I totally feel like a whiny little toddler right now. A toddler that hasn’t had a nap. A toddler that is pissed because I have a shadow. A toddler that does not understand what homework is or why it is so important to sit down and write. I don’t care that I enjoy writing, I don’t wanna! I don’t care that it is therapeutic for me, I don’t wanna! I don’t care that I’m awesome at it, I don’t wanna! I don’t even care that I have a million (And 9) fabulous stories that I really want to get down on paper, I don’t wanna!!!!!! I wanna curl up in my blankie, suck on a cuppy full of juice (okay wine) and NOT write.

Writers block sucks.

*slowly rocks beating head against desk* I have so many funny things floating through my head and cant. *thunk* Get. *thunk* Them. *thunk* Out. *thunk**thunk**thunk* Is it possible to serve your thoughts with an eviction notice? Can I add to the order that they must exit in an organized fashion? How do I even put into a paragraph the fact the District Attorney should really re-word his opening statement? (Who uses the phrase “I’m going to touch on a few things” or “let me know if I didn’t touch something” for a first degree sexual assault case?? Bad form dude) Or about teaching my amazingly sarcastic son to drive? (oh! Look! A kitty!)

Story telling comes natural to me (usually) but it’s like I can’t separate anything out of the big knot of yarn that is swirling in my skull. The more I tug at it the worse it gets. Of course when I lay down and try to sleep at night all the thoughts come swirling around me like the final fight scene in “Ghost”. I feel like that weird kid that always messes up the joke. I’m bursting at the seams with punch lines but can’t lay out the hook.

Maybe I need to be drinking more, or maybe cleaning less, or not so slammed at work that I can’t even think. If you need me, I will be throwing a full out temper tantrum to the beat of “Summertime Sadness” about the fact that August-Specific Depression is a real thing. And is apparently also responsible writers block.

I am pretty much addicted to memories on Facebook. Any time I start to think I’m a boring old lady I get a reminder of how much fun I’ve had in my life. Hopefully my kids still love me someday when I’m telling their children all the wild things grandma used to do. One of my really good ones came up the other day and I got a nice chuckle as I had to explain it to my newest coworker.

My bosses husband manages a golf course so she is always having to do extra stuff after work involving the green. She was signed up to tee off with some gals at the other course in town. She was commenting that it had been a long day and she really wished she didn’t have to go (nothing against the group, we are just going through computer upgrade HELL right now and everyone is going home exhausted) I had to giggle and tell her

“Just sign up under my name, then they won’t let you golf since I’m banned for life”

“I should! Are you listed under your maiden name?”

“Yeah, just say ‘hi im rya. Im supposed to be meeting some people here’ and they will ask you to leave! Problem solved!

“I wish it would work but they have gotten all new management in the last few years so I don’t think they know you have been kicked out”

“Well that sucks”

This is where the explaining came into play. My coworker was given the condensed version but I feel it needs a deeper explanation. Many years ago I was hanging out with some friends at a charity golf event. Don’t ask me what charity it was because I have no clue and I don’t think they did either. It was a great excuse to day drink dressed like oompa loompas while hot rodding golf carts. The charity part just made it guilt free. We were not wasteful people so we didn’t let that opportunity slip by. At some point during our charity drinking the guys were licking mustard off some other dudes nipple and I busted my lip open trying to catch my straw. Good times!

Even in a heavily intoxicated state I still try to remember my manners and have zero tolerance for rude people. Sitting at the table we ended up at around midnight was a really nice and funny old man, but there was also his son that was getting meaner by the drink. This young punk was snapping his fingers and making snide comments to the waitress. This poor gal had had a long day and it was late enough that only her and the bartender were left for servers.  It didn’t matter if she was helping other customers. It didn’t matter that there were people ahead of him. He was *shoutslastname* and this lazy B-word needs to learn who comes first!

That made my eye twitch….I tried to take a deep breath but right then the lady came to the table apologizing for taking so long. This arrogant prick interrupted the woman to inform her what a fat and lazy and stupid B-word she was to keep a *lastname* waiting. At this point I was coming out of my chair. My friend put a hand on my arm in an attempt to keep me calm. I sternly told the boy that he needed to watch his mouth and have respect for a lady.

“I’M A *LASTNAME* AND I’LL CALL THAT DUMB C@#& WHATEVER I WANT!”

I didn’t say anything else to him. Some people only learn one way. I calmly punched him full force straight in the face and sent him rolling backwards in his chair. This also sent the table flying from his legs hitting it. The punk came up swinging but at that point there were plenty of people standing to hold him back. I got told that since I was the only person to throw a swing they had to kick me out for fighting. They weren’t going to call the cops but I has banned from there for life. I was fine with that.

The kids dad made a show of escorting me to the door but the whole time he was telling me how happy he was that someone did that. His boy was a spoiled brat and needed a good ass whooping but his mama wouldn’t let him do it. I held in the giggle until I was out of the building and told him “glad I could help” as he held the limo door for me.

The next morning I woke up to over a dozen messages about it, my friends hand had a paper towel and duct tape pressure dressing on it (that looked vaguely like my work) and my right foot smelled like crab legs…….  Aaaaah the joys of youth! *sigh*

Another crazy Madysin story!

We were all hanging out at the lake the other night when the lemonade drinking turned into laughing about “the good ol’ days.” Being the group of people we are that became open mic night for most embarrassing/horrible stories. Madysin, being the quirky person she is, came with a list of rules. They are not the normal rules you would expect when looking at a cute innocent looking girl. One of those rules was “No Jaeger” we aren’t saying that she couldn’t drink it, we are saying NO ONE within a 3 mile radius was allowed to drink it around her. She was very strict about this rule, with good reason…

Years ago when she was “in her prime” (looking at her now you would never believe she is out of her prime but it’s her story) she had a regular customer that was madly in LLLLLLLLLLLUUV with her. He was super sweet and funny but the kind of guy that had a hard time getting a girlfriend. He was a geek and a little overweight but had a personality of solid gold. (She is pretty sure that she is the reason his future children will never have a college fund.) Payday was party day in his world, and party was her specialty! He would make it rain until the ATM was a pile of ashes from the friction burn.

On that particular night he had gotten a promotion with a large bonus. Celebration consisted of Patron (instead of Jose) alternating with Jaeger, and topped with the Champagne Room on private reserve for the whole evening. He gave the DJ a stack of cash and had her play only his favorite songs. He was living it up! She was about 3 hours into proving mid-20’s ladies have the stamina of Olympic athletes when the moment began to unfold. The stars were not in the proper alignment for her. She was backing up on it like a belly dancer on ecstasy when she heard him sneeze. That same instant she noticed her totally exposed back was damp. She turned around to chew him out for not covering his mouth while sneezing when she realized what was happening.

That was not a sneeze.

Her horrified expression was mirrored in his face as he was rushing to cover his mouth to keep the rest of the Tequila/Jaeger from hitting her again. He stood up so fast it pushed her into a wall! He ran from the room throwing all the money in his pockets on the floor. The whole time trying to apologize between gags and gurgles. When he made it to the front door he broke the entrance rope instead of opening it.

She grabbed what clothes she had to cover up (if dance outfits were sold by the square foot it would be worth about 73 cents) and rushed in 7 inch platforms to the bathroom! She was in such shock that she didn’t even think to lock the door. This was the most disgusting moment of her life. In the mirror she could see the mess covering her entire back from hairline to dripping off her butt cheeks. Within seconds the DJ was coming through the door.

“Are you okay?! What happened?! OH MY GOD!!! IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS?!?!?!””

“YES!”

“Oh dear! Let me help you!”

The DJ wet down some paper towels and started wiping off her back. Mady screamed

“USE SOAP!!!!!!”

It was very obvious that the DJ was trying not to laugh but luckily managed to contain it. Big surprise, no one protested when she stated she was going home to shower and not coming back that night. Possibly the next night too. The guy did send her a dozen roses and a very heartfelt apology letter the following week.

The bad part was that night started a curse. Every party she went to after that, be it work or for fun, if there was a guy drinking Jaeger he would end up vomiting ON HER!!!!

dude at a house party – puked on her butt trying to get cuddly

groomsman at a bachelor party – laughed so hard he threw up as she happened to walk by

ex-husband’s 21^st birthday – duh, he drank too much but she had to drive him home

new year’s eve party – random guy hwarfed in her shoe

there are plenty more examples but no need to beat a sick horse. That night was the origin of Rule 17: NO JAEGER NEAR MADYSIN!!!!!!!

If it is both embarrassing and perverted-ly hilarious, it will happen to me. Also, if it involves making a mess and/or ruining anything belonging to my husband, it is guaranteed to happen! That’s just the way it works. I should have my picture taken for the cover of “Murphy’s Law Quarterly” Today’s adventure involves his truck and my breakfast…….This is why we can’t have nice things…….

My son and I have gotten into the habit over the last year of grabbing premade shakes on our way out the door in the mornings. Neither of us are morning people and we both get very hangry by 10 am. We have tried a few different types that taste good and are way high in protein. That way they can hold us over past when the coffee wears off. Problem solved. This particular morning I needed to take my husband’s brand spanking new, beautiful, all leather, power EVERYTHING, new truck for the morning commute (did I mention it is new?!). PPFFFFFFFFTTTTTT…… What could go wrong?!

Let me break down what could go wrong. I should never drink anything in my husband’s vehicle. Ever. I will hit a bump and spill it. I will panic about spilling and squeeze whatever it is even tighter. This will cause it to explode in every direction, successfully covering every square inch of leather in the front seat. It will also get in my hair, all over my face, down my chest and puddle in my crotch. It will be a creamy white protein shake, FULL of dairy and protein. It will be the day we decided to try out the creamy white delicious banana flavored shake.

Yes, you heard that right. I managed to give myself a money shot in the driver’s seat of his truck. (Or his baby). Yes, it was black leather. No, there was not any whips or chains involved. Please feel free to giggle like a junior high boy at the lunch table. I did. At least until I realized I had to get this cleaned fast before he found out. There might be Medieval forms of punishment happening in my house if I didn’t get this taken care of in a hurry, and not the ones I may-or-may-not enjoy.

It is rather difficult to get someone to detail a vehicle STAT when they can’t stop laughing. That is after I finally got them to believe I was seriously trying to get protein banana juice out of leather. This is not a practical joke…… Nope, the back seat is just fine………Please stop laughing……… Yes, I know he is going to kill me. That’s why I’m calling you…………It’s really not that funny……….Ok, when you put it that way it kinda is…….What do you mean you are busy all day today?! I JUST WASTED 10 MINUTES ON THE PHONE WITH YOU AND YOU CAN’T EVEN HELP ME!!?!! THE SEATS ARE GETTING STICKY!!!!!!!! Click….grumble……

When phoning a friend didn’t work I had to do what every white girl does; I posted on Facebook asking for advice. The plus side is most people, even my husband, thought it was one of those scam tricks or a hack. Luckily, I did get someone to come to my work and take care of it that day (No, they didn’t toss me a wash cloth. They also didn’t hang a sock on the door handle. Thank you.) Hehe, little did my husband know that was also me softening the blow for when I fessed up to my deed later. I LOVE YOU HUN!!!!

 

P.S. He didn’t kill me but there may have been some more banana handling required to be forgiven…..

 

Sooo I have this “friend”. To make things simple we will call her Madysin. Madysin is hilarious, probably even funnier than I am! I met her when I was fresh out of high school. She was working her way through college as a very classy “Pole-fissional” at a Gentleman’s Club (Who am I kidding?! This is Wyoming! She was a dancer in a titty bar!!!!) This girl was awesome! She did everything she could to not become another cliché. She always worked sober, didn’t date customers, and she was actually going to college not just using it as a line. She was crazy honest and sarcastic so people were floored by her. And the best part is I got to hear all of her funny secrets! She was very discrete and careful not to give enough details to ever let you figure out who the stories were about but oh man did she share what she could!

One of her best stories was from a Bachelor Party that happened over the weekend. She loved how “real” dancers could be even though they try to put on an illusion of perfection. They still get sick, they still burp, they still……..pass gas. This night it was her turn to be human. Something she had eaten earlier was not agreeing with her tummy very well. She was getting a little bloated so she put a corset on to hold the tummy in. BOOM! Next problem! Hahahaha someone forgot how physics works. Energy doesn’t just go away. It has to be transferred somewhere. Let’s also add that the human body can reabsorb a lot of things, but that process takes a long time. Generally speaking, if you have stomach issues that are at the point of causing discomfort, the quickest solution is to allow it to “pass”

Buuuut, being only part human she still had an illusion to keep up. She couldn’t go hide in the bathroom for a few hours because this is one of the few professions that is it extremely obvious when you have a toilet seat ring stamped to your butt. It sticks out like a bright red baboon bum….literally. If your legs go to sleep you will fall on your face. No girl wants to be the chic running out of the privy with paper trailing her 6-inch stiletto when she gets called on stage. Once on stage, there is only so much spinning and pole tricks you can do to keep everything “aired out”. It is a handy little secret though. (If you ever go to a club and see a girl spinning upside-down in the splits for like…..ever, know that she is in need of gas-x and is really doing this for your sake. You’re welcome.)

She was about half way to paying for her oldest kids Bachelor’s Degree (haha get it?!) and was running out of sneaky tricks but luckily the pressure was starting to go down as well. The universe being the a-hole that it is decided that all the guys from this party should get the idea that the groom needed some private attention. Like, right now. Greeeaaatttt…… fake-smile-queen-wave-it-would-be-my-pleasure-I-would-love-nothing-more-right-now-at-this-very-second-be-still-my-heart———-

You don’t have to be a scientist to know that this “Right of Passage” for the soon-to-be husband is more personal than a stage show. It’s up close; bloated bellies touching, stomach noises near your ear, cheeks in the face, crazy contortionist movements; and has to be totally mind blowing. This guy got the dance he would never forget. She was most of the way through it and the stomach pain was back like Terminator 2. She moved to a position where she had her back to him and her tummy could relax a little bit. Big mistake! Relax her stomach did! It let out the kind of pressure that only guys that have had to hold in a fart for the ENTIRE first date would understand… The kind of pressure that in no way could sound feminine or dainty…. The kind of pressure that could be heard over the bass of a nightclub stereo….. The kind of pressure they use for the sound effects in the next Jurassic Park…… The kind of pressure that gets picked up on the Richter Scale……. The kind of pressure that would be shown as a pan out of the Earth with a mushroom cloud if this was a movie……… the kind of pressure the even makes a drunk guy startle and gasp “OH MY GOD!!!!”

Luckily, so did she……….

Thinking on her feet she kept her sentence going beyond the “praise to the Lord”.

“OH MY GOD!!!! I CANT BELIEVE YOU JUST DID THAT! THAT IS SO RUDE!”

It took the guy a few seconds to come out of his daze and realize he was getting blamed for Jurassic Fart.

“NO WAY, THAT WAS SO YOU!”

“You are a horrible person! I can’t believe you are trying to blame that on me! There is no way possible that was me! My face was right there and everything Dude!!!!”

At this point you can hear his whole group of friends burst into hysterical laugher. Slapping the table and banging glasses kind of laughter.

“That was sooo you!”

“Sorry bud, there is no way anyone in this place would ever believe that was me. That was a man fart.”

She smiled evilly, kissed him on the cheek, and sent him back out to his friends with a slap on the butt

“Good Game Tiger! Congrats on the wedding!”

As he got to the table all of his buddies started heckling him. He denied it adamantly but they kept telling him they heard the whole thing. She smiled to herself knowing she was right; no one in the bar would ever believe it was her.

That’s one way to make a Bachelor Party unforgettable!

Apparently writing was more therapeutic than I realized. I wasn’t noticing that the times between blogs were getting further and further apart. I didn’t notice that I wasn’t writing in the journal of my brother’s memories anymore. I didn’t notice that I hadn’t even worked on a chapter in my book in well over a month. And while we are talking about things I didn’t notice…. The cat wasn’t getting fed, the kids lunch money had run out, showering had become a biweekly thing (please don’t judge). Did you know there is such a thing as Hypomania?

Well, now I do! I had always heard the saying “too much of a good thing is still bad” but assumed it was a biblical thing having to do with gluttony. I was so happy to finally be sleeping! My weight had finally stabilized! I wasn’t crying all the time! I wasn’t freaking out on my kids over little things! My house projects were getting finished! I was finally feeling normal. I was wrapping up the last few things having to do with my brother’s house and attorney. I began directing my energy to my crazy ideas instead. Somewhere in there I developed a lack of inhibition……again.

Years ago when my daughter was very sick I was prescribed antidepressants because I wasn’t sleeping. The nightmares of her dying had gotten so bad that I would have full panic attacks any time I came near my bed. Nightmare on Elm Street was nothing compared to what would happen in my dreams to my poor baby. I was more than willing to take anything to make it stop. We gradually increased the dose until we found one that made the dreams stop. I was insanely grateful! But I was also insanely chill. My whole world had turned into a giant “Meh” I had no sense of consequence. I didn’t care if I went to work. I didn’t care if I made the house payment. I didn’t care if I paid any bill at all. I wasn’t having thoughts of self-harm so I never thought to say anything to my doctor. She would ask how I was sleeping and that was a very positive answer but had started to become difficult again. That’s normal, let’s just increase your dose a little more since you are probably developing a tolerance. What I was really developing was Hypomania. (I didn’t know this was a real thing at that time) That little dose increase pushed me to the next step. I started cheating on my husband. I had already drained the saving account and maxed out every credit card, I needed something else to make me feel a little bit. I remembered that right after he proposed he had an internet fling with a past girlfriend so it was just fine in my mind. I wasn’t doing it for revenge. I had no hurtful thoughts towards him. At the time my lack of feeling made it seem like it was just okay, no big deal. When he confronted me about the house payment not going through (I used to be the extremely responsible one when it came to money) we thought it was a bad reaction to the meds themselves. I quit them cold turkey that day! (I DO NOT recommend ANYONE EVER do this!!!!!!) Since then I have sworn to never take THAT antidepressant again.

I made it many years without taking anything again. 2017 kicked my ass. If it wasn’t for that amazing wedding to a wonderful man, I would scrap the whole year. I actually begged in tears while at work one day to get prescribed something to make the emotional pain better. I couldn’t take anymore. Even my counselor thought it was time. I went with what worked well on a family member. It worked great for me as well! I got past the initial headaches and dry mouth and after a few months and was able to stop taking other medications for occasional anxiety. My ADHD meds were working even better than before. We had finally found something that works. Until I found out my niece (my brother’s youngest daughter) and her mom were moving back east to be with her family. Totally understandable but I was very emotional again. I decided I needed an increase on my antidepressant to get through this.

Since then I have discovered that sometimes you need to have an appropriate grief response. Even if you grew up not crying, it is okay to cry when experiencing loss. It is okay to hurt. If you hurt that means you loved. The people that love you will forgive you for making mistakes. Only psychopaths and over-medicated people don’t feel anything. A magic pill isn’t going to fix it, you have to heal. Lastly, ANY antidepressant can cause Hypomania if it is too strong of a dose. (Okay, this isn’t really everything I have learned, but I’m terrible about run on sentences and paragraphs)

So, please bear with me right now as I’m adjusting back to normal brain functions. No, I didn’t cheat on my husband. No, I didn’t blow the house payment. Luckily, I had a family member notice a change in my behavior and calmly talk to me. This was the best thing that could’ve happened. We have a plan in place and got control of this before things could get out of hand. I have discovered this is a common sign of over medication, not a sign that I fail as a human.

Depression sucks.

 

 

 

I’m a finalist in the local bike rally poster model contest. That’s a mouthful! (or not because I’m trying to win it the honest way ;D) Being a natural redhead I’m having to put in some extra work to stay in the running. The biggest one is that my skin, much like all the other soulless gingers, runs somewhere between porcelain and alabaster and has so many freckles it would make a cheetah jealous. I LITERALLY glow under black lights. The words of the Great Nail Tech Kimber “it ain’t cottage cheese if it ain’t white!” rang through my head as I analyzed the 3 baby saddle bags I was sporting in a bikini. Spray tan it is!!!

We have a gal in town that is amazing. She can make a stunt double from “Powder” look sunkissed. She sprays a bunch of the local body builders so they don’t look like Arnold had a love child with an Oompa-Loompa. She totally made me look like I belonged in the pictures for my beach wedding last June. (She is a miracle worker! There might be black magic involved) I rushed down to schedule an appointment for a few days before the finals. It is actually a few day process if you want it to look natural.

I went in on my lunch to get a quick bed tan in so it had time to set before getting sprayed after work. Of course she happened to have a cancelation right then and talked me into just getting sprayed over my lunch hour. Luckily, I was already dressed for the process since my plan was for after work. This just means my dress was loose and that my bra/underwear were pretty much worthless for anything other than keeping skin from touching. The biggest thing I had to worry about is the fact I use a yoga ball for a chair at work. They aren’t very forgiving when it comes to “swamp ass” since they is no air flow through plastic. Sweating is one of the biggest things that will ruin a spray. She reassured me that I could just lean back or stand for the rest of the day and it would be fine *insert reassuring hand wave that sales people are famous for*

Her timing was perfect. I rushed back to work with a few minutes to spare. Now for the fun part. Not sweating. This is way harder than you would imagine. My desk isn’t designed for standing while working. Thus the yoga ball. This is right up there with “my crush for the last 10 years is finally making out with me” on levels of hyper focused on the amount of crotch sweat happening. Aaaaand I work in a doctor’s office. It’s not like a can strip down and hide for a little while. I’m having to come up with very creative ways to air out ”the goods”. I did a series of yoga poses to the fax machine and back. I practiced twerking at the filing cabinet. I fanned out my dress like a little girl. I did the Kilt swing standing at my desk. I walked like a sumo wrestler down the hall. All this time watching like a meerkat to make sure a patient or a doctor doesn’t walk up while I’m fanning. That would be my luck.

Of course I want to apologize to my coworkers. They are having to deal with my weirdness. I haven’t figured the correct way to say “sorry about the smell” as I’m wafting out my downstairs. (spray tan has a very distinct odor, my lady garden would smell fine normally) Even I can’t say that with a straight face! But I did have to share that thought with the office. They are just as demented as I am.

I’ll be standing here doing the Hoo-Haa Hula, hoping I don’t yoga ball a toilet seat ring on my back side that will last for the duration of the tan! Nothing like strutting in high heels and a bikini looking like you just got done with a number 2.

First World Problems right here…..

She peed… on my stomach…..not even kidding right now……..

This poor girl has had a rough lot in life. After the issues we had with my boy coming from a dishonest breeder, we did a lot of research before deciding on her. We have been in love ever since! She is happy! She is spunky! She is down-right adorable! She is the loser of the genetic lottery! She walks like Igor! (Probably because she has a hunch back.) She makes me giggle and think of the movie “Meet the Robinsons” I have a big head and little arms and I don’t think this plan was well thought out. Master?

We noticed as the snow melted that she kept falling over any time she would try to run. (If anyone knows a way to keep a hyper puppy from running please let me know!) We took her to the local vet and they said it was waaaaay above their pay grade. Here we go, off to CSU again! This trip was not nearly as pleasant as the last time she tried to die in their care. The first trip they answered all of our questions, they texted me pictures through-out the day so I could check in, they made us feel at ease leaving our fragile puppy in the hands of a team of specialists. This time……..not so much. I won’t go into a bunch of details but we will sum it up to: I chewed out a neurosurgeon, and told her the only reason I think she works with animals is because she wants a doctor’s paycheck but needs a field that doesn’t care if your patients die. (Have I mentioned before I have no filter???)

Poor Travis was stuck in the car in a blizzard by himself driving back from Fort Collins with 3 kids, 2 bulldogs, and no idea that the procedures almost killed her so she was hanging on a thread. He was a little stressed so I took over on puppy duty once they walked in the door. Poor little girl looked like a reject from an animal testing lab. She couldn’t walk, half her totally body was shaved in random patches, her eyes were red, her mouth was blue, her breathing sounded like a velociraptor, oh did she stink! And because the doctor was a dickweed we didn’t get discharge instructions to know the fun side effects of her meds…..

So everyone knows, Dogs respond to most medications the same way humans do. Prednisone makes them bitchy (haha get it!) and it also makes them very thirsty. Which we all (now) know makes them pee A LOT (duh). I was so worried my little French Dinosaur wasn’t going to make it through the night that I had her in bed with me. That way I would be there if she needed anything. I don’t know if I was sleeping so hard that she couldn’t wake me up or if she had to go so bad she couldn’t hold it. All I know is she was on my chest, she licked my chin once (that I remember) and then slammed her sweet little paw on my face. I didn’t have time to finish asking her if she needed to go ouuuuuttttssi…..because she was whimpering on my completely soaked chest!

That poor little girl was obviously terrified when I started screaming and jumping out of bed to get her outside. I ran down the stairs in a very awkward combination of trying to cuddle and comfort her while not pressing the urine into my skin or her fur. I have no idea how I didn’t trip down the stairs and kill us both. I got her safely to the grass and was baby talking and petting her to let her know she wasn’t in trouble and it’s ok to go now. She sunk her big little head down and gave the saddest puppy eyes ever witnessed by man. She made Puss in Boots look like an amateur! Every ounce of her, down to the flopped back Dobby ears, said “I’m really sorry but I’m already empty. Do you still love me?” Of course I do! Let’s go strip the bed down babe. This time we will throw some beach towels down too.

I have heard jokes forever that they need to make an alarm that sounds like a dog/cat about to puke because nothing wakes you up faster. WRONG! If the dog is hacking that means I can sleep in later because the other one now has breakfast in bed. But if that little pup comes within an inch of my face I am halfway out the door before I even realize I’m moving. No more golden showers for me! The neighbor have probably gotten a few free shows on the warmer night. Maybe that’s why the one set is moving…..

Disclaimer: I don’t let my dogs puke on the bed, and I don’t let them eat it either. It’s a joke. Don’t be so pretentious.

Between my son and my god-daughter, the teenagers keep my weekend nights busy. They both have learner’s permits but not full licenses yet. That means I get to be taxi to and from both jobs. I’m not complaining. It gives me one-on-one talk time with them to catch up on the week. (let’s me be honest it makes me feel like I’m still cool and needed)

I had just picked up Bree from her job and had about a half hour to kill before picking up Dru. Ice cream run it is! Normally 9pm on a Friday is a pretty safe time to venture through Wal-mart. The creepy dudes are already at the bar and the drunken freaks don’t come out until midnight. I should be just fine to rock this in jammies.

At least that’s what I thought until I reached the frozen food section. If this was a movie I would’ve had the quiet piano melody to warn me not to turn around when some random dude started complementing my hair. He seemed harmless and friendly so I was the same back. He was smooth. In all the simply questions “What do you do? Are you from around here? What’s your sign?” He casually snuck in the “what does your boyfriend do?” I was totally honest. I told him without hesitation that I’m married and he is a mechanic. I swear to god this guy then made the calculating face that all the piranhas at the bar make. The one that tells you right away the chick is married and trying to figure out if you work with her husband before proceeding. He then asked which mine my husband works at. I was honest about that as well. Yep, total piranha face again. He tells me that he works for a different mine.  It happens to be one that can come to my office so I give him the sales pitch, bid him goodnight and turned around quickly like I just remembered to tell the teenager something important we forgot to grab. I don’t trust piranhas…..

It’s pretty bad when the teenager that is just as socially awkward and clueless asks if that guy was just trying to flirt. Glad it wasn’t just me that picked up on that. Luckily I stuck him down right away with the “I’m married”  or so I thought…… a few minutes later this guy comes walking up to us again!

“Is it true what they say about Coalminer wives?”

“And what is that?”

“That they have a lot of fun while their husbands are on night shifts?”

You have got to be kidding me right now

“Oh yeah, totally true! They say you don’t lose your wife, you lose your turn. That’s why you make sure you never leave her unsatisfied before you leave for nights. Make sure she is taken care of and you don’t have to worry about her straying. Remember that when you get a girlfriend”

“I’m going to be at Boothill later if you what to come out”

“You have fun with that. Goodnight!”

We are both booking it in the opposite direction now, completely disgusted that a guy would have the balls to ask a question like that. Bree is completely floored that I haven’t hit this guy yet. We have a short conversation about staying professional at all times and about how you need to not bring yourself down to other people’s levels. Always have respect for yourself. It was short conversation because now this guy is in the make-up section right next to us! I pretended to not hear him try to talk to me again and was on a mission to the back of the store. I made Bree promise to tell Travis this story because there is no way he is going to believe me!

Okay, we are taking the long way around to self check-out. Bree is on watch duty. We just need to get out of here and make it home to enjoy our ice cream. Scanned. Paid. Bagged. Go! HOLY MOTHER FLIPPING CRUD BUNNIES HE IS IN FRONT OF US AGAIN!!!!!

“so, do I have a chance of seeing you at boothill tonight?”

“NO! I’m married and I’m faithful! GO AWAY!”

I should’ve taken Bree up on the offer of a million points if I ran him over in the parking lot. He managed to place himself directly in front of the car.