Dearest Sarah,

I was reading somewhere that we could "rid" ourselves of bad people by having a ritual...

It said something like, We make paper doll cut-outs of all the people we want to say, "Buh bye" too...

Then we write all the things that make us sick on the front...

Then we dunk them in red wine...toss pebbles at them...

Snuff out a cigarette on their stupid face...

Dunk them in the pool a couple times (only to cool them off)...

Then toss them over the fence!!!

All while chanting, "Good bye Mother Fuckers."

Let's give it a try ol' pal.

I love you Man.

Dear Hunter (Letter 3),

One of my main goals in life (besides driving 365 different places in the 4 hours that lay between school and shower time) is to make you laugh. 

I'm pretty good at it. Even when I don't mean to be. I say things with complete sincerity and the corner of your eyes start to turn up even before your mouth. It almost irritates me because it makes me laugh and then I'm not sure if you know I'm serious or not. 

You know I am. 

So in an effort to make you laugh on a night when you are not my Friday night date (thanks a lot for that btw Bitch, if I get sold into white slavery for going out with almost strangers, remember, my friends name is Tasha, you know where she works.) I will tell you a little tale to hold you over until I can unintentionally make you laugh again by telling you about my future travels, house and the amount of pedicures I require in a month. No offense (just a little) but forking over some of those sweat earned dollars for a pedicure never killed anyone. Just sayin'. You know who loves you right? NO! Not fuckin Schaffer. He might say it, but he can't txt like me. If he can. Take him. Snatch him up. Never let him go.

Bob's a fuckin' idiot.

So listen, you got the short version earlier. Stupid Mac is a raging alcoholic. I'm not even kidding. I was always wondering why he couldn't remember things I had told him. Dumb ass me. I have even said on occasion, "Do you not listen to me?" Now I realize he is a fucking drunk.  He is a cheap, wasted, mofo. So today he says, "I felt awful today. Barely got any work done."  Trying to be nice, I asked, "Why, are you sick?"  To which he replied, "No, I had to many drinks last night. I am paying for it today." In my head I thought, "Self, I guess cause it was Thursday night he might have been partying but also self, isn't it his week with the kids?" Hmmm... So I said, "Who did you go out with?" Stupid Sarah. Remember, don't ask the question if you don't want to hear the answer. My bad. "I didn't go anywhere, I drank here by myself. I have been trying to stop that and only drink with other people." Buh bye. Not only are you the richest cheap mother fucker I have ever known but now you're an alcoholic too? I would take my (estranged) husbands pot smoking ANY DAY OF THE WEEK over that. 

So in the famous words of you, Hunter "Go get your purse Bitch, grab your perfume, your pink boa and your pink slip and go down to HR. You Are Out."

Oh Mother say a prayer for me, Jesse's (SS) back in town, it won't be easy.

JESSE!!!

JESSE!!

Hunter In Wonderland

Whispering...

"I have the most exciting news to tell you. You can't tell anyone. Not Mandy if you see her tomorrow. No one. It's a total secret," Hunter says the minute I pick up the phone.

"Do tell," I say. 

"Well, tomorrow Shane is picking me up and we are going kayaking on the oldest lake in the history of man.."

"I don't even know what that means."

"Just listen, we are going kayaking on the most historical waterway in the tri state area AND he's bringing mushrooms."

I glance in the rear view mirror to make sure the kids haven't heard this revelation through the cell phone. Thank God they're to busy chattering away about their crazy principal and how he was on the news last night (for nothing g00d).  

"I'm not sure what to say to that. Congratulations."

"You don't even know how happy I am. So happy. Kayaking, historical lakes, mushrooms. This is the happiest I've been since I've been here." she gushes.

Go get 'em Tiger. 

I love you Man. Now shut up about the bees. 

Buzzed and BeeWildered

It's beyond gorgeous outside. The sky is as blue as it's been all spring. There is a breeze. The birds are tweeting and chirping and zipping around. So are a couple bees. It's bee season. I like bees. Bees are nice. I just don't want  bees sitting on me. I got stung a while back on my neck and it made that one thing under my jaw swell up and I was convinced I had cancer. Anyway, I'm lying on the lounge chair in the sun soaking up another form of cancer and a bee starts buzzing around me.

"Get off bee. Go play over there," I say.

"Yes, bees. That bee that was on you was totally entranced by the pattern on my bathing suit." Hunter says.

"Don't be stupid. That bee didn't like your bathing suit. It landed there by accident."

"Oh yes he did! He loved it. It reminded him of a honeycomb which is the shizzle to a bee," Hunter replies with absolute sincerity.

"That is straight up retarded. It was completely by chance he landed there."

"No it wasn't! He was looking for a safe place to sit. He saw the design and he flew around and around, he became enticed and then landed on my teet."

Stunned silence from me...

A couple minutes later.

"Why do you have the mother load of Russian caviar cans stacked in your kitchen cabinet?" Hunter asks after she has obviously been rummaging through them.

"My neighbors are Russian, they give it to us every Christmas."

"You don't eat it?" she asks.

"Does it appear that we do?"

Next she pulls a little glass caviar jar out of her bag that is housing her maryjawanna. "Are these inside of it?" she asks.

"What do you mean? It's all cans. Didn't you see?"

"Well maybe there are jars inside of the cans," she says.

"Are you fucking kidding me? You think there are glass jars inside of those little cans? Are you stoned now?"

"You Need Medication"

Listen Mom, I know we're getting into the last early part of the 2000's but still, don't you remember "Free To Be You And Me?"

Don't dress your cat in an apron

Just cause he's learning to bake

Don't dress your horse in a nightgown

Just cause he can't stay awake

etc....

Dear Hunter's Mommy,

This is an anonymous letter from someone who spends in inordinate amount of time with Hunter. I thought I should throw in my two cents to the whole "Hunter needs meds" conversation. I would rather do it here though than in front of you and Gramma because I don't want to get in trouble and although at the age of 18 (14 and 1 score year ago) I decided that "trouble" was no longer a option, but that's with my parents, you and the Vickonator are a whole other story. You know this is Suzy writing, right?

The thing is, Hunter is one of the best people I have ever known. She is a good friend. She is smart. She is just different. She dances to a different beat. She runs at a different pace. She walks with a different gait. Whatever the case may be. She is my muse. Should you stifle her with some nasty meds I would be low on material. I would have to make stuff up. No one wants that. Plus I think she does a fine job of self medicating (please see picture below). She has perfected the doses to bring her down to half past medium. That could take years going through a handful of shrinks. Does Insurance cover marijuana in the Commonwealth? I think not.

And speaking of meds, when I asked her what time she had to work tomorrow and she told me 5.30 in the am, I expressed my sympathies at the early hour she must rise. She said, "I know, it's hard, I like to wake up early enough so I have some chill time before these fuckin' nutballs I'm living with get up and start cleaning with Q-tips. I believe she was talking about you and your mother. With compete and total respect, I beg the question, perhaps the meds are needed elsewhere?

With Great Love In My Heart,

Suzy Stuck-Up (in a passive aggressive mood) Sue me. 

Get it? Sue, Suzy?

You know I'm double jointed right? I can do some sick shit with my arms. Don't test me. 

Rule number One: Everything comes back to Bob

Rule number Two: When in doubt, blame it on Suzy.

I love You Man...

The Weekend Rolls On In...

"We went out to dinner last night."

"Who all went?"

"The whole crew, me, my Mom, Uncle Darryl, my other Uncle Darryl and Gramma," Hunter says.

"What freak show transpired?" I ask as get out my note pad.

Note pad.

A glass of red wine.

Sound of boys playing baseball in the yard.

Dogs sitting staring at me with great love. 

Sun beating down at 6 o'clock Saturday night.

Hunter telling stories.

I'm a simple girl (if you don't count the trainer, masseuse, esthetician, reiki healer, therapist, botox doctor, hair stylist, cleaning people and the Asian woman that does my nails)- straight up for you Hunter- but I am a simple girl. Small things make me abnormally happy. This is one of those times.

"So first my goddamn Mom stares at me put 6 quarters in the meter, as I start to fish through my wallet for more she says, 'You don't need quarters on Friday night honey.' Thanks Mom. You're a fuckin' peach."

"Good start," I say, "Please continue." (I'm not even charging her for this therapy session)

"So then we go in the restaurant and she tucks her napkin in the top of her shirt."

"Wait, who does that, (I'm confused) your Mom? Sydney? Or do you mean your 95 year old grandmother (cause that seems slightly more feasible)?"

"My Mom!" Hunter says.

"Why?" I ask. 

"Cause she doesn't want to get anything on the shirt that she paid $450 for in Tortola when we could have gotten it at a head shop here for $20 and it probably cost the Mexicans a buck fifty tops to make."

"Solid."

"Then she pulls her bottle of wine out a brown paper bag, slams it on the counter and then reaches in her stupid gay beach bag and pulls out her own plastic wine glass with the dolphins on it." 

"She brought her own wine glass?" this just keeps getting better and better. Dysfunctional is not even adequate to describe this family. They are worthy of so much more.

"She sure did. She won't drink out of anything that isn't plastic. You know she doesn't even use utensils to eat?" she says.

"I did not know that. For what? Like finger foods? Butlered hor devours? Granola bars?"

"No. Anything. Salad. Pasta. Piece by piece. She eats like a goddamn Aborigine and she taps everything twice before she puts it in her mouth."

"Is Tom Cruise her brother from another Mother? Can she count cards?" At this point I'm trying to figure out how to use these oddities to my advantage. Hunter seems disturbed. I am strangely intrigued by this kooky behavior. 

"No. She's not Autistic! She's just fucking nuts. It's weird and uncomfortable. Almost as uncomfortable as Bob's profile picture..."

When it's all said and done friends...

It all comes back to Bob.

Vertigo, The Nettie Pot and Will She Turn Blue?

Ah the vertigo. The fucking vertigo. It's all I ever hear about. Hunter is constantly complaining of vertigo. "It's an inner ear thing. Inner ear. Inner ear. I can't stand up. I can't sit down. I've got vertigo." Listen, if we want to talk dizzy, let me tell you how I had to sit down while teaching today because of a major head rush. I don't know why it happened but I'm not crying "vertigo" though.

I think the only reason she fell out of the pose the other day in her class was cause she couldn't hold it. If it had been me teaching that class and not her luva Brad, I would of totally yelled, "Get up. You're weak. You suck. Get out of my class!" :)

But whatever, you say vertigo, I say dizzy. You say potato, I say patato. I hate that saying. Who but a complete asshole would say patato? 

Anyway, back to the title. What's next? Ah yes, the nettie pot. Now I love a nettie pot just as much as the next hippie or as the next person that loves a nettie pot but I think you are abusing the nettie pot Hunter. I have to interrupt myself here and tell you I once had to tell a friend to never say the words "nettie pot" to me again because I thought she used them to many times in a sentence and look, here I go doing it...  Back to my point. I think you are treating the NP like some sort of skunk bud you happened upon. It's just burning a hole baby. The thing is the NP isn't going anywhere. Give it a break. I don't want you to go blind.

And last but not least, the silver. Our dear little self appointed Facebook Police of the Pedophile Pictures has taken it upon herself to treat all her ailments with some sort of silver. It is supposed to have quite a success rate but there is that one little glitch that it could make you turn blue. It's not even her nonsense. I know it's true cause I saw it on CSI Las Vegas one time, the one with Grishom. I think that's where I saw it. There was a definitely a blue guy. I'm going to go out on a limb and ask everyone to say a little prayer for Hunter that she doesn't turn blue. I don't want her to walk around like some freak. Well, anymore than she does now. 

I love you Man.