Sorry About My Tits

Okay, so. A week or so some guy walks into the shop and takes a seat. I’d never seen him before but several old-school barber shops have closed recently (we’re a dying breed) so that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

 

I finish with my client, turn to the guy and ask him if he’s ready to get a haircut. He responds with “I’m waiting for the guy”. and indicates T. No biggie, I figured he’d been in the shop before when I’d been out and he’s had T cut his hair before.

 

That was not the case. The guy sits in T’s chair and proceeds to tell him “Yeah. I’m new here and I’ve always had a man cut my hair so I wanted to wait for you.”

 

Ummmmmmm…… Excuse me, Fucker??

 

So, lemme get this straight. You chose T over not just me but the other woman who works in the shop because we have TITS!?!?

 

Do my mammary glands and vagina somehow make me less capable than my male counterpart??

 

Or are you just somehow intimidated by an intelligent, confident woman who’s able to hold her own in a male dominated profession??

 

I’m guessing the latter. And since that was most likely the case, you decided to try and “humiliate” me by announcing loudly that you were waiting for “The Guy”??

 

Slow. Golf. Clap. For. You.

 

You misogynistic asswipe.

 

To his credit, T told him that any one of us could have cut his hair.

 

Sadly, now only one of us actually WANTS to.

 

Well, only one of us wants to give him a DECENT haircut anyway.

 

I’d love nothing better than to give him a reverse mohawk so he can look like the jackass he actually is.

 

Life is hard. It’s even harder if you’re a dick.

 

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If anyone needs me…

Okay, so. We are having some work done to our house. Today we are having all new windows installed.

 

In AUGUST.

 

In South Louisiana.

 

Because we OBVIOUSLY thought this through.

 

Anyway, there are contractors walking in & out of my house. The air conditioning is running non-stop (because, yes indeed, we ARE air-conditioning the ENTIRE neighborhood today, thankyouverymuch), and I desperately have to pee but I’m afraid to leave the dining room table because I have absolutely no idea where the strange men are in my house and there are giant, gaping holes in my walls, and one of those holes may or may not be in our master bathroom.

 

Yes, we have another bathroom but it is the domain of a teenage boy. Need I say more?? Really??

 

So… If anyone needs me, I can probably be found hiding under the dining room table in a blanket fort. You’re welcome to come in but you’d better bring an adult beverage. For yourself, of course because I’m not sharing mine. I NEED that shit y’all.

 

Ooooohhh!!! Some pastries wouldn’t hurt either.

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I Was Just Too Smug

Okay, so.  A few weeks back, I had to have a routine mammogram. It took next to no time, I texted “bewbie squish” selfies to The ECB before and after, and I was on my way. I got home and posted to my FB page “Okay, so. I don’t have any history of breast cancer in my family that I’m aware of so I don’t view a mammogram as the Sword of Damocles. It’s more like 30 minutes or so I had to take.out of my day to stand topless in a room with a very nice lady who squished my bewbies in a machine. It was over quickly and involved minimal trauma.”

And Karma laughed. Because I was just too smug about it all.

I worried I might come off as offensively glib when I posted that. I expected to get slammed for that but since FB has screwed up the posts so badly that almost NO ONE sees a blog pages stuff anymore, I got crickets.

I DID, however, get THE CALL. The call where they say “We saw a spot and we want you to come in and have some more stuff done so we can determine what it is.

WELL SHIT!!

I sat there for a minute processing and trying not to go to the darkest place possible because, like I said, I have no history of breast cancer so I didn’t feel like I should panic.

I did text TWH and a handful of friends to let them know what was going on because I needed the “protective bubble” then I went in the next week for my tests and waited for yet another phone call.

The call came and everything is fine. I’m as normal as I’m gonna get, I suppose, but oh my dayumm!! I DID NOT like the week of uncertainty and wonder.

And I get to do it all again in a year or two. Wheeeeeeee!!

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Bright Lights in the Darkness

The bright lights in the darkness on The Day the Earth Stood Still were the people who stood beside me.

The EMT who called me every time there was a change and asked for a follow up phone call later.

The stranger who stopped who called again to ask if I’d heard anything because he was “worried to death”.

My family and friends whose constant calls, texts, and messages kept me sane and whole.

The Queendom who responded with overwhelming love, support, and offers of help.

My fellow Bloggers and Twitter addicts. I’ve never met any of these folks in real life but they were there for the whole thing.

People who passed along my FB posts and tweets asking for prayers for my little girl.

People from high school, whom I haven’t seen in YEARS, who offered words of sympathy and support.

 

Anyone who “liked”, commented, texted, called, messaged, and “shared”. Anyone who did ANYTHING.

 

You were all the bright lights in the darkness.

 

And I am so very grateful.

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The Day the Earth Stood Still

Friday afternoon I answered a call. From a number I didn’t recognize.

It was a man whose name I neither knew or recognized.

He asked my name. I said yes, I was she.

He asked if my daughter’s name was Miss A. I said yes, it was.

He began to speak.

My heart stopped.

My breath caught in my throat.

The earth stood still.

I listened carefully.

Then I began to move.

I gathered my things and ran for the door and my car. Phone still pressed to my ear.

Listening to the man I didn’t know and will never meet describe my second-worst nightmare.

Miss A had been in an accident. She was being transported to the hospital.

The extent of her injuries was unknown.

And she was 2&1/2 hours away.

I called TWH. When he answered, I yelled “I’m going to Jackson!!”

He didn’t even need to ask. He told me to come to his office.

I told him to meet me at the house, I was already on the interstate.

Then I went into crisis mode.

I work well there.

I plan. I organize.

I think.

20 minutes later, I’d pulled into my driveway and I had a plan of action.

Pack clothes. TB with friends. Dogs to groomers.

30 minutes later, we were on the road and my phone was busy.

I spoke with police officers.

I spoke with EMT’s.

I spoke with my child.

We both cried.

I finally get to Jackson.

I walk in to the trauma room and see Miss A.

On a gurney with an oxygen mask, a cervical collar, and covered in blood.

Worse than I thought.

So much worse.

The earth paused again.

I take it all in.

Then I move.

I kiss my child.

I hold her hand.

I ask questions.

I start to clean off the blood.

It’s not as bad as it looks.

But it’s bad enough.

She is bruised and broken.

But she is alive.

And she needs me.

She asks me not to leave her.

I promise I won’t.

And she sleeps.

Just for a minute.

She wakes up and calls for me.

“I’m here Baby. I’ll always be here.”

She is alive. She is whole. She will heal.

I see pictures of the car later.

I realize what a miracle this is.

And I weep.

I weep because she is alive.

I weep because she is whole.

I weep because she will heal.

I weep because she came so very close to not.

I weep because my world will continue as it was.

With both my children to hold and love.

But I will ALWAYS remember the day the earth stood still.

And I will pray it never happens again.

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Aaaaahhh Springtime. We meet again.

Okay, so. As I’ve mentioned before, I have a love/hate relationship with the Spring. It makes me simultaneously joyful and sad for a multitude of reasons. But I try every day to chose the joy. Some days I fake it. Some days I find it. Every day I try.

 

This year has already surpassed last year in the joy category. I’ve surrounded myself with an absolutely amazing group of people who make my heart sing. I’ve deepened relationships that already meant a lot to me. I’ve created new ones that bring me laughter and joy.

 

I should, by all accounts, have no complaints. But then things happen like my trip to SAMS yesterday.

 

Yesterday I realized that Miss A is really and truly going off to college in the fall.  I realized it when I saw an ottoman and looked closer to see if it had storage in it because it had a cute pattern on it and I was going to snap it up to put in Miss A’s dorm room.

 

OMIGAWD MY KID IS GOING TO COLLEGE!!!  When in the fuck did this happen!?!?  Cue the funk.  Cue the tears.  Cue the wallowing and the worry.

 

She’ll be 18 in a little over two weeks.  In a few months, she’ll leave her Dad’s house and go on to carve out her own space in the world.

 

I worry that she’s not ready.

 

I worry that she’s enough like me that she’ll be too stubborn or proud to ask for help when she needs it.

 

I worry that she still leaves wet towels on her bed.

 

And wears mis-matched socks on the regular.

 

I worry because she’s my Baby Girl.

 

And I want the world to be kind to her. Even though I know some days it won’t be.

 

I worry, and I hope.  The world is a big, scary, wonderful, amazing place.

 

I hope she experiences it all and comes out all the better for it.

 

Some days this Momma gig kicks you right in the ass.

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Cabin Fever!!

Okay, so. You all know that I live in SOLA (South Louisiana) and it’s usually a mild, semi-tropical climate where the seasons are: Hot, Hot-as-Balls, Football, and Mardi Gras.

Not so much this week. This week it’s been C.O.L.D.!!  We had sleet last Friday, then an okay weekend, followed by sleet & some snow ALL FREAKING DAY yesterday. I have basically been home/ off work since LAST FRIDAY. I went to work for a few hours (2&1/2) Saturday but haven’t been back since.

I am slowly losing my mind. For reals…  I have done ALL the laundry, save what we currently have on our bodies. I have baked a batch of muffins and a batch of scones. The house is clean. My kitchen is  currently spotless. I’ve even washed the dog beds for fucks sake!!

I looked at TWH last night and said “I can’t remember the last time I shampooed my hair”. (Since I color my hair, I don’t shampoo it every day. Every 2-3 days usually does it for me. Rinse & condition. That’s it. Judge me if you like.)

Anyway, I used to read these FB posts by SAHM’s blatantly stating that they couldn’t remember the last time they’d showered/shampooed their hair/shaved their legs/whatever and I would think “Eeeewwwwww….”. Being relatively sure I bathed every day when the kids were little. (I may not have, who the hell knows anymore) I totally get it now though. You’re home, you’re in your comfy clothes, you may or may not currently be wearing the same yoga pants/leggings you’ve been wearing for the past three days. IT DOESN’T MATTER.  Everyone is still whole and breathing and you haven’t left the house this week anyway.

Having said that, as soon as it gets above freezing, Imma lace up my running shoes and go burn off some of the calories I’ve consumed (Cabin fever eat-a-thon, yo!!) along with some of this excess energy.

THEN I’ll shampoo my hair.

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Do NOT Poke the (Mama) Bear!!

Okay, so. Earlier today I was at work when I received a text message from TWH that read ” (Blank) thinks you are a drunk… We were talking about ComiCon and I mentioned that we were staying (in New Orleans) overnight. (Blank) asked why we weren’t taking the kids. I told (Blank) that we ARE taking the kids. They’ve stayed in hotels before, it will be okay. (Blank) was concerned for their safety because we are over-nighting in New Orleans and will probably go out and get sloshed…

I assured (Blank) that you ARE NOT a drunk, despite you’re Facebook posts, that our kids are 15 and 18, have seen us have a drink before, and that it’s not really not that big of a deal.”

 

What the actual fuck!?!?  Aside from the fact that this person ONLY knows me from a few work functions with TWH and my Facebook pages, WHAT RIGHT does this person have to judge me. my husband, and our parenting choices. Especially considering they have NO children of their own??

 

I posted a small rant on my MBM page that read:

 

Here’s a PSA. What I post both here and on my personal page is in NO WAY the sum total of my life. Either as a person or as a parent. If what you see here causes you to have some butthurt or some “concerns” about my life choices as they pertain to myself or my family, you are more than welcome to fuck right off and please GAWD let the door smack you on the way out. Maybe it will dislodge the stick that’s wedged firmly in your ass!! <end rant>

My Fambly and friends came to my defense, for which I am thankful.

 

But the question that stuck with me is Who is (Blank) to judge me?? Which led me to the bigger question… Why judge at all?? We’re all parents. There is no manual. We’re all doing the best we can, with the knowledge and skills we have, to raise these people and if they grow up to be anything other than whores, drug dealers, or serial killers, we’ve done okay.

 

Having said that, if you poke the Mama Bear, I will come at you screaming, rip your arms off, and beat you to death with them. I am a Mother.I am the single most dangerous animal on planet earth and I will DESTROY YOU!!

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Breaking Up Is Surprisingly Easy to Do

Okay, so. I’ve mentioned on Twitter & my MBM FB page that I’d had lunch a few times with this guy who turned out to be a gigantic asshole.  He made inappropriate comments while we were out to lunch once, then he sent me a few text messages I wasn’t too thrilled with.  I decided to just try ignoring his texts at first because I thought if I didn’t engage, he’d get the hint and leave me alone.

 

Not so much….  Sadly…

 

THEN I went to Cancun for the weekend with my ECB for her birthday. I came back to daily text messages. DAILY.  I finally responded with “What??”.  At this point, guy demanded to know where’d I’d been and why I hadn’t been answering him. I stated I’d been out of town. He then demanded to know why I hadn’t spent my hard earned money for $1.99 or so per text (or more) texting him back.  I didn’t even text TWH on this trip y’all!! I shelled out $30 for interwebz for 5 days so I could email him but texts were NOT happening.  Asshole guy responds with “I rank higher than your husband and am well worth the money. Remember I’m your boss and I pay your salary”.  Oh yeah, he was a client.  WAS.

 

Mother fucker crossed a line. He didn’t just cross a line, he slid across like it was his JOB then jumped up, dusted himself off, looked around at his new digs in Whatthefucklandia and declared himself The Asshole King.

 

I was DONE. Which is pretty much what I told him. I send back “Are you trying to be a dick or do you think you’re actually funny. If it’s the first one, you’re doing a bang-up job. If it’s the second one, you’re failing miserably. Either way, I’m 500% done with your bullshit and I think it’s time for you to stop texting me”.

 

I think he got the message.

 

Breaking up is hard to do my ass. It’s surprisingly simple, depending on how pissed you are.

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I’m a Concession Stand Diva

Okay, so.  I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it, but TB is in the high school band. It has basically Taken. Over. Our. Lives.  It’s all band, all the time in the Mouthy House these days.

 

One way it’s taken over the lives of TWH and me is the concession stand.  Holy Fuck!!  Y’all… I have always prided myself on the fact that I work with the pub-lick daily and have never managed to kill anyone to death with a blunt object.  The concession stand may just change all that…

 

Because THIS concession stand is in Tha Redneckhood.  And these motherfuckers are PICKY. Like two-year-old-in-a-restaurant PICKY.

 

And with just a mere 3 shifts, I was banned from ever working the window and dealing directly with this portion of the pub-lick.  For. Life.

 

See, it happened like this:

 

I’m in the back, handling the fries when TWH, who is working the window, yells back “We need a cheeseburger with FOUR pickles!!”.  I said “You need a WHAT!?!?”. He said, again “A cheeseburger with FOUR pickles”.

 

Oh Sweet Baby Jeebus. I did the only thing there was to do at the point. I looked at the girl working the burger station and yelled, LOUDLY “WE GOT A COMPLICATED ORDER!!”.  (I can’t believe I actually got to say that in real life. I’m still a little giddy.)  While my humor was appreciated by the rest of the parents and some of the other patrons, the lady I was pseudo-mocking wasn’t really that amused.

 

Later that night, some kid we’d seen no less than a dozen times comes up to the window and yells into the back “I want a hamburger with chili on it!!”.

 

Okay, for starters ya little shit, I’m not your bitch. I’m A bitch. I’m just not YOUR bitch.  Here’s the reply he got. “NO!!”.  He then demanded “Why NOT!?!”  I answered him simply “Because it’s STUPID. Order something we’re actually gonna make you or go bother someone else. We’re BUSY!!”.

 

The parents working the window looked a little flabbergasted. I think they were torn between keeping an eye out for an angry Momma and giving me a standing ovation.

 

A few nights later, we were in the concession stand again.  It looked like all the positions in the back were filled so I offered to take up a place at the window when a chorus of voices shouted “NO”.

 

Guess making chili cheese fries is truly my calling.

 

Because they’re never gonna let me do anything else.

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