Drunk You

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.

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.

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.

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.

Put on a Happy Face

Day 29 of captivity:

I no longer like this job. Here's why-

Yesterday, I get called into a little mini meeting with my manager. She tells me I am GREAT, doing a great job, yadda yadda - I know.

Then she says, "Are you happy here?"

Me: Yes, very happy.

Her: Because, you just don't smile much.

Me: ...

Her: Sometimes, I think I'm smiling but I'm really making a face like this (proceeds not to smile) so I make a better effort, show teeth, and smile!

Me: ...

Her: But everything else is great!

Me: So, I do my job well...but you want me to smile more...

Her: Yes!

You know, this made me cry after I walked out. She proceeded to tell me that it looks like I don't want to be here and went on and on about how I should be more bubbly and smiling. But, the thing is, I AM a smiler, you know? I'm jolly damnit. Rarely am I in a bad mood. This just struck me as fucking weird. She made it sound as though they ALL thought this of me.

Come to find out it's only one woman who thinks this. This woman, who I say goodmorning to every day and she just stares at me like a deer in the headlights, went out of her way to complain about me. I didn't even want to come in today - unless it was in the form of rebellion.

Well, I smiled the FUCK out of that bitch all day today. I don't feel much better about it. I hope she's happy, with her fake smiles and forced kiss-ass.

Golden Goose

In a very Twilight-esque sort of way, my daughter has been born with the opposite "gift" that is my genetic legacy. Instead of a black cloud, she has sunshine every day. If she were a goose she'd lay golden eggs. That's just how she rolls.

For instance:

At Shea Stadium, where the Mets used to play, she got picked out of who knows how many kids to win a Build a Bear gift card and be on the big screen in the stadium, Diamond Vision. I have a picture as proof.
They told me they picked her because she was cute.

Walking in a local park we saw that the carousel had opened, she rides it. There is a woman snapping pictures who asks if we'd mind if she used her picture with her article in the local paper. We said sure. Sure as shit, my kid is on the front page of that paper a week later, big spread with her cheese smile.

We went to Medieval Times, a knight threw her a flower but some other kid jumped up and caught it. The next time he had a flower he threw it to her AGAIN. She caught it the second time, thankfully.

This past weekend, she went to the Gazillion Bubble show on Broadway. She got called up on stage. They put her in a giant bubble. Then they gave her a giant bubble maker toy just for participating.

She always gets stuff. I find this to be awesome. At least I didn't pass on my misfortune to her.

Camp

My girl has the option to go camping with the girl scouts, but only if I go, too.

You know I have the spider issue. Plus, the weekend is surrounded by "water activities."

So, one time, we were in NJ for the summer and my mom, aunt and uncle have this idea that we should all go canoeing down some river. Cool right?

So we've got boat A - consisting of uncle, and two cousins. Boat B - Aunt and two boy cousins. And Boat C - Crazy, me and my sister.

In the beginning, mom says, "I have done this before. I will be the rear and control the boat." My sister is to be in the middle, doing nothing, and I am the front...just row she says, once on the right, once on the left, repeat. GOT IT!

There is a nest of daddy long leg spiders that decide NOW is the time they will come out from under the seats of the canoe. The horror. I tell my mom, she says KEEP ROWING They're ahead of us! I cry. I use my flip flop to kill them as they attack. But their numbers were infinite...so though I won't mention them again, they are continually attacking us throughout the trip. They are also waterproof.

Mom stears us into the side of the river. We capsize. My sister, in her life jacket, goes floating down the river. My mom is screaming and flailing her arms about, crying about my sister...I stand, turn the canoe back over, and advise my mother that we are in 3 ft of water and she can stand. She gets in the boat and we are on are way to get my sister...who is now yards ahead of us.

We get my sister, we row...we hit the side and capsize again.

Mom says I am fucking up the boat and that's why we capsized. She is now in the front, I am in the back, and stupid sister is safely in the middle. Tasked with nothing.

We start going towards the side again. Mom directs me and I do as told, only the rear of the boat hits the side this time - you know, the part with me in it...I duck to avoid bushes...thorny bushes...they tear up my back and left arm. I tell mom and she says KEEP ROWING. Fine.

We catch up with my Uncle who asks why I am bleeding so badly. Mom is like SHE'S FINE. But she CAN'T ROW WORTH A SHIT.

I am so excited to go through this again....