls won't let me talk on the phone, let alone let me leave the house without a full on interrogation. Thinking they have a future with the CIA or perhaps simply giving tips to Jack Bauer.

5. See the above.

6. I'm doomed to hanging with you for the rest of my life and experiencing zero love life until I'm too old to care or do anything about it. After all, Mia is only 7...wtf.

7. The above pretty much explains why you're stuck with me...get used to it, doll.

Where's the bitch?

So, I decided to experiment with not being the snarky, smart-ass bitch that I usually portray on fb....and instead be a funny, tight-lipped individual....well, that lasted about all of 9 hours.

I actually had a request to be a bitch. I mean, a request? To be a bitch? That's golden. That's like words I need to put on a tshirt or a bumpersticker. A bitch request? Coming right up. I aim to please...

I know I should reign myself in at times...but I thoroughly enjoy not having a mouth filter. I am so effing giddy when I can tell I have obviously shocked someone by my mindless bantering of pubic hairs and gay men donning hoop skirts....come on! Where's your sense of humor? Obviously stuck in your ass.

I am pretty much convinced I was put on this earth to babble about body parts and other unmentionables....I love that word: unmentionables....ha ha...we're not talking panties, kids....we're talking boobs...and big, saggy, ugly boobs....MY boobs.....To all you itty-bitty-titty-committee girls: I am searching for some back alley doctor that would be happy to transfer some of my bodacious boobage into your mosquito bite chest humps....it could happen. Until then, I will roll or stuff them in my boulder holder. Until they get all sweaty....ha ha...THERE'S a mental picture!

So, the bitch is back. It's not really a warning...it's a statement.

And so it goes...

So....I'm having a bad effin' day....I'm realizing that in the midst of my divorce the entire house is my problem...cleaning, maintenance, lawn care, etc. Zero fun. Also realizing that my kids aren't used to pitching in....One teen is living in Chicago this summer and working -- and I miss him dearly -- , one is just off of the high of 8th grade graduation and deserves to have a bit of fun....the others? NIne and under and while capable of help...still young.

So here I sit...single and handling it. And while I'm okay with that...it's still a bitch. After 23 years of "bliss" (ha....) I find myself handling life alone. The up side? LB has been team Nanner....so many of my friends have had my back....some are long term great friends who I knew would be there...some were people I cared about and who cared for me and stepped it up and had my back...some were folks that I reconnected with and and have made my transition easier and more pleasant than I can say...and some were people who I never even realized gave a damn...and they proved their love to me nonetheless..

My point is that no matter where you go...no matter the your circumstance...always realize that things could be worse....that things will get better and that friends will come and go....It all works out in the end, one way or another....I've been blessed and am blessed....

Nonetheless...I will still search out the oddness in Michigan City and Long Beach...and will get on with the funny....freak shows, inbreds and all sorts of oddness will be reported on tomorrow.....but until then, thanks for the love....I needed it today. And just needed to say it...

xoxo

N-

facebook...what NOT to post if you don't want Donna to mock you.

I will be the first person to admit that I am a facebook whore. I am on it close to 24hrs a day between my laptop and precious iPhone...I can poke, stalk and peruse endless photos of all of my "friends".....and when I mean "friends", I mean the 400+ people that I allow to know lots of shit about me...I recently dumped over 80 people because If I don't hear from you or see Alfalfa as your profile pic, I don't need you.

Now, I have found a lot of friends that I take full responsibility of dumping after I fled from Texas....It killed me all of these years to not have some of those people in my lives...I have found the ones that are important, and the ones that I could give 2 shits about...I love to defriend, and I get off on blocking....If you're an atheist, and insist on shoving your beliefs down my Catholic throat...do not request me as your friend. I don't need you or your anti-Jesus jokes and calling my friends Christian Child Molesters....Geesh.

Oh, and if you're full of sunshine because your precious Mary Jane or Polly Sue learned a new note in music class...I will mock you. I can go on and on about how precious action packed is, but, really....do you care if my 5 year old can count to 100 in tens...no, you want to know if I tucked or rolled my boobs into my bra this morning. (Tucked, thank you very much)

So, come on, people....bring out your inner snark....don't post about precious things and sunshine and puppies...I want to see a plethora of snark and sarcasm....I live for that shit.

Rumors

So, besides being the title of one of the best albums of the 70s EVER, it is a word I hate to hear.....

The past 24 hours have been filled with rumors that really made my heart stop. Both of these rumors have been clarified....but it makes me wonder why people start these things....

Do they realize that the people that are the subject of these rumors, usually have no way to defend themselves? Do they realize that these rumors can change the way these people are seen by others? Do people realize when they spread rumors, THEY look stupid?

Having been the subject of rumors, myself (I know, shock, right?)....I must say that I had the eery feeling that everyone I encountered had heard of false rumor about me and were probably thinking of it while sweetly shaking my hand. The feeling I had of how I had to make sure correct information needed to be released to get me out of rumor....ugh...How I wanted to go all psycho on rumor-spreader-person, but somehow, the inner-debutante over took these emotions and stopped me....all though a good face bashing would kind of feel good...anyone have a punching bag I could borrow?

So, if you want to spread rumors...don't sit by me....you want to verify or clarify? I'll be waiting....

People. Are. Stupid.

I was on the phone with a good friend recently and he said something really amazing. He said, "Nancy...people are stupid." I really like that statement because it's true. And it's simple and succinct. And because, well, it's TRUE. People are stupid. Not all of us and not all of the time...but I often shake my head at idiotic things that people do every single day.

Sometimes it's the customer service wench who doesn't know anything about the product she represents....that was my friend's dilemma. All he wanted was replacement parts/additions for his California closet set up. And the bimbo on the phone said "Yeah...I GUESS we have extra hanging bars for you. I don't know..." and she trailed off. He doesn't suffer fools gladly and that was the end of THAT conversation, to be sure.

Once it was the dumb ass who I hired to tear down and build a deck at my home. We signed a contract and he went out for a cigarette. I never saw him again. Must have been one hell of a smoke.

This morning it was one of my neighbors. Not sure which one, but at 6:30 a.m. when I was lying in bed feeling flu-ridden and not very cute and the neighbor thought it wise to let her howling mutt outside. This hound proceed to bark -- no YELP -- for almost 5 hours. I was THIS CLOSE to taking a garden shovel to the side of this creature's head. Never mess with me on the first day of summer vacation when I'm actually able to sleep past 6 a.m. A very bad idea...

Now while the above examples are certainly annoying...we get past them and find people who are NOT stupid to do the work necessary, etc. It's a pain in the ass...but usually all works out in the end. No real harm done.

Now on to my point...the truly stupid people are those who have an agenda for their stupidity. They are so stupid, they're almost smart. Add in a black heart and we've got ourselves a ball game. Today I was given an example...one that I cannot speak of at the moment...of a few truly stupid people who have an agenda. One that is borne of spite. One that will surely lead to a fallout in our community that I'm not happy about.

Donna, after hearing the story is feeling the need to bash someone's face in (way to roll with the chipper attitude, Sunshine...would expect nothing less of you!). Of course, she's still gimpy and doesn't move fast enough yet to do any real damage, but I'm thinking of forming a posse. Picture the scene from Young Frankenstein where the villagers gather with torches and threaten to take down the monster. I'm liking that idea right about now.

So the moral of the story is that in the future I will do my best to remember that some people truly are stupid...but they mean no harm, they just don't know any better. It's those who DO know better that we have to watch out for.

I'm pissed and not feeling the "funny" right now -- tomorrow I'll go out into Michigan City and search for some inbred that amuses me and then I'll rant about him. I'm thinking WalMart or the local Dollar General might be a good starting place.

Holy Hell...

Minus Hardware

Yes, I made it in time to the pre school graduation, although I was a bit loopy and apparently white as paper...I rolled into the gym in my wheelchair that I hope to return to the Service League this week...and action packed ran into my arms before her big ceremony...had to be at surgery center at 6:30 that morning to have "hardware" removed from my foot. Can't put all of my weight on it, just yet...but the hardware is gone...that is cause for celebration in it self...I go see Dr. Bone Monday morning to see what our plan of action is...I'd like to drive next week....I have McDonald drive thru girls to visit...large Diet Cokes are a buck right now!

The highlight of my summer, besides walking, was that my soul sister and her teen-aged daughter are moving to LB for the summer. I will have a teeny bopper dwelling in my basement thru August....Sister will be in the guest room and their 4 legged family members will be residing in the sunroom....so the house is filled to the brim with humans and canines for the summer....it will be good for all of us, we all need to be surrounded with love for awhile, since we've all had a stressful couple of months dealing with various obstacles...They pulled into town from Texas, yesterday, and I can tell my blood pressure has dropped significantlly. Nice. And, of course, Nanner has showed up coincidentally in time for dinner last night....and again, this morning, for breakfast....smart cookie, she is.

So, this summer, is going to be spent on the beach and on my deck...hoping me and sister can experiment with some yummy new dishes in the kitchen....so much more fun to cook for a larger crowd than for 2....I know a couple of days will be spent with our toes in the kiddie pool ala white trash country club...but as soon as I am standing upright and walking, I will be copping a squat in my beach chair by the shoreline dipping my toes in the lake while watching action packed run amok in the sand...one can only hope.

I can see the light.......

This is the week of a lot of things coming to an end....my appointment with Dr Bone, yesterday, went smoothly...and since I have behaved and not put a single ounce of weight on my foot the last 3 months: I will be having surgery to remove pin and screw from said foot on Friday morning at 6:30 am....Why so early, you ask? Well, my sweet little action-packed mini-me will be graduating from Pre School at 9:30. This is the end of life with my baby...I know have a "big girl" that will be entering the world of kindergarten this fall. Plaid Catholic school uniform and all.

So the week of "endings" is really the beginning of the next phase of our lives: I cannot wait to walk....I cannot wait to wake up at 2am, because I am on the verge of peeing in my bed, and be able to go to the bathroom without stumbling around on crutches. I cannot wait to forgo hoping down the stairs praying to the bone God that I do not break my neck. I cannot wait to tail the slow ass tourists driving down 12 in my big black 'hoe. Hell, I can't wait to return the rolly chair to my parents' basement. Good riddence. And action-packed is going to be a big girl....I don't know if I am ready for this. It's not like I haven't already seen the hand on the hip and pointed finger while talking to me. I haven't carried her in 3 months...but I have a feeling I will be able to grab hugs and kisses and hear "Momma/Mommy" for a little while...until she's 13 and I am the evil bitch from hell.

I am hoping to see the light at the end of this proverbially tunnel I have been sitting in for the past 6 months. It seems when it rains, it pours in Masonville...and we are ready for a bright, sun-shiney day. Dammit.

Barstool

I've noticed a reoccurring theme that has taken place these last three months: I seem to have formed relationships with many barstools in Long Beach. It's not that I have been on a drunken bar hopping expedition....It's just that I seem to have watched the world pass by me while perched upon a barstool. They have been swivel-typed, wood and rickety, bar height, counter height, leather, fabric...you name it. I travel with a barstool when it is necessary to hoist myself up in to the mom mobile of choice in LB: the SUV. I use a barstool to get into my house. I elevate my foot in kitchen when I am planted in rolly chair (sick of that thing, too). When I attend gatherings, I usually spend the time sitting in the kitchen and visit with the people that float in and out. I've sat at the Tree in my pjs on a barstool. I've even used a barstool to help me get in and out of the shower....I think I could write a book on the many uses of a barstool.

So, last night, I went to a birthday party...and spent the evening on a barstool. Now, it was a swivel type and had some padding, so it wasn't too uncomfortable....except for the moments when I was alone, in the kitchen. I watched the other guests mingle and eat and jam outside, out the window, from the barstool.....I watched the birthday boy blow out the candles on his cake, out the window, from the barstool....I greeted the people that came inside as they made a path to the bathroom, from the barstool. I even heard the police bang on the front door to get the band to pipe down, from the barstool....The barstool and I had a great night....but, I'm looking forward to the day where I can actually sit one ass cheek on the barstool while one foot is firmly planted on the ground. Let's just hope that day comes soon...otherwise, the next barstool I encounter might be flying throught the window.....

Goons

So I'm sitting on my deck watching the little kid across the street run around on the roof. Literally run around on the roof -- it's got a slight pitch, he's got a hose going up there and is laughing like a lunatic. Now this kid looks to be about five or 6. This is certainly not a good idea by any stretch of the imagination. Perhaps he got liquored up on the of my Miller Lites in the vortex bottle. I think Donna needs to get one of her construction goons over there to give this kid a tip or three pronto.

Not sure what I'm doing with the rest of my evening...may stop by the next door neighbor's house in order to get away from "family togetherness"....it's been a bitch of a weekend. Maybe I'll go out again later...but feel that if I show up at LBCC or the Tree one more time it will be an issue.

But at least I got to white trash it with Donna in the Lady Lane deck top kiddy pool. Andy misted us with the hose and acted as cabana boy. What will I do when he's working and can't bend to our every whim? Not sure, but I need to post some pics of that in the meantime. Until then we may need to hit those goons up for one more favor.

Ass Biting

Yes, I did hobble down three flights of stairs...but Nancy forgot to mention the other stairs I went down to get out of that place. Oh my. It would have been fine except for the audience I had behind me watching me the whole way down. That visit was probably not the smartest idea, but Nanner was a peach in wanting to get me out and to a pool with my kidlets...I just don't think we expected all of Chicago and it's surrounding suburbs to be there with all of their half naked children...and the waitress would walk by us and never notice our empty glasses. Oh well, I'm beginning to not resemble the color of paper, anymore...so I got that going for me.

Then I go home, at 3pm mind you....and my husband asks if I want to have an early dinner. The kids, of course, are all over that....and we sit down by 4:15 for our fare. Now, in the back of my head I am thinking this little scenario is gonna bite me in the ass, somehow.....I then proceed to crawl my way up my wood stairs....did I mention the fucking callouses that have formed on my knee from doing this for 3 months....to sit in a chair and iron for an hour and a half. Iron? Yeah. Iron? Yeah, I iron. Kid's uniforms, husband's 100 golf shirts, sheets, pillowcases...stop smirking...I finally take an uninterrupted shower and flop myself into my bed....where I stupidly decide to watch "The Best Thing I Ever Ate" on the Food Network...this is where the ass biting occurs: I watch this show where people are talking about jerkey and ceasar salad and these croissant-like things made with butter and sugar and donut cupcakes and nachos.....do you see where this is going? So, I text my husband...so much easier that way, don't knock it, and I convince him to go get ice cream on a Saturday night during a holiday weekend at 8:30pm.....So there I was, at 9:15, sitting in my bed scarfing down moosetracks ice cream....and snoring by 9:45. What a vision....

5:45 this morning...wishing I had some sort of hunting weapon to shoot at the damn birds that like to whistle, chirp and mock me from the tree outside the window on my side of the bed. I know it's nature, and beautiful and so much better to listen to that a gang fight or a drug bust....but, geesh, can't a gimp get some sleep? I have stairs to conquer, today.....

Already a scandal...

So...here's how I spent my day.....

I started out by eating Easy Mac for breakfast..you know the stuff? The shit you boil in the microwave and then mix with neon orange "cheese"? Yeah..that's what I had for breakfast. I then proceeded to take the 9 year old boy to his soccer game. And while he performed like quite the rock star (7 goal of his own) I bitched about how I had to walk approximately 3 miles (okay I'm exaggerating, but whatever...) from car to field. The 7 year old commented ""Mom....I've heard this several times. Let's get over it." Okay...she's a mop of blonde curls with a smart mouth. Perhaps the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree....

Then grabbed Donna and her wee one's and off we went to the pool....Donna going down three flight of stairs was soooo not pretty...but she did it. And I'm happy. Two Amstel's for lunch joined the Easy Mac...

Then the hell of the day....way too many kids, bothering me in way too many ways..think of the words "Mommy Hell" and you've got the picture...drove several back from New Buff...and thinking I have several here over night that I don't own. Whatever.

Around 3:00 we escaped the hell, dumped the gimp at home and then sat on my deck enjoying the day for much too long. Went off to at party at LBCC and then to the Tree...wore a rocking dress and avoided a dangerously close wardrobe malfunction...The dress, perhaps, should not have been so short. Oh well. I'm already a bit of a scandal...what the hell...

Over It

So, I just spent the last 2 1/2 hrs standing on one foot cleaning out my closet. You ever try to do any kind of chore on one foot? It's a bitch. And my bad foot is now asleep and swollen....which is also a bitch. I'm so over it. So over not driving, not walking, rolling around in an office chair, hunching over crutches...oh and did I mention how hard it is to go potty while balancing on one foot? Oh, and sex?....pffftttt....hate to see that footage on film....

So, no, I'm not going out with Nancy and Foti...I refuse to until he shows up to my house with a God damned peanut buster parfait AND figures out how to make it fat free. No in-laws because my hubby had to go to work at the last minute...one kid is at a sleep over and the action packed one is still here.....needless to say, I am going to dive myself into a large Diet Coke over crushed ice...I may even throw a lime in it, need to get my daily fruit serving somehow.

"Action Packed" is pretending to be twisting a hula hoop...she's really got some moves....if I got her a pole, she could have a career.....did I mention she's 5? I'm going to hell for that comment....I just typed my daughter has the moves to be a stripper....WTF?

Sense of Adventure

It was mentioned to me tonight by a friend that I have a "sense of adventure". Not sure if that's the case. I'm thinking that I simply have one big pedicured toe dipped into the deep blue sea of insanity. Or maybe I'm just finding my "fun" in life. I, like Donna, have no mouth filter....and I just say what I think. Could be an issue...but that's why God created "draft" boxes....Hopefully I will never just rant and hit send...that could be bad. Although I'm sure I will as I tend to be impulsive...and therein lies the fun...

Going out for the night with a friend that I hope to introduce to a nice, single friend of mine...he's a doll and I want him happy. As for Donna? She's blowing us off for the in-laws, I believe....whatever....she's a beyotch from way back....

I'm out...more nonsense later.

Blog birth part two

Okay, Donna...it's so not my fault that you're a gimp. And as such, I simply view you as a form of entertainment. Yes, my life is falling apart a bit, but so what? As long as I can mercilessly mock you and your current medical situation, well it's all good. And yes...I will absolutely post the videos taken of you. I live for this shit. Never doubt that I could be lurking around any given corner just waiting to pounce.

And while I should be cleaning my filthy house and hatching an escape plan from Mommy hell, I'm sitting here blogging with you. How easily you've sucked me into your evil ways. I have no doubt that this will come back to bite us both in the ass at some point, but as you've pointed out time and again, I don't have an ass.

So you just sit in your precious rolly chair...and keep writing away. Me? I'll be the one driving around LB in my sweet little car that you yearn for. Game on sunshine...

Blog Birth

Yeah, so welcome to our humble blog....blah, blah, la ti effing da. Donna here. Temporaily attached to this rolly office chair now for 3 months. I have formed a permanent traffic pattern in my tile floor around my kitchen island from this damn chair. I am so over sitting my life away. Broke my foot 3 months ago, when I took my son on a ski trip. Did I break it while schushing (is that a word) down the slopes? No. I fell off of a tub deck shutting window blinds. Pathetic...basically the theme of my life at the moment.

So, my partner in crime, Nancy, has been entertaining herself by filming me in my most humiliating moments since my injury. She has filmed me getting in and out of her SUV on a barstool. She has filmed me getting my first cast off at the doctor's. She has even filmed me driving those nasty scooters at WalMart that smell like ass. And not MY ass, mind you. She even filmed me sitting at my counter in the rolly chair eating a cheeseburger. So, that proves she's pathetic, too. One of these days I'm gonna get back at that no-ass filmmaker...you wait. She's probably going to post them at some time....so you can enjoy my public humiliation, too...

Not that I care. I am as blunt as can be...I have no filter. Nancy tries to reign me in, but, whatever...I only say what other people wish they had the guts to say. I feel I am the voice of not only me, but others. You can thank me later. I'll be here all week.