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.


I Dressed Myself!!

Okay, so.  Last week Miss A called and asked me to walk her on the field (along with her Dad) for Senior Night. OF COURSE I said “Yes”.  Tuesday morning I packed my suitcase and drove up to north Mississippi.


I wasn’t sure what I wanted to wear so I packed a dress and a pantsuit.  When I got to the hotel, I showered and tried on each outfit, took selfies, and sent them to Miss A, TWH, and T to ask their opinions. Miss A didn’t answer, TWH just texted me back telling me I was HAWT, and T picked the dress. I then realized I had no shorts to wear under the dress (chub rub yo) and I thought I looked thinner in the pantsuit so the pantsuit won out.  What?? I have my vanity…


Anyway, I got dressed and headed up to the High School where I met Miss A.  I went into the guard room to help Miss A get ready. She totally had her shit together so I just pitched in where I could.  At one point Miss A comes up to me and whispers “Zip your pants woman”. Oh Jeebus…. I’ve been walking around with my fly undone. Shirttail’s out, no biggie. It was (mostly) covered. That’s what I’m telling myself, at least.


Senior Night goes off with only a very small hitch (the announcer calls me by my ex-husbands last name thus causing his current wife to be all sorts of bitchy. I laughed my ass off), Miss A & I meet back up and go for dinner.


THAT’S when I noticed I’d been walking around with my shirt buttoned one-off all freaking night.


I then texted my ECB and told her “Alright… I get to the band room and Miss A has to tell me to zip my pants. I realized at dinnerthat I’d missed a buttonhole on my shirt. I can’t decide if I’m the worst representative of folks my age or the best one ever…”.  She texted me back and told me I was the best ever.


My nagging question is: If I can do that fucked up a job dressing myself stone-cold sober, what kind of hot mess would I be if I tried to dress myself when I’d been drinking??


Maybe I’ll find out in Mexico…

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This One Time, In New Orleans…

Okay, so. I spent last weekend in New Orleans with some friends for the Red Dress Run.  This was the first time I had ever been in New Orleans just to screw off. Before I’ve always gone down there to do grown-up responsible shit. School trips, family, that sort of stuff but never in the 15 years that I’ve lived here had I gone down to play.


And play we did.  We started the weekend at the Saints preseason game. My friend Fiona & I spent most of the game (that I was there for, traffic kept me away until after halftime) gossiping & photo-bombing the guy in front of us as he took selfies. He and his buddy thought it was funny and kept instructing us on what kind of faces to make in the photos. (Is it photo-bombing if your victims know you’re doing it??)  Anyway, after we left the game, we hit up a couple of bars. My friends in their cute Saints gear and me in my funky workout gear.


Yep, my workout gear. I, having completely underestimated New Orleans traffic, drove straight down from Physical Therapy thinking I’d stop at the hotel, clean up, THEN go to the game being all clean & cute & stuff. Not so much. Traffic forced me to abandon that plan and just suck it up and go out in my stanky-ass workout clothes.


Sidenote: It’s really hard to feel cute and sexy in a bar in workout clothes.


After hitting a few bars, Fiona & I decide to head on over to our hotel and check in. It’s about 1AM at this point. Our hotel was this place in the French Quarter between Bourbon St. and Armstrong Park where the set-up for the Red Dress Run was the next day. It’s probably a couple hundred years old and was expanded over the years in the only direction you can go in the Quarter. Sideways.


Anyway, after locating the lobby, I get in line behind the lady in front of me and begin waiting my turn. It must’ve taken me a full TWO MINUTES to realize something was amiss and another 30 seconds or so to figure out what it was.

The woman in front of me was Nekkid.  Not COMPLETELY starkers, she was wearing bikini bottoms, but close enough to it that as soon as I realized it, I began to surreptitiously take photos with my phone. None of which were worth a damn, unfortunately. Otherwise I would have tweeted them with the caption “Y’all ain’t gonna believe this shit!!”. Timing and the poor lighting were against me…


Apparently this woman and her “Group” come down every year, to this hotel, and be nekkid. The hotel had changed management and management was not down with them being nekkid and they WERE NOT happy. I hafta admit, I was kinda happy because in true, real life fashion, this wasn’t swimsuit model nekkid, it was People of Wawl-Mark nekkid. That, my friends, is some BAD NEKKID.


After the nekkid woman left, I got all checked in, got a map to our room, (that should have been aclue) and Fiona and I followed the bellhop and our other friends to our room.


As we’re going to our rom, I’m looking around. There were small courtyards with fountains, pools, and wonderful brick pavers on the ground.  The rooms that faced onto the courtyards looked like little bungalows. I was absolutely taken with the place so far.


Until we got to OUR room, that is.


We took our key (an ACTUAL KEY, mind. None of that elec-tronic bullshit here!!) and triumphantly threw open the door to our little abode for the weekend and drew in a collective gasp that was NOT of delight.


Ho-Lee Shee-yut!!  I’m not a room snob or anything but this room was… different, from anywhere I’ve stayed in AWHILE.  First, only about half the light bulbs actually worked so it had a very Bates Motel vibe to it. Secondly, our room had a WINDOW UNIT!!! I haven’t seen a window unit since the 80’s!! Said window unit was attached to a LIGHT SWITCH so it only had two speeds. ON and OFF.  I don’t even want to discuss the powder blue linoleum in the bathroom that was obviously a replacement because it ALMOST reached the baseboards and the questionable stain in the middle of the carpet.


Fiona and I had no words. This was a last-minute reservation due to an un-forseen change in the number of people we thought could occupy the room we WERE booked into and keep our sanity. We were pretty much stuck in that room for the duration.


We first began calling the hotel “The Hotel” making the air quotes with our fingers. We then began referring to it as our “Hostel”. Then we simply called it the “Hostile”.


However, we didn’t get killed to death, neither one of us woke up with a rat sitting on our chest, we ended up just the two of us in a room instead of four women crammed into one room, and we now know where we NEVER want to stay in New Orleans EVER again.  So there’s THAT…


Also, the Red Dress Run was FABULOUS. I plan on doing it EVERY YEAR. I got to hear Cowboy Mouth afterward. I met some fabulous new people. AND I had some of the best Chocolate Martinis at the bar in the W Hotel that I have ever poured down my throat. All in all, the weekend was top-notch.





Christmas is Coming (edited because TWH thought I was begging you guys for gifts)

Okay, so.  Maybe Christmas isn’t exactly right around the corner but I REALLY need something from the Bloggess’ Zazzle store and I’ve already Sent TWH my birthday list so now I have to start begging him for Christmas gifts. Or anniversary gifts. That comes before Christmas.


I hope to shit THIS ends up under my Christmas tree. It’ll look spectacular on my bed!!


And I need it!!  NEEEEDDDD IT!!!!


I Checked Out, Y’all

Okay, so.  I haven’t been around in a while and I kind of feel like I owe you guys an explanation for that.


This year has been pretty crap-tastic so far what with my MIL’s cancer and my knee surgery.  There have been moments of pure awesome that I have thoroughly enjoyed thrown in there too but crap-tastic ruled there for a little bit.


This is a blog about my life and things that happen to me that I choose to share.  I felt like at the beginning of the year ALL I was blogging about was my MIL’s cancer. This AIN’T my MIL’s Cancer Blog. She is more than welcome to blog/write about her cancer if she so chooses but I didn’t want to turn my blog into that.  Also, her cancer brought some underlying problems with TWH’s fambly to the forefront and I was very angry for a while.  I didn’t write about my anger here because A) These were not MY issues to share and B) There are some folks in TWH’s fambly that I adore and I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings with my angry rantings. So I stepped away.  I didn’t put that here.


I hurt my knee in Zumba class & had to have that shit surgically repaired.  Because I’m either extra-awesome in the Klutz Department or I’m too spastic to be believed I managed to tear my ACL & Meniscus OFF which resulted in surgery.  Again, I was  little pissed off and full of self pity.  I talked about it on here but again, I didn’t write about it extensively because A) How much shit can I say about my bum knee. Really??  and B) I didn’t want to be one of those people who whine incessantly about my life to whomever will listen.  I deal with those folks on the daily at work and I never have jack-shit to say to them. Not because I lack sympathy but because I have NO IDEA what to say.  Honestly. I detest cliches and am never able to come up with something that sounds sympathetic but DOESN’T sound trite or contrived. So I stepped away. I didn’t put that here either.


There ARE some awesome things that have happened over the last few months. In March, I attended the SPQ weekend in Jackson, MS where I got my neck hugged by and got to hug the necks of so many people who are dear to me.   I got to see Miss A march in the Cherry Blossom Parade in Washington, DC in April.  We also got to spend a LOT of time together during my recovery. Time that we generally spent acting goofy and laughing at our own awful jokes while TB & TWH cringed.  I got to watch TB make me breakfast & see what a wonderful, caring young man he has become.  I got absolutely spoiled by TWH.  My cousin Ainsley sent me the GREATEST SOCK MONKEY SOCKS EVER. Not to mention upcoming trips I have planned with friends and Fambly.  I have high hopes for the remaining months of this year. I hope that they will be filled with more laughter, love and new wonderful memories.


THOSE are things I will tell you about.  I’m gonna try to come back from the void. To write more. To share more.  Hopefully, to make you laugh more.


I’ve been away for far too long.


I’m Scarring TB For Life (Episode # Eleventy-Seven)

Okay, so. Now that TB is firmly in the throes of Teenager-dom, I have begun knocking on his door before entering. Mostly to avoid seeing something that can’t be un-seen and that would probably initially horrify me even though I would make no end of fun of him later for it.


Anyway, this afternoon, I knock on his door and wait for him to let me know I have gained entry. When I walk into his room, instead of remaining seated at his computer desk as is customary, he has leaped from his computer chair and is standing at the door with his guilty face on.  I know it’s his guilty face because neither one of us can lie for shit and we have no kind of poker face.


I told him whatever I needed to tell him, then I almost walked out of his room.   the key word here being almost.


I had to ask about the guilty face.


Me: Why do you look guilty??  Are you looking at porn??


TB: What?!?!  NO..


Me: You know your Dad can check your browser history & shit so if you’re looking at porn or something else we wouldn’t approve of, you’d be better off saying so now.




Me: Then why do you have your guilty face on?? I know it’s your guilty face because I have the same guilty face. What the hell were you doing??  WHERE’S THE POO!?!?! (That’s a HIMYM reference BTW)




Me: I don’t believe you. I can’t prove otherwise, but I KNOW you’re up to something in here…


TB: Whatever…



Later, in a slightly sarcastic/slightly heartfelt attempt at busting him, I burst into his room without first announcing myself.


Me: HA!!!  You weren’t expecting me, WERE YOU!?!?!


TB: What are you DOING!?!?!


Me: Nothing. Here’s your backpack.



I’m keeping my eye on that kid for a few days….


He didn’t have his guilty face on for nothing.

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My Husband, the Asshole

Okay, so. We will be going on a cruise in a few months so TWH is filing out passport forms online. He keeps asking me questions.


Questions like:

What’s your Social Security Number??

How tall do you say you are??

What color do you say your hair is??


The man obviously thinks he’s funny. He’s wrong, of course. But HE’S laughing.


That makes ONE of us.


The WRONG one.


TWH can be such an asshole sometimes.






Oh The Humanity!!

Okay, so. I’ve said before that I live in Tha Redneckhood.  It was never more evident than my trip to the supermarket today. Apparently, going to the supermarket the day before a major holiday ensures a “People of Wal-Mart” type of experience.


There was the fellow walking in the middle of the parking lot proudly displaying his “Summer Teef”, the large and unwashed, the ridiculously thin & reeking of cigarette smoke with multiple children in tow, and the mobility challenged.


We went into the store and bobbed and weaved our way around them all. Occasionally at great peril. We were almost run over multiple times by people wielding shopping carts like weapons and one particularly aggressive handi-cart driver.


We finally made it to the checkout counter. I damn near threw our purchases onto the conveyor belt. TWH shot me a look wondering what in the hell the frozen corn had done to me. I looked at him and said “If I don’t get out of here RIGHT NOW, Imma need JESUS!!”.  I. Was. Done.


We left the store and entered a parking lot shopping cart race (unbeknownst to us) and we LOST.  TWH was getting agitated at this point. We put our purchases in our car and TWH takes our cart, along with several others, back to the store. In a move of sympathy/solidarity with my sweet Hubby, I yelled out “Remember Baby!! SERENITY NOW!!!”.


He just put his head down and kept walking.  Go figure.


The man just doesn’t appreciate my motivational skills.






Fathers Day…. Again

Okay, so.  Fathers Day is coming up. You all know how much I hate this day because my newsfeed is clogged with folks praising their Dads &  saying what wonderful men they are. You also know that mine was, well, NOT. It is what it is. I can’t do anything about who he is or how he chooses to live his life and I’ve pretty much moved on.


So every year I praise TWH & the wonderful husband & father he is. He really IS. I have said it so many times & so many ways & I feel I still haven’t accurately captured his Awesomeness.


I think this morning I may have it.


This morning my son made breakfast.  He made cinnamon rolls & bacon for me, myself, & Miss A.  I sat at the table & watched him putter around the kitchen. Stopping to wash his hands between steps just like TWH does & it hit me. He learned that from his Dad. Not from his Dad dragging him into the kitchen & having him sit there while he taught him how to make a meal but from TWH just DOING. All his life, TB has seen TWH cook meals & help with the housework.  Most recently, TB has seen TWH pick up ALL the slack while I’ve been recuperating from my surgery.  He has seen TWH be as patient and kind as a person can be while doing ALL the things.  And he has learned.


This morning my son made breakfast.  He cooked. He plated everything. He brought it all to the table for me & he cleaned up afterward.  He then brought my coffee to the living room so I could drink it while watching TV & playing on my laptop.  He did this with no complaint & with all the kindness & patience TWH has always shown.


THAT is the highest praise I can offer TWH this Fathers Day. I saw him in our son this morning. I saw him reflected in every movement TB made as he moved around our kitchen. I saw our son do what he’s seen his Dad do a thousand times in his lifetime.


I saw him and I smiled. My heart was full and I knew that one day these things would be emulated in his home, with his spouse.


And I was so VERY proud.


Beast of Burden

Okay, so. Last week I went in to have my ACL reconstructed and my Meniscus trimmed down due to the fact that I ripped them both OFF in Zumba class a few weeks ago.

My surgery was scheduled for 12:30, which in doctor speak means an hour later, so I couldn’t have anything to eat or drink for 8 hours before. Of course, I stayed up extra late and made waffles in a vain attempt to ensure that I wouldn’t be starving when my surgery rolled around. It totally didn’t work. My stomach sounded like a small grizzly bear it was growling so loud by the time I finally got wheeled into surgery.


So we get to the surgery center, I get the VERY latest in completely backless Hospital Couture, I climb into the bed and get a toasty warm blanket, and I take out my phone. To Tweet, of course!! I Tweeted pre-op observations &  selfies. Much to TWH’s horror. I don’t know what he thought I should have been doing but apparently, taking selfies wasn’t it.


Surgery goes fine & I come home. Not before the surprisingly strong TINY nurse lady tries to chuck me OVER the seat I’m trying to get into & situated in though. Seriously. I’m a big girl. I’m about 5’8 & weigh 190-ish. This chick was about half my size and just about threw me across the car!! Whatthehey-ull!?!!?


Anyway, I come home and my family’s time of indentured servitude begins.

They have to bring me EVERYDAMNTHING. I have a system with TB where I text him from my room to his if I need something. So far, his response time is pretty good. Miss A is here for a few weeks so she’s been piled up in bed with me watching stuff on Netflix. TWH has been exemplary in his care-taking of me & my friends have offered DAILY to bring/do stuff for me.


The thing is, I’m afraid I may get too overbearing. Like just now, I was cold & my jacket was across the room. I debated for a minute whether or not to text TB or just get up & get it myownself. I got up & got it but the fact that I thought about having TB come from the other end of the house to do it for me bothers me. I do NOT want to imperiously wave my hand and demand things. I DO want to be gracious and appreciative of EVERYTHING everyone does for me. I DO want to try & do everything I can for myself. I DON’T want to take advantage of my family. I DON’T want to turn into a demanding bitch who just plunks herself down & EXPECTS everything to be handed to her. I DON’T want to be “helpless”.  I know there are people out there who would consider this recuperation period their “Due”. That they would laugh and talk about how they hope  “Everyone gains a new appreciation for how much they do”. I’m not that person. I’m more frustrated by the fact that I can’t pull my weight. That I’m letting down my end of this partnership & asking my husband & children to pick up my slack. That I’m now part of their “Burden”. I certainly don’t want to make that worse by being a total bitch about it.


I could see it happening though. It’s a slippery slope. I’m sure it happens in increments. With something small, like a jacket.


I’m also pretty sure TWH would call “Bulshit” on that quick, fast, and in a hurry.  The man is The Wonder Hubby but even HE has his limits.


And I’m sure when I’m up & around again, I’ll hear all about how “It’s about time I got off my lazy ass & started helping out around here”.  The man thinks he’s funny.  And I will laugh along with him & happily unload the dishwasher.

Just to relieve his burden.