Wednesday was a long day. I started out receiving a sweet message about Amanda which made me cry so hard I couldn’t finish eating my fiber one bar. I also knew I had a meeting with the biggest self absorbed prick to make a pitch that afternoon as well. Then top it all off with my oldest daughter was still dealing with being called fat by another kid over the weekend. My motherly instinct was to go beat up this kid and perhaps threaten to set he and his family on fire (that one’s for you Jennie), but instead I told her a phrase which I have not mastered myself. A person only treats you bad if you let them.
The whole morning reminded me of a story when Andy bought the kids hamsters for Christmas including a labyrinth of tunnels and cages. It was great except for the one named Tex was an escape artist that hissed nonstop at Amanda. One night she is home by herself and Tex proceeds to escape from the cage and supply havoc in the perfectly appointed house. He hisses at Amanda, chews on furniture, claws up her drapes, and SHITS ALL OVER HER CARPET. I have such a wonderful picture in my head of her skinny ass in a nightgown with a broom chasing that glorified rat all over her house in the middle of the night. She said he wouldn’t get the best of her. He didn’t. A few months later Tex was found in the pool drain. She said it was an accident.
We all know the type of man I met with to ask for money. He looks me up and down like a piece of meat and then makes pansy little comments about what all he can do for me and how wonderful he is to the world. I usually just sit there and act sweet and do my job to the best of my abilities. Wednesday I said to hell with that. I put on a pair of heels that looked like I could make him use his orange AND red safe words. I pulled the rest of me together and forgot about what people told me about him probably saying no to me this year. I pulled into the parking lot, slammed my car door, and pounded my heels across the pavement while listening to the sweet sound of my ego swelling.
I walked in there and proceeded to shit on his carpet. I had a smartassed reply for every comment he made. I even smiled at the son of a bitch. I leaned forward in my chair and asked for more money…..and I got it.
Now before you say I played the girl card and used my sexiness to get money out of someone please remember I spent two hours stuck behind a dryer and once sprained my foot while attempting to do the electric slide in my office while wearing high heeled boots. Erin Brockovich I am not.
Also he didn’t see me turn my ankle and bust my ass in the parking lot after the meeting. I didn’t let him treat me bad…
Friday, June 17, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Hobbies
Since I sit around with a lot of time on my hands, I have hobbies. Here are a few.
Purchase Redbox movies. I know they are $1 per night but I much prefer to lose them under a kid’s bed and never see them again. I only know I buy them after a $24 charge shows up on my bank statement.
Let people give me guilt trips. I love sitting around with another mother who tells me she is the world’s best parent because she breastfed for a century, doesn’t RUN because that would take time away from her children, and certainly does not go out of town to compete in races because that would make her selfish. I’ve stayed at home and I’ve worked. I’ve had time to exercise and also known when I needed to hang out with family instead. To each their own. The best part is when you see and meet these champion’s children. They have obviously taken all that time that they demanded be spent with their children and spent absolutely no time parenting. You are raising a GANGSTA. If you are dying to label someone else, you might want to look in the mirror. My favorite was the one who said I was lazy because I bought pre cut carrots. She can kiss my dimpled ass.
Take the longest route possible. I have GPS on my phone and can travel across the country without a problem. I drive an extra mile just to get to Wal Mart. I do not mentally plan when on the road and feel like complete crap when I am in the right hand turn lane on Texas Boulevard when there is an arrow but I just need to go straight and a line a mile long is behind me griping about how some dumb chic is sitting still in the turn lane. “We all could have been there by now if she wasn’t sitting there like a fool.” I feel guilty.
Speak my mind. If I do not like you, I simply tell you. To your face. Give me a drink and I’ll tell you why I don’t like you and what I do or do not like about your family. I have actually told someone-“I like you, your sister—not so much.”
Don’t Listen. I don’t listen to good advice. I don’t listen to bad advice. I don’t listen to my husband. Not is the way you might think as in he tells me advice, because he doesn’t. I wouldn’t listen to him anyway. I don’t listen to a word he says sometimes. He can be talking on and on about something when we are driving somewhere for thirty minutes and then ask me a question and I realize I have not heard a word he has said. I’ve just been looking out the window thinking about shoes or some shit.
We leave next week for vacation.
As always thank for reading and I hope you feel better about yourself.
Purchase Redbox movies. I know they are $1 per night but I much prefer to lose them under a kid’s bed and never see them again. I only know I buy them after a $24 charge shows up on my bank statement.
Let people give me guilt trips. I love sitting around with another mother who tells me she is the world’s best parent because she breastfed for a century, doesn’t RUN because that would take time away from her children, and certainly does not go out of town to compete in races because that would make her selfish. I’ve stayed at home and I’ve worked. I’ve had time to exercise and also known when I needed to hang out with family instead. To each their own. The best part is when you see and meet these champion’s children. They have obviously taken all that time that they demanded be spent with their children and spent absolutely no time parenting. You are raising a GANGSTA. If you are dying to label someone else, you might want to look in the mirror. My favorite was the one who said I was lazy because I bought pre cut carrots. She can kiss my dimpled ass.
Take the longest route possible. I have GPS on my phone and can travel across the country without a problem. I drive an extra mile just to get to Wal Mart. I do not mentally plan when on the road and feel like complete crap when I am in the right hand turn lane on Texas Boulevard when there is an arrow but I just need to go straight and a line a mile long is behind me griping about how some dumb chic is sitting still in the turn lane. “We all could have been there by now if she wasn’t sitting there like a fool.” I feel guilty.
Speak my mind. If I do not like you, I simply tell you. To your face. Give me a drink and I’ll tell you why I don’t like you and what I do or do not like about your family. I have actually told someone-“I like you, your sister—not so much.”
Don’t Listen. I don’t listen to good advice. I don’t listen to bad advice. I don’t listen to my husband. Not is the way you might think as in he tells me advice, because he doesn’t. I wouldn’t listen to him anyway. I don’t listen to a word he says sometimes. He can be talking on and on about something when we are driving somewhere for thirty minutes and then ask me a question and I realize I have not heard a word he has said. I’ve just been looking out the window thinking about shoes or some shit.
We leave next week for vacation.
As always thank for reading and I hope you feel better about yourself.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Triathlon I
I competed in my first ever triathlon this weekend. Triathlons consist of a swim, bike ride, and a run. I tried to compete in one a few weeks ago in Galveston, but the wind and storms kept us from swimming. Believe me there was no love lost there. Let me give you a brief history of my life in the water.
Ever been to a water park as a teenager with all your buddies in bikinis and you have on a huge life vest? I have. Trust me; it is hard to look cool in a large orange floatation device. Ever have to take a six week course at the local community college to learn how to put your face in the water without having a panic attack? I have. Taken swimming lessons at the country club pool on your lunch break while the tennis ladies and their toddlers look on with sympathy? That would be me.
I have always wanted to do a triathlon, but I knew not being able to swim would hold me back. Well, that and hardly being able to ride a bike. I spent my bonus from work on a racing bike when I decided I would train to do triathlons. If you are not familiar with road bikes, let me give you an example. The tires are about half an inch wide and the seat is not much bigger. On my first ride I rolled rather quickly over a speed bump. Evidently shocks would weigh down the bike and defeat the purpose of racing. I honestly thought my uterus was going to fall out of my body onto that speed bump. Over the past couple of years I have grown accustomed to riding the bike and it no longer stings when I pee.
On a serious note, I loved the way the race was put on by Mike Riley. I think all races should start with a large group prayer. I especially liked that Mike told everyone to put their hand on their heart and look at the flag during the National Anthem. No questions. No complaints. Just do it. Everyone did.
The men start the swim portion of the race three minutes prior to the women. The men wear blue swim caps and the women wear red. Go Hogs. I knew to wait until all colors were in the water before I began the 650 yard battle with the murky water. Imagine my excitement when I made the last turn and realized I was about to pass two blue swim caps! I passed the first man only to realize he was obviously twice my age. The next blue cap seemed to be my age, so I sprinted as hard as I could the last 150 yards. Even though I tried as hard as I could, he still beat me to the finish. When we emerged from the water I saw he had only one arm.
Well Shit.
I felt guilty and inspired. I have no excuses. No one has excuses. We can all do what seems impossible, and none of us need to whine about our obstacles. Pretty deep thoughts coming from a woman who got her ass handed to her by a one armed man.
I then entered the transition area. This is where you get ready for the next leg of the race. I guess I thought it was the area in which you lay down and rest your eyes for a little bit, because most transition times were about a minute. Mine was over four. So what. I finished the bike and run portions with decent times. The operative word there is finished. There was a keg at the end of the race. Some people are strong in the swim while others are strong in the bike or run.
I am strong in the beer.
Thank you for reading my post and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
Ever been to a water park as a teenager with all your buddies in bikinis and you have on a huge life vest? I have. Trust me; it is hard to look cool in a large orange floatation device. Ever have to take a six week course at the local community college to learn how to put your face in the water without having a panic attack? I have. Taken swimming lessons at the country club pool on your lunch break while the tennis ladies and their toddlers look on with sympathy? That would be me.
I have always wanted to do a triathlon, but I knew not being able to swim would hold me back. Well, that and hardly being able to ride a bike. I spent my bonus from work on a racing bike when I decided I would train to do triathlons. If you are not familiar with road bikes, let me give you an example. The tires are about half an inch wide and the seat is not much bigger. On my first ride I rolled rather quickly over a speed bump. Evidently shocks would weigh down the bike and defeat the purpose of racing. I honestly thought my uterus was going to fall out of my body onto that speed bump. Over the past couple of years I have grown accustomed to riding the bike and it no longer stings when I pee.
On a serious note, I loved the way the race was put on by Mike Riley. I think all races should start with a large group prayer. I especially liked that Mike told everyone to put their hand on their heart and look at the flag during the National Anthem. No questions. No complaints. Just do it. Everyone did.
The men start the swim portion of the race three minutes prior to the women. The men wear blue swim caps and the women wear red. Go Hogs. I knew to wait until all colors were in the water before I began the 650 yard battle with the murky water. Imagine my excitement when I made the last turn and realized I was about to pass two blue swim caps! I passed the first man only to realize he was obviously twice my age. The next blue cap seemed to be my age, so I sprinted as hard as I could the last 150 yards. Even though I tried as hard as I could, he still beat me to the finish. When we emerged from the water I saw he had only one arm.
Well Shit.
I felt guilty and inspired. I have no excuses. No one has excuses. We can all do what seems impossible, and none of us need to whine about our obstacles. Pretty deep thoughts coming from a woman who got her ass handed to her by a one armed man.
I then entered the transition area. This is where you get ready for the next leg of the race. I guess I thought it was the area in which you lay down and rest your eyes for a little bit, because most transition times were about a minute. Mine was over four. So what. I finished the bike and run portions with decent times. The operative word there is finished. There was a keg at the end of the race. Some people are strong in the swim while others are strong in the bike or run.
I am strong in the beer.
Thank you for reading my post and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
Triathlon II
As many of you recall, I completed my first full triathlon last year around this time. I blogged about the experience and was amazed at the responses I received. Some of the highlights were as follows –
1. I finished the swim in record time.
2. I damn near took a nap in the first transition between the swim and bike. Therefore I had the longest transition time out of 335 people.
3. I had my ass handed to me in the swim by a one armed man.
4. I drank a beer the moment after I ran across the finish line.
I completed the same triathlon yesterday, but it was not the same experience. Some things were the same though. Mike Riley and his group of volunteers did an amazing job as always. I love that he tells everyone to put their hands over their hearts for the national anthem, and everyone does. I love the time reserved for prayer, even if some young dumbasses laughed and talked during it. I did restrain myself from not yelling, “What the Hell is your problem? Can’t you see people are praying?” I did however stop my own personal prayer time and give them the evil eye. I think I made my point.
Since it was unusually cold Sunday morning we were allowed to wear wetsuits in the water. My wetsuit and required swim cap made me look like an orca wearing a yellow condom. Maybe it was because I was swimming in Lake Infectious. Maybe it was the cold weather, or perhaps it was because it was my first race of the season, but for some reason I had a panic attack in the water. For those of you who are not familiar with panic attacks, my heart pounded until my chest hurt. My arms went numb and refused to work, and I was gasping for air. In other words, I LOST MY SHIT in the water. I haven’t had a panic attack in years and was amazingly disappointed with myself for having one in the damn water at a race. I hung on to one of the rescue canoes off and on for the remainder of the swim. I refused to cry in my goggles. The operator of the canoe was amazing and we had a nice chat. I owe him a steak dinner.
Since I was the last person out of the water, I knew I needed to make up time on the bike and run. This was my plan for about 4 seconds until the zipper on my wetsuit messed up and it took three people to get me out of it. I had to pee really bad and most people just pee in the wetsuit but since I was obviously in no hurry I said to hell with it and just walked to the actual bathroom and used a real toilet before I got on my bike. Many people only have about 2 minutes transition in between the swim and the bike. With my zipper issues and my trip to the shitter my transition time was about 10 minutes.
I saw an older woman get on her bike a few minutes before I mounted mine and decided I was going to pass her. I had to make up some time and needed some inspiration. Where is that one armed bastard when you need him? I needed a reason to make myself push harder. I kept telling myself I could catch that old bitch.
That old bitch could move. I didn’t pass her until the run. After her - I passed someone else. I did not, however, pass the keg when I was finished.
I was on beer number three during the awards when my name was called. WHAT? I won 4th place in my age group. I don’t give a rats flying fat ass if there were only 4 women in my age group. I actually won something! I have never won any type of race, raffle, door prize, or nose picking contest in my life! So many times during that race I wanted to quit. I wanted to cry often but knew I wanted to finish. I reminded myself of that when I had my picture taken with my beautiful 4th place sign. I. AM. AWESOME.
And then I locked my keys in the car.
As always, thank you for reading my post, and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
1. I finished the swim in record time.
2. I damn near took a nap in the first transition between the swim and bike. Therefore I had the longest transition time out of 335 people.
3. I had my ass handed to me in the swim by a one armed man.
4. I drank a beer the moment after I ran across the finish line.
I completed the same triathlon yesterday, but it was not the same experience. Some things were the same though. Mike Riley and his group of volunteers did an amazing job as always. I love that he tells everyone to put their hands over their hearts for the national anthem, and everyone does. I love the time reserved for prayer, even if some young dumbasses laughed and talked during it. I did restrain myself from not yelling, “What the Hell is your problem? Can’t you see people are praying?” I did however stop my own personal prayer time and give them the evil eye. I think I made my point.
Since it was unusually cold Sunday morning we were allowed to wear wetsuits in the water. My wetsuit and required swim cap made me look like an orca wearing a yellow condom. Maybe it was because I was swimming in Lake Infectious. Maybe it was the cold weather, or perhaps it was because it was my first race of the season, but for some reason I had a panic attack in the water. For those of you who are not familiar with panic attacks, my heart pounded until my chest hurt. My arms went numb and refused to work, and I was gasping for air. In other words, I LOST MY SHIT in the water. I haven’t had a panic attack in years and was amazingly disappointed with myself for having one in the damn water at a race. I hung on to one of the rescue canoes off and on for the remainder of the swim. I refused to cry in my goggles. The operator of the canoe was amazing and we had a nice chat. I owe him a steak dinner.
Since I was the last person out of the water, I knew I needed to make up time on the bike and run. This was my plan for about 4 seconds until the zipper on my wetsuit messed up and it took three people to get me out of it. I had to pee really bad and most people just pee in the wetsuit but since I was obviously in no hurry I said to hell with it and just walked to the actual bathroom and used a real toilet before I got on my bike. Many people only have about 2 minutes transition in between the swim and the bike. With my zipper issues and my trip to the shitter my transition time was about 10 minutes.
I saw an older woman get on her bike a few minutes before I mounted mine and decided I was going to pass her. I had to make up some time and needed some inspiration. Where is that one armed bastard when you need him? I needed a reason to make myself push harder. I kept telling myself I could catch that old bitch.
That old bitch could move. I didn’t pass her until the run. After her - I passed someone else. I did not, however, pass the keg when I was finished.
I was on beer number three during the awards when my name was called. WHAT? I won 4th place in my age group. I don’t give a rats flying fat ass if there were only 4 women in my age group. I actually won something! I have never won any type of race, raffle, door prize, or nose picking contest in my life! So many times during that race I wanted to quit. I wanted to cry often but knew I wanted to finish. I reminded myself of that when I had my picture taken with my beautiful 4th place sign. I. AM. AWESOME.
And then I locked my keys in the car.
As always, thank you for reading my post, and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Tinker my Ride
I just spent five days in San Francisco and loved it. Why? Because my dumbass ran all over that town and saw most of the sights before dawn while traveling at about a 9:30 minute mile. That S.O.B. is hilly.
I attended a conference on Tinkering at the Exploratorium. For my dirty minded friends, and you know who you are, it is not like that at one of those places in San Francisco. It was about working with items in an experimental manner inside our children’s museums. Basically you set up a bunch of stuff and let kids create whatever they want. It might use gears, small motors, marbles, artwork, you name it. Then we went on to a tour of a place called the Crucible to see Tinkering in the real world. The Crucible is a non-profit educational facility that fosters a collaboration of Arts, Industry and Community. Through training in the fine and industrial arts, The Crucible promotes creative expression, reuse of materials and innovative design while serving as an accessible arts venue for the general public. Basically if you like to work with metals, glass, etc you can do it there on your own time. I thought the concept was awesome, even though the marketing director that gave us the tour made my ass twitch every time she opened her annoying mouth. But I digress.
There was an area in the Crucible where bikes were being remade, repaired, and even turned into art. A few of us thought a great idea would be to have a workshop at our museums called “Tinker my Ride”. You could have people bring in bikes, wagons, whatever. I immediately thought of my sisters ten speed that I borrowed without asking when I was ten.
I have always been a bit of a slow starter, and did not learn how to ride a bike until age ten. Once I finally mastered my ugly bike with the great big banana seat I started eyeing Cindy’s light blue ten speed. One Saturday I hauled ass (read casually rode) out of the garage before anyone else noticed and made my rounds in the neighborhood. Low and behold I saw the hottest boy in sixth grade mowing his lawn. Some things never change as even then I had NO FREAKING CLUE how to deal with the opposite sex. I just watched. I was still riding my bike past his yard and I was still watching him to the point my neck was straining. My neighborhood did not have curbs on its streets. Rather it just had concrete slopes from the edge of the street to the edge of the lawns. The next thing I know I hit the mailbox of the hottest boy in sixth grade and became airborne. Luckily his driveway broke my fall after I sailed over his mailbox. He stopped the mower and came to help me while I was in his driveway with bleeding legs and road rash all over my arms. My sister’s bike was simply put – beat to shit. I kept telling him I was fine and attempted to ride oh so casually away on the bike but the front tire was now in the shape of an “L” and would only go in circles. He offered to have his mom drive me home but I refused and carried my bike while limping down the road.
I think this set the tone for my future dealings with boys and men. Simply put, I AM SMOOTH.
I attended a conference on Tinkering at the Exploratorium. For my dirty minded friends, and you know who you are, it is not like that at one of those places in San Francisco. It was about working with items in an experimental manner inside our children’s museums. Basically you set up a bunch of stuff and let kids create whatever they want. It might use gears, small motors, marbles, artwork, you name it. Then we went on to a tour of a place called the Crucible to see Tinkering in the real world. The Crucible is a non-profit educational facility that fosters a collaboration of Arts, Industry and Community. Through training in the fine and industrial arts, The Crucible promotes creative expression, reuse of materials and innovative design while serving as an accessible arts venue for the general public. Basically if you like to work with metals, glass, etc you can do it there on your own time. I thought the concept was awesome, even though the marketing director that gave us the tour made my ass twitch every time she opened her annoying mouth. But I digress.
There was an area in the Crucible where bikes were being remade, repaired, and even turned into art. A few of us thought a great idea would be to have a workshop at our museums called “Tinker my Ride”. You could have people bring in bikes, wagons, whatever. I immediately thought of my sisters ten speed that I borrowed without asking when I was ten.
I have always been a bit of a slow starter, and did not learn how to ride a bike until age ten. Once I finally mastered my ugly bike with the great big banana seat I started eyeing Cindy’s light blue ten speed. One Saturday I hauled ass (read casually rode) out of the garage before anyone else noticed and made my rounds in the neighborhood. Low and behold I saw the hottest boy in sixth grade mowing his lawn. Some things never change as even then I had NO FREAKING CLUE how to deal with the opposite sex. I just watched. I was still riding my bike past his yard and I was still watching him to the point my neck was straining. My neighborhood did not have curbs on its streets. Rather it just had concrete slopes from the edge of the street to the edge of the lawns. The next thing I know I hit the mailbox of the hottest boy in sixth grade and became airborne. Luckily his driveway broke my fall after I sailed over his mailbox. He stopped the mower and came to help me while I was in his driveway with bleeding legs and road rash all over my arms. My sister’s bike was simply put – beat to shit. I kept telling him I was fine and attempted to ride oh so casually away on the bike but the front tire was now in the shape of an “L” and would only go in circles. He offered to have his mom drive me home but I refused and carried my bike while limping down the road.
I think this set the tone for my future dealings with boys and men. Simply put, I AM SMOOTH.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Laugh
Through the past 17 years my husband and I have made each other laugh constantly. This is probably why it is 17 years and not 17 months. It was 19 years ago when he first made me giggle while sitting on his ice chest at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon house. No matter I was there on a date with another guy, which is just a mere detail. Next was two years of flirting every time we saw each other. He told me years later once he spotted me in Wal Mart and ran his cart all over the store trying to “accidentally” run into me on an aisle. I never knew he was there. Go figure. He also made me laugh so hard the night we actually saw each other in My Pleasure. It was a Thursday night and he was inviting me to something that weekend. I told him no since I was going home for the weekend for a special ceremony at my church back in Starkville, Mississippi. He asked me what church I attended and I told him I was Presbyterian. He said, “ Ewww Weee! And you are in a bar and wearing pants! I like your style!” I laughed out loud.
He was dead serious.
Two short months into our relationship came Christmas break which meant he went to Texarkana and I was back in Starkville. I awaited his call every night since my mother would not allow my sisters and me to call boys. (Now when he calls me every day at work and asks what I’m doing I say Working! Like I have nothing else to do all day but sit around and dream about him. My, how things change. ) There was a break in our phone calls since I was going on a business trip with my parents to San Antonio. The five day trip was wonderful until the flight home when I started feeling bad. By the time we landed I was in such a cold sweat I looked like I was carrying cocaine filled balloons somewhere in my body. Turns out the chicken I consumed the day before on the Riverwalk was undercooked. The family doctor also determined that I caught an additional stomach virus upon my return home, which resulted in four days from hell.
Chad, while still wearing his new relationship rose colored glasses, called on the last night of my trip to the underworld. Since I was a sweating gelatinous mass on my mother’s bathroom floor, Chad spoke only to my mother. The conversation went like this:
“Well she’s had horrible vomiting and hellacious diarrhea for 4 days. I mean horrible. She threw up all over her clothes so she’s been naked in the bed or on the floor of the bathroom. She even threw up on me! She actually passed out on the kitchen floor trying to get some Sprite one night and one of her sisters found her on the floor. Chad, I have to let you go. Her father just got back from the pharmacy with her suppository. I’m sure she should feel better by tomorrow. Why don’t you call back then.”
Chad said he laughed until he cried. THANKS MOM!
Thank you for reading, and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
He was dead serious.
Two short months into our relationship came Christmas break which meant he went to Texarkana and I was back in Starkville. I awaited his call every night since my mother would not allow my sisters and me to call boys. (Now when he calls me every day at work and asks what I’m doing I say Working! Like I have nothing else to do all day but sit around and dream about him. My, how things change. ) There was a break in our phone calls since I was going on a business trip with my parents to San Antonio. The five day trip was wonderful until the flight home when I started feeling bad. By the time we landed I was in such a cold sweat I looked like I was carrying cocaine filled balloons somewhere in my body. Turns out the chicken I consumed the day before on the Riverwalk was undercooked. The family doctor also determined that I caught an additional stomach virus upon my return home, which resulted in four days from hell.
Chad, while still wearing his new relationship rose colored glasses, called on the last night of my trip to the underworld. Since I was a sweating gelatinous mass on my mother’s bathroom floor, Chad spoke only to my mother. The conversation went like this:
“Well she’s had horrible vomiting and hellacious diarrhea for 4 days. I mean horrible. She threw up all over her clothes so she’s been naked in the bed or on the floor of the bathroom. She even threw up on me! She actually passed out on the kitchen floor trying to get some Sprite one night and one of her sisters found her on the floor. Chad, I have to let you go. Her father just got back from the pharmacy with her suppository. I’m sure she should feel better by tomorrow. Why don’t you call back then.”
Chad said he laughed until he cried. THANKS MOM!
Thank you for reading, and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Amanda
Amanda was a friend of mine. She was the type of friend that would drive you to Shreveport for your post op visit with your plastic surgeon. She would go to a wedding and say it was nicer than any of hers. She was a genius with hair color.
She was also in a horrible place within her own mind. To her it was not a choice, but the only light at the end of the tunnel. Many people we know have problems. Some of us are functioning alcoholics, but Amanda had the balls to actually try to do something about it. She never swept it under the rug. In fact, there was never anything under her rugs because her house was always spotless. Her homes were showplaces, and she strived so hard to make herself that way too.
She could have a baby with no drugs and almost give birth while her husband was driving through the ATM. She could give amazing baby showers. She gave me two. We all knew about Amanda’s problems by word of mouth. During a divorce I called her and told her she WAS going to our Junior League meeting. She WAS going to sit with me on the front damn row and everyone else could suck it. I had also just had a baby a few weeks prior. The meeting ran a little long and my milk started to leak and seep through my shirt. I had huge round wet spots on the front of my shirt. Amanda said, “Oh great, we are the slut and the slurpie machine.” We greatly offended the woman giving a speech while we were laughing out loud.
We all have holes inside us, but people fill them in different ways. I run to keep my demons down. Amanda’s was just larger than most. No amount of husbands, shoes, handbags, or help could fill it. She was a good mother who tried her best. Please remember that fact the next time you hear gossip about someone. Talking to everyone you know about someone else’s demons only shows your own.
Amanda drove me to a post op visit. After helping me walk into the waiting room and picking up a few brochures for herself, she went shopping. Once she helped me back in the car she gave me a little present she had just bought. It was a hideous black thong with a pink bow on the back. She flung it on me and said Chad would like it. It is extremely uncomfortable. How do I know? I dug it out of my drawer this morning and threw that bad boy on under my jeans. I could think of no better way to celebrate my beautiful friend’s life today. I hope you can find a way to celebrate her life also.
She was also in a horrible place within her own mind. To her it was not a choice, but the only light at the end of the tunnel. Many people we know have problems. Some of us are functioning alcoholics, but Amanda had the balls to actually try to do something about it. She never swept it under the rug. In fact, there was never anything under her rugs because her house was always spotless. Her homes were showplaces, and she strived so hard to make herself that way too.
She could have a baby with no drugs and almost give birth while her husband was driving through the ATM. She could give amazing baby showers. She gave me two. We all knew about Amanda’s problems by word of mouth. During a divorce I called her and told her she WAS going to our Junior League meeting. She WAS going to sit with me on the front damn row and everyone else could suck it. I had also just had a baby a few weeks prior. The meeting ran a little long and my milk started to leak and seep through my shirt. I had huge round wet spots on the front of my shirt. Amanda said, “Oh great, we are the slut and the slurpie machine.” We greatly offended the woman giving a speech while we were laughing out loud.
We all have holes inside us, but people fill them in different ways. I run to keep my demons down. Amanda’s was just larger than most. No amount of husbands, shoes, handbags, or help could fill it. She was a good mother who tried her best. Please remember that fact the next time you hear gossip about someone. Talking to everyone you know about someone else’s demons only shows your own.
Amanda drove me to a post op visit. After helping me walk into the waiting room and picking up a few brochures for herself, she went shopping. Once she helped me back in the car she gave me a little present she had just bought. It was a hideous black thong with a pink bow on the back. She flung it on me and said Chad would like it. It is extremely uncomfortable. How do I know? I dug it out of my drawer this morning and threw that bad boy on under my jeans. I could think of no better way to celebrate my beautiful friend’s life today. I hope you can find a way to celebrate her life also.
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