You now how there's you, and then there's that other you...the one that comes out when enticed with alcohol? The "you" that you've carefully locked away with years of practice from repeated humiliation...but alcohol is the key to that lock? The drunk you. The Mr. Hyde. The one that embarrasses the FUCK out of you now and again and occasionally leaves you with nothing but a spotted memory in which you appear to look great, but in fact have ruined your reputation beyond the point of repair.
Oh, you don't have that? Well, nobody likes you.
I don't let her out now. I'm a grown up. I know the signs. I have been born with the gift to cease and desist upon the feeling of the numb face. Numb face means I have had enough booze to be social, but I should most certainly stop before the caged bitch-ass-whore is let loose on innocents.
I mean, she's completely inappropriate. She moons people. She throws things. She's rude and has absolutely no filter. None. She will say things that will get her, and anyone who associates with her, a decent beat down. She gets mad at twins simply because they look alike and confuse her. She falls asleep in front of firehouses, she yells at inanimate objects (ie: parking meters, trees, etc), and she's prone to impromptu dance performances wherein it is unlikely that such a thing is appropriate.
She's hazardous to my health. She ruined my future in politics, should I have ever wanted one.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Well, this wasn't in the brochure
...and there I was, wondering what on earth I would do with my first weekend as a free woman.
So, I quit the job I stopped loving months ago, you may recall a decent sized bitch-ass-rant about the smile nazi, a large part of the reason why I started looking else where in the first place. The cloud must have been too busy premeditating future mishaps because BITCH MISSED OUT on this one! I got a new job making significantly more than I was, and for once, I'm happy.
My brain isn't even sure how to handle this amount of happiness. I'm still getting used to it...because it's so foreign to me...I feel like I just spotted a unicorn, or found out there really is a Santa Clause and I, in fact, did not hallucinate that time I swore I saw him as a child. (Well, I was 15, but whatever.)
Friday my summer friend called and propositioned me with a road trip upstate to drop off a couple of ferrets at a rescue. I shit you not.
Of course I went. My kid loves her kids more than she loves me so...how could I deny her this opportunity to hang out with them? She says, "Be ready because I'm getting up at 6:30." Okay...sure. She arrives at 10:30, and I am ready with munchkins and coffee.
We set the navigation and we're on our way. It's supposed to take about 2.5 hours to get to the "big yellow house" in Hudson Valley. Approximately two hours and fifteen minutes into the trip a child asks, "Can I hold one of them?" Sure, we say. Mere minutes later we hear:
HE POOPED ON ME! AHHHHHHHHHHH!
The kids scream... I scream... friend screams...the poop child cries...we fly off the road and pull over. I open the window because the stench activates my gag reflex and vomit won't help anyone at this point. We throw the blanket with poop out the window. We find wipes and try to start cleaning her up, as well as the damn ferret that has actual diarrhea on it. It was like, caked into his fur *gag* and friend is holding it by the nape of it's neck as it dangles over the open munchkin box and coffee cups.
She wipes the poop off the ferret but with any kind of pressure the thing starts swaying back and forth. I witness the poop particles falling into the munchkin box. So now, she holds the thing and I start wiping - tossing each wipe out the window - as well as the contaminated munchkins and coffee. The kids are still screaming/crying but we are now hysterical laughing and I'm also still trying my best not to vomit.
Now, a man strolls out of the store we pulled over in front of with a garbage bag. Busted. We had completely littered his little lawn with shit-ridden paraphernalia. I look at friend and she says, "I'll do it." (Damn straight she'll do it. I wasn't about to touch any of that shit.) She apologizes profusely to the man and we're on our way.
We arrive at the "Big Yellow House" that is the ferret rescue. I'm not sure what anyone else was expecting but this pretty much fit my assumptions. It was a white trash dump, complete with about 50 ferrets- that we could see anyway. The smell. The creepiness...I was thinking we should have left some evidence of our trip behind so they could locate the bodies once we were reported missing.
We made it out of there, with all of the children in tact and we found outlet stores on the way home. Thankfully, retail therapy is a cure-all.
So, I quit the job I stopped loving months ago, you may recall a decent sized bitch-ass-rant about the smile nazi, a large part of the reason why I started looking else where in the first place. The cloud must have been too busy premeditating future mishaps because BITCH MISSED OUT on this one! I got a new job making significantly more than I was, and for once, I'm happy.
My brain isn't even sure how to handle this amount of happiness. I'm still getting used to it...because it's so foreign to me...I feel like I just spotted a unicorn, or found out there really is a Santa Clause and I, in fact, did not hallucinate that time I swore I saw him as a child. (Well, I was 15, but whatever.)
Friday my summer friend called and propositioned me with a road trip upstate to drop off a couple of ferrets at a rescue. I shit you not.
Of course I went. My kid loves her kids more than she loves me so...how could I deny her this opportunity to hang out with them? She says, "Be ready because I'm getting up at 6:30." Okay...sure. She arrives at 10:30, and I am ready with munchkins and coffee.
We set the navigation and we're on our way. It's supposed to take about 2.5 hours to get to the "big yellow house" in Hudson Valley. Approximately two hours and fifteen minutes into the trip a child asks, "Can I hold one of them?" Sure, we say. Mere minutes later we hear:
HE POOPED ON ME! AHHHHHHHHHHH!
The kids scream... I scream... friend screams...the poop child cries...we fly off the road and pull over. I open the window because the stench activates my gag reflex and vomit won't help anyone at this point. We throw the blanket with poop out the window. We find wipes and try to start cleaning her up, as well as the damn ferret that has actual diarrhea on it. It was like, caked into his fur *gag* and friend is holding it by the nape of it's neck as it dangles over the open munchkin box and coffee cups.
She wipes the poop off the ferret but with any kind of pressure the thing starts swaying back and forth. I witness the poop particles falling into the munchkin box. So now, she holds the thing and I start wiping - tossing each wipe out the window - as well as the contaminated munchkins and coffee. The kids are still screaming/crying but we are now hysterical laughing and I'm also still trying my best not to vomit.
Now, a man strolls out of the store we pulled over in front of with a garbage bag. Busted. We had completely littered his little lawn with shit-ridden paraphernalia. I look at friend and she says, "I'll do it." (Damn straight she'll do it. I wasn't about to touch any of that shit.) She apologizes profusely to the man and we're on our way.
We arrive at the "Big Yellow House" that is the ferret rescue. I'm not sure what anyone else was expecting but this pretty much fit my assumptions. It was a white trash dump, complete with about 50 ferrets- that we could see anyway. The smell. The creepiness...I was thinking we should have left some evidence of our trip behind so they could locate the bodies once we were reported missing.
We made it out of there, with all of the children in tact and we found outlet stores on the way home. Thankfully, retail therapy is a cure-all.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Anniversary
It's been just 5 short years that I've been with the man. My boyfriend. Not my husband, or even fiance... Isn't that nice?
...
At least I don't have to date anymore. I had a habit of picking the greatest guys ever.
In college this guy asked me out. Over and over and over. I finally say yes, just to shut him up.
He takes me into the city to some restaurant, then we go for a walk in Central Park. Why do my dates always wind up here? Anyway...
While we're walking he says:
"Got cold, didn't it?"
"Yeah. You want my jacket?" I joked.
"Sure" he says.
He takes it.
He puts it on.
He wears it home.
He hands it back to me before we part ways and says,
"I can't take it home. My wife will ask questions"
Yep.
...
At least I don't have to date anymore. I had a habit of picking the greatest guys ever.
In college this guy asked me out. Over and over and over. I finally say yes, just to shut him up.
He takes me into the city to some restaurant, then we go for a walk in Central Park. Why do my dates always wind up here? Anyway...
While we're walking he says:
"Got cold, didn't it?"
"Yeah. You want my jacket?" I joked.
"Sure" he says.
He takes it.
He puts it on.
He wears it home.
He hands it back to me before we part ways and says,
"I can't take it home. My wife will ask questions"
Yep.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Just call me Sybil
Is it normal that for a few days out of the month I hate my man for no apparent reason?
I mean, last night I was laying in my bed thinking, "Why do I want to spend the rest of my life with this fool?"
But, deep down I know it's just the PMS talking. There is a small rational part of my brain that can see this...and I remind myself that in a week I'll love him again. Just right now I hate him and just about everyone else. I particularly hate him though. I have a strange PMS multiple personality disorder. I feel almost as though I should write myself notes when I'm happy and in love that say, "Don't do anything rash. Wait until after the flood and then assess the situation once more."
Mathematically speaking, I hate him for 1/4 of my life. Really puts things in perspective...
When we watch TV, one of us has to pick. We don't like any of the same shows...any. I usually let him watch what he wants, Fox News. I am quiet. I listen but I don't care for it. They all talk about the same things day after day, show after show. But I endure...silently, every night.
Why? Because when I watch my shows he either:
A. Makes fun of them.
or
B. Talks through them, asking me questions or trying to figure out what's going on. He won't even wait for a commercial. He'll talk right over other people talking in the show. No respect. Then, when I rewind and watch it over he thinks I'm being bitchy and will say, "Oh sorry...I won't ever talk again." Like I've offended him for wanting to know what I missed.
GRRRRRRRRRRR!
I'd rather Tivo everything and watch it alone. Bring on Glenn Beck and O'Reilly...Vampire Diaries and Gossip Girl will have to wait.
I mean, last night I was laying in my bed thinking, "Why do I want to spend the rest of my life with this fool?"
But, deep down I know it's just the PMS talking. There is a small rational part of my brain that can see this...and I remind myself that in a week I'll love him again. Just right now I hate him and just about everyone else. I particularly hate him though. I have a strange PMS multiple personality disorder. I feel almost as though I should write myself notes when I'm happy and in love that say, "Don't do anything rash. Wait until after the flood and then assess the situation once more."
Mathematically speaking, I hate him for 1/4 of my life. Really puts things in perspective...
When we watch TV, one of us has to pick. We don't like any of the same shows...any. I usually let him watch what he wants, Fox News. I am quiet. I listen but I don't care for it. They all talk about the same things day after day, show after show. But I endure...silently, every night.
Why? Because when I watch my shows he either:
A. Makes fun of them.
or
B. Talks through them, asking me questions or trying to figure out what's going on. He won't even wait for a commercial. He'll talk right over other people talking in the show. No respect. Then, when I rewind and watch it over he thinks I'm being bitchy and will say, "Oh sorry...I won't ever talk again." Like I've offended him for wanting to know what I missed.
GRRRRRRRRRRR!
I'd rather Tivo everything and watch it alone. Bring on Glenn Beck and O'Reilly...Vampire Diaries and Gossip Girl will have to wait.
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