Monday, December 22, 2014

My Wedding Dress Is Snow Camo


This place is currently under construction. Not really. Blogger did that for me. I just need to write.
                                                              Photo credit: Pinterest

I'm snarky at times, well, most times. My humor might be a twist of the unusual, warped, jaded, or out of the box. I guarantee I am not a serial killer or hater of men by any means. Men are beautiful. Serial killers should die. That's pretty much my summation of that.

I have another's about cop stuff mostly. It has a little of me as well. This is going to be more along the lines of real people stuff. Not that cops aren't real people, because they are. However, cop issues won't apply to this site much. No politics. No cop stuff. Just the inside and daily battles. I mostly battle with myself. I think it is enough of a challenge by itself.

I was married to my first husband for about 22 years. He left me when he found greener grass. It took him a year into the affair to decide that whiskey sluts who liked to party were better than a homebody who was an overachiever cop. When I say grass...I mean the kind that has fermented. I'm kind of bitter about that. Not that I blame him for our marital problems, but I really do not think she is a nice person. Actually, she is nasty mean and very selfish. Many mutual acquaintances will say the same, so I am not biased. I never liked her before she slept with my husband. She isn't nice to my daughter. That part boils my blood. I could care less what she does with my ex-husband.

My husband and I had never considered divorce, although we had thrown it around in anger a couple times. We had then agreed settling on murder, a much better choice for the surviving spouse. When we got mad at each other, we would joke about shoot, shovel, and shut up...the western way. Of course, we were kidding. Maybe. Yes, we were. Divorce is equivalent to CIA interrogation: waterboarding, poking your eyes out, hitting you over the head with a two by four, pulling your fingernails off with a letter opener, and a quadruple bypass. All at once. I'm sure the spies didn't get that crazy. They should have put everyone through a divorce. They would have gotten more confessions and their opponents would not have hung them out to dry on the news.

We probably should not have married. I could count the reasons. However, we didn't fix what was broken either. I blame the both of us. We were both lost in ourselves. Our daughter is the one who really suffered.

The second marriage...three years...but really I count only 2 weeks. See...he decided to Internet date 100 women and not ever move into the house after I moved 1800 miles. My wagons went east to him...he went to some lady's vagina. Most of my friends and family make fun of me about this one. I now find a lot of humor in the fact I married a serial killer. Oh, the stories.

I believe in solid, nuclear families. I'm just doing it alone.

                                                            Photo credit: Pinterest

I'm just myself...with one teenager...and two dogs.

Every time I even think about getting a boyfriend, I'm going to get another dog.

Actually, twos are great. It worked for Noah. Not boyfriends... dogs. Noah didn't have any least that I knew of. However, I have two boy dogs. I think that might have been against the ark rules.

Rules are guidelines, right?