the one where I go batshit and say the eff word a lot

So here is a ridiculous story. Shit like this could only happen to me.

Had a great day yesterday, drank a frappacrappo from Starbucks, hung out at my sister's house and smelled her baby, bought some groceries, bought some chinese take-out, bought some wine, looked forward to stuffing my face, exercising, and then drinking and vegging.

This doesn't involve poop or anything, I swear, even though I did mention General Tso's chicken. Fuck you guys, I know what you are thinking.

We get home and I check the mail. There is a big silver envelope adressed to my husband., and I thought it was a wedding invitation or something from the jewelry store at the mall, so being a total nosy asshole I opened it.

Christ on a cracker, it was this LETTER about "Surprise!! Hi!! I know it's been 20 years but I was feeling nostalgic and wanted to know if you wanted to get together for a drink and conversation (my treat). Here are three different phone numbers where you can reach me, and also my work number is forwarded to my cell phone. Anytime at all is good for me, hope to hear from you soon! Love, Tiffany".

I should also tell you that she fucking HANDMADE the card. Handmade the fucking card. Who the fuck has time for shit like handmaking fucking cards to your old boyfriend from 1990?

So I immediately channeled my inner Mel Gibson and did what any rational, sane person would do, and I take the kids inside, take my phone back outside, and call my husband and scream "I WANT TO KNOW WHO THE FUCK TIFFANY (I can't even remember what her damn last name is now) IS! I WAN T TO KNOW RIGHT NOW". D is all "What? Who?" So I read him the letter, and he tells me "Oh god, I dated her when I was 19, remember, her mom came to our yard sale".

Ok, backstory, this old woman came to our yard sale, and smoked a cigarette the whole time, and then proceeded to tell Mister how she wishes he would marry Tiffany. Tiffany, who I have never ever fucking heard of. Ever. And I was sitting there fucking visibly pregnant.

I am now in full Mel Gibson mode and I am screaming "WHERE DOES THAT BITCH LIVE? I WANT HER NAME AND ADDRESS NOW", meaning the mother, and keep in mind I am in my front yard and I am yelling. Does it get more white trash than that? Probably, but not in my world. Oh, the shame. In my mind, the mom has given Tiffany our address and the knowledge that Mister has a Union job and makes good money. To a tramp who grew up on the Westside, he is a dream come true.

I tell him I am calling the girl, her mom, the mayor, Mel Gibson, everyone. And we are getting a divorce and he will never see me again. And he is completely stumped and is saying, "WTF? I don't even KNOW her, what are you talking about". #hungupinhisface

Then I call her. Get a voicemail box, leave a sugar sweet message with my best southern drawl and inform her that, this is D's wife, he has 2 children under the age of 5 and he just isn't gonna be able to meet you for that drink and conversation but thank you SO MUCH for asking! That was so sweet.

Luckily I had the foresight to call from my cell, not our home phone. OMG.

By now I am in the backyard with the kids and I am drinking beer. I am calling my sister, my parents, my friends, everyone. The General Tso's is uneaten, because I am so ill and shaky there is no way I can eat. Within 5 minutes, this bitch calls me back and is all "This is Tiffany, I know D is married! Your name is ______! I wasn't asking him on a date or anything, I promise, I am so sorry, we can all get together and have a drink! I was just at a reunion and was talking to Mark and Michelle (coincidentally, Mark used to work with D's dad, they are buddies.....VOMIT) and I was wondering what D was up to blah blah stupid words, etc".

I told her, look, I don't know what your fucking deal is, but I know who your mom is and she is still pining over D, and if she told you...., well then Tiffany (god what a bullshit name) says, "Oh my mom is crazy, she just said that to upset you I bet, I haven't talked to her in 2 years because shes like that". Ok, what the fuck ever, you, a total stranger to me, have written a personal letter on a homemade fucking card and invited a man that you know is married out for a drink and conversation, which in legal terms is a fucking date.

And yes, now I am back in the front yard and dropping the f word like it is honestly going out of style. I then tell her, you have overstepped your bounds and I am in full attack mode, please do not contact my husband again in this lifetime or there will be blood. She will drink my fucking milkshake, I am not even kidding. She actually sounded scared and was very apologetic. Ugh. Whatever, you big sad sack.

By now, I'm drinking wine and put the kids to bed in the tent in A's room (don't ask, she has an actual camping tent up in her room) and start drunk dialing everyone. I am so pissed. And damned if that fartface didn't call me back! She left a voicemail, she has a GREAT IDEA! She now thinks it would be so fun if I left D at home, and she and I went out for a drink together!

Bitch please, I saw this movie when Glenn Close and Michael Douglas were in it, so you need to step the fuck off. I am really not the one, honey. I mean, what kind of fucked up demented person does that? A desperate one. I'm drunk by now, and go sleep in the tent with the girls. I am mean to my husband all morning, and that was kinda shitty because he is the most honest man I know and also I checked his phone, and all of the calls made from and to all of our phones online. He was confused. I was livid.

My friend Tracy finds her on Facebook, (you know that is the first place I looked) and sends her a friend request because they went to the same high school and they have 16 friends in common. She is all private, so I couldn't find her myself. But I got to see her and........

Bless her heart, Tiffany is ugly. She is homely at best, and wearing a Mickey Mouse hat and has stringy, mousy hair. Suddenly I no longer give a fuck. She ugly. Cain't nobody fix that.

Butt Ventriloquist

This is directed toward all of my 30-something friends. Do not announce to the world at large the size of your pants or your weight. Because honestly, no one gives a fuck. I just read a status update where a 37-year-old woman was bragging about fitting in a pair of size-1 pants from Hollister. Two things wrong here: First, adult women do not wear clothing in odd-numbered sizes. Second, Hollister? Really? You're 37. Not 17. Stop shopping at Hollister. Whatever the fuck Hollister is. I cannot abide women of a certain age dressing like they did when they were teenagers.
It's nice that you can wear small sizes. The thing is, women like this, I think, announce these things to make themselves feel better or something. Make themselves feel better by making other people feel yucky. And if I've said it once, I've said it a million times: it doesn't matter what SIZE you wear, does it look FABULOUS? If it's from Hollister, then chances are the answer here is a resounding NO. The whole clothing size thing in this country is hilarious anyway. I know of one store in particular where I wear a size zero. A zero. If I were a total moron, I would think this is really bitchin and announce it to the world. I think its a load of bullshit (and sounds gross) because at any other store in the universe I'm a size four. I bet this store uses this size thing to boost sales, and let's face it. People are stupid enough to fall for believing the little number on the tags.
On that note, can someone bring me a beer? This has me very thirsty.

Coffee Grounds

First of all, on a somber note, I was so thankful tonight when I went to check on my kids Max and Ruby, and there were both snoring like lumberjacks. You can't let your babies out of your sight these days, not for one minute. It isn't like when we were kids. Somebody snatched up a little girl here while she was walking home from school on Monday. Today they found her in a landfill. I hope that when they find the guy who did it (let's face it, it will be a guy on the registered sex offender list, probably on parole), well I hope that they let the dogs at him accidentally before they are able to apprehend him. I hope the guy dies a slow, painful, horrible death. A death that isn't subsidized by my tax dollars. I'm so sick of this happening to little kids, over and over again. Anyway, trust no one is my point. Shoot first, then ask questions later if you ever feel threatened. I hate to get all Nancy Grace on your ass, but well, it was on my mind.
Well. Enough sad for today. You know how I'm not drinking during the week anymore? Well in the shower just now it occurred to me that I'm going to a huge wedding next week hosted by a family of professional drinkers. I really need to practice, I mean you don't show up to the Olympics and try throwing the shotput when you haven't done so in 7 days, you know what I mean? So the drinking ban is about to be lifted. As soon as I finish this little rant, I shall pour a cocktail. Slow and steady wins the race, bitches. My 4-year-old says that constantly (well, not the bitches part...yet), no matter what the situation is, when she doesn't really know what to say, she'll just bust out with "Slow and steady wins the race". I wish she would mix it up and say "A stitch in time saves nine" or "Waste not, want not", or my personal favorite "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush". I mean seriously, what the fuck does that MEAN??

Ok, let me just say that I don't give two shits about Balloon Boy or Balloon Dad or Balloon Family, none of it.I watched their tomfuckery on "Wife Swap" and I think that guy is abusive and p.s. psychotic. But have you seen that video? The one where the balloon finally came down to Earth, or was shot down or whatever? Did you see that guy who jumped out of the truck and started hauling absolute ASS trying to catch that balloon? Running with everything his 45-year-old ass had, and probably thinking he was about to be a hero for saving the little boy? He should sue the fuck out of Balloon Dad for almost making his heart explode. I know I would. When the judge says "On what grounds?", he should stand up and say "Coffee Grounds, Your Honor".

Actually, no, I think that will be the name of my first book.

I had to go on a cheesy "playdate" the other day. I hate the term playdate. Why can't you just invite me to come over and just hang out? Ugh. I'm so not a "mommy" in that respect. Well, this mom who invited us over, she was an extreme couponer. You know the types. They walk around the grocery store with three carts full of all sorts of shit that they don't need or want, and then they get to the register and it takes them 58 minutes to rings up all those frigging coupons. I mean, don't get me wrong please, I love a coup and I use them a lot. But know this....I am not using coupons just for the sake of using a coupon. Also, I am not spending 3-4 hours of my day scouring the internet for fucking coups. I'm far too busy reading about what Lindsay Lohan has been up to for the past 24 hours on dlisted.com.

Anywhore, so this mommy was all "I saved $55 at the grocery store" and proudly showed me the receipt. But bitch spent $300! I mean who does that? Who the hell needs $300 worth of Ziploc bags and cling wrap? Did you need 3 boxes of Toaster Struedel? Answer: No. Side-eye.

Also, and this is so shitty of me, but I'm just gonna say it because it's a huge pet peeve of mine. People who brag about their gd appliances. I'm not talking about people who have the means for the $3,000 washer and dryer. I'm talking about people who have to cut coupons and re-use paper towels and shit. Here comes the really mean part: I hate when people have those really hot-shit washer and dryers, but then dress from the dollar bin at K-Mart. I am a clothes horse, but even I think it's kind of ridiculous to spend that much money on an appliance. Who gives a shit? So long as my clothes are clean and awesome, I don't care. People like Madonna need expensive washers and dryers. Not middle-class fartfaces. I dunno. It just annoys me. It's not even a jealousy thing. Because if you give me three grand, I sure as shit am not spending it at Lowe's or Appliance City or wherever people buy those kinds of things. YAWN.

Needless to say, I don't go on many playdates. My dream playdate is this: I come over to your house, you don't give me a tour of your house, you don't talk to me about coupons or schedules or homeschooling, we sit around reading fashion magazines and tabloids, and watch reruns of Wife Swap. You feed me pizza and then I gather my kids, who haven't been antagonized and bullied by yours all afternoon, and we go home. The end.

Smell this one

Forgive me Father, it has been 11 days since my last blog. I know I should have written earlier but you know, you really need to lay off my ass, because some people have really, really important shit to do in their lives. Things like watching last night's Real Housewives of Atlanta on DVR and also watching "how to apply smoky eye makeup" videos on You Tube. I AM A BUSY WOMAN. I don't have time for this shit.
Ok, so this is not related to anything interesting, but can I give a shout out to my damn Fall wardrobe? What the hell, it's almost Halloween. Hello, tall boots. Hello, skinny jeans. Goodbye, frigging tank tops and shorts. Kiss my ass.
I watched last night's Real Housewives of ATL tonight. I just love NeNe. She is the most fabulous woman ever. Was anyone else surprised that her mom's vacation home in Athens was so palatial? I mean, wasn't NeNe a skripper?
Oh, story time. A few years ago, I don't even remember when but I'm pretty sure it was after the birth of my first child in 2005, I was teaching school. Well, I was working in a school. I wasn't teaching shit, which is a big reason why I quit that bitch. Anyway, I had some tall boots on. Right below the knee, no heel. I must have been wearing them with a skirt. I'm 90% sure that I was. I went to talk to a friend of mine, a fellow teacher, he was about my dad's age or so. I'm married, he's old. Well apparently while I was talking to him, I put my knee or leg up on the chair? And we talked a while about random shit, then I left. Well, the kids lost their minds, I found out later. Granted, they weren't really "kids" per se. They were disabled adults. But they all called me a stripper when I left, and they sang that song "I'm in Love with a Skripper" to my friend. Yes, I am a sessy beast. The hilarious part about it is, I always made such, such an effort to make sure there was nothing remotely sessy about what I wore to work when I was teaching. They still talk about that day. I must admit, I've never been mistaken for a skripper before.
Also, I should tell you, my friend wears a really bad toupee. Like really bad. I was not in love.
I hope I didn't write this here before, but it's on my mind. When I was in third grade, I was at the book shelf after a test (today that would be called the library center) and I was all bent over looking at some books. I sharted in my pants. I farted really badly, and everyone heard and smelt it. And what did I do? I blamed it on the poor, black girl from the projects. Jamelia Dixon. I said "Eww, Jamelia did that". And to this day, everyone thinks that Jamelia dealt it, but the truth is...
bitches, it was me.

Why Can't I Do This on the Regular?

Fuck a duck, here I am like a week later. I talk shit to myself in my head ALL DAY LONG. So I don't really understand why it's so hard for me to come here and type it out.
I really do have a serious public service announcement for the kids tonight though. Kids, when you go off to college, make certain that your college roomate's family income is not in the 7 figures. Because one day, you are gonna have to attend that roomie's wedding. Don't get me wrong, I frigging love going to rich people's parties. I can fake it with the best of them. I can eat their whores-d-vores, and I can drank their champipple like it's the law. But the stress of figuring out what the fuck you're supposed to wear to that shit will turn your hair GRAY. Trust. I mean, I bought the most fabulous dress for the wedding, but then I found out today that the night-before-party is also a formal affair, so fuuuuuck me. Luckily I found a super cheap dress on a J Crew final sale, and I already have shoes, etc. Ugh, I'm rambling, I suppose my point is this: Ladies, always make sure you have at least 3 outfits in your closet that you can wear for the next 10 years, in case someone you know (who doesn't live in a trailer park) has a fancy-ass partay.
All that being said, I can't wait to go to this wedding. I get to spend the WEEKEND in a hotel room, all by myself. Like totally by myself, and many of you will be all, wtf? about that but my only fantasy is to spend a night in a hotel room by myself. Honestly, I haven't slept in a bed myself in about 8 years, so I think it's time I spent a night alone without farts (that aren't mine).
I think that this blog was supposed to be about famous people? I just don't really see anyone doing anything all that interesting these days. So I am just gonna do a bullet list of peeps who are doing me wrong/right these days:

• Angelina, eat a fucking sandwich. Or even a cracker. Anything.
• Kate Gosselin, when your man started wearing Ed Hardy, that should have been a HUGE clue.
• Everyone should read dlisted.com, it's required reading.
• David Letterman is taking a lot of flak for things that happen in offices everyday. You try being the 20-something young chick in an office full of men and let me know how that works for you. I've been there. Yawn.
• Madonna is a tired old tuna boat.
  

"I don't understand how a woman can leave the house without fixing herself up a little - if only out of politeness. And then, you never know, maybe that's the day she has a date with destiny. And it's best to be as pretty as possible for destiny." -Coco Chanel

Gah ok if you own expensive electronics, I would implore you not to store them on your back patio (which is a shithole). My husband can't understand why his shit be broke. He had me order all this crap to "fix" his camera. This afternoon, I decide to take over the backyard again (drink beer, clean clean clean, and listen to music) and I find his video camera and photo camera, in a bag on the frigging back porch. I CAN''T IMAGINE WHY YO SHIT DON'T WORK.

There is this fucking moron here, she faked her own kidnapping and tried to get 50 grand from her husband, and she spent Labor Day weekend screwing some 25-year-old boy, and she got CAUGHT. With a crack pipe. Now, here is my thing. My husband gave me the side-eye this morning for not making coffee. And this trifling bitches husband just stood on the news and announced what an AMAZING WOMAN his wife is. His wife who humped some dude on Philips Highway for 4 days. She tried to steal money from him. SHE HUMPED SOMEONE ELSE AND TRIED TO STEAL HIS MONEY. And this shit just infuriates me, because I really try to be a nice fucking person (hush, I do) and I have never taken 10 bucks from my husband, much less 5 digits. And this guy is on tv talking about what an AMAZING WOMAN this tramp is. Fuck her, is all I have to say. I know so many single women who would never, ever pull some sideways shit like that, you know? And yet trifling bitches like THIS have their man stand beside them. I actually have a relative by marriage who pulled some shit like this, and she ended up with a shitload of money. But she has huge plastic tittays, so I guess this makes her an AMAZING WOMAN too, because the family loves her tacky ass.

I just give up. I am gonna walk around in high-heeled flip flops and daisy dukes from now on. I quit.

This morning, my husband and I had an argument about Kanye West. AGAIN. I think that really, he is just pissed off because he wears the same damn clothes every day, and Kanye is a fashion master. Whatevs. Anyway, he was all glad because Kanye and Lady GaGa's tour got cancelled. Well, I still say that Beyonce's video WAS BETTER and that Taylor Fart Swift shouldn't have won. MTV knew that Kanye was gonna act a fool that night, that's why they invited him. He is an AMAZING MAN. I think the Louis Vuitton Don might have a little drinky-drink problem and that's what egged him on. He was right though. But my husband, who ugh, if you know him, this is hilarious, actually said "But there is a way to conduct yourself in public, and that wasn't right". Ok, foolio. He also made comments about how Kan was walking around with a bottle of Hennessy that night, like he is a teetotaler. OMG LIGHTNING STRIKE HIM.

I can't believe my Dave Letterman was humping on some young chick. The funny thing is, I was always SO JEALOUS of that Steph chick. I always wondered how she got such an awesome job, and now I know how! Whatever, I'm still kind of shocked that he actually had sex. That kind of grosses me out, because hello? He's old.
There's a story on the news now about beer, same day brewed beer is available at Publix today. Le sigh. I'm distracted now.

Ok, well, its the weekend, time to have some cocktails.

Shorty

Here's the thing. I don't understand GPS systems. I mean, I understand them, but I don't get why everyone has one? It's called googlemaps or mapquest.com. If you don't know where you're going before you leave the house, then you need to stay the fuck home.

And I love how whenever I ask people who have gps systems, why they need one. The response is always, "Oh mapquest is always wrong". WTF? Like how often are you out traveling around without knowing where you're going? I go 3 places: Ruby's school, the liberry, and Publix (box of wine on aisle one).

I know some of you have gps systems, or GARMINS if you really want to impress your friends. I can feel you giving me the side-eye through my computer and I don't care. I could dismantle your little talking map machine and you'd never find my ass anyway, you'd just be driving aorund in random patterns.

Sometimes I get this weird thought in my head that it would be a really good idea to make my own karaoke music videos and put them on the internet, which will give me something to do when I get tired of this blogging shit. Which I am right now. I'm going to bed.