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.