well. once again i’ve run out of time to do much more than brain vomit and hope it makes some kind of sense. tax return should be deposited soon…then maybe i can actually buy a computer for my house…then i’ll have all sorts of time!
ANYWAY. not enough time for babble. i wanted to vomit out a few big break thrus i’ve had the last few days…pretty big ones really…here we go:
my brother called on wednesday to see about stopping by this weekend on their way through town. he asked if he could take my boys to lunch with my mum and stepdad who will be in town later in the day to see them. my answer, of course, was not only no, but HELL NO. my thought was: when hell freezes over AND the devil is crowned prom queen of a south texas high school AND the jersey shore show on mtv is shown to increase the intelligence of viewers THEN they can go. but since my brother is easily offended, i kept it at NO. and he, of course, questioned me several times which not only frustrated me beyond all reason, but also made me question myself and the decision, AND made me feel the family rift once again. it hurt. so much. i made my decision when it all first came to light. i will not waiver. it is for the protection of my children. i will never compromise their protection. and he questioned: well, i’ll be there…can’t they go if i’m supervising? NO. which part of NO is so fucking hard to understand? and it didn’t occur to me later, but i should have asked him: what if i went to airway heights and had a sex offender paroled for the day…just for lunch? would you let me take YOUR kids to lunch with him? i’d be there supervising…of course. i’m guessing his answer would be no also. doesn’t he get that it’s the same situation? it IS the exact same situation minus the jail time. I WILL NOT LET MY CHILDREN BE AROUND AN ABUSER. period. done. quit asking me to.
also in the past he’s mentioned: “but the kids seem fine around him…they don’t act scared at all.” this question really bothered me. i wondered at times if i was wrong, if i was going over kill…until last night when it clicked: I’M GLAD THEY’RE NOT SCARED. that mean i caught the problems while it was still in the grooming stage before any actual scarring abuse happened. I’M GLAD THERE’S NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF (for them). i would rather know they’re protected and safe and it was caught early before any permanent damage was done than to look back later and wonder why i didn’t hold my ground. my little spawn was young. he didn’t know what he was saying or why it was bad. BUT I DID. i knew what it meant and where it was headed. i have no questions to this day that all the signs were there and he would have been hurt. i have no question he was being groomed for abuse. i was able to pull him away from the flame before he got burned. AND I’M GLAD. no i won’t risk letting them near enough for it to happen again. are you fucking crazy?
but at the same time, it hurts because it’s driving a wedge in my family. and it kills me. i just lost my brother. i’ve lost my mom in a different way. my older brother and my dad are all i have left. and i’m losing that brother too. i’m losing what little family i have. and i’m just getting to know my dad. so it feels like i have no family at all. and it’s killing me. it hurts so much. and i don’t have an answer for this one yet, but at least i understand why i dread my brother’s calls. i know there will be a problem. i know the wedge is getting bigger and bigger. i know there’s nothing i can do, besides compromising my kids, to make it go away. and it’s seriously killing me. this week went to shit wednesday after his call, and i’m still trying to pull it back together. i HATE this feeling. i hate being alone. and now i’m beyond alone. no partner OR family. there’s this HUGE GAPING HOLE in me and i can’t fix it.
and people wonder why i’m depressed.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Monday, January 25, 2010
the good, the bad, the ugly truth
the good: i am capable of feeling romantical type of emotions. it’s a shock to me too. didn’t think i could after all these years. thought that part has been properly cordoned off and sealed up. guess there was a breach in security. catherine zeda jones made it past the laser maze and stole the damn mask.
the bad: i found this out by becoming all schmoopy and attached to someone who not only didn’t return said feelings at the same level, he didn’t return ANY feeling. suck.
the ugly truth: several of my own worst self perceptions were confirmed during this learning experience. i was too chubby, not pretty enough, embarrassing to be seen out with, in general just all around not good enough. it was, very much, like re-enacting pretty woman including the no kissing clause, minus the bank and the happy ending. well, and minus the killer shopping spree. and minus the being beat by the lawyer friend. okay. fuck. it wasn’t like pretty woman at all except the fact that i was a last resort and he wouldn’t kiss me. there you go.
so. the result of this is more thinking that i am, in fact, very much right on one thing: some people aren’t made to be part of a couple. some people really are meant to be a party of one for whatever reason. i’m the party of one. i’ve tried to be a party of two, never really works out so well. ever. only twice was i really a part of something that could be called anything…once was 6 years ago when i was married (gag) and once was 5 years before that when i was “dating” my oldest sons dad (for a whole 4 months (three of which i was knocked up)). i’ve gone out on dates…even as recent as 3/2007 (not even kidding). i’ve had people i hang out with. but i’m just not meant to be a part of something. this last excursion around the bay was the first and ONLY time besides my marriage that someone stayed overnight two nights in a row. it’s the ONLY time that a boy has had his own toothbrush at my house. it’s the ONLY time EVER that i’ve woken up next to someone and been comfortable. but it didn’t work. there wasn’t anything to work really. i wasn’t wanted, just handy. whatever. i should know better by now. i suppose it’s like a rat in a cage: you have to keep checking the edges even though you never get out and the electrical shock never goes away. it is always a shock when i rediscover what i already knew. actually, i think the rats have a faster learning curve…
the bad: i found this out by becoming all schmoopy and attached to someone who not only didn’t return said feelings at the same level, he didn’t return ANY feeling. suck.
the ugly truth: several of my own worst self perceptions were confirmed during this learning experience. i was too chubby, not pretty enough, embarrassing to be seen out with, in general just all around not good enough. it was, very much, like re-enacting pretty woman including the no kissing clause, minus the bank and the happy ending. well, and minus the killer shopping spree. and minus the being beat by the lawyer friend. okay. fuck. it wasn’t like pretty woman at all except the fact that i was a last resort and he wouldn’t kiss me. there you go.
so. the result of this is more thinking that i am, in fact, very much right on one thing: some people aren’t made to be part of a couple. some people really are meant to be a party of one for whatever reason. i’m the party of one. i’ve tried to be a party of two, never really works out so well. ever. only twice was i really a part of something that could be called anything…once was 6 years ago when i was married (gag) and once was 5 years before that when i was “dating” my oldest sons dad (for a whole 4 months (three of which i was knocked up)). i’ve gone out on dates…even as recent as 3/2007 (not even kidding). i’ve had people i hang out with. but i’m just not meant to be a part of something. this last excursion around the bay was the first and ONLY time besides my marriage that someone stayed overnight two nights in a row. it’s the ONLY time that a boy has had his own toothbrush at my house. it’s the ONLY time EVER that i’ve woken up next to someone and been comfortable. but it didn’t work. there wasn’t anything to work really. i wasn’t wanted, just handy. whatever. i should know better by now. i suppose it’s like a rat in a cage: you have to keep checking the edges even though you never get out and the electrical shock never goes away. it is always a shock when i rediscover what i already knew. actually, i think the rats have a faster learning curve…
it has been decided (for me)
so. i’m not weak. i think that’s the last word that 98% of people who have ever met me would use to describe me. i have this funny growth in the lump that’s three feet above my ass…it’s called a brain. and believe it or not, i have actually learned how to use it over the years, and i am surprisingly capable of making decisions on my own…at least enough to get me through the last 29 years or so. now admittedly, they haven’t always been the best decisions, but they’re ones that i made. ME. I MADE THEM. ON MY VERY OWN.
so it astounds me when people decide to think for me. to make decisions for me. that’s a lie. it doesn’t astound me. IT FUCKING PISSES ME OFF. are you fucking kidding me with this shit? you thought you knew what was best for me and went ahead and decided? it’s happened more times than i care to count in the last few years.
when i was a kid…had to have been 10 or 11…we got a call that my dad had been in a really bad car accident. had rolled the car several times, punctured a lung, broken several ribs, BAD shape. the accident had thrown the glove compartment 100 yards from his car, and completely totaled the car (a cop car…reinforced and all). we were told about it a week later and not allowed to go down to see him. “…it would be best if you didn’t see him like that...” FUCK YOU. my dad is in the hospital WRECKED UP and you think it would be best if i didn’t see him? are you fucking kidding me? he’s my dad. i should ESPECIALLY be able to see him then.
then when my little brother was in an accident this last august i was called FOUR DAYS LATER when he woke up from the coma. “…well, we didn’t want you to worry and rush over here, so we decided to wait and call you till we knew it was a little better…” WHAT THE FUCK? my brother is in a coma and you didn’t want to worry me? if i shouldn’t be worried then, when SHOULD i be worried? what if he hadn’t made it then? turns out he didn’t really make it then and i never did get to see him through all of that or through the end.
it same thing with his death. i was called THE NEXT DAY. “…well, we didn’t want you to stress out and drive down here so we waited to call you…” EXCUSE ME? stress me out? he’s fucking dead. why shouldn’t i be stressed? why shouldn’t i drive down as soon as i hear? shouldn’t that be my call? NOT YOURS? so i get there a day late and a dollar short. i swear to all that’s holy, if they don’t call me to spread his ashes, a few of them are going to join him in the great beyond.
and it’s still happening. people making decisions for me: “…well, i didn’t think you’d be comfortable so i didn’t think you should go…” WHAT? well fuck…i’m so glad someone knows what i’m comfortable with more than i do. i’m glad someone can make decisions for me of where i would feel okay going or which social situations i would feel comfortable putting myself in. nothing like a fucked up excuse twisted for exclusion. if you didn’t want me there, just fucking ball up and say it. don’t hide it behind some fucked reason that you are trying to force on me.
i’m a fucking big girl. believe it or not i can say yes please or no thank you to situations. i can handle being stressed out about things. i can handle being upset. i can handle making my own fucking decisions. i don’t need people to fucking think for me. trust me, if nothing else, thinking is one thing i’m more than capable of doing. ALL THE FUCKING TIME. i don’t make a decision without thinking it through roughly 100 times. i know what i’m comfortable with, i know what and where i want to be. i know what i can handle and what’s too much for me. it’s honestly a fucking slap in the face when a decision is made for me. it’s saying i’m not good enough. i’m not smart enough. i’m not grown up enough to be in control of my own life. yes, i might ask for help or input once in a while on a decision…but in the end, i am capable of making the final decision without having it made for me.
so it astounds me when people decide to think for me. to make decisions for me. that’s a lie. it doesn’t astound me. IT FUCKING PISSES ME OFF. are you fucking kidding me with this shit? you thought you knew what was best for me and went ahead and decided? it’s happened more times than i care to count in the last few years.
when i was a kid…had to have been 10 or 11…we got a call that my dad had been in a really bad car accident. had rolled the car several times, punctured a lung, broken several ribs, BAD shape. the accident had thrown the glove compartment 100 yards from his car, and completely totaled the car (a cop car…reinforced and all). we were told about it a week later and not allowed to go down to see him. “…it would be best if you didn’t see him like that...” FUCK YOU. my dad is in the hospital WRECKED UP and you think it would be best if i didn’t see him? are you fucking kidding me? he’s my dad. i should ESPECIALLY be able to see him then.
then when my little brother was in an accident this last august i was called FOUR DAYS LATER when he woke up from the coma. “…well, we didn’t want you to worry and rush over here, so we decided to wait and call you till we knew it was a little better…” WHAT THE FUCK? my brother is in a coma and you didn’t want to worry me? if i shouldn’t be worried then, when SHOULD i be worried? what if he hadn’t made it then? turns out he didn’t really make it then and i never did get to see him through all of that or through the end.
it same thing with his death. i was called THE NEXT DAY. “…well, we didn’t want you to stress out and drive down here so we waited to call you…” EXCUSE ME? stress me out? he’s fucking dead. why shouldn’t i be stressed? why shouldn’t i drive down as soon as i hear? shouldn’t that be my call? NOT YOURS? so i get there a day late and a dollar short. i swear to all that’s holy, if they don’t call me to spread his ashes, a few of them are going to join him in the great beyond.
and it’s still happening. people making decisions for me: “…well, i didn’t think you’d be comfortable so i didn’t think you should go…” WHAT? well fuck…i’m so glad someone knows what i’m comfortable with more than i do. i’m glad someone can make decisions for me of where i would feel okay going or which social situations i would feel comfortable putting myself in. nothing like a fucked up excuse twisted for exclusion. if you didn’t want me there, just fucking ball up and say it. don’t hide it behind some fucked reason that you are trying to force on me.
i’m a fucking big girl. believe it or not i can say yes please or no thank you to situations. i can handle being stressed out about things. i can handle being upset. i can handle making my own fucking decisions. i don’t need people to fucking think for me. trust me, if nothing else, thinking is one thing i’m more than capable of doing. ALL THE FUCKING TIME. i don’t make a decision without thinking it through roughly 100 times. i know what i’m comfortable with, i know what and where i want to be. i know what i can handle and what’s too much for me. it’s honestly a fucking slap in the face when a decision is made for me. it’s saying i’m not good enough. i’m not smart enough. i’m not grown up enough to be in control of my own life. yes, i might ask for help or input once in a while on a decision…but in the end, i am capable of making the final decision without having it made for me.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
LOVE HARDER
http://www.youtube.com/watch?
From Laurie:
From Laurie:
Our Plea
Our friend Brandy is a brilliant writer, a wonderful teacher, and a generous friend. And she is in love with a man who has just been diagnosed with multiple myeloma.
We are raising money for the Multiple Myeloma Research Fund in his name. For the price of a cinnamon dolce latte, half-caf, hold the whip, you can be part of an effort to cure a disease that affects approximately 750,000 people worldwide.
http://www.loveharder.org
Every dollar brings us a dollar closer to a cure. And every donation brings a sliver of hope to a girl who needs all the hope she can get.
Love Harder,
[Your Name]
What You Can Do
Where Your Money Goes
Brandy's Story (if you already posted this, you can just link to your original post)
My name is Brandy. And I have a blog.
And a plea.
I use my blog to showcase the crazy I meet everyday, share the stories of the kids I teach, and document my love for tequila, dairy products and the abdominal muscles of Ryan Reynolds.
Rarely do I talk about personal issues on my blog-- as personal as the dude that I adore. But I need your help. And it involves my dude.
He's a guy who made math comics for my class, so they would love learning about addition. He's the guy who sends my friends gift cards when they are having hard times, who remembers every story I ever told him, who was the first person I celebrated with when I got a teaching job.
He's the guy who sent flowers to me at school-- dozens of my favourite pink roses just because he loves me. He's a guy who has spent a year patiently explaining (and re-explaining) everything there is to know about football during the important games when silence is preferred.
He's made me word puzzles and comics and stayed up late playing Scrabble with me (even though I beat him almost every time). He's listened to me cry about school and family and jobs. He is everything I never knew I needed and everything I always knew I wanted.
I realize this all sounds dramatic, a Lifetime movie in the making-- but this is life. Right now. And I'm throwing away any hint of ego and am humbly asking for you to pray or think kind thoughts. If you are able to pass this on, thank you.
This isn't a call for sympathy or a plea for pity. It's just one girl hoping you can think positive thoughts for the person she adores. If my current heartache provides you with anything, let it be the reminder that life is short, love is unbending and no one knows what could happen next.
Thank you for reading this, and if you haven't already? Please tell someone you love them today.
I did.
DONATE: http://www.loveharder.org
CONTACT: theloveharderfund@gmail.com
FACEBOOK: http://facebook.loveharder.org
MORE INFO: http://www.themmrf.org
Our friend Brandy is a brilliant writer, a wonderful teacher, and a generous friend. And she is in love with a man who has just been diagnosed with multiple myeloma.
We are raising money for the Multiple Myeloma Research Fund in his name. For the price of a cinnamon dolce latte, half-caf, hold the whip, you can be part of an effort to cure a disease that affects approximately 750,000 people worldwide.
http://www.loveharder.org
Every dollar brings us a dollar closer to a cure. And every donation brings a sliver of hope to a girl who needs all the hope she can get.
Love Harder,
[Your Name]
What You Can Do
- Give. Be part of a worldwide effort to cure a disease that affects approximately 750,000 people worldwide. Every dollar helps.
- Pass it on. Forward this story to five people. Share this blog post. Become our fan on Facebook.
- Love harder. Life is short, love is unbending, and no one knows what could happen next. Tell someone you love them today.
Where Your Money Goes
- The American Institute of Philanthropy recently named The Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation one of the best organizations to give to in terms of their accountability and use of resources.
- By working closely with researchers, clinicians and partners in the biotech and pharmaceutical industry, the MMRF has helped bring multiple myeloma patients four new treatments that are extending lives around the globe.
- The MMRF has advanced twenty Phase I and Phase II clinical trials. They need your support to advance these clinical research programs and accelerate the development of better, more effective treatments.
- The MMRF's Multiple Myeloma Genomics Initiative recently became the first to sequence the multiple myeloma whole genome in its entirety.
- A whopping 98% of your donation to the MMRF will be used immediately to support high-priority multiple myeloma research.
- With diminishing funding for early stage drug development and the next myeloma treatments not expected to be approved until 2011, the MMRF desperately needs your help.
Brandy's Story (if you already posted this, you can just link to your original post)
My name is Brandy. And I have a blog.
And a plea.
I use my blog to showcase the crazy I meet everyday, share the stories of the kids I teach, and document my love for tequila, dairy products and the abdominal muscles of Ryan Reynolds.
Rarely do I talk about personal issues on my blog-- as personal as the dude that I adore. But I need your help. And it involves my dude.
He's a guy who made math comics for my class, so they would love learning about addition. He's the guy who sends my friends gift cards when they are having hard times, who remembers every story I ever told him, who was the first person I celebrated with when I got a teaching job.
He's the guy who sent flowers to me at school-- dozens of my favourite pink roses just because he loves me. He's a guy who has spent a year patiently explaining (and re-explaining) everything there is to know about football during the important games when silence is preferred.
He's made me word puzzles and comics and stayed up late playing Scrabble with me (even though I beat him almost every time). He's listened to me cry about school and family and jobs. He is everything I never knew I needed and everything I always knew I wanted.
I realize this all sounds dramatic, a Lifetime movie in the making-- but this is life. Right now. And I'm throwing away any hint of ego and am humbly asking for you to pray or think kind thoughts. If you are able to pass this on, thank you.
This isn't a call for sympathy or a plea for pity. It's just one girl hoping you can think positive thoughts for the person she adores. If my current heartache provides you with anything, let it be the reminder that life is short, love is unbending and no one knows what could happen next.
Thank you for reading this, and if you haven't already? Please tell someone you love them today.
I did.
DONATE: http://www.loveharder.org
CONTACT: theloveharderfund@gmail.com
FACEBOOK: http://facebook.loveharder.org
MORE INFO: http://www.themmrf.org
option b usually wins
ok kids. a little house cleaning first. it’s been a while since i made an attempt at a funny blog so it may take a while to get the wheels good and greased up (think dirty thoughts if you so choose, i was). i have been saving notes of odd things to throw in here, so i’ll get those out of the way and then move on to a magical fairy tale of mythical creatures, air guitar, and fat bottom girls. you’re welcome in advance.
odd thought #1: when it’s just you at home (or if you live alone) do you close the bathroom door? ran home yesterday on my lunch break, had to pee (yes, it was important to the story) and was closing the bathroom door when i suddenly had a moment of freedom: IT’S JUST ME HERE. I CAN PEE WITH THE DOOR OPEN. not quite sure why this was such a happy thought, but it was, and my day was better for it.
odd thought #2: if you don’t stop for a pedestrian at a crosswalk (not that any of us would ever NOT stop…but hypothetically you understand) does it make you feel less guilty when the car behind you doesn’t stop either? i always feel bad if i don’t stop for whatever reason and most times apologize (which they never hear cause i’m in my car…but whatever) but it always makes me feel LESS bad if the car behind me doesn’t stop either. if they DO stop i usually have a few choice words for them.* never with my kids in the car you understand…i mean, what kind of parent would not stop for pedestrians AND use 4 letter words? what kind of an example would that be? yeah….
*see choices listed below
odd thought #3: JUST REALIZED: santa really has the child labor thing figured out. i bet if kathy lee gifford had put little hats and pointy shoes on the kids in her factory she could have totally gotten away with it. GEN.IOUS. a few pointy hats, some slippers with bells on them, my kids could totally be helping pay the rent.
odd thought #4: was listening to a video blog this morning that contained the following phrase: “biblical happy meal” to described the fish/loaves experience. HAPPY IN THE PANTS. after wiping up the coffee that shot out my nose (not even kidding…you think white chocolate tastes good? it smells even better). do you have any idea the thought process that followed? biblical happy meals…what was the toy? moses parting the red sea? a rod that turned into a snake and back (the original transformer)? chariots of fire (the original hot wheels)? baby moses in the basket (obviously a bath toy)? fuck moses, i would have wanted rahab in a basket personally (she’s the hooker in the bible if you haven’t read it recently…escaped out a window in a basket. would have made a kick ass bond girl if you ask me). and then there’s the whole passing out of the happy meals…was it in the little box with the golden arch handles? did it come with a drink? were there huge containers of mystery orange drink? did they all get their own sprite? was there an option of chocolate milk? a biblical happy meal. video blog magic.
ok. house: cleaned. onto the real magic. can i even say it? do i need a warning label? “THIS BLOG CONTAINS MULLET”. yes. that’s right. mullet. seriously…giggling and clapping my hands like…hell, i can’t even think of anything…I’M THAT EXCITED.
so. friday night a few gals from work and i headed out for drinks and music. it was a pretty quiet evening for the most part with the exception that we somehow found ourselves in the middle of a few birthday parties with some “dresses” that looked more like a legging pulled up too high but whatever. (ladies: if you sit down on the chair and your BARE ASS is on the chair because there’s not enough dress to cover it, you may not call that a dress. yes, i’m jealous. shut up.) so there we are, enjoying food, drinks, listening to the REALLY OLD BAND (i think they were the house band at the opening of the garden of eden…sorry for all the biblical references today...you may consider it your church for the week) and i spot it. down below us on the main floor (bless balconies for their great vantage point). i blink. this CAN’T BE REAL. but it is. or i think it is. i swear on the soul of my father the devil: a mullet. a real, live, permtastic mullet. and this isn’t just some half ass mullet…all high and tight in the front, long in back…this is a FULL mullet. a full head of golden, curly, shagtastic mystical mullet goodness. what do you do in a moment like this? (besides the obvious asking for a towel for your chair)? i quickly pointed him out to the two gals i was with which drew the attention of one of the birthday group guys so he was included in rare spotting. we couldn’t believe it. a mullet. in our midst. STUPID CAMERA PHONE…couldn’t take a picture that far away in that low light. depressing. but we all saw it. four of us. we couldn’t all be having the same blessed dream, could we? and then…old as dirt (may have been the official band name…may be wrong) started up fat bottom girls. to understand the full additional magic that’s going on, you have to understand the full set of music that was going on. they had already played: little sister, my big green tractor, and the joker (among others that i can’t remember). it was an anything and everything in between type band. rounding it out with fat bottom girls. AND THE MULLET ON AIR GUITAR. oh yes. air guitar. in the middle of the bar. without spilling a drop of his beer. at this point, the 4 of us are IN AWE. full on awe. this can’t be real. a mullet. and air guitar. all in one night. so. the night continues, we go back to chatting, and suddenly i am smacked on the arm. THE MULLET IS ON THE BALCONY. less than 3 feet away from us. standing there. in all his golden mullet glory. complete with head toss. yes, a head toss to shake the golden locks. i think i heard angels at this point. or it could have been the ringing in my ears from the noise. either way. so birthday party boy is quickly informed and he comes up with a plan: this CAN’T be real…we need proof. he’s going to touch the mullet. i suggested actual petting of said mullet, but he decided to be a little less obvious and go with the casual bump against the shoulder as he walked by. whatevs. BUT HE COULDN’T DO IT. every time he got close, the mullet would move away. and there’s only a certain number of times you can try that move before people start getting worried and checking for their wallets. HE NEVER TOUCHED THE MULLET. he couldn’t do it. which proves the fact that we were in the presence of a mystical magical creature. like a unicorn. with a mullet. charlie…let’s go to candy mountain charlie…it’ll be an adventure charlie! (go youtube charlie the unicorn if you’re lost at this point. i’ll wait).
so. thinking back on it now, it may have ruined the night if actual touching of the mullet had been achieved. it may have ruined the mystique of it all. as it stands: the world may never know…
*choices: a) asshat b) fuckwit c) bastard d) god damn good samaritan e) fucking asshole that made me look like a bitch f) jim
odd thought #1: when it’s just you at home (or if you live alone) do you close the bathroom door? ran home yesterday on my lunch break, had to pee (yes, it was important to the story) and was closing the bathroom door when i suddenly had a moment of freedom: IT’S JUST ME HERE. I CAN PEE WITH THE DOOR OPEN. not quite sure why this was such a happy thought, but it was, and my day was better for it.
odd thought #2: if you don’t stop for a pedestrian at a crosswalk (not that any of us would ever NOT stop…but hypothetically you understand) does it make you feel less guilty when the car behind you doesn’t stop either? i always feel bad if i don’t stop for whatever reason and most times apologize (which they never hear cause i’m in my car…but whatever) but it always makes me feel LESS bad if the car behind me doesn’t stop either. if they DO stop i usually have a few choice words for them.* never with my kids in the car you understand…i mean, what kind of parent would not stop for pedestrians AND use 4 letter words? what kind of an example would that be? yeah….
*see choices listed below
odd thought #3: JUST REALIZED: santa really has the child labor thing figured out. i bet if kathy lee gifford had put little hats and pointy shoes on the kids in her factory she could have totally gotten away with it. GEN.IOUS. a few pointy hats, some slippers with bells on them, my kids could totally be helping pay the rent.
odd thought #4: was listening to a video blog this morning that contained the following phrase: “biblical happy meal” to described the fish/loaves experience. HAPPY IN THE PANTS. after wiping up the coffee that shot out my nose (not even kidding…you think white chocolate tastes good? it smells even better). do you have any idea the thought process that followed? biblical happy meals…what was the toy? moses parting the red sea? a rod that turned into a snake and back (the original transformer)? chariots of fire (the original hot wheels)? baby moses in the basket (obviously a bath toy)? fuck moses, i would have wanted rahab in a basket personally (she’s the hooker in the bible if you haven’t read it recently…escaped out a window in a basket. would have made a kick ass bond girl if you ask me). and then there’s the whole passing out of the happy meals…was it in the little box with the golden arch handles? did it come with a drink? were there huge containers of mystery orange drink? did they all get their own sprite? was there an option of chocolate milk? a biblical happy meal. video blog magic.
ok. house: cleaned. onto the real magic. can i even say it? do i need a warning label? “THIS BLOG CONTAINS MULLET”. yes. that’s right. mullet. seriously…giggling and clapping my hands like…hell, i can’t even think of anything…I’M THAT EXCITED.
so. friday night a few gals from work and i headed out for drinks and music. it was a pretty quiet evening for the most part with the exception that we somehow found ourselves in the middle of a few birthday parties with some “dresses” that looked more like a legging pulled up too high but whatever. (ladies: if you sit down on the chair and your BARE ASS is on the chair because there’s not enough dress to cover it, you may not call that a dress. yes, i’m jealous. shut up.) so there we are, enjoying food, drinks, listening to the REALLY OLD BAND (i think they were the house band at the opening of the garden of eden…sorry for all the biblical references today...you may consider it your church for the week) and i spot it. down below us on the main floor (bless balconies for their great vantage point). i blink. this CAN’T BE REAL. but it is. or i think it is. i swear on the soul of my father the devil: a mullet. a real, live, permtastic mullet. and this isn’t just some half ass mullet…all high and tight in the front, long in back…this is a FULL mullet. a full head of golden, curly, shagtastic mystical mullet goodness. what do you do in a moment like this? (besides the obvious asking for a towel for your chair)? i quickly pointed him out to the two gals i was with which drew the attention of one of the birthday group guys so he was included in rare spotting. we couldn’t believe it. a mullet. in our midst. STUPID CAMERA PHONE…couldn’t take a picture that far away in that low light. depressing. but we all saw it. four of us. we couldn’t all be having the same blessed dream, could we? and then…old as dirt (may have been the official band name…may be wrong) started up fat bottom girls. to understand the full additional magic that’s going on, you have to understand the full set of music that was going on. they had already played: little sister, my big green tractor, and the joker (among others that i can’t remember). it was an anything and everything in between type band. rounding it out with fat bottom girls. AND THE MULLET ON AIR GUITAR. oh yes. air guitar. in the middle of the bar. without spilling a drop of his beer. at this point, the 4 of us are IN AWE. full on awe. this can’t be real. a mullet. and air guitar. all in one night. so. the night continues, we go back to chatting, and suddenly i am smacked on the arm. THE MULLET IS ON THE BALCONY. less than 3 feet away from us. standing there. in all his golden mullet glory. complete with head toss. yes, a head toss to shake the golden locks. i think i heard angels at this point. or it could have been the ringing in my ears from the noise. either way. so birthday party boy is quickly informed and he comes up with a plan: this CAN’T be real…we need proof. he’s going to touch the mullet. i suggested actual petting of said mullet, but he decided to be a little less obvious and go with the casual bump against the shoulder as he walked by. whatevs. BUT HE COULDN’T DO IT. every time he got close, the mullet would move away. and there’s only a certain number of times you can try that move before people start getting worried and checking for their wallets. HE NEVER TOUCHED THE MULLET. he couldn’t do it. which proves the fact that we were in the presence of a mystical magical creature. like a unicorn. with a mullet. charlie…let’s go to candy mountain charlie…it’ll be an adventure charlie! (go youtube charlie the unicorn if you’re lost at this point. i’ll wait).
so. thinking back on it now, it may have ruined the night if actual touching of the mullet had been achieved. it may have ruined the mystique of it all. as it stands: the world may never know…
*choices: a) asshat b) fuckwit c) bastard d) god damn good samaritan e) fucking asshole that made me look like a bitch f) jim
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