Work Day Two

So I call Hunter to see what time she is going to work tonight cause coincidentally I work too. This is delightful for me to see her shiney face when I walk through the door. 

"Huhho." she answers.

"Are you okay?"

"I think I have swine flu."

"Oh for Godsake. That's stupid."

"No. Everything hurts. I feel awful. I have vertigo. I've had it for two days AND I was at the airport last night." Hunter adds.

"You picked up your Mom! You didn't rub your nose in a baby that flew in from Mexico!"

"I am sick. I don't know how I'm going to do this  for the next four hours."

  Let's keep in mind, that's what the job basically involves, sitting and checking people into classes. Once the mad rush of the 5 people go in the class she plays on the computer. She's not digging for coal or sewing in a sweat shop. She is sitting in one of the cushiest fitness studios in the area and playing Facebook!

I relent though. It's better to appease. "What can I do for you? Can I bring you something? Do you want some Dayquil? Some tea?" I ask as sweetly as I can muster.

"How about some Tylenol PM? I'm thinking I should take that." 

"You can't take Tylenol PM before you have to work! That's just stupid."

I get to work about 45 minutes later. She's whistling and dancing around like Lily Tomlin dressed as Snow White in her dream sequence in the movie 9 to 5. 

"Are you fine now?" I ask.

"Ever since I took those Tylenol PM's accidentally on purpose I feel much better." she answers.

Whatever... it is Hunter after all. 

I am driving home and she calls me. Instead of speaking to me I hear her say, "Hi Jordan." in flirty voice she puts on for anyone she talks to over the age of 17. 

"Hold on." she says to me. "I have to get cigarettes."

"I'll have the American something or other, cause I'm quitting smoking tomorrow," she says. 

I hear Jordan laugh in the background.

"Don't laugh, I know I'm buying cigarettes but did you know I work in a fitness studio now? That's right, I'm a fitness instructor. Don't forget the matches Jordan, I need matches. These cigarettes aren't going to light themselves." 

We're Not Related By Blood.

Act 1- Takes place at the Japanese restaurant over tuna tartar and miso soup:

Sarah- So what did you do last night?

Hunter- Well, Cousin Danita and her family came over so Stan could build a base for my bed for Sydie to sleep on when she comes tonight for her three week visit.

Sarah- That must of been loads of fun. Aren't they kind of weird?

Hunter- By weird, do you mean the fact it was an arranged marriage and  their 13 year old is gay and no one talks about it and their 9 year old eats 17 donuts a day and speaks only of desserts and Stan yells at everyone and Danita just ignores it? If that's what you're talking about then I'd have to say, yes, they're slightly odd.

Sarah- Sounds great Greg.  Guess what I did?

Hunter- Drank wine and played Facebook, Bitch? 

Sarah- Talking about hitting the nail on the head! 

Hunter-I couldn't even drink! My Gramma was watching my every move, plus I had to hold the mattress up the whole time for Stan while he was hammering and screwing.

Sarah- Were both you and he in your tiny little cell of a bedroom at one time?

Hunter- Not only Stan and I but Danita, the daughter, the son and Gramma eyeballing all of us!

Sarah-It sounds like a friggin' nightmare. 

Hunter-Or a fucked up trip, like that time in high school with the mushrooms when Suzy kept flicking her cigarette in her purse like it was an ashtray and pouring beer on top and you thought cartoon pigs were coming at you on the swing set and I had to listen to both you idiots,  kinda like that.  Add to that, that I was really stoned and the kid Jeffrey, who by the way was wearing a turquoise striped polo and pleated turquoise shorts kept talking to me about shopping and piano lessons and Stan was yelling at him and Danita looked like a Stepford wive, oblivious to the whole thing. She just kept with the smile and nod, smile and nod. It was freaky.

Sarah- Damn, you should of told me. I would of come over. Not. 

Act 2- on the phone talking about a whole lot of nothing.

Hunter- mumble, jumble, muffled sounds. 

Sarah- Are you smoking right now? Seriously, it's like 2.30 in the afternoon. Get a grip.

Hunter-   You need to shut up Princess, what the hell else would I be doing? My Mom is coming in to visit tonight for 3 goddamn weeks. My grandmother is going back and forth between yelling at me  for apparently shrinking her girdles in the dryer instead of hanging them on the line and asking me if I believe in "Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour."  I got up at 5.30 to work my new job today. I have to hang out with crazy cousin Danita while I drive with her to the airport at midnight tonight to pick up  Sydie.  Give me the respect I deserve and acknowledge that I need to be high for five fucking minutes. 

Sarah- By all means, smoke up Johnny.

Thwarting With Cheese

Times were rough. I was just past the worst of it, or so I thought. 

The day before my young boyfriend has accidentally knocked over one of my favorite things. My three hundred dollar beautiful, hand blown glass bong. It was like losing a best friend. Not to mention the smell of bong water on the carpet. That's never fun. Nor is it remotely pleasing to the senses.  Neither here nor there though. At this point...water under the bong. 

So after serving food to ungrateful bastards in the restaurant I work in,  I get in my car and head to Savannah. Savannah's got a Head Shop and that's what I need. 

I go in and buy a bong, not nearly as nice as the one that was lost in the War, but a smoking implement nonetheless . I head out to my car and don't two muggers hold me up? For Gods sake! What the fuck? Seriously! My bong breaks, I have to deal with assholes and now I'm getting held up? 

 They ask for my money. Um, I'm sorry, do you not see the bag with the bong in it? Where do you think my money is? Show me how smart you are. 

Of course I didn't say any of this, there was a knife in my side. I did say, "I have no money." They didn't believe me. I told the truth. "I stole cheese from the restaurant I work in last night to eat today. I really have no money."

They walked away.

Cheese saved the day. 

Like it does.

Chilliwack

Gone gone gone, she been gone so long
She been gone gone gone so long

Hunter went away today. She slept over again last night so I could do her 

hair before she left. She complained the whole time I did it. She hates her hair 

today. We all hate our hair the first time we blow dry it after it has been 

professionally done. It's the way of the world. 

There's just no getting around that. Knock it off.

She walked out of my house with my clothes on with my bags in her hands.

 It almost looked like me leaving. She drove herself all the way to the airport, 

she only txted me twice wondering if she was going the right way.

She made it. She parked. She got to her terminal. She landed in Miami. 

My little girl is growing up.

TXTs-to Hunter-edited to make us appear more "normal."

"If your plane goes down I will miss you like crazy but continue

 to blog as if you are alive."

"Did you make it to the Catalina or did you fuck it all up and now 

you're in Disney World?"

"Avoid anyone with a syringe or a cotton ball full of chlorophyll."

"No, I don't think we should start a business selling wipes in the airport.

 Genius, but there must be a reason 

they're not there already."

"No, I don't know why."

Then it stopped and...

I got a lot less txts today. 

I got a lot less phone calls.

I laughed less.

I didn't drink any wine.

I didn't get teased...

about my space ship,

 my hair,

my itching,

my dog,

my culinary skills,

my twilight zone life,

 my circus tricks 

or my eating habits.

I missed that. 

I did however get a lot of boring stuff done that I manage to avoid when she's here. 

Thank God  she's coming home tomorrow.

I love you Man. 

I just turned on the tv. Starsky and Hutch is on... not old school. Ben Stiller

and Owen Wilson S & H. Do you know what the opening song to this movie

is?

Barry Manilow! "I Can't Smile Without You." Swear to God. Can't laugh and I 

can't sing. I'm finding it hard to do anything. 

As in all games we play I have to pick a character. I wanna be Hutch. 

Starsky's kindof a dork. Until that whole dance off when he's all coked up. 

That's the shit man. Right there.

 I'm still Hutch. Maybe we both are.

You know who Starsky is. 

Fo shizzle.

This movie has more one liners than Stripes. 

I stand by that. 

Seriously, Jason Bateman and Snoop Dog are in it. 

"Did he shoot Corky?

Your boy shot his tail off!

Corky lost his tail?

Yeah well you should keep that thing in a terrarium.

What the hell is a terrarium?

A terrarium is a artificial ecosystem, it's designed

to simulate Corky's natural habitat.

Well, I can dig that, but I say

we shoot him in the ass.

Oh, hell yes."

I don't think it ever got the acknowledgement 

or accolades it deserved. 

I don't even think it was considered for an Oscar.

That's just stupid Bob.

To Legit To Quit

I really didn't think she was going to act any differently with her new found hair and toes. 

I was wrong. 

She went all Space shuttle on me. Unfortunately she not licensed to operate either a space shuttle or on a person in the Commonwealth. She was driving home on a dark rainy night. She took a turn to fast. Her cigs flew off the passengers seat all over the floor. In a misguided effort to tidy up she kept her left hand on the steering wheel, reached way over to the other side with her right, took her eyes off the road for a hair to long and managed to drive over a cement road thing and take out a sign. In the process she blew out two tires. Dumb. Mother. Fucker. Learn to drive. Stop making fun of me. Bite me. Harder. I love you Man.

That's where I came in. She got back to my house and slept over. The next morning on my way to work I had to drop her at her car. Or so I thought. Before we saw the devastation we couldn't figure out what she could have run over coming around that particular corner. On the way there she said, "What do you think I hit?"

"I couldn't even venture a guess at this point Hunter."

"Let's just hope there are no body parts attached to my bumper." she whispered. 

 With both eyebrows raised I said, "God willing."

We see her green jeep sitting on the side of the gas station and the left side of the car was significantly higher than the right. 

 We lost two good men in this one. Two tires down.

"I bet you're rethinking those hair products right about now, huh? That doesn't look cheap." I say.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God. They're going to think I'm an idiot." she said.

"Who, the gas station guys? They've seen worse than this. Now go in and see what's going on. It looks like it's going to take a while."

Out she comes. "I have to go with you. They said it would be a few hours."

Oh good. It's take your child to work day.

Talk about the right time and the right place.  As she was waiting for me to be done she heard them saying they were firing the girl who never shows up. Hunter moved in like a lesbian after the first date. She got that job. I've been trying to get her there since she moved here.  She has avoided it like the plague. Every day  I am teaching a class, her grandmother has to "get her hair done." Every week. Gramma's hair must be a hot mess today. But Hunter has a job.

Hallelujah. Praise hair dye, pedicures and the God of your choice. Hunter is almost legit. 

Every cloud (or flat tire) has a silver lining. 

Jesus Hunter!

I'm sorry. I'm in the middle of a bizarre separation. Don't fuck it up anymore than it already is.

Bring Bring...

"Hello." I say.

"I'm in trouble. I ran over something. My car won't go."

"Seriously? Where are You?" I say, slightly annoyed.

"On that 3 road, real close to your house. Can you come get me?"

"Can't you just make it home? I think you're fine. Just drive."

"I'm on the rim. It's making a crunching noise. You need to get out of bed and come get me."

"God damn't. He's home now. Seriously?  Hold on! I'll be right there."

Go in. Tell him I'm leaving to pick her up. She ran over something. He insists on going and getting her himself, it's pouring rain outside. My husband, although estranged is a really good guy. 

I call her back.

"Act normal! You couldn't have eaten something today?" I demand. "Don't get me in trouble."

"I promise. I tried to call Triple A, blah blah fucking  blah."

"Listen to me carefully. Try your best not to speak. No words of wisdom. None of your manic bullshit. Just shut up and let him drive."

"I promise."

Twenty minutes click by, in which time I have to have a pseudo "sex talk" with my eleven year old daughter. Nothing like the icing on the top of the proverbial cake. 

They get home. 

Hunter hops into bed with me. 

Husband goes in bathroom. 

Whispering, loud not really whispering at all, "I told him he should find a girlfriend."

Fucking great. 

And She Told Two Friends...

Hold the presses. Newsflash! I'm gonna have to stop traffic again. Hunter has gone high maintenance. At least for a couple days. You can lead a horse to water man but you can't teach it to flat iron it's own mane. 

Today she pissed away the rest of that tax return. She went all girl on me and got her toes polished and then went so far as to get her hair done. It wasn't easy I'm told. Jay (her friends brother that used to peep at her when she was 16) had to use about 20 different processes on her weathered, sun bleached, unkempt hair. Let me tell you, up until about six months ago Hunter had the most gorgeous hair you have ever seen. It was about 6 feet long, never touched by color and thick as thieves. Somebody decided to do her a "favor" and chop it all off. Poor Hunter, she was her hair. Her hair was her. She has had that hair since we were about 12 years old. So for the last six months while she battled her way through the end of her divorce and moved her life 903 miles away (which I am forever thankful for) she has had to deal with looking different too. 

As stated above not only did she get her hair done, she got a pedicure. Holy Shit, I just got yelled at about that from her a couple days ago. "Sarah, you're going to have to do your own toes soon." That's just stupid. I'm glad she's seen the light. At least for today.

Now she just walked in my house with a bag of products. Yes! Products. What's next? Will she drive like she owns the road? 

No, that will never happen. She will continue on her hippie life style. She'll just do it with better hair. 

I LOVE YOU MAN.

All day.

Everyday.

Next on the agenda is walking in heels. 

Baby steps.

The Old Smokescreen and Mirror Trick

After the parking escapade our Saturday night was rather humorous. We went into Sarah's favorite restaurant and had a much needed cocktail and good food. Our friend Bob joined us. Bob btw, doesn't know about this blog or that we write about him. I just thought of that, maybe we'll tell him at some point. Maybe not. He might cry.  We like to carry him around like a pocket pet.  He's so cute. We just love him. 

Anyway, we hang out for a while and then we want to smoke. We means Bob and I , Sarah doesn't smoke because of some mishap in college where the one time she decided to get high somebody put PCP in the weed. It ruined it forever for her. One bag egg Man, what are you gonna do? I won't  even go into how she tries to block the smoke away from her face, that's almost as embarrassing as the space shuttle. (screw you Hunter)   

Interestingly enough Bob owns the building about 30 seconds from where we are eating. It is a restaurant that he is in the process of selling so right now it's not open for business.  We decide to go there and smoke. We go to the upstairs part and he turns on the music and we are hanging out. It's in this killer old two story historical building right on the corner of the busiest part of the town we are in. This town is full of restaurants,bars a college, a courthouse and stores, it's over flowing with people this Saturday night. 

 Sarah was all long faced and slumped down in her chair because she was dragged away from her fancy bar for five fucking minutes while we cleared our heads. I really needed this after the "incident." 

 After a couple hits every thing became clearer. I had to wipe that stupid bored look of her face. I looked around the room for a shiny object that might catch her eye. I spotted it. Right in front of us. Four of them. Big giant huge historical windows with deep window sills, perfect for her to do her bendy weirdness. She's a big show off. So I say to her, "Hey, these windows would be perfect for your crazy party stunts. Why don't you go do one of your stupid human tricks?"

She lit up like a Christmas tree. Hopped into the window sill and began to contort her body just like a freak in the circus. I had a symbol and a drumstick that I used for a microphone from Bob's drum set. I decided to be the Circus Ringmaster.

"Hey out there. Look at the freak in the window.  Clang on the symbol What's she doing? What's she doing now?" I started yelling out my window at the people on the street. Clang

Suddenly a crowd formed.

"Hey, what's the girl doing?" Spectator one said.

"Look at that girl in the window." Spectator two through ten said. 

"Hey baby. Come down here. I'll take you out. Your boyfriend won't mind." said the college idiot. 

There were all sorts of characters down there. They were accumulating like ants. It was a frenzy. All of the sudden she dropped down off her hands onto her knees perched like Pocohantas with that blond hair flowing and starts flirting with the crowd.

A guy with a mohawk said he liked her hair. She leans down sticks her snout between the window and the street and Rapunzel answers back, "Oh, I like your hair too."

Bob and I were in the background amazed at how at home she was in the window.

He said, "It's going to be two days and you guys will be in the paper."

Then he blurts out, "That guy at Starbucks across the street is calling the cops."

I think he's just being old and paranoid. I didn't think twice about it.

Ten minutes later while cutting through the haze to get to the front door, Sarah says, "Look there's a police officer at the door."

I get all jumpy cause the weeds in my bag.

Bob opens the door and says hi. He knows the guy. He does own the building. The cop said, "We had a call that said a crowd was forming around your business and we know it's closed."

Bob mumbles something. Sarah smiles at him and I walked in the other direction with my smelly purse. 

We think we're on to something with our little show. An interactive freak show where we  legally verbally assault the crowd. At least that's our idea today.  

Now that I have to go find her a red velvet robe and sunglasses to usher her out of the building after the show. She thinks she's fucking famous. 

Battlestar Galactica

The Space ship graduated to a Space Shuttle Enterprise. It was all sorts of whacked out. You're not even going to believe it, it's true. 

I was starving. She wants to take me to one of her fancy bars after last nights debaucle with the lesbian chick and the dirty boy. I'm Earthy, she's showered and used 15 different hair products and smelly stuff. I used Sandlewood and Pathchouli, I only mention so you'll know that she's actually from Outer Space. 

We're driving down a very narrow,  I think historical road to get to the fancy place. It had a fancy parking lot right next to it to park your fancy space shuttle and this is how it went down.

We approached the parking lot and a giant sign said, LOT FULL. Sarah, with a pissed off voice says, "It's not full." She drove past anyway. Then stopped in the middle of the road, cause she can and says, "NO! I know there's a spot there!" 

Reader, you might want to stop here cause it's fucking horrifying from here on out. Consider yourself warned. 

And she says, "Seriously, there is a space there!"

She then beckons a worker with a queen like wave. He wasn't close to us. He was coming from some kind of break. She demands of him, "You work here right? The lot says full, I know it's not, is it okay if I back the wrong way?"

"Yes, whatever." the kid says. Cause she's blond and she can do this. Fuck her. 

We're in gridlock traffic in the nicest day of the new year. We've been cooped up for months. This town is swarming with people. There is no room to move. I can't believe what happened next. She turns around and actually asks the car behind us to move with some sort of kooky hand signal that only blonds  do. The other driver was clueless, somehow they moved though. She did a ten point turn. It took hours (She's exaggerating, it took like 45 seconds). I was crying and cringing and covering my face. She stopped both lanes of traffic and moved one lane through the red light. I was mortified to the point of tears. 

Hey guess what? We got in, got a killer spot and I scored us two seats at the bar when there was a 45 minute wait. So bitch if you must Hunter, cause you did all fuckin' day long, but you know you had fun. So suck it. I love you Man.

The Universal Sign

So we put on our final show at this  stupid  bar that we aren't going back to. Not because of anything we did, because it's stupid. It was a gorgeous night. We could have gone anywhere. For some reason that amused us at the time and  has to do with role playing and a break up with Hunter's stalker we thought we'd give it one last go. 

We bellied up to the bar. Hunter was all jumpy and hugging people and talking to the dirty boy that everyone likes. She thinks he's hot. I think he smells bad. She was warned not to go near him because the Lesbian looking girl boy she hadn't seen in twenty years laid claim to him.

 

In an effort to get Hunter away from the town hooker guy Anne (LLGB) introduced her to  a Sour Patch Lady named Monique. Miss High Maintenance Monique was bitchen' about everything. Ann grumbles something at Hunter with her pointer finger going from the up position to the down position and she was saying "Monique's boyfriend grumble something grumble bullshit blah blah grumble."

 A innocent look of concern and compassion crossed Hunter's face as she blurted out, "I'm so sorry. I hear that's happening to a lot of guys."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Sour Girl.

"Erectile dysfunction. Isn't that what's wrong with your boyfriend.? I think there is a pill for that."

"Why are you saying that? What's wrong with you?" Sour Girl says.

"Well, that's what Anne said." Hunter said, now confused. 

I am all out howling at this p0int with laughter. 

"No I didn't!" Anne said. "I said her boyfriend owned this bar."

"Oh," Hunter said, "Why is she making the universal sign for can't get it up then?"

"Why would we even be talking about that?" Monique demands.

"I don't know, I didn't understand why Anne was telling me that your boyfriends penis falls down. I'm sorry Pantera was blaring on the jukebox and I couldn't really hear what she was saying. That's where my mind went. Are we done now?"

Monique turns on her pointy little heel and jumped on her witch stick. Thank God for that witch stick because judging by her reaction we think we might be on to something.

Hairpin Turns At Breakneck Speed

So Sarah calls me and says, "You're never going to fucking believe this but I just got pulled over."

Oh, I would NEVER imagine that in all these years considering she drives her own fucking spaceship. She does all kinds of things she thinks she's entitled to in her spaceship. You've seen these as they travel down the left side of the road traveling at the speed of light and they see a shiny object to the right of them and quickly the space shuttle goes in that direction. It doesn't matter who's in her path. Old ladies, kids, semi's, she just turns. She just shrugs her shoulders, sticks her boobs out, cocks her little blond head and mouthes the word, "Sorry," as she fake cringes and she gets away with it every time. It's so fucking fake, it would piss me off if it didn't make me laugh.  I never get away with that cause I have dark hair and I drive like a human being not some alien. I'm thinking of going platinum so I can fly like that.

So I say to her, "So, what did you get pulled over for?"

"I was speeding, only doing 49 in a 35. That's not that bad, is it?"

"It's not good. What happened? Did you get a ticket?"

"Ticket? No! I told him I had to pee. Which I did. So he didn't want to hold me up. I did get a citation, no points though."

"Didn't want hold you up, are you fucking kidding me? Speeding around those back roads in school zones and he is going to send you the ticket. What did you show him a boob?"

" Shut up. He was a sweetheart.  Thank God I didn't get points cause I couldn't drive a company car if I did. I also wasn't wearing my seat belt, thankfully he didn't mention that."

"Company car, do you keep that after the divorce?"

"Shut up."

"I love you Man."

"I love you too. Now come over so we can lie out."

If You Can't Make the Team

So I was out Friday night with some friends and I had started to get my party on a little early. What happened was unexpected because I can usually drink beer like a guy and hold my own. Unfortunately I was drinking Vodka.  I am pretty sure Dan the bartender slipped me a roofie in my vodka cranberry. Between that and going out with a fancy girl and my friend Bob to smoke things got hazy. Bob told me before we smoked to watch out. It was good shit. I had been dry for a week at that point. He was right, I should of watched out. 

Instead apparently I made a new friend. He seemed to know a lot about music. There was something weird on his lip and he wore a cap but he seemed different and interesting and smart. I realize now that was all the vodka talking. Vodka says some silly things. I know the term is "beer goggles" when you drink beer and that makes people more attractive. Vodka makes people appear smarter and edgy. What's that called? I think the technical term might be "Grey Goose Glasses."  I was wearing them. Wearing them proud.

 After a while I was getting really bored but I just couldn't shake him. It was getting late and  then the music came on. My driver friend wanted to leave but it was "Purple Rain." Come on Man, you don't leave when Prince (now a symbol, or he is Prince again? I don't know) anyway, you can't leave during Purple Rain. I had the air microphone going. It was awesome. Until I tripped over my own foot. When you start to not be able to use your feet it's time to call it a night. 

 

So we leave. We get in the car and start rehashing the evening. I say, "Wait, what was my guys name?" This sent the two fancies into hysterics. At this point I had removed my glasses and was feeling unsure of the night. 

It is my story and I'm sticking to it, I only gave him to polite peck goodbye. Bob says I all out kissed him. Bob's a fucking liar. 

So Saturday rolls around and who's lighting up my phone like a Christmas tree but Seth. I don't know how he got my number (yeah right).  He invited me to a concert. I told him I wasn't available. He continued to call me and tell me how he knew everything about me from Junior High School. It was turning creepy. I told him I was leaving for Florida for a week and a half. Why? I don't know. It made sense at the time. Now it just sounds stupid. 

I've since come to learn a little about him. First of all he's stalking my friend Bob. He wants to be on his softball team. They said no. I said, "He can't make the team?" I can't go there. Seriously, you have to be able to make the team. We begged Bob, "Please, can he be the waterboy, dust off the bases or something?" Let the fat kid play. So they gave him a sympathy try out and he did so piss poor he got heckled. Buh bye Seth. That doesn't work for me. 

So, How 'Bout Today?

I feel much better now that i have the weed. Even though it's raining, cold and disgusting, things look a little bit better. I do feel like calling Sally and just yelling at her for no reason at all. That's a daily thing though, nothing to do with being sick of it. It didn't bother me when the 2 year old I'm babysitting had a meltdown over the bowl she was using with the cottage cheese. I just gave her the container and some blueberries and let her play. I'm not to mad about the traffic that I had to sit in even though it was gridlock. I should have been losing my mind. That tiny hit helped. I'm not to mad that I have been stuck here for five hours and I have things to do. I'm not to mad at the bulldog here. Usually all he does is try and hump me. He did it today. I kinda liked it. No I didn't. I"m not to bothered I haven't read the spiritual tune up. I'm not to mad that none of my ex's have called me today. I need a new boyfriend. One that doesn't have ex in front of it. I'm not to mad that I haven't had any cigs today. I'm really happy I'm getting my hair done tomorrow, for the first time in eight months. I'm really happy that when I get done this fuckin' baby sitting job that I can smoke my weed. I am really really really happy that the weather channel says for the next three days there could be sun. There could be. It's a possiblility. I have hope. I know I'm not in the NE, I'm pretty sure this is London or Seattle or a rainforest. I haven't seen this kind of weather in 15 years. But it's okay, they said there could be sun. Then I will be really happy. And thank you Sue for sharing that you get your nether regions tidied up. That made me so happy to. Happy for you and for your husband. I guess. Kind of. A little. Not really. Not at all. Oh yes it does. 

I'm so happy. 

I love you Man. 

Tell Me How Your Feeling

"Hot, cause it's fucking hot in here. It's fuckin' raining, it's fuckin' wet, it's fuckin' cold outside, this fuckin' dog is bothering me, my fuckin' hairs fucked up, I'm sick of your fuckin' carpool, I'm sick of married people, I'm sick of my ex boyfriend, I'm sick of my toes that are not done, I'm sick of my cat knocking down pictures, really, seriously she knocked down four pictures last night, I'm sick of cleaning toilets, I'm sick of pubic hair, I'm sick of fuckin' driving, I'm sick of not having any weed, I'm sick of not getting a buzz from my beer, I'm sick of babysitting, I'm sick of people telling me what to do, I'm sick of Sally, I'm sick of boys that don't have a chance that that keep trying, I'm already sick of my vibrator( I've only had it two days), I'm sick of not having sex, I'm sick of sex, I'm sick of people that have it that don't use it when it's right there, I'm sick of Omer (I'm on day one), I'm sick of taking the trash out on Mondays and Wednesdays. I'm sick of fucking getting gas, I'm sick of kids listening through doors, I'm sick of the GPS, I'm sick of not getting the books I want at the library, I'm sick of the small aisles in the stores and I'm really sick of people not saying, excuse me, please and thank you, I'm sick of fat free food.

All right, I feel better now I love you Man."

Burning A Hole In My Pocket

Let's start by telling you, I'm divorced. Well, one of me is. Three years out. Buh bye baby. Momma misses you. Not. 

So, I uprooted my life. I moved to where it isn't always warm. The nights are cold, the grass is soggy from the ice melting, I only own flip flops, which can become a problem. 

So here's the issue. I hocked his wedding ring. I lost mine a long time ago surfing. I have no money. No prospects of money. Sometimes I babysit (if I haven't partied the night before). I did apply for a "real" job. Once. It's a good thing I didn't get that job. It's corporate. Rules don't apply to me. I think it's stupid to listen to anyone but God. And by God I mean the Sun. 

So the ring produced a little windfall for yours truly. Where do I spend it first? Not on bills. Not on rent. I live with my ninety five year old grandmother. She's got that one covered. She's not paying out of her pension. She paid for our little dollhouse with blood, sweat and tears a long time ago. The only thing she uses currency for is Virginia Slims. Word up.

So, back to what to do with my new found fortune? First I buy a case of beer, a pack of smokes (I think it might have been two for one) and over tip the bartender for each drink.

I wake up the next morning perplexed by my flashing phone from 5am from someone from the Left coast and an array of my prettiest panties splashed all over Gramma's floor.  The door is wide open, the dog is next to me, this can't be good. I check the phone. Many sent messages in the form of pictures. Pictures of panties. Sent out to an old boyfriend who I conncected with through faceboook.  Oops. He did like them. Three different txts told me so...

I still have money left over. My Mom told me the only thing to cure this kind of hangover is Mickey D's. It worked. I got a second wind and called my bff demanding her to take me to the local "toy" store. You know, video/magazine shop. The kind where there are no windows and the door is covered with white paper. That kind.

She agrees, first we drive the kids around, do a few errands then it's my turn. I'm antsy. I have been divorced for three years and I'm not easy like Sunday morning. 

We walk in the an array of shady, greasy, disheveled characters. Lot's to look at. My friend was rushing me. She wanted to wait in the car. I said, "No! and No means No." I needed some time, there's a lot of choices. I mean, you don't just pick any old shlump to be your boyfriend. You gotta make sure he's perfect, if not perfect, at least in working order. 

So I chose. We are waiting in line. The guy in front of us tried ten different credit cards which were DECLINED before he found one that would work to buy his torso in a box a.k.a. a pocket puss. I try and get out of line to look at dirty dreidels. My friend kicked me twice, she said she was only to trip me. I almost came made contact with the man with the box of torso's. I shudder at the thought. She pointed with delight at the locked glass case to our right and said, "Look, they sell glass bongs here." "They're not bongs..."  "Oh."

It's my turn. I call the guy behind the counter "sweetie" he asked me if I need batteries. "You betcha, toss 'em in. I am made of money." For now.