Tuff Enough

I tear shit up all the time.  Really, I do.  My Mother and husband have both told me the same thing in nicer words. 

At home I tend to stick with vacuum cleaners, small appliances, and the psyche of young children.  This blog will focus on what I tear up at work. 

This is what I tore up at my last job.  OK, this is ONE of the things I tore up at my last job. 

This was taken at the Christmas Party.  I had to get food out of my trunk, so I put my box of WWI items on the ground.  And I left them there.  Please notice that my front wheel is on the box in the picture.  That is because I backed over the box with the back AND front wheels.  That stuff survived a war, but not me. 

So I get a new job.....

And I proceed to scratch the SHIT out of the brand new conference table. 

I was getting many large boxes together for an event I was doing and happened to place one of those plastic tubs on the conference table in order to count the items inside it.  When I removed the tub....

You know when you have those horrible feelings in the pit of your stomach? Like when you realize someone you thought was your good friend was actually bothered by you and was just using you for what they wanted?  And then you think to yourself, "How could I have been so stupid?"

I felt like a complete and total idiot.  I've been using Q-tips and lemon oil to try to hide it.  I hope you can see it in the picture.  I see it every time I am within 20 feet of the damn thing. 

I am staying with some great friends this weekend.  Hope I don't burn the place down to the ground. 

Thank you for reading my blog, and I hope you feel better about yourself......

Fear

I love running in my neighborhood. That being said, I have some jacked up neighbors.

This morning I am running along my street in the predawn silence when I see a lighted attic window in one of the houses. Upon closer inspection I see an elderly couple dressed in clothes from the 1920’s. They are staring out the window while other white haired people are standing next to them. I try not to believe in ghost because it is not “biblical”. Neither is having a heart attack in the middle of the damn street.

That immediate stomach dropping/ gasping for air / piss yourself inducing/ legs turning to jello fear is a very real feeling in my life. I distinctly remember feeling it as a teenager once when I was sneaking back into my house only to see my father standing there waiting for me.

 On a side note, my father had four daughters. In front of all of our windows were huge thorny bushes. I became quite the acrobat while training my body to arch around the thorns in order to go hang out with my friends. Seriously, I was doing some Cirque du Soleil shit. Take that Jim.

I have plenty of fear in my life. I fear my children might have a life altering accident and I will wish the rest of my life it had happened to me. I fear running out of money. I fear that people hate me. Hell, I fear I might catch one of those freaky diseases that cause you to have those huge skin tags all over your face and body. Like that guy on the Discovery Channel that looks like a circus act with the huge swelling and flaps. I guess I am afraid I might wake up one morning, look in the mirror and say, “Well Shit”.

I am also good at conquering my fears. Swimming, flying, talking to people I do not know, eating oysters, zip lining, and letting people touch my feet just to name a few. I also have anxiety due to my fears. I have learned to use trust and belief as a way to conquer these daily fears and to relieve my stress. I also take medication.

I know it is my deep spiritual beliefs that kept me from chewing out those neighbors for putting mannequins in their attic. This morning I screamed, “Jesus!” Not because I was taking the Lord’s name in vain, but because I was in serious need of him to show up. As in there was only one pair of footprints in the sand because I WAS CARRYING YOU!!!!!!

If I do ever go down there and give them a piece of my mind it will not be pretty. It will be one pair of daisy dukes and a tube top short of House Wives of Miller County. I will be about 6 beers in and I might even bring Lacy. And Caroline….

Looks like I have plans for tonight!

Why?

I have a few blogs written that are neatly arranged and awaiting their moment to shine. Today I want to publish a list of incoherent mumblings. Because. I. Can.

Here are few of my questions –

Why is there such a stigma attached to mental health hospitals? Three meals a day – made by someone else – and served to me in bed. You cannot beat that with a stick. Then you get to go talk to someone about everything that is bothering you. Later in the day you can talk to a group about all of your problems. All of this is done in your pajamas and/or bathrobe. Some even have a religious side to them. Peace, quiet, and bible study.

Why do I get so mad when my bible study is interrupted? Perhaps I am not gleaming all that I should from these lessons because I get pissed when someone walks in the room. Can I not have a minute by my damn self? Maybe I shouldn’t do them at work.

Why do I always assume all people are wonderful? I fill in what I don’t know about them with positive ideologies, and then I get upset when I find the truth. Always a disappointment, but then again I always set myself up for it.

Why do State Troopers look at me like I am crazy when I get gas in my tooth fairy outfit? I’m the tooth fairy – not a hooker. If I was a hooker I would not be a very good one considering that I am looking for business in the middle of the day. Add that to the long list of why I would not be a good hooker.

Speaking of hookers, why do the makers of clothing for teenage girls seem to be pimps? I found myself telling my oldest daughter this weekend that there was no way I was spending her daddy’s hard earned money on clothes that made her look like a hooker. She said, “Did you have to say that? Out loud?”

Why didn’t Petrino get a Go Phone?

I’ve talked about this one before…. Why is there not a mind reading class for men? I think the prerequisite for the class should be Hint Taking. I have discussed this in a blog before, and still no class. I really wish someone should make it happen. Someone get James Henry on the horn.

Why is Airplane still my favorite movie of all time? I first saw the movie when I was six. My family and I were traveling to Mexico for a vacation. We spent the night in New Orleans the night before we flew to Mexico early the next morning. I spent the night in the hotel room with my three older sisters. I honestly could not understand why my parents did not want me in the room with them to keep them company. My sisters let me watch a movie about a plane crashing. I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue.

Why am I so gifted in sticking my foot in my mouth? This deserves an entire blog.

Why am I in such a bad mood lately? Maybe I just need to go hang out at Lacy’s house for a night. We drink beer, talk about everything that is bothering us, lie around the next morning in pajamas, and…….

Wait. I see a correlation here…..

Thanks for reading, and I hope you feel better about yourself.

Buffet

This weekend we went to the Easter Buffet at the Country Club where I proceeded to fling fish across the serving line and flung melon on the floor. You would think I would know my way around a large grouping of self serve food. Buffets are important to our family, so much so that we went to early church to ensure we could get to the buffet before all the good shit was gone.

My first experience with buffets was Duff’s as a child. I thought it was an amazing place, especially since you could stand in one spot while the items turned on a wheel in front of you. There were little dividers so it was like the prize portion of Wheel of Fortune when you could still pick your prizes out of certain rooms. It was my five year old dream come true to be able to reach up and snatch a plate of fried chicken off the wheel. I was finally tall enough to do so when I turned six. I even got to carry my own tray. I kept standing there because I just knew something better was going to come along next. It probably took me 20 minutes to decide what I wanted. I got fried chicken and jello. After ranting and raving about being able to carry my own tray, I was a ball of nerves walking to the table. When I finally reached my destination, I exhaled a sigh of relief.

I traveled quite a bit to various luxurious destinations with my parents while I was a child. I expanded my palette over time in wonderful restaurants. I can also tell you I heard the words, “Look! It’s a buffet!” numerous times in my childhood. Now when my entire family gets together for special occasions, we have to go to a buffet. Imagine 25 Klumps descending on a buffet. That’s us.

A few years ago Lacy and I went on a cruise together. She was pregnant for the cruise so therefore I promised her I would have her back if anything went down on the boat. Be careful when you say you’ve got a pregnant woman’s back. I walked into the buffet one morning when I saw Lacy loudly telling some woman, “The Line For The Buffet Starts Back There!” while pointing her finger to the back of the line. The term “some woman” was being used loosely because my pregnant friend was talking smack to a 400 pound freight train that evidently trained for the woman’s German weightlifting team. After the situation was diffused and the woman was too afraid to cut, I asked Lacy why she had to pick the biggest bitch on the boat. She replied, “that bitch picked the wrong buffet”.

I understand about being pregnant on a cruise. I was pregnant with my third child on a cruise and would set my alarm for the midnight buffet. The pizza buffet was open 24 hrs so I would wake up early, get pizza, then go back to sleep before breakfast. When I returned home and stepped up to the scales at the doctor’s office the nurse asked what the hell happened. I hug my head as far as my double chin would allow and confessed I wanted to get my money’s worth out of the cruise.

I’m sure now you are expecting my analogy of life as it pertains to a buffet. Maybe a reference to standing and waiting for something better to come along. Perhaps something about how life offers you too much.

No. Sorry. Just remember to get to the buffet before all the good shit is gone.


Thanks for reading and i hope you feel a little better about yourself.

Lacy

My workouts with Lacy have been fun from the beginning. Maybe not so much fun for her, but fun for me. She has called me names, given me dirty looks, and even threatened to make a voo doo doll in my likeness. Here is a sample of our conversations the first week-

Lacy – “I hate you. You and your skinny ass. It feels wonderful to be able to tell you that, since I would have to be nice to a trainer I paid. You, I can tell you I hate you for free. Doesn’t that make you feel better?”

Me – “No, not really. No.”

In the coming weeks she adjusted to the workouts (but supposedly whimpered in her sleep), and her body was ready for the next level. Our conversations were more like this-

Lacy – “I’m not wanting to look like Jean Claude Van Damme in two weeks here! Let’s ease into it!”

Me – “It’s just some push ups”

Lacy – “I think you are trying to kill me.”

Every weekend we go for a two hour walk. We pick different neighborhoods, and discuss all of the different houses. We are usually very nice. We do periodically make the comment that the owners of certain houses need to make a run to the shit store to pick up more shit since they obviously don’t have enough shit in their yards. We are masters are sarcasm when we get together.

Our topic of conversation this weekend was a new show on HGTV called Houseboat Hunters. For a good 30 minutes we discussed that fact that one of the houseboats had an incinerator toilet in that bathroom which the real estate agent said “might” create an odor. Really? We decided that there was a damn good possibility that BURNING SHIT would cause an odor. We are not rocket scientists, but we do know a thing or two.

If you ever see two women walking/running while flailing their arms and stopping occasionally to almost curl up in a ball, its ok. We are not in pain, but we are laughing hysterically.

Speaking of scents and smells, one morning I sprayed on a little perfume before heading out the door at 5:00am. I have worn the same rose scented perfume since age 12 and will continue to do so until the day I die. I’m not one for sudden change. This is the conversation that followed---

Lacy – “You smell like my Grandmother.”

Me – “Was your grandmother a dirty whore? I sincerely hope not.”


Thank you for reading, and I hope you feel a little better about yourself.

amanda was a friend of mine

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.

The Cat and I

We have a kick ass cat.

I say that because she is one tough old cat. She kills birds, squirrels, rats, and even a single snake. Sure, you say, all cats do stuff like that. It’s just their nature. Nope, our cat is special because she has no claws. That’s right, we send an unequipped cat into the wild world and she comes home with her own supper.

Our youngest daughter always feels we need to do more for our cat. She thinks this cat needs a stocking hung just for her at Christmas. What in the hell are we going to get for that cat that she really needs? Make her some opposable thumbs out of toothpicks? Night vision goggles? A sniper rifle? Seriously, she is holding her own.

Earlier this winter the cat and I had a couple of bonding moments. No we didn’t snuggle in the bed or watch Beaches together, we just came to a mutual understanding. One cold afternoon I was driving down our street when out cat bolted out in front of me. This by itself wouldn’t be so odd other than the fact she had a dead bird in her mouth. She stopped from her sprint in the middle of the street, looked dead at me with that bird in her mouth, and gave me a look that said, “you might be next”. Then she sprinted into a neighbor’s yard only to, I assume, mutilate the carcass. Better their house than mine…..

The next time was about two weeks later when we were completely out of cat food, and not much food for the humans. I was at home alone with the kids, and realized the poor cat was starving. Knowing that she obviously worked her ass off to get her own food and had come up short, I decided to give her a cat and human treat – Prosciutto.

She refused to eat it. The shit came from Dallas and she would rather lick her own ass than eat it. Was she worried about her sodium intake? Did she want it wrapped around cantaloupe? Then I realized that she was just like me. She can do her own thing, take care of herself, and just wants love. Nothing fancy.

I also understand about missing something. I can’t have anymore children because I simply don’t have all the parts I need anymore. Did I really want more kids before I had that surgery? Maybe not. Is it really making a difference now? No. I am still awesome no matter what I am missing. I kick ass.

No matter what, you just can’t keep a good kitty down.