Wednesday, December 30, 2015

The First High School Boy

Bug asked if she could go to a friend night which was chaperoned by another mother. I thought it was just a teenager girl movie thingy but I was fooled. I should have known better. There were boys. Boys hidden from The Momster because she causes embarrassment. I was to pick her up at the movies after the show was finished and take her home. I greeted her with a smile late last night...

ME: How was the movie?

BUG: Ok. I already saw Star Wars. We had to see it again because the other movie was full.

ME: Oh. Did everyone else see it twice too?

BUG: No, I was the only one.

ME: Oh. Was it great the second time?

BUG: Not really. I already saw it. 

ME: I would like to see it more than once.

*awkward silence for a few miles*

BUG: Mom. Can I tell you something?

ME: Sure (bracing myself)

BUG: There is this boy Taft who plays basketball and football and he sat next to me and we know each other from school and I wanted him to hold my hand and I moved it into position and he would bump me and poke me and I thought he was going to grab my hand but he didn't. Is it weird to be disappointed?


ME: Uh. Let's start at the beginning. Why didn't you tell your mother about boys at the movie.

BUG: Because I knew how you would react.

ME: How so?

BUG: You always want to meet them and tell them you have ninja skills and the shotgun works better after 10 pm.

ME: Actually, it is the shells go faster after 10 PM. 

BUG: See! You embarrass me.

ME: That's my job. So how did this go down?

BUG: We all started texting.

ME: Sexting?

BUG: I AM NOT A WHORE!

ME: Wow.  I did not suggest that. Just my job to interrogate the child. Using a little detective slip magic.

BUG: Stop it. 

ME: Well, I just want you to make good choices. So, when boys poke you and hit you, they like you. Stupid high school stuff.

BUG: Yeah.

ME: Well, he has a uh nice name. Taft. Rhymes with Craft. 

BUG: MOM!

ME: What?

*blalink blalink*

ME: What's that noise!?!

BUG: I got a text! He asked me if I liked the show. (holds phone to heart)

ME: Did you tell him who your mother is?

BUG: Stop it, Mom. 

ME: Let me Facetime him. After seeing Creed, I have new shadow boxing moves. Let me show him. (shows air moves while driving with no hands)

BUG: YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE!


Monday, December 28, 2015

A Real Post

It's been awhile since I have written a real post. It's easy to assume no earth shattering records have been made except in the factory making more sustainable farts which seem to send my teenager in an uproar. If you assumed that, you are correct.

After the holiday festivities and countless bad goodies devoured at my work place, I am now back on the no sugar, organic/fresh food kick my doctor placed me on. I did maketh myself sick. It was all worth it.
This is how I take selfies.


My life has suffered endless financial back steps and some little strides forward. It's a work in progress. We need not go into further detail. I did have to get brakes on the car and at least I didn't ruin the rotors this time. However, now I must save for struts and shocks. I wish it were studs and cocks. Seriously? Killing it. I can't even. (I learned how to talk TEENAGER over the holiday break.)

Balance in my checking account


The dogs had diarrhea butt explosions of proportionate quantities due to a small piece of pork chop. I know. It sounded like a good idea at the time. Merry Christmas to me. Lesson learned. At least I made sure all three of them were on the same page along with the boss's dog we were babysitting for over the break. Yeah. I could have gotten myself fired. He was just relieved it wasn't a virus after I explained the problem this morning at work. His dog poo pooed big piles all over his house too. You're welcome. So we exchanged carpet scrubbing stories. The smell still lingers up my nose. I don't even want to go home tonight because I am certain I will have to scrub again. I have zapped it with pet odor-eating bacteria-living organisms-heavy duty sanitizer-smells like nuclear warfare-stuff they say eats poop. Whew. It's bringing back visual smells just writing this.

Violated Dog courtesy of Pinterest
My dogs' poops were not cupcakes. 
This picture offends me. I don't know why I used it here. 
I just pray no one really shoved a cupcake up its ass and only photoshopped this. I'm going to go with that because thoughts of other theories really saddens me. Maybe it was really pooping and the owner covered it up with a photoshopped cupcake.  I have no idea. Disturbing anyone would even put this on Pinterest and even more disturbing that someone would use it in their blog. 


Bug has been blessed with many nice Christmas gifts and luckily I have never given her a shower of expensive fit- for- a -princess  presents. She gets presence. Of Jesus, that is. Well, that is the number one priority of Christmas in our house anyway. I do give her some nice gifts. She has received many nice things but I have never overindulged and I don't think that is good for kids. I have seen many of my friends spend hundreds even thousands on their kiddos. Then they expect it. Then they give their parents a high dollar list and expect that. Then we have lost Jesus in the mix somewhere and it is all about keeping up with the Jones's. Ridiculous. I don't know why I get irritated with spoilage. It's not a wanton thing nor a jealousy thing. It's a cop thing. Like "I'm going to have to deal with your spoiled children who don't mind, have no respect, and think they are entitled" thing. However, I'm not a cop anymore, so I just have to listen to their crap at movie theaters and Walmart. It all starts with spoilage and lack of structure. Heavens to Mergatroid! I sound like my grandmother. Scary. We might be related. Here I thought we were milk carton kids. You know? The ones who were missing and put on cartons. I know. I am dating myself. We would always look and say it was a good day if we didn't see our faces on there. Actually, I would tell my brother we had to quickly hide all the milk cartons so he wouldn't find his real parents. I was so mean.

Back to the "spoiled rod theory." Yeah. I jacked that up. But I'm not changing it because then I would have to go back and Google the exact correct saying that goes something like "spoil the child spare the rod." So anyway, I spoil mine too, but I'd like to think more so with love and punishment rather than "things." It goes hand in hand. It's amazing what a teenager will do when you take their cell phone away. Shazam!

And believe me...she is not and has not been deprived by any means. She even made mention to me this year that her Facebook was plastered with friends showing off piles of presents under the tree that were past halfway up and out on the floor and bragging about all their expensive things. She told me it was disappointing and she rattled off what was important to her: Christ and family. It made me very proud.

I'm not above someone adorning my presents with this bow, however...

I was surprised by some very nice gifts sent to me and forever grateful. That's what I want Bug to know...gratitude.

And so this year is starting out with no New Year's resolutions. Why? Why disappoint myself if I don't do exactly as I resolve to do. Instead, I will just make goals. Oh, wait. Are they the same?

I had to Google the meaning of New Year's resolutions. I shit you not. This is what came up:

New Year's resolution is a tradition, most common in the Western Hemisphere but also found in the Eastern Hemisphere, in which a person makes a promise to do an act of self-improvement or something slightly nice, such as opening doors for people beginning from New Year's Day.

I think I almost peed myself. 


I am going to go burn off some fat and make a valiant attempt to save some greens in the bank. That's all I have for my goals. I try to dream high and aim low. That way I don't disappoint myself when I miss the mark or come up short. If I don't put numbers on things, I'm a superstar. 

The struggle is real.

Have a Happy New Year!

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

Merry Christmas!

May the magic and joy of Christmas peace embrace you and yours....


Sunday, November 29, 2015

Being Mediocre

This weekend, I had a revelation. Charles M. Schulz was my father. I don't know why I didn't research this at a younger age so I could have met him before he passed away. This is really tragic and yet I found the answer to my black cloud.

I am Charlie Brown, only the girl version. Charlie can be a unisex name and I believe my father made him a boy in his comics because at that time, no one would read about a girl version. My university colors were even brown and gold. I even have the same brown man shoes.  Every episode is my life in some parallel universe.

I have three Snoopies.

Every day I walk into work, the office manager talks about my black cloud. She even looks like Lucy and has a jar for advice. It is getting increasingly difficult not to high five her face.

I am not a negative person despite my streak of bad luck. I really couldn't figure it out all these years because the rest of my family are super successful, able to support themselves, and travel the world.

Then there is me. With a genius mind and unending blockades. Or so I feel. My other father, Robert, even called me a "blockhead" as does my brother who looks a lot like Sally.  I have all these great ideas and no backing or no means to carry them out. So I have to remain mediocre.

In all fairness, I still am able to maintain great humor, but it really gets me nowhere except through life's troubles. After 2000, when my father, Charles Schulz passed from this life, I began to fade away in the minds of others, only to be rejuvenated during Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas when reruns are popular.

Where did Charlie Brown end up?

In Indiana.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

#ADULTINGStruggles

Dear God,

It's me, Fargo.

I am ready to be an adult.


At least most times.


Could you take time out of your busy schedule to enlighten me?


I am struggling. I cannot seem to fully recover from my bad choices spree and "it sounded good at the time" theories. The stupid is strong with this one.


I'm also having a bad hair day.


Please help or send help.


Thank you in advance.


P.S. I have some questions that are really bugging me:

1. Why does your need to pee intensify when you are unlocking the door to the house or one foot away from the toilet and you get bound up in your pants trying to pull them down?
2. Why when you send assistance or advice, I screw it up or ignore it?
3. Why does my puppy continue to drag my underwear around the house even after my continual deterring of his pantie attraction and theivery? Is he a potential sex offender?

P.S.S. When you do send help, could you send me a picture of it on my iPhone like Uber and Safelite drivers do?

Thanks again for thinking of me.


Monday, November 2, 2015

The Greek Chubs

The closer I get to 50, the more I realize I am farther from 29. But who wants to think a 50 year old body can't behave like a 29 year old one? Well, no one. Reality? It does not exist. Who says? Me, for instance. My mind is decades behind my body as far as age and perspective.

After being in Greece for 8 days, I have adjusted back to American life. However, I am kicking and screaming all the way. The weather. The food. The life. It's all different! Erg.


But the freedom and casual life has been restored and work is in progress. Oh, I must either hit the lottery or be discovered. Yeah. Ok. So none of that is going to happen. Work it is. How many pennies do I have to pinch to save for a trip of a lifetime?

Yes, I need to win the lottery. BUT...I have to play to win. Ah, well, it was but a dream.

Being gone for several days did not leave me terribly homesick, but I did miss my daughter and my puppies and my family and friends. I knew I would see them again so I had to NOT waste one minute abroad.

Then...my planes landed...in the US...finally.

It's funny how the first 5 minutes upon entry to the front room to your home, your daughter globs onto you and tells you how much she missed you and  you feel loved....only to sass and backtalk several minutes later like you never left. It's so good that she is comfortable with her mother.

Or...the awkward arrival home to The Harry Potter House but it feels strange. It just took a few days to settle in.

And so did the Greek chubs. I gorged on the good Mediterranean life. And cheese. They have cheese at every meal and not to my dismay. I think it is the new chocolate. Hmmm mmm good. Me belly...me belly...me belly.!! Regrets? Yes! I should have ate more fried cheese balls with honey and sesame...and baklava...and emek.

Luckily, I chose mostly to walk around and didn't gain too much. I did lose my endurance and picking up running has been a challenge.  Needless to say, I am no Greek goddess, but in my mind, I look like this...


As well as the fitness goes so goes physical therapy. It has been a pending problem I chose to hold off until my arrival back home from Greece. My left side is numb and has been so for a few weeks. And the pain is almost unbearable when I try to use it above my shoulder. You can imagine my hair dos.
And so I struggle. "They" say I should be better once traction and massages release the pinched nerves. Oy. Release already. I can't afford to look like Phyllis Diller anymore.

So, it's time to be a mother again, shave off my big fat ass, and try to turn the clocks back. I'm not so worried about aging that I won't respect aging gracefully. Wait. Correction. I might fight it somewhat. With a little healthy choices.

Back to that Mediterranean diet....
Yummy.

And for the next week...we will have Greek fall weather. Bonus!

Oh, and in case you are wondering...the Greeks became fascinated with anatomy and nakedness and capturing movement in statues. All the Greeks are beautiful people.

Sound random? Sure. But everyone has to wonder about these things. I have more random. It abounds. Besides being masters of fresh food, they were obsessed with sex and nakedness during the Hellenistic period.

As I passed some of the great statuary, I was worried I was going to get my eyes poked out by some of those uncircumcised penises. It was quite dangerous. I can see why some of the women had big eyes.



Friday, October 23, 2015

The Funny American

I just really want to poop while I am in Greece. I believe my stoppage is due to all the cheese I have consumed while here which would be a load for Zeus to drag. But you can't NOT eat cheese in Greece. In fact, you have to eat and eat a lot of fresh food. It's the Greek way. I ate so much I almost thought I had grown a little baby, but no, it is just cheese belly. OK, that is not entirely true. Add in seafood, salads, emek, baklava, gelato, sesame, pistachio, lamb, beef, chicken, bulgar, vegetables, wine leaves, buckets of wine, and more cheese. I can't decide if I am a Viking king or the Queen of England. I am having an identity crisis.

As I type this now, I am actually on the toilet with my bum exposed of course, which is more information than you needed.  I suppose I could leave out these details, but I thought I should share and I thought it might relax my bowels and prevent me from straining into a heart attack on the shitter. That is a terrible way to go. There has to be at least 10 pounds stuck up in there which needs to come out straight away.


Oh, and on a side note...eating a lot of seafood, especially fish...makes your vajayjay smell like a tuna casserole and your pee smells like a hooker hideaway. Really. It does make me wonder if I should abandon my love for sea creatures. Except grilled octopus. I refer to it as sea rubber and the red tentacles really freaked me the fuck out. BUT... I ate it like a trooper. I didn't want to embarrass myself in a foreign country for Pete's sake.

Sorry for that. I got sidetracked. Anypoopology,  I get anxiety when the poop chute gets clogged up. And why does it be my luck that halfway through a poop my battery runs dead on my laptop. I mean, you can't waddle with a turd halfway out your ass to get your cord. And lucky me, my bathroom outlet says: SHAVERS ONLY. This means even with an adapter.

I'm afraid this one is going to come out like lead pellets and that surely would not be pretty if it spontaneously busted out all over the hotel floor while I waddle to gather my charging cord.

Hydration should have helped, but I switched from water to wine and then coffee. Mix it all up in there like a poop cocktail. At least that was the idea. The coffee in Greece does nothing for me. I am so used to rocket fuel that this Turkish blend they serve is too bland and much too nutty for me. I still drink it. Why not?

This is my first time abroad. It has been a grand experience of a lifetime minus the poop issue.

First glitch in the trip came from having my connections rebooked from getting deplaned for three hours. This changed my connection from Frankfurt, Germany, to Munich. It didn't work out so well as they are not fond of Americans. First rule I broke was bringing water from the plane onto German soil. Frauline Greta looked at me as though Hitler were still in power and for a moment I was transformed to WWII. I'm not embellishing this.

She yanked my water, "Vat are you doink? Can not haf dat heah! Forbidden!"

Ok. I have no idea, but I transformed into my Asian dialect, "So sorry." I think I might have bowed to her. It was the first time I realized I might have some lost heritage which only revealed itself until a stressful moment made it surface. I mean, seriously, she scared the shit out of me and I'm almost 100% German. But there I was just bowing and being silent.

What do they do if you don't get a pass in Germany? I was about to find out. She was telling me that I could not get on my plane. Then she made me recheck everything and take it out of the bags. She threw my laptop into a bucket. I was already intimidated by having to pass through a serious of locked glass gates when I got off the plane and being funneled to a new check point. It was the weirdest thing I have experienced. It kept on like that. Finally, she stood there and said I am stuck. It was like Tom Hanks in Terminal. I looked around and everyone behind me was yelling and frowning at me in beautiful languages but I am sure it contained a lot of fucks.

Then...the waters were parted by Moses or at least that cute blond boy from the Von Trapp family. He asked," What is the matter? " She told him with a big fat frown on her face. He waved her off and told me, "It's Ok. You can go."

Thank you, Jesus!

I all but ran to my plane and not because I was late, but because I wanted it to take off straight away. I felt extremely sympathetic toward all those the Germans annihilated. I have anyway, but to see that treatment in person and feel that fear, it was real.

I can't quite comprehend what the Germans have against bottled water?

Ah. Then I landed in Greece.


Where I sit here waiting to poop.

But it's the Greek way. Not really.

It's because I ate too much cheese.

Greece is amazing and in a short time I have grown a deep attachment to it and the people. The ancient history is so fascinating that I can't get enough.

I'm pretty sure the archaeologists who have had me drag them along to monuments and museums are glad to be able to rest. I ask a lot of questions.

I wanted to ask them if they had problems pooping, but I didn't dare.


Monday, September 28, 2015

The Balls Are In Your Court

I did not die.

Really.

It is true, though, not much funny has been happening around the house. Maybe I need to change that. It seems to be rather melancholy. Yeck. Pooey.

School stuff has been taking over our lives, but volleyball is coming to a close. I do enjoy the games, just not the crazy assed practice times that I am sure Sybill Trelawney created just to keep all of Hogwarts on schedules of massive frenzy. It drives a parent to madness. Yes, it's a short trip for me.

Then along comes a weekend of two weddings? Geesh.

In the middle of this comes my Greece work trip. I'm getting nervous. How silly is it for me at the age of 48 to be traveling overseas to a foreign land for the first time? I don't count Mexico and Canada. A ten hour flight? Egads. I can barely sit still for two. Four hour ones make me cranky. This will be a life changing experience. Then just think of what will happen once I get off the plane.

Ooo. Then Halloween. Fun. SQUIRREL!

October is busy.

Does anyone else have large quantities of chaos in their households? I long for the days of crisp misty mornings, cuddled up next to a fire or in a warm blankie, soaking up knowledge.  OR... perhaps some trashy mindless entertainment from reading books while sipping warm cocoa laced with peppermint schnapps marshmallows. And a dog or two curled up next to me. Yeah. That is the life. I think that is the remedy they use to treat patients in mental institutions as well. Hmmm. Now that's an idea. I look good in white. Kind of angelic, if you will.

But instead, my nose is to the grindstone...looking for a higher paying job...trying to figure out how to pay for grad school next fall all while maintaining the Momster status. Whew. I'm exhausted just thinking about it. Add in the fact I signed up for a free program with our Working Well department for a lifestyle and fitness coach. Eek. So far...it has been a great way to keep myself accountable to get to my fighting weight...

Is this too much to aim for?


Public shaming at the scales is the first way to keep me honest. Just like 4-H (only in reverse)...stick your calves on there and hope for the best...feed them well. Don't have one that is underweight. Ok. Maybe this is a different kind of weigh-in.

May the balls be with me.

Yeah. I know. Strange idioms. It means it's up to me and the balls are in my court. (((giggle)))  I said balls.

Soooo...the fitness coach has me buckling down on my food plan. It is working even though I sometimes protest at the exactness in which she fares. I'm not a measuring type of gal. I admit, my estimations are pretty right on, but not every time. When it says 4 oz of meat, I might choose 6 oz. Is that so bad? I don't know. Maybe it's good to give her a good work in progress student.

And as far as working out...it's getting better. I have come to the point that I no longer have to introduce myself each day. I'm there. I love it. I'm in a groove. Thus far, I've lost 7 pounds. The next weigh-in is Wednesday. Maybe it is a little like 4-H...

I just have to be stronger than my excuses which used to dominate me. Erg. What the erpy derp? How do we get to that place where excuses take over and before we know it...we have gotten lost? Beats the hell out of me. Obviously, the balls were no where near me. I was playing air tennis.

I guess I decided I didn't want to think of  I COULDA SHOULDA WOULDA moments. Just fucking do it. Be about it. Don't end your memories with, "I MEANT TO."



There has to be a way without all the money in the world and without all the fixins' to be what and who you want to be in life. I will find a way.

And...why not experience the later half of my life in good health? Yes!

Broccoli rocks! Or so I keep telling myself.

And the side effects? Farts.

I guess I'm going through this rocket propelled. That is the Fargo way.

Hopefully, when I land I have a good parachute.
















Thursday, September 24, 2015

Jeremiah Was A Bully Frog

It's really hard to gauge which hardships in life shape us in a positive or negative direction. Did I get bullied? Sure. Did I bully people? Sure. I remember some of the incidents so I guess they stay with you in that respect. However, I think all of the events made me stronger or learned me a lesson.



Never in those dark moments or despair did I think life was over or become disconnected. I had a strong family structure and after short periods of time, those issues dissolved. Sometimes I changed my behavior because of them and sometimes I took it in stride. Many times I had my feelings hurt. But I got over it. And when I was the bully, I think I felt bursts of power or accomplishment that I squashed something or someone. That is unfortunate. People suck sometimes, but we are human and to be human is to err.

It's different through the looking glass as an adult. If your child is the brunt of the words, it really hits you in right the feelers.

This week has been difficult.

My relationship with my daughter in the teenager stage is a struggle. I am taming the beast inside me when she pushes my buttons by gritting my teeth and breathing big gulps of air before my ninja reflex skills send her to the next planet. It's really the first urge to curb back talking and sass. At least it's my first urge. It is my hot button.

Despite all that, she is a really good kid. She works hard in school and sports. She just sasses the mother which creates THE MOMSTER. It happens. I hate the conflict. NOT because I don't like conflict...but because teenagers should be respectful and when naught...I get fuming pissed. I don't like myself like that.

But...what's worse?

When your kid gets bullied and it hurts your heart. Like hits you right...there.



This week two incidents happened at school. She sat next to a girl in the cafeteria with her lunch and the girl and her friends left the table to sit elsewhere. Then, in the gym, she sat next to one of her friends and a group of girls left. Her friend told her they didn't like her because she is pretty and dresses nice. Well poop shit. How do you answer that?

My cute Bug


I told her she couldn't make people like her. I told her to be kind. I said she is beautiful and they are jealous. Wait until they meet THE MOMSTER. Not really. It just is my first instinct...protect your young. But I will not interfere in this one and let my daughter sort it out.

Bitches. Girls are mean.

Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Farts On The Plane



There are some things which just bless my life without any invitation. Although I don't mind flying, I don't like being that close to strangers. Like ever. Even with my resting bitch face with ear buds installed and instant narcolepsy, there are always those who break the force field. People get too personal, too close, and too invasive which results in angering me.

A-N-G-E-R-I-N-G: pronounced ang-er-eeng: The act of making one pissed as hell and irritated like a vaginal infection which can only be relieved by a hairbrush.

But the problem doesn't usually start ON the plane...it starts BEFORE the plane experience...even sometimes before you reach the airport. It's a big build up to the climax. Like sex...only not great sex...but bad sex or messy sex. Riding planes is like laying in the wet spot.  

Like take Sunday, for instance. I was on the way to the airport and had to fill up the rental car. After opening the door at the gas station for a very ginormous man, he looked down and patted me on the head, "Thank you pretty lady." Really? Do I look like the head patting type? Instantly I freaked. But what do you do? Take it? Say something? 

I chose to stand in the middle of the floor making a lot of drama and screeching...."AH! DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T TOUCH ME!" Then I shut it off instantly like it never happened and walked up the to counter, paid for some gasoline. Perhaps he didn't get the clue as he shuffled to his car with a bewildered look on his face. But hey, the rest of the place parted the sea like Moses. 


On a side note, I chose certain clothes to be comfortable and blend in.




Perfect plane attire: I like the planar design and choice of fabrics with Bohemian color.
I try to blend in as to avoid conversation.


I moseyed on and got to the airport. The first puddle jumper was not bad because I got that one jump seat by myself on the other side of the plane. I think they reserve it for trouble makers. So I slept.

This was a bad choice because after the 40 minute power nap, I was wide awake, yet had to endure another 2 hour plane from Denver to Indy. Which.was.delayed.

Story of my life. 

I think my life is on delay. 

Once in flight, I sat next to Chatty Kathy and Pig Pen. I had not even buckled in when the blond next to me started unexpected chatter. 

"I think you have my buckle," I said.

"Ooh, that's why it wouldn't latch. I was just holding it together."

She was also a rocket scientist.

"It really is only for your comfort. If we crash, we are all going to die."

*blink*blink*

I was trying to deter her from conversation, but my scare tactic was to no avail. 

Because I am trained in actively listening which includes smiling fake smiles and nodding, I did not retain any of her nonsense drivel. 

"Sir! Do not move my computer. Do not touch it. It needs to stay right there! Sir! I said, NO!"

A big voice boomed from behind me. I already knew by the sound of his voice that he had to be about 300 pounds. I was right. The man standing over me trying to rearrange the luggage compartment was startled.

"Wow. Rude." Yeah. That came from my mouth. I have not learned to keep it shut. 

Pig Pen next to me said, "People are funny, aren't they?"

"No people are jack holes."

If one person comments like that, then others chime in and it was like the Muppets scolding Miss Piggy. This encounter pretty much started an entire plane fiasco. The flight attendant had to calm the situation. 

Then we settled in. I put on my fake sleep pose.

It was soon interrupted by the frail looking, young college student next to me. I'm pretty sure he was a Doomsday Prepper and the end of world was on that day. The noise was more than I could handle. 

"What in the world are you doing?" Yep. That's me again.

"Oh, this blizzard is so good. I also have chips, and Kit Kats, and Powerade and Vitamin Water and a Cinnabon and a pretzel."

"Good night. How do you fit all that in there?"

"Well, I am going into a food coma. Have you ever had airport food? It's sooooo good."

"I see."

Fuck me in the ass. Are we there yet?

I went back to faux sleeping. I had visions of Hemsworth brothers and Channing Tatum.

After about an hour, I suddenly awoke from my slumber and jumped up out of my seat, only to be restricted by my seat belt which pulled me back down. This began a panic struggle for my life. I was in disbelief. My moves resembled the Elaine dance from Seinfeld. 



Good Lord, I peed myself. Or was it the climatic moment after Channing Tatum did that last floor thrust? Shit.  What happened?

Ok. Gather yourself. You are about to never see these people again and face what you have done. I put my hand on my chest. I wasn't breathing hard. I was relieved it wasn't that kind of wet moment.

I really didn't think I had one of those dreams where I was going to the bathroom only to find I peed the bed. That hadn't happened for at least 4 years. Yeah. Pretty sure that was the last time I dreamed about pissing myself. Damn. It had to happen on a plane...in front of God and everyone.

And on this day, I didn't remember any of that. I don't even know if I was dreaming. I went into a faux sleeping pattern with a scowl. Usually I wake up with headaches when I do that.

"Oh, ma'am! I am so sorry! I am so sorry! I just spilled my glass of water on you."


I looked down. Sure enough. Not only that...but with hard wood floors it went straight to the vagina. There was nothing to slow it down. Thank you, God. At least I didn't have urine all over myself and others.

YOU GOT MY VAGINA WET!


"Wow. I'm going to get off the plane and everyone is going to look at all of this (circling my vaginal area) and snicker to themselves...'Oh look...she peed all over her pants.' " I sighed and fake smiled trying to make her feel better. I don't know why. I didn't feel better. The flight attendant handed me napkins. Like that was going to help. It was already all the way to the va-jay-jay and settled in the crack of my ass on the other side.

"I am so sorry. At least it was just water."

Yeah. Ok. Let me see how you like it. Take this! I took some ice water from the flight attendant and threw it on her crotch.

Not really. But I played it over and over in my mind like a serial killer.

"It's Ok. Really. It will be fine."

LIKE.IN.THREE.HOURS... when I'm home.

My face continued in permanent scowl mode and I tried faux sleeping again, reengaging no one with my ear buds. My music was not even turned on. It was all part of my disguise.

About 20 minutes later...people started to shift in their seats and sigh. There were a few groans nearby. I know this, because the two next to me kept bumping me. Then, it hit me. Literally. A wall of fart.gas. They were the worst ever in my life. The air was disappearing. My throat was closing up.



Frantically I looked around for the dude who had "casual fart face", hoping no one would notice he farted. It was definitely a dude fart, not a girl fart. Don't ask me how I know. I just know these things.

WOW. I couldn't find the origin. Maybe I didn't want to know. My face started melting. My clothes were peeling off. Oh no! I was going to be exposed to everyone on the plane. I was pretty sure I had acid burns and the flavor was ass undertones with a hint of broccoli.

Coughing took over me. I grabbed my throat and struggled to reach out to the flight attendant...

"Water. Water. I need water. Can we do an emergency landing? I'm not going to make it. I am starving for air. Help me. Help me."

Not really. But all that went through my mind. Like 60 times while I simulated 50 ways to die. Fuck me in the ass. WTF? Really? Ass Cracker couldn't go to the bathroom and rip one in there? Lord, have mercy.

There were many moments on the plane I felt closer to Jesus than on the ground. This was one of them. Was this what my end would be? Suffocation?

It took 30 minutes for the air to clear. I'm sure I overheard the attendants telling the captain that we needed to cycle the air through the plane. I wonder if fart gas gets stuck in the luggage compartment and then our clothes smell like ass.

Well, I couldn't get off the plane fast enough. Yeah. Row 29 is only good in a crash, but substandard in speedy exits.

Luckily, my suitcase was the first one off the baggage claim. Something was in my favor.

I made my way to the parking garage to find my car, only to discover it was stolen. Bastards. And I had a new pack of gum in there.

Not really.

I searched the wrong parking level for about 30 fucking minutes before I realized I parked on level 2 not 3. Typical blond move.

Eventually, I figured it out. It was a DOH! Moment. In fact, my first clue should have been the valet area which was blocked off that I had to jump over with suitcase in tow. I didn't remember that going into the airport. Why did they put up a blockade now? Doh! Because you weren't on this level, idiot!

I think my hairspray got melted off with the fart gas on the plane. This led to lower brain activity as well.

I was going to be lucky to be able to navigate home.

But I did.

Just think. My flight to Greece is going to be almost 12 hours. I can't wait. Yippee. 

Thursday, September 3, 2015

MOMsterhood: Are You A Vagina?

Momsterhood is often challenging. I mean, what does it take to be the world's worst mother? Not much according to my daughter. Yesterday was simple. I just was being myself and apparently it resembled being a vagina. Now is being compared to a vagina a bad thing? I don't really know. I do know it doesn't sound like a good thing. Although, I am proud of having one...I'm not sure I want to be compared to it. It's not like I show it off or parade it around. Perhaps it means moms take a pounding? I don't know. It brought up an internal debate when I tried to analyze what my daughter's learned lesson from school.

First, all I did was pick her up at the school after volleyball practice. As most mothers, I failed at being perfect....even at parking. The conversation started out the same as usual. She never looks around for me. It's not like I'm invisible. It's the same car, the same area...every.single.time. I try to make it easy, yet it is a treasure hunt every. single.time. I almost wish I had a different vehicle each day. SHE.DOES.NOT.OPEN.HER.EYES. Drives me nuts, I tell you.

Our text messaging was also typical...mostly typical...

BUG: Mom, where are you? 

ME: Across from the front doors, in the same area as yesterday.

BUG: Where?

ME:OPEN YOUR EYES!!!

BUG: Don't yell at me.

ME: I'm not yelling at you. I'm putting some caps in your ass. 

BUG: Mom, that is violence and language!

ME: It is not violence. It is the language I had to use.

BUG: I mean the a word.


ME: If I don't use words like that, I can't be classified as a ghetto mother. 

BUG: You are crazy.

ME: Yes, yes I am. Thank you. 

BUG: I can't find you. Where are you?

ME: Go to the front door. Turn about face and look to the field toward the railroad tracks. Walk 100 feet. See the car? My lights are on. I can have the mother ship launch a beam for you if you need.

BUG: Why did you park so far away?

ME: To punish you.

Several minutes go by.

ME: Where are you? 

BUG: I can't find you. 

Lord, please help me. 

ME: OPEN YOUR EYES!

BUG: I am!

ME: WIDER!!

BUG: Oh. I see you. 

So when she opened the door and entered, it was a revelation to see her mom. 

"Hi, Mom!"

"Hi,Bug. Why do you have such difficulty finding me when I am always in the same place?"

"Well, I don't know."

"It is crazy."

"Well, Mom.  It's not like you are the first thing on my mind."

"Uh, well I should be. What does all that mean?

"Maybe it's because today Raika said moms are like vaginas."

"Uh, what?"

"Yeah. She said every girl has to have one, but you really don't want to see it or talk about it. But if you ignore it, it becomes infected and retaliates. And then you are miserable. So, it is just better you take care of their needs."

Whiskey-tango-foxtrot. I wonder what Raika says about fathers. Hmm...

Australian worm: buzzfeed.com
And were we really talking about mothers resembling vaginas?

And do mothers LOOK like vaginas, too? I mean full body vaginas or just on the face vaginas? Like do we all have big Botox lips which look like giant vaginas under our noses? Really makes you wonder. "Yes, Doc. Shoot me up some Botox...right...here. (points to lips) I want to have a vagina on my face." I guess if you walked around all cock-eyed, lips could look like vaginas...sort of plump ones... 

Photo courtesy of topinspired.com
I don't know. I have never compared vaginas to know how different every woman looks down there. I wonder if there is a study on that and why the differences? Not really. I don't really think I want to study vaginas. But what does a gynecologist think? What signifies a good one? Or a nice one? Is it...(1)Do you have to have shaved ones? (2) Or keep the "GROWLER"? (3)Or a nicely trimmed lady garden?(4)Smell floral pretty, fresh, or no smell?  I would think clean would be a qualifier. But, hey, I'm not judging. Yeah. No one wants to get down there and have a smell contest. Ok. Poking my eyes out.

Is Raika saying we smell or we have certain smells? Some better than others? Some like roses? Some smell fishy? Time to stop taking Fish oil. Stop the runaway brain mind channeling nonsense!

"I have no words."

"Yeah. I didn't understand it."

"Ok, then. How old is Raika?

"She is 16."

"Maybe she is on to something."

"No, Mom, she is not on drugs."

"No, that's not what I meant. Anyway, let's go home. How was practice?"

"It was Ok, Mom."

"Groovy."

"Why do you talk funny like that? No one says that anymore. No one talks like that. Gah."

"Vaginas talk like that."

"MOmmmm! Gross."

Cue the embarrassed teenager whine.

I have always thought Lisa Renna was beautiful...her figure, her skin, her boobs, her hair, her lips. I mean she is just a sex pot and all momsters want to be that way, right? But now am I going to look at her and think...what a huge and plump vagina she has on her face?

Lisa Renna

Or did Raika mean this? 

tekkaus.com
I don't know if I will ever understand teenagers. ((((Sigh)))) 

Thursday, August 27, 2015

I Wah Wah Wah Wah Wah Wonder

Many years ago I discovered chocolate covered coffee beans were the bees knees. I was really pissed I didn't come up with it myself.

Duh.


I need to come up with something fantastic we can put chocolate on and make a ton of money. Like...well....hmm...

What is great that hasn't already been manufactured into a Big Idea?

I guess I will just enjoy my coffee moments and pop a few beans.

First, I can't live without coffee. Chocolate is a close second. And who would want to, right?

Recently, I have a wonderful friend (that didn't sound right but I'm not fixing it) who totally gave up coffee. I have not idea why but I really think the construction going on near her house has had some side effects.

And what do you do when your friends don't drink tea or coffee in the morning? It's really uncomfortable just sitting out on the deck or in their house staring across the table at them hoping for some engaging conversation. And biscuits without coffee are just well...just biscuits.

I think you might have to get new friends.

Not really.

I'm really worried the world's coffee supply might run out someday. Especially at the rate I drink it. Maybe I should research the supply chain and futures. I guess I should thank Berta for quitting to save one more day of drinking for someone else.

I wonder if she will give up chocolate covered coffee beans. Is it candy or coffee? Hmm.

With the wasteful ton of used grounds after an orgasmic pot of brew...I wonder if we should just chew a couple beans and save the earth. I mean, putting them in the compost pile is recycling or using them to cover up your dope package is inventive...but are we really being good stewards?

Nope.

I think chocolate covered coffee beans are a better option and the caffeine takes effect almost immediately. It's like two orgasms in one bite...chocolate...coffee. If you add in some hot sex...life would be complete splendor. I think that's what I would call that activity.

"Honey...let's engage in a little splendor."

Maybe it would make people last longer and have more intense sex with multiple orgasms.

You could also market them as "break in case you don't get any" or "if he under performs...eat three"...gag gifts. Or call it CRACK.

We could save the world's drug addicted by substituting stimulants for chocolate covered coffee beans. I wonder how many you would have to eat before it makes you feel like a hit of meth.

Not really.

I really don't wonder that.

I do wonder when a woman stops wanting sex. What vessel in the brain becomes broken, when, why, and how do you prevent it? Is there a pill? A surgery? Does the vagina break?

When do you stop thinking a tight ass is unattractive or swoon over the one you love? Does Channing Tatum ever get ugly? Will Sean Connery or Clint Eastwood every become EW GROSS? Will these changes in life be a tragic day?

Do you switch from wine to vodka at a certain age and if so, when does it become vogue to do so? Is Vodka an acquired taste? I really hate it. Does wine become passe? I hope not.

What about granny panties? When do you have to start wearing those and why would you want to? Is it because it holds everything in?

Fuck. Those are not attractive. Neither are diapers. In fact, they are big girl pull ups. I hope I never have to rely on Depends. It's a contradictory sentence, but geesh. Ok. Maybe Marilyn Monroe did it right. Everyone memorialized her as a beauty. Not like Phyllis Diller. She died old and wrinkly. But Diane Keaton and Helen Mirren...they have gotten more beautiful with age. And JLO. She keeps looking younger. WTF?



Is it in their makeup? Good genes? Plastic surgery? No. I have seen perky boobs on a 70 year old and it alarmed me. I mean what the hell is wrong with this picture....70....big perky boobs...no bra....yeck. It scared the shit out of me. Yes, I was a cop and I had to wrangle this drunk woman. Her boobs about poked my eye out and I am pretty sure I jumped back when I entered the room where she was being crazy. It was like a Total Recall moment.

Anyway. Back to Mirren and Keaton and JLO. And what about Cristy Brinkley? 61 freaking years old. Is there a beauty secret? I want the butt salve they are using.

One thing is for sure. Billy Joel looks like a pile of wrinkles. He did not age well. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to what Cristy does.

And JLO...she will be the one to watch. I think JLO has sex with young men which keeps her active and younger.



I hope I never stop wanting sex. I could have so much fun at the old folks' home my kiddo will lock me up in. Wait. Things stop working for men at that age. Damn. What am I going to do?

I'm going to have to get rich so I can have a pool boy.

Yep.

I think about those things.

While I'm drinking my coffee.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Good Vibrations: A Teenager's First Cheap Thrill

Sometimes our children have moments of discovery which are shared with us. Many are grand, many are not so. Then there are those which are the in betweens. They give the parents speechless moments and deer in the headlights effects.

Bug had such a moment yesterday.

Her Auntie Lana gave her a Fitbit for her birthday which is a big deal. She has wanted one for a long time so she can challenge her mother but they are very expensive and I didn't think she was responsible enough. Well, enter the aunt.

So she was off and running and had that thing set up in no time. She even through away the instructions prior to figuring it out. Sometimes I hate kids. They are so techno.

Volleyball practice came around and she wanted to beat her mother's steps, which at that point in the day was nearly impossible. She was determined. We discussed she should not wear the Fitbit on her wrist during volleyball practice because it would mess up her passes. She agreed. Apparently, she was ahead of the game.

BUG: Mom, that's why I put it in my sports bra. See.

ME: Sweaty gross.

BUG: It won't fall out. Those things really suck you in.

ME: *blink*blink* Well, have a good practice. Love you, honey.

BUG: Bye. Be here at exactly 7:20. Don't be late.

ME: Yes, boss.

Off she went and I moved on to some yard work until it was time to pick her up. Pick up time came and I zoomed in for a landing as she came out of the gym.

BUG: You are late.

ME: I am not. You just came out.

BUG: You are supposed to be here in the parking lot like the other mothers waiting at least 10 minutes for us before it is over.

ME: For why?

BUG: Because.

Wow. The child is rigid. What a drill sergeant.

BUG: Mom, I have to tell you something.

ME: Yes?

BUG: During practice, I was working really hard and all of a sudden I felt this vibration in my boobs and it was my Fitbit and I liked panicked and I didn't know if it was going to explode or what and it was moving and I didn't now why and it felt really weird. Yeah.

ME: (laughing) It vibrates when you reach 10,000 steps.

BUG: Yeah. I Googled it.

ME: (laughing) That is the funniest thing I ever heard.

BUG: Mom, it made me feel like really weird. I was like..YAHOO! It was whirring in there. I was nervous of what is going on? And then I didn't know and stuff.

ME: (laughing) Good thing you didn't have it down your shorts.

BUG: Gross. Would that have felt weird to you, too?

ME: Oh. Sure. Sure.

BUG: Ok.



What a great idea! I could get my thrill on Blueberry Hill while I am running just by putting my Fitbit in my bra. It's cheap! It's free! It doesn't talk back. I wonder why I never thought of that. Good thing it doesn't ding at you like when the chicken is done. That would have no lasting effect.

Thanks, Fitbit!


Monday, July 27, 2015

Master Of Disaster

I didn't fall off the face of the earth, although, wouldn't that be fun? I hope it would be about where the Bahamas are located. My luck, it would be Alcatraz.

I'm finding myself at a crossroads. Perhaps it is the impending doom of 50 approaching. Yikes!



My daily routine has become too routine so I am mucking up my schedule so I don't fall into the geriatric category. You know how those old people get all out of whack when they don't abide by their schedule? Screw that.

So Monday-that is TODAY- is a change of pace and I am going to begin painting for the first time in over 20 years. Granted it is an art piece on the wall of my house and not a canvas. No, I am not painting naked ladies on the wall, but an eclectic tree of life. I will post before and after pics.

No, I am not going to cut out my running routine or stop cooking fresh food. I'm going to change up my pace to enjoy some things I haven't done in a while. I found out some information on some fishing holes so we will see how that goes. I don't know. I 'm used to trout fishing in blue ribbon streams with clear Rocky Mountain water. I'm not sure about this eastern murky bliss fishing for browns. Yeah. Not the trout kind of browns. Oh, but Fargo, it's filtered! We filter Indiana streams and river. Bleck. The pee still gets through. Nothing like wading knee deep in sewage.

Maybe I will score a trunk of lost gold. It might be safer than pan frying any of these fish.



My luck otherwise seems to be along the same lines as usual. My boss said I am a disaster and the only luck I have is bad luck. Peeshaw.  Well, he may be sorta right.

Saturday faturday. Hooked my front bumper on a piece of re bar from a parking block. That was in an attempt to work out on the greenway by the river and mind you, I parked at the only parking space with effing re bar still in the parking block. Dang you, City! My work out wasn't so great either because it was humid and hot and miserable and I had to dodge goose poop.



Yesterday while working in the yard, a mosquito bit my face and it swelled up to the size of a goiter. Isn't that effing great. I looked like the Elephant Man. I'm not even exaggerating. I needed an extra napsack to carry my face whereever I go. Nothing a little Benadryl followed by a drug induced sleep wouldn't cure. It knocked me out for 3 hours.

Today. More fun. Flat tires. Made coffee with no coffee grounds so a pot of nice hot bland water came out. Grr. It's a football day. Punt away I say!

However, No worries. I am still positive. Must stay optimistic. No sense letting a few crab tree moments get a good woman down.

My daughter comes home tomorrow from her visitation in Wyoming. I am so excited to see her. The house has been NOT so quiet with the crazy dogs. Bless their furry hearts. Nothing accomplished on that list I posted a while back. NOTHING. I did not paint the house. We had too much rain and when it wasn't raining, it was too hot. So it now looks like it will be a fall project.

Well, I can add an extra set of arms with the Bugmeister being home. Scrape. Scrape. Wax on. Wax off. Just call me Mr. Miyagi.

Thursday, July 16, 2015

Sugar Belly

Except for diseases and hormonal issues, my doctor said MOST OFTEN, not always, our metabolism slows down or stops from too much sugar, processsed food, preservatives, and additives. It's a breakdown in our innards. Consquently, it affects brain function as well and leads to depression, auto-immune diseases, and metabolic syndromes. It doesn't even have to be A LOT of those items being inputted into our bodies. It just depends on how it reacts.

It is no secret I contracted asthma from a meth lab house and incident on a raid. No I was not a drug addict, I was a cop.

A long time ago (2002) I had purchased a book on asthma which included information on foods and beverages which affected breathing. Sounds crazy, doesn't it? Not really after you understand how food works. Well, I discussed it with my doctor in Denver who is the best respiratory doc in the world. No kidding. There are awards to prove it. She said absolutely. So here are some breathing tips:

1. Lots of water.
2. Caffinated coffee or tea (is there any other kind?)
3. Fresh uncooked green vegetables.
4. Apples

What makes breathing slow down? Things with sulfides, additives, preservatives, sugars, chemical ingredients, pastas,  and some grains. Weird, huh? Not really. It makes sense now.

I'm used to it. And because I was a non-believer of all this mish mash I tested all of it. Guess what? Duh. Doctors were right. I guess they do know something.

It's true I have been an exercise freak for quite some time and kept my manic routines up during all of this but nothing was progressing. Last fall, I had 6 months of almost nada because of my broken neck and rotator cuff issue as well. I was a miserable human being inside and out. And in denial on top of it. It is hell getting old. Bastards never told us any of this shit was going to happen.

I don't take Geratol nor any other vitamins. Nor do I need Metamucil. Maybe I could use some Ben Gay once in a while after running, but I opt for a hot pack.

I do have to supplement this regimented plan with the B-12 shots from the doctor.

So when doctor number 2 tells me I need to go all organic, I did not question this. I jumped on that pony.



Since March 20, I have lost 33 pounds and have not used my emergency inhaler. Hmm. Crazy. I packed in those pounds eating poor man's food when I was unemployed which led to a cycle I couldn't get out of nor set aside.  Plus processed foods are cheap and you would think the opposite.

I'm pretty embarassed to tell you all that.

Was I shoving sugar down my throat by massive buckets of ice cream? NO. But did you know SUGAR is in everything. It is. Read your ingredients. And if you don't know the chemical by products or other names sugar goes by, you might miss it. Scary stuff.

They put crack in our food so we buy more.

Oh yeah. I check everything. No one wants to shop or live with me. I am strict and dedicated.

Once in a while I slip a little just to show myself  NOT to do that.

Even Cadbury Creme Eggs sound gross. Crazy. I know, right?

If you keep up with the Kardashians, you would see my new pics on Facebook. I look a lot better. I feel a lot better. Old me returneth. Fuck that unhealthy nonsense. It sucked.

I have totally eliminated sugars and almost all pastas. Rarely do I eat bread and I have already mentioned what kind I buy. Funny thing is I am not as hungry. I don't crave sweets. I have energy. In a few months I get my chemistry done again to see if anything has changed. I am still fighting with Vitamin D, B12, and iron levels. Plus for some reason my protein is low despite all the protein I consume.

All this is boring to you I am sure.

So what happened today to spark this post?

Our students have graduated and it's their last day in the office. What better way to celebrate than to eat cake? Duh. I did not buy it. The bosses bought this lucious white cake with the butter cream frosting from a great bakery in town. I'm sure the frosting is made out of lard.

Well.

I had to have a piece.

I thought one little piece will be fine.

Ugh.

I had two little pieces which were a little cake with a lotta frosting.

I am now sick.

I told you so.

Here's a cute baby bat picture so you can say you at least got something out of these confessions of a Sugar Belly.






Monday, July 13, 2015

Straitjacket Talk

"Just what if."

That's what my friends said to me the other day while we giggled over her online dating woes. What if you met your soul mate?

Thinking about online dating makes me want to seize up. I have had many friends find their husbands through online dating. Actually, the thought of dating scares me and I fear a broken heart again.

Subsequently, my history with men shows I can't pick 'em. Even if the computer matched me, I would choose wrong. For example, if I had several matches online, I would pick the serial killer. Or the hot guy who turns out to be a meeb. So then, do you trick yourself by picking an average looking guy? What hits you in the heart about their profile? I mean, they could all be fake. It's like fishing and I would reel in the bucket.



All of these fears did not phase Carol and Rita. They had those too. In fact, I think they relished on the catfishes more than the real persons who turned out to be disappointing dates. They were able to pick out the spammers and scammers faster than determining who was compatible with them in real life. I don't know that I have any of those skills. It's true, I used to be a cop. However, I have failed at personal relationships and I can't figure out why for the life of me.

My first fear is putting myself out there like a slab of meat. Many have told me if I was online, the hits would come out like the Mafia took over Chicago. Is that a compliment?

So their best advice was to tailor your headline a certain way to attract attention and their advice: it should be a bit cheeky or clever, but not to sound desperate. I think you should be authentic or not be online at all. I know, there are trolls. Now I have to be clever, too? It is a haven for freaks. It's part of the process. But, it's too bad the screening companies can't screen them better.

Second, I will be real and sure enough, I would get a fake dude or one who thinks he is all that and turns out to be a slimy fish in reality. And what if you get a great guy with a little penis or a dysfunctional one? We discussed that too. Not that sex is everything, but I am in my prime.  Why not use it before you lose it? Plus, a vibrator only gets your rocks off. It doesn't get intimate with you.

Lastly, we must stay away from foreign spammers who suck you in and want to take your money. And what if your pics are too sexy? And what if you come off as corny?

Attracting the meebs is surely going to happen, yes? That's what I fear. My friends scolded me..."You were a cop, for Pete's sake." Why bring Pete into this? Apparently my cop work did not work well with the second husband. It was like the prison guard falling for the inmate type of thingy. Ew. Shudder. I don't want to go back to that.



We came up with a Fargo list...

My priorities:

1. They must be STD cleared, carrying a health card, and have not slept with the entire world.

2. A first date priority is to drop trow and if Mr. Wanky goes up with the wind, they pass the next round. Then pull them up and save that for later if he passes for a second date.

3. The ex wife or girlfriend cannot be a psycho bitch from hell and/or on the police blotter list for stalking. Definitely no married men.

4. Financial portfolio must show they are a hard worker and capable of supporting a family. Well to do would be preferable, but I can live with a secure income. Online you can say anything you want. You have to meet them in person and figure that out for reals. Shudder.

5. Intelligence would be nice but not required as long as the woman is considered the princess. ( I had to lower my standards) Ok. Wait. I can't lower this requirement. I do not want to mingle with Dumbo. He's cute and all, but I need some smarts.

6. Eventually, he must be monogamous if it goes past a few dates. I am not one of his whoers. (Pronounced hoo-ers)

7. A gentleman would be nice and preferred, but a woodsy real man will do, too. Can I have both?

8. Must not be a couch potato. He has to be active and adventurous, likes to explore, and loves the outdoors.

9. No arrest record. Well, at least not recent and no felonies. Ok. This part is hard to prove. Shudder.

10. Must love guns. Only not gangsta style.

11. Must love dogs.

12. Manners matter. Good looks are a bonus. Humor is a must.

13. I have to screen your plaid. There is cool plaid and lamo plaid.



Yes, we laughed and had a little fun. That's what you do when you drink, eat, and girl bond.

Anyway, those are the tops on the list for now. I can't even think about it, really. it hurts my head. Additionally, I have a child to proect.

I watched the trolls flock on to my friend's profile and not surprisingly because she is a beautiful woman inside and out. She has had maybe 5 dates in 15 years and has not gotten past the first date with any man. She doesn't even answer most of the online hits. Maybe getting the hits is just a self-esteem boost. I don't know.



Some tips I can give those trolls out there:

1. If your online name is LOOKING4U...I will be inserting my finger into my mouth and not to simulate a blow job and trying to entice you, but faking a gag.

2. If your profile is jb236 I think of you more as a vial of sperm waiting at the sperm bank for a lucky couple and not a real person. Sure, you want to be sorta anonymous for a while, but couldn't you pick something a little more personal?

3. If your online name is  loney_guy, you definitely will get passed over because you can't spell. Seriously? You didn't think about that? You just needed an "L" and you sound desperate. Common sense? I think not. I don't need a spelling bee genius, but if you can't take the time into your profile name to spellcheck, then egads, man!

4. I love the old pictures of when you were in high school, Mr. 52 year old. Really? Either show us how you kept yourself up or show us your moobs. Be real or get off the set. Puhlease.



5. My favorite are the arrogant assholes who show themselves in leather pants and all their 25 pics are of them next to a cut off girl, but they kept her boobs in the shot. Face palm. Thanks for giving me that, because you are too egotistic for me to give you a second thought, Mr. I Think I Am It. Perhaps you should go to strip clubs or do some Internet porn to satisfy your needs of sleeping with every girl on the planet. It's obvious you are just looking for a hook up. Maybe Tinder is for you.

6. If some of your pics are you in front of a mirror flashing gang signs and you are 55? Seriously. Loosah. You might find your match down in the local ghettohood. Where does the computer get off thinking I would be attracted to that?

7. If you are from Los Angeles and you "favorite" me, I am thinking you are a creeper. Really? You can't find any fish in the big ocean of LA? I'm not that hot.

Ultimately, wherever my bobby pins and hair ties go, they're happy. I know. They are metal and elastic. I do not claim to make any sense. On a serious note, I don't want to get in touch with my feelings again. It hurts too much. I wish I could trade my heart for another liver so I could drink more and care less. NO! I am not ready for a straitjacket yet.

Now this is the Strait jacket I am talking about, people!


So who wants to screen my hits? Any advice?

~TooScaredToOnlineDate
~TrollKeeper




Thursday, July 9, 2015

Glass House, Cardboard Box!

Sometimes I feel sorry for my friends who have always lived in a box. I guess I shouldn't. They have always lived there.

I must have a bewildered look on my face at times when they talk about their lives. Their routine is the same every week. Like nailed to a cross. Maybe twice a year they alter it and take a vacation. However, the rest of the year...every day is planned out. I'm not kidding. The plan cannot be changed. It is the plan. Beat me.

I couldn't do it.

I need to live...OUTSIDE the box. Boxes are good. For packing.



Imagine my surprise when for some reason pre-paying for fuel came into our recent conversation. My friend said she has never done it in her life. Never paid in advance for gas with cash? Nope. Never.

WTF? Over.

I can't comprehend. My mind channeling will not compute.

So, I said, "You got two bucks? Let's go do it."

She would not have it. Maybe it was the two bucks worth of gas. Maybe it was going to face REAL PEOPLE. Cringe.

Also, we are 40 miles from any border and do you think she has been to Ohio or Kentucky?

So I had to break her at least into Ohio.

Camping? Nope. Not even a thought.

They don't have satin sheets there. Shudder.

So these things are not every one's cup of tea, but I just can't comprehend not trying something or even educating yourself about it. And when you live 20 miles from another state, I cannot even think you wouldn't go hop the border for a visit. Weird.

It all makes as much sense as this song from Bob The Builder. Big fish. Little fish. Cardboard Box.

It does have a little beat and I like the knee jerk dance.

Cardboard box!

I can't help it. It is so weird to me.

People who live in glass houses should not throw stones. Or kids. Or have sex. People can see you.