The Prim & Improper Queens Make Their Debut!!

Okay, so. I am a member of The Sweet Potato Queens. Our Chapter name is the Prim & Improper Queens. Prim, because my Wife-in-Law Amy will walk riiiiiiiight up to the line, put her big toe over it, and be all “Woo-Hoo!!” like she walked on the wild side. Improper, because, well, I’m there. I run full tilt at EVERYTHING and then I’m all “There was a line there?? I’ll be damned!! Where??”.
It all started with a book I found on my Moms coffee table 15 years ago. It was titled “The Sweet Potato Queens Book of Love” by Jill Connor Browne. I’ll encourage you NOW to beg, borrow, download, or (just this once) steal this book if you have to. It’s a total life-changer. The premise of the entire book (and movement) is that you don’t have to have someone TELL you you’re FABULOUS. If no one tells you, go out, buy your own damn crown, and BE Fabulous. Don’t wait for a “Special” day to be fabulous. Hell, the day you feel like the biggest piece of shit is the BEST day to wear whatever makes YOU feel FABULOUS.  The best place to find the books is here.
Anyway, the weekend includes a Luncheon on Friday and a Ball on Friday night, we march in a Parade on Saturday, and have a Breakfast on Sunday. There are a ton of activities in between. This weekend isn’t relaxing. Not by a long shot. It’s not exactly work either. It’s busy as hell though.
Here are some Highlights from the weekend:

Friday:

The Big Hat Luncheon on Friday.

That’s me on the left, Amy in the middle, and my friend Erica on the right. The apron is one I ordered off The Bloggess’ website & had some ribbon added to. It’s Juanita the Weasel screaming “This Motherfucking Souffle is RUINED!!” Yep, I thought it added class.

Us at the Big Hair Ball/Street Dance with JCB

We stayed for the WHOLE street dance. We were interviewed by the news, I got to sing with the band, The Bouffants, we got our pictures taken A LOT, and I danced so much, I came back with a blister.
Saturday:
The Blister From Hell didn’t stop me from getting up early the next morning to head down to a book signing with Jill Connor Browne. 
Amy & Erica. I guess we didn’t actually get one WITH the author. Because THAT would make sense!!

I’m kinda glad I wasn’t in this picture. The professional photographer, Duane, took some but I didn’t order any. Honestly, after all the eyelashes & fake hair, I looked kinda plain. Also I’d been tanning like it was my JOB before the Parade & I looked like I shoulda stopped WEEKS ago.
Erica & I with Lance Romance aka Wilson Wong.

Parade time FINALLY came. We dressed up in our “Steak & a BJ” outfits & got ready to roll.  the plates have a picture of a steak on them with “March 14th. Happy Men’s Valentines Day!!” written on them.  
That’s SPQ weekend in a nutshell. We show up in Jackson, Mississippi every year for one weekend in March. We dress up and we PLAY. We play hard. We form friendships with women from all over the country. We are FABULOUS. Just because we said so. If you feel so inclined, you’re more than welcome to come play with us next year. Or just grab some girlfriends & make your own chapter. You won’t regret it.

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Be Careful What You Wish For

Okay, so. This weekend was SPQ weekend. I shared a room with my friend Erica & my Wife-in-Law Amy.
We were in the room changing for some event or other & I was telling the story of Why I Am Going to Hell (reason #427). Part of the story was “It was hot as fuck. I was sweaty as fuck.”  Amy looks at me and says “Must you use THAT word?? Can you choose ANOTHER word to use PLEASE??”  I responded with “Sure!! It was hot AS BALLS. I was sweaty AS BALLS.”  Amy Cringes and begins yelling “Oh Lawd!!  Never mind!! You can use the OTHER WORD!!”  Apparently, I was able to find something she found more offensive than the use of the word “Fuck”. Never underestimate my power to verbally offend. I can do it with OR without the use of profanity.
It’s totally my superpower.

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*Gasp* *Choke* *Sob*

Okay, so.  I just watched TB get on the bus. Nothing out of the ordinary there except he had to catch it on its second pass this morning because he missed it the first time. This allowed me the opportunity to crack open the blinds and watch him. These are becoming rare.
The Mommy sobbing comes into play BEFORE my peeking on him. I’m leaving today. For four days. I didn’t get my typical “Bye Mom. I love you. I’ll miss you”. I got a cursory “Bye. See ya Sunday.” and he was out the door.
This is my BABY. This is TWH’s only child. This is the child that was not supposed to be according to my doctors, who kept telling me to expect a miscarriage any day for FOUR MONTHS because my hormone levels were half what they were supposed to be. This is the only child that lives under my roof for reasons I won’t/can’t go into right now.
But he’s not my Baby anymore. He’s 13. He’s a young man now. He spends more time in his room than he used to. He can do his own laundry. Apparently, he also needs less reassurance about things than he used to.  He’s growing up. He’s growing away, like he’s supposed to. Not in a negative way. Just in a maturity way.
I’m proud of the person he’s becoming. He’s sweet, loving, thoughtful, funny, smart, and insightful. TWH & I did that, I like to think. Some of it anyway.
Despite the Man he’s becoming, he’s still my Baby and when these moments hit me, that he’s doing EXACTLY what kids are supposed to do, GROW UP, they hit me HARD.
I have to stop.
I have to take a breath.
I cry a few tears for the child that he no longer is.
I look forward to the man he is becoming.
And I smile.
Because he’s going to be WONDERFUL.

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I. Am. The. Worst. Mom. EVER. (Part Two)

Okay, so. In another epic parenting fail I forgot my son at school today. See, he’s in the school band. He plays the Trombone for the Concert Band (7th grade). The school is participating in a Band Festival next week and his teacher has asked him to play the percussion for the Symphonic Band (8th grade). This means that his practices went from a couple of times a week to EVERY DAY.  Last night TWH & I were discussing who picked up TB when and we came to the conclusion that TWH was going to pick him up. Except we didn’t, apparently.
I’m with a client today when my phone rings. I answer it to hear TB on the other end piteously asking me if anyone was picking him up today. Oh. My. God!!!  I HAVE FORGOTTEN MY CHILD AT SCHOOL!! More accurately, TWH forgot TB at school. I frantically phoned TWH asking him Where. In. The. Hell. He. Was.  TWH seemed to be under the impression that I was picking TB up from school.
Once I ascertained that TWH was, in fact, on his way to retrieve our child, I got back on the phone to reassure TB that a parental type person was on the way.  TB at that point wanted to know what HE was supposed to do in the interim, how long it was gonna take, and what would happen if his teacher had to leave.  Now he’s just starting to milk it.  I tell him to see if his teacher could bring him home. TB turns away from the phone and I hear him ask, in the best “Oliver” impression in the last decade, if his teacher could PLEASE bring him home because his PARENTS forgot him.  At this point, his teacher gets on the phone and I have to explain that TWH & I are both big ol’ dumbasses who can’t remember when in the hell we’re supposed to get our kid and could he PLEASE do us a solid and give our kid a ride home. He agreed (Thankfully) and TB made it home in one piece.
My only consolation in all of this is that we only forgot OUR child. Some days we give TB’s bestie a ride home too. Thankfully, this was NOT one of those days.

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Counting Down to SPQ Weekend

Okay, so. In Just a few short days (Thursday) I will be headed to Jackson.  I started packing today because I have a shit ton of stuff to take with me. I have costumes for Friday, Saturday, & Sunday along with accessories & Hurr (wigs) for each one.  When I started unloading my closet, it looked like this:

This is a King-sized bed COVERED in Parade stuff

I managed to stuff just about all of it into 3 plastic bins. I swear, one of these bins is nothing but shoes & hurr!!

Packed up & ready to go (mostly)

I did all this, and a few loads of laundry, and some other stuff, wearing THESE…

My FMPs. Gonna be in a pair similar for most of Friday. Gotta get used to ’em!!

I am walking around in a pair of running shorts, a “Cake or Death??” t-shirt and my FMPs. That’s gonna be my at-home outfit for the next few days.  I’ll either be hobbled or able to wear them forever.

Bring on the weekend!!  My ass is READY!!!

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Sunday Funday

Okay, so.  Today the Fellas & I went out for a hike. It was a balmy 85 degrees and virtually no humidity. This is rare for South LA as we are Hell Adjacent. By the beginning of May most of us will have retreated into our houses and air conditioning. We get outside while we can.

Me on a rock in the creek. The brace is because my knees are 100.

My knee held up pretty well.  I was climbing up to leave one of the waterfalls and tweaked my OTHER knee. I gasped in shock and I swear, my first thought was “Oh HELL NO!!  I did NOT blow out my knee 4 days before SPQ weekend!!  My ass will be on crutches & driving a handi-cart!!” Turns out, it was fine, it just popped & wobbled.

TWH, TB & Me at one of the waterfalls.

We probably hiked 3& 1/2 to 4(ish) miles. TB didn’t even complain!!  If we weren’t living in a rain forest, we might do more of this stuff.

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I Had to Go Back To My Roots (And NOT In a Good Way)

Okay, so.  I’m originally from this small town in north Louisiana. There weren’t a lot of things to do there. Mostly Drink, Fight, or Have Sex.  I had my share of throw downs in my day. One of my favorite sayings is “Don’t make me go back to my roots!!”. This means “Don’t piss me off to the point that Imma hafta drag you around by your HAIR!!”.
Anyway, we’re on out way home this afternoon from running errands. We turn onto our street to find it’s blocked by some teen girls in their FINEST skank-wear who were walking SLOWLY down the block to their house.  We slowed down and rolled along behind them until they noticed we were there & SLOWLY got the hell out of the way.  We’re starting to pass them when one of them began yelling at our car.  Oh no she di-in’t!! I yelled to TWH “Stop the car!!”. He did & I got out and sweetly asked her if she’d mind repeating what she’d just said. Now this little bitch Angel had obviously seen one too many episodes of Jersey Shore and just thought she was The Shit. She sneers “I SAID there wasn’t any call for yo att-i-tude”. At this point I’m having to remind myself she is but a product of her environment Teen and say “The only one here with ATTITUDE seems to be you. The next time you walk down the street, be a little more considerate and GET OUT OF THE WAY of the traffic M’kay.”  I’m getting back in my car when I hear it “Dumbass!!”. This little Bitch just called ME a dumbass!! I jump out of the car AGAIN, go down to the house where this fucking heiffer was attending a “Party” and demand to see the adult in charge.  Someone finally comes out and I, in no uncertain terms, told her if that I did NOT appreciate the kids in HER care blocking the road, mouthing off to me, and then calling me a dumbass. I also mentioned to this “lady” that perhaps her kid needed a better class of friend and if the best her kid could befriend was that kind of classless, ghetto trash then maybe she needed to look at how SHE was raising HER kid.  Yep, once again, I’m out there making friends!! THIS is why I’m Not Down With OPC. The fact that these kids are our future makes me shudder in fear!!

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The Sweat of Our Brows

Okay, so.  Back in the fall, we started doing some work to the outside of our house. We re-did the flowerbeds and added a railing to the front porch. Here are the results.

          The Results of Our Work

                     Left Flowerbed & Railing

                 Right Flowerbed (& Tigger)

                   Iris Bed

                They’re Blooming!!

         Gwenyth Gets Her Own Bed (& Irises)

The house was painted last year(by TWH, of course!!). It was BLAH white. I thought we could do better.
All this DIY stuff is work. It’s HARD work. I have to say, I LOVE the results!!

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Facebook, Why Can’t I Quit You??

Okay, so. Facebook is both a source of amusement and the bane of existence for me.  It satisfies my voyeuristic tendencies by giving me glimpses into peoples lives and letting me stay somewhat connected with people. It is also the bane of my existence in that, in order to see the shit I actually WANT to see, I have to wade through a ton of crap NOBODY but the person who posted it gives a rats ass about. I don’t CARE that “The kids have done had their dinner & their baths and are in bed. It was a grate day. Binky BooBoo”.  Yes, this is a direct quote, misspelling & all. The exception being that this person posts in all caps. My fingers just ITCH to leave this woman a bitchy comment about caps lock & the spelling mistakes I see in her shitty posts. I also don’t CARE about “Just weighed in and lost 4.5 oz”. Really?!?!  Just fucking REALLY!!  Good for you that you’re addressing your downward slide into colossal fatassdom. A lot of us are. I myself have been letting the treadmill make me it’s bitch & just last night squeezed my ass into a pair of pants that have been hanging in my closet for awhile now. I’m just not BEATING EVERYONE OVER THE HEAD WITH IT. I do not now, nor have I ever needed a play-by-play of Every. Single. Ounce that comes off your ass.  Also I don’t care that you “Just completed a 3.7 mile run using (Whatever) tracker”. Again, STOP!! Other things I don’t give a shit about:
What you’re having for dinner. I can’t cook a lick. My kids asked me to stop years ago. I’m sure this is borne of jealousy. Whatever. Stop it.
Anything that ends with “FML”. I had several folks in my timeline whose posts were nothing but whining about the pettiest bullshit ever known.  Get over yourselves already. Stop it.
What you’ve Pinned. Holy shitballs with this one!!  There are bitches on my timeline who posted everydamnthingeverdone to Facebook. Shoot me. Shoot me now. You’re on Pinterest. You think you’re crafty. Whoopdee Fucking Doo. Stop it.
There are a myriad of things about Facebook that drive me nuts. Having said that, I just can’t quit it. Not yet anyway. I follow some damned funny people. Of course, some of the damned funny people are not trying to be funny. There’s this one girl I knew in high school who is so small-town that she & her family actually packed SQUEEZE CHEESE into their carry-on luggage for a flight and she was posting all indignant like about them having to throw it all out in the airport because it was on the “NO-NO” list.  That’s comedy gold!!  Yes, other peoples asshattery makes me giggle. When people stop being stupid, or at least stop posting their stupidity for everyone to see, I’ll be forced to stop. Until then, I’m a total junkie!! I’m a junkie with the ability to opt out of the bullshit. I’m more than happy to do that!!

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I’m a Social Goober

Okay, so. In one week (ONE WEEK!!!!) I will be attending my 3rd Sweet Potato Queen weekend. I’m so excited I can barely STAND it. If It wouldn’t be totally stupid, I’d start packing already. This Parade??  THIS is my CHRISTMAS!!  I divide time into years by Parade time. It’s the be-all event of the year for me. I freakin’ love this shit!!
Having said that, I will admit, this weekend is also a huge challenge for me. Because I’m one of the most socially awkward people you will ever come across.
During Parade weekend I will suck at the following:
1) Meeting new people. I suck at this. Fortunately, I’ll have my Wife-in-Law with me and my darling friend Erica. These two do NOT meet a stranger.
2) Making small talk.  I REALLY suck at this. I can carry on a well lubed conversation, no problem. Stand me next to someone and ask me to throw out a series of banal comments in the hope that one of them will spark a conversation?? Won’t happen.  I’m incapable of doing this. I will stand uncomfortably and stare longingly at the door waiting for someone better at this to come out and save me from the horror that is small talk.
3) Observing social cues and acting on them. This one I UBER SUCK at. I don’t even know where to place the blame for this horrific social failing. Also, due to the fact that I have very few (read: NO) verbal boundaries (once you can get me to talk) events like this are more difficult. And usually more uncomfortable.
With that in mind, I’d like to pre-apologize for any and all uncomfortable pauses brought about by my complete ineptitude at small talk. And those caused by my verbal diarrhea. Both will most likely occur.
Sorry Y’all…

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