Guest Post and Weekend Plans

I am guest posting today at Are You Serious?  So you have to go check that out fo sho!


My friend, Monica was in the Ville today for some work training and swung by for a visit.  Nothing fancy just a lot of catching up. It is wonderful having grown-up conversations but I don't have to tell you that!


The big 20 year reunion is this weekend.  Tomorrow is the Manual/Male game where a slew of us will be meeting up.  Google it.  It's fucking legendary!  The fancy shindig is Saturday night so I am sure there will be loads of fodder.  If not, I will make something up.

The Haunted House

When I was about 13, my best friend, Jamie and I used to walk down the alley a few blocks to where it dead-ended.  Facing the Alley was a rickety, wooden garage that we called "the barn" because it looked like an old barn.  To the right of the barn was a small patch of yard and the house that it belonged to.  The house was vacant and it had a weird, grey box on the locked, iron security door.  Of course, I know now that is where the realtor kept the key but I had no knowledge of such things at 13 and living in a neighborhood where everyone knew everyone and noone ever moved.  

We knew the story but never bothered investigating.  We just went to the barn because it was a safe place to go smoke where we wouldn't get caught.  Sometimes, we would take the boom box and play that New Edition cassette over and over.  It was just a handy place to go in the cold and the rain and much less scary than sneaking a smoke on the side of her house.  We never had any thoughts of going into that house, or at least, I didn't.  Until the day we decided to grow some balls.

One day Jamie and I and two other friends, Mesha and Raina (OK, I think it was Raina but it may have been Wendy.  For the love of vodka, my memory sucks.) decided we would sneak into the house and take a look-see.  We entered through a small window on the backside of the house that was unlocked, one at a time, going headfirst into the house.  Once we were all in, we walked through the kitchen, a straight shot into the living room at the front of the house.  I looked around at the plain white walls.  The house was empty.  There was a set of steps to either side of the living room.  A set going up to the left and a set going down to the right.  There was a picture window on the front wall and there was a mantle on the right wall.  

And so the story goes....

There was a family that lived in the house and they had a little girl.  There was something wrong with the little girl and she wore braces on her legs.  It was rumor that the parents were arguing and the little girl got in the way.  She tumbled down the stairs to her death and the house was haunted by her ghost.

image from Google

Laying on the mantle was a pair of braces that looked much like the ones in the picture.  OK, that was just creepy but we decided to press on. I can tell you that my heart was racing.  I was always a chicken about taking risks of any kind.  The four of us started up the stairs and as we all just barely up a few stairs, started hearing the sounds of metal clanking. LOUD.  Like chains.  Or leg braces falling down a stairwell. 

We flew out of that living room and back through the kitchen.  Jamie flung open the back door to be greeted by that crappy, iron door.  There was maybe an 18 inch gap between the last iron bar at the bottom and the concrete slab on the outside.  Jamie slid under, then I slid under and I can't be sure because I was so terrified at that point but I think the other two girls went out the same window that we had came in.

That was probably one of the scariest moments in my life. 

I don't know who ever moved into that old house but I would love to know if they hear the clanking metal too.

Untitled

So mother fucking sick of this shit.  That is all.

Fawk You and Me

Hosted by Boobies, Babies & A Blog and I'm Just Sayin' is your chance to hop and fuck it all at the same time.  Two birds with one stone or some shit like that.  


First off, Fawk Me for not hopping or fawking for a while.  


Fawk you Red River, you drain me of all energy, you make my thigh feel like it is going to explode and you make me eat asinine quantities of Grippos and chocolate ice cream.


Fawk you stupid shopping trip that did not yield a reunion dress.


Fawk all the gas I wasted trying to find a stupid ass dress and it was at the last place I looked.


This may be premature but Fawk you to the sexy, new heels that I am sure are going to make me trip and fall and perhaps break my ankle.  (Just getting that out of the way now)


Fawk you to the idiot that said something really hateful to my girl, Ashley.  Actually, that fool gets a real FUCK YOU.  Please come say something stupid to me...I beg you!

The Peon Diaries~Chapter Five

Dear Diary,


What a trying week.  I cannot even properly convey the damage control I have had to do.  The Royal's troubled beloved CB, has completely went off the deep end.  The Queen had to commit the poor dear.  Seems she is suffering from mental exhaustion.  Of course, the tabloids are reporting it as a "stint in a mental health facility for sexual addiction" but what the hell do they know?  


Before I was up close and personal with the members of The Empire, I thought that it was just a life of glam and glitz.  Mingling at fancy balls and having all the finer things in life.  Little did I know that this life is emotionally taxing.  So many demands.  I need you on this corner, bring me my Xanax, why are the gators hungry?  Poor little CB crumbled under the pressure.  How can you pleasure Tiger Woods, be absolutely flawless for photo-ops and still maintain your sanity.  It's impossible.  


As I drove CB to the retreat where she would regain her identity, she confided in me and now I have a much clearer outlook of what Royalty has to go through on a day to day basis.  So many demands while appearing perfect to the outside world.  The minions must never know of the hardships.  Every day should resemble a debutante ball.  It would be nice to think that she eloped with Kyle as that other rag reported...

Reunion Dress and The Bad Knee

Oh Dear God, shoot me now!  OK, so I am past the chest cold and the pulled muscle in my right shoulder blade that kept me on the couch for about five days.  So, I decide today is a good day to go try to find a dress to wear to my twenty year reunion next weekend.  That was way too much walking around and I have jacked up my knee.  Let me backtrack.


After Alex got home from school I asked him to go to the grocery, so my fatness had to endure all that walking up and down aisles for an hour and a half.  Oh, but he got his nasty crab meat on sale so I guess that was a win.  


After dinner, which consisted of bagged salad, deli chicken and a loaf of sweet, Italian bread (yep, lazy dinner, don't judge) and after I got sufficiently pissed because facebook was actin' a fool, I bribed Alex with an Orange Julius from the mall to walk with me through racks and racks of stupid ass dresses.  He's such a good boy, he only made fun of me about fifty-leven times and only embarrassed me once.  All that walking when the only exercise I get is walking to the bathroom proved too much for the ole knee.  Pray for my cartilage.  And still, no stupid ass dress.  I rummaged through racks at about 9 different shops, including Macy's.  I saw a dress on their website that might be doable but of course, I couldn't find anything like it in the store.  I am going to try Dress Barn tomorrow and if I can't find any thing that suits me then don't think I won't bust up in that mother in jeans!


Dani was working and I got to see her for a few minutes.  It's been a while since I saw her.  She colored her hair again and it is black-black.  It was shocking but she is so beautiful no matter what her hair looks like.  I don't know why it was so shocking because she was born with coal black hair...but it was.  She looks so much like my Mom.  She is going to come over on Friday and help me at the girls' school.  Friday night is the fall festival for the PTA.  I have done the asinine and volunteered to run the cake walk once again.  If you didn't hit me in the first paragraph go ahead, take a moment to reload and shoot me now!


That's about all I got for tonight.

You Betta Rec-a-nize!

I accept this particular award with great pride.  Despite my reluctance to rant like a crazy person as of late, I am super excited that my "mouthiness" has not been forgotten.

This is a special award that goes to only one person at a time. Because, only one person can earn it.  Thanks Christy!  Now, leave me comments and visit I'm Just Sayin' and leave some love there too, how else will you get your fat yap hat in the ring??

Emotionally Constipated

I do wish I had something fabulous to report. 

I feel emotionally constipated.  I want so much to say the things I want to say.  I want to purge like Kirstie Alley after three boxes of Twinkies.  I have been trying to figure out why it is so important to me to not say how I feel and the only thing that I can come up with is because everything that is cluttering my mind is "ugly".  Which has never really stopped me before.  My conscience is eating at me.  I feel like I am betraying myself by not saying what is on my mind.  Biting my tongue feels like it is destroying a part of my personality that I find endearing.  My honesty.  But on the other hand, my revelations would most likely cause hurt feelings.  

So, what am I to do?  Fake it 'til I make it?  Because that has never really worked before.  

It Makes Sense Now

I was so conflicted by Phil yesterday but now it is totally clear why he decided to block me on facebook.

Now go tell Holly, Photoshop Queen of the World (not the county, the world) that she is uber amazing because she made this for me!!

Dr. Phil Blocked Me...What?

What kind of shit is this?  Dr. Phil done blocked me?  What the hell?  I am no longer able to leave my comments.  Am I that far gone?  
You want to know my favorite line from a movie, Phil?
I don't give a fuuuuck~Friday

Now, I know the true definition of cockblock.

The Peon Diaries~Chapter Four

Dear Diary,


It has been a long week and I am finally getting a moment to sit and journal.  I really don't know where to start.


First of all, I was called into action when The Dutchess thought she was being ambushed.  Long story short, she was watching some creepy, Halloweenish shit on the TV and became slightly paranoid.  She did a stop, drop and roll in an attempt to avoid the terrifying raccoon serial killer lurking at her back door. She was so disturbed by the experience that has taken handfuls of Xanax to the bed.  Poor Dutchess.  


After a little digging I found out who this infamous Kyle was.  A Nascar Driver.  Can you believe it?  CB is obsessing over some silly race car driver.  After mulling over the information that I had come up with and given that she was just in an altercation that could have cost me my job I decided that it would be best to have a plain clothes security officer guard her on her next trip to the track.  Which was sooner than later so I had to scurry to find someone on short notice.  I quickly contacted Copyboy and he hornily happily agreed.  I thought I was clear in my instruction that he was only supposed to guard CB from afar but she came home complaining that she was being stalked by a stranger at the race track that day.  Luckily he only came off as an adoring fan or my brilliant plan of keeping CB in line without her ever knowing it would have been blown.  I think I am going to have to find a female plant.  The men subcontractors will work for peanuts but I guess you get what you pay for.


There was a major uproar in the Castle this weekend.  Apparently, the Paparazzi leaked a story to the tabloids with their own twisted spin.  Momma Fargo is a close friend of the Queen and has been known to clean up a few of the Royal's messes.  She is a police officer and has inside access to make some things just disappear.  Because the Queen thought that the Royals may be wrongly implicated she, of course, had to come to the defense of Momma.  After all she owed it to her,  I suppose.  The tabloid article spewed of inaccuracies and accusations that are not a huge surprise.  When you read a tabloid you know what you are getting, right?  Just a bunch of bullshit with a saucy title.  So the story goes, Momma is getting a divorce and her work ethic is in question.  Of course, there is no story here but there will always be some questionable journalist that will do anything for a headline.  Luckily, it seems that the press has backed off and noone was fed to the gators.  Poor gators.

BOOM GONE

Shwew!  That was worse than scrubbing the toilets.  I realized that I maybe had too many blogs in my blogroll that I wasn't really following so I decided to go through the 350+ that at some point or another decided I was going to follow for whatever reason.  I am sure most of them had to do with some cool giveaway at the time but they aren't really anything I am vested in.  I managed to get them down to 150.  


I actually removed them from my blogroll with a plan.

• If you haven't posted in over 2 months BOOM GONE.
• If the only thing you post are giveaways and there is no personal element to your blog BOOM GONE.
• If the only thing you do are reviews and there is no personal element to your blog BOOM GONE.
• If you have written more than 3 posts that read as if you are belittling your readers with your intelligence and large vocabulary BOOM GONE.
• If I can't find one post from a self-proclaimed Soccer Mom that isn't just a bitch session I am going to assume your life is so peachy that you don't need reassurance from the likes of me BOOM GONE.
• I value my eyesight, so if your background is black and your font is 8pt and you are not totally dynamic BOOM GONE.
• If you have manic, bipolar, depression etc in your title and the ONLY thing you talk about is living green and the joy of cloth diapers BOOM GONE
• If I have left you more than three comments on various posts and you have never acknowledged my existence, I assume my comment is not important  BOOM GONE.
• If you have a humor blog and you are about as funny as a dying slug BOOM GONE

And to all of the wonderful bloggers that made the cut, much love to ya honey!!

This Idiot

This idiot.  Yep, this idiot is (or his attorney) is claiming he has Bipolar Disorder.  As I was listening to the news earlier I couldn't believe my ears.  Well, I could but then my ears started burning.  I am pretty sure my head caught on fire.  I have mentioned this before but it pisses me off to no end when celebrities and crooks do something totally fucked up and then cry mental illness.  


This peckersnot did not crash his plane in a fit of manic agitation.  That shit was calculated and decisive.  A suicidal person usually doesn't have the energy to go to so much trouble to end it all.  There is no elaborate plan.  The best your getting is an apology/good-bye letter and possible instruction for funeral arrangements.


Do you know how hard it was telling anyone that I was diagnosed with Bipolar?  Not easy.  And, why you ask? Because of knock-kneed, needle-dick assholes like this that do these extreme things and then use Bipolar Disorder as their defense.  Mel, you know I am talkin' to your ass too.  


People look at you different after they glimpse a headline in the Sunday paper that reads, "Mother charged in childrens' slayings" and later hear her attorney spouting BP.  


OK, off my soapbox now.  If you want to read about how I came to be diagnosed click here.

Bullies Never Change

Cyber bullying.  The TV is inundated with stories this past few weeks.  Celebrities speaking out against it.  Special programming to be aired.  Public service announcements out the hoohaa.  


This is not something new.  This generation didn't invent it; Although, they are certainly trying to perfect it.  Bullying has been going on forever and no matter what hot "celebrity of the week" you find to fight the cause it will continue to go on forever.  It is just getting easier for the bullies with all of the technology we have.  


When I was growing up, bullying was the same...but different.  The same in that it was the same rumors, the same threats and the same fear and anxiety brewing in those who were the target.  Different because it is much easier now.  You can Tweet that shit.  So and so slept with Whichamajigger and she was a dead lay.  Well, back in my day, you had to write it on a piece of wide-ruled paper, pass it Blah-blah who would then pass it to Blabbermouth and the next thing you know the whole school knows.  You are now the biggest whore in school.  It took at least until lunchtime for everyone to get word.  These days it is instant and reaches the masses.  If you laid down and took the verbal harassment, there was a high probability you were going to get jumped when the bell rung.  


I don't think that there is one individual on the face of this earth that hasn't bullied or harassed someone in their life.  It may not have been as extreme as give me a box of Twinkies or your ass is going in a locker but everyone has harassed, belittled, tormented, criticized or otherwise intimidated another person.  There is always somebody lower on the food chain.  I am not condoning it.  I am just realistic enough to know that a televised crusade is not going to change things. 


I don't think we need to appeal to the weak and meager.  We need to appeal to the little peckersnots that think recording someone getting their ass beat or loved and streaming it to the world is super fun.  And, how do we do that?  Threats.


There is a fine line between fear and respect.  Bullies lack both.

Smart and Pretty Girls

After a shit day yesterday, today was not much better.  I was doing good with my cutting back smoking until all hell broke loose yesterday and now I am back at square one.  Son of a mother fucking bitch.  Beau is sick with whatever Ohio Valley crud is circulating and Avery started coughing her little, cute head off tonight.  This whole house is going to be a festering cesspool of yellow, slimy mucous.  Yeah, gross.  I know, I know.


The kids came home with their report cards today.  The girls are both on the Honor Roll this grading period and the school sent home a letter wanting to test Haylee for the Advanced Program.  I am going back and forth on this because Dani was in AP classes and didn't really do well.  She called me tonight and told me that I should let her take the AP classes if she passes in and just because she didn't really apply herself that being in those classes were better for her.  I can see the benefit.  It would definitely bode well when she goes to apply for a high school if she wants to be in a magnet school like the one that I went to.  Dani explained that there is a higher caliber of people in those classes too.  I decided to let her do the test and depending on where her scores fall that will help me decide.  I just don't want to put her into a high-pressure situation if she is just on the borderline.


The girls also brought home their proof sheets for their fall pictures.  I just can't resist sharing.

The Peon Diaries~Chapter Three

Dear Diary,


I have been recovering since Saturday night.  Every muscle in my body aches and I think I am missing a patch of hair. I was having a fantastic weekend and almost made it through my first on-call weekend without actually being called upon.  And, then it happened...


I received the call shortly before midnight.  Apparently, CB, aptly named the Princess of Class, Trash and Sass, decided that it would be an OK decision to drive to the Shore, to meet up with her friend Gucci for a night of wild parties.  I knew that she was attending anger management classes which were reported to the Paparazzi as a vacation because Vera had previously mentioned that.  I even had a good idea that this job would sometimes be chaotic.  Before I began this job I would read of the Royal Family's antics in the tabloids and I thought to myself, "that CB is always on vacation".  Now, I know the "Class" part of her title refers to the court-ordered kind.


On the drive over to the club I was informed that because of the altercation that she had on the Shore several weeks earlier she was not permitted to leave the county as a condition of her parole.  She shouldn't have even been on the Shore! When I arrived at the scene, and believe you me that is exactly what it was, Jo Jo was already there trying to break through the crowd. The pair of us quickly cleared the crowd and made our way to the corner of the bar where we found CB accosting two patrons.  It took a few minutes because that Royal is a beast.  She had super human strength that could only be induced by an entire bottle of Jager.  She was screaming obscenities and it sounded as if she was defending someone named Kyle.  I didn't even know she had a love interest at this time.  Before we were able to intervene someone was able to snap a photo with a cell phone.  I am thinking of taking out an ad in the local paper thanking the idiot innocent bystander that felt it necessary to sell the picture to the Enquirer.  I am a bit worried that this picture will become a permanent part of my personnel file.  CB assured me that this kind of thing happens all of the time and that I wouldn't face disciplinary action.  This kind of thing happens all of the time?  For the love of Vodka! Again I ask, what have I gotten myself into?  


Since I was only required to write up an incident report and leave it at the guard shack, I didn't actually have to talk to anyone when we returned CB back to the Castle but I am thinking The Queen cannot be happy about this!


Note to self: Find out who this Kyle character is and what relationship he has to CB.  He most certainly must be an important figure in her life if she is willing to rip two girls to shreds over him.  Also, add Rogaine and a bottle of Advil to my shopping list.

Drawn Lines

~The truth shall set you free~

That is a bold faced lie.  The truth will not set you free; it holds you prisoner.  Whether you keep it to yourself or shout it from the rooftops, the truth does not afford you freedom.  

I said no over and over but she did not listen.  Did it really need to be said?  I don't think it did.  It was very clear and now it is clouded.  The lines that were drawn are now blurred.   

Just Conflicted

I am so conflicted.  I have good news that I cannot talk about and I have bad news that I also cannot talk about.  Well, I can talk about the bad news but no good could come of it so why bother.  I am probably going to have to get a spiral notebook and do that old thing they call penmanship to purge.


Because of this I have a block.  I can't find any new words because the words that are filling my brain cannot be released.  It is consuming me.  This is very distressing.  


Can't talk about the good, can't talk about the bad.  Just conflicted.  I feel like I am in a mental prison.  


What is worse, is that I am allowing myself to be in a mental prison.  I am the girl that says what she means and means what she says.  Why am I allowing myself to be stifled? 


Please help, friends.  Because I am....conflicted.


Operation Hopeidontcuttabitch update: I have smoked less today than yesterday and much less than before I started the medication.  I don't think it is because of the medicine at this point, I am just making  a conscious effort to busy myself when I want to walk out on the porch.  I still have a long way to go.

Awards and Blog of the Day

A little business to take care of....

The Ranter's Box


Mama Tink's Tinkerings

Thank You RB and Mama!!!
Brilliant, yes most days.  Stylish, now that's one I have never been accused of!  Also, I made blog of the day over at NOT WORTH MENTIONING


I ain't gonna lie there are responsibilities attached to these awards but I cannot focus enough so I will do a part two...eventually.  In  the meantime, go check out these blogs and spread the love!


On the quit smoking/Operation Hopeidon'tcuttabitch front, I started the new medicine yesterday and the only difference I have noticed so far is that I have a ton of weird energy.  I just feel good.  Like I really don't need a V-8.  The other thing is my nose hurts.  It feels like somebody knocked me upside the head with a sock full of dimes.  I don't know if that has anything to do with it or it's just a crazy coincidence.  I hope it goes away because every time I yawn or laugh real hard it feels like my skull is going to crack straight down the middle.