I always hate telling people I am from Arkansas. I think everyone automatically thinks about Banjos and bare feet. I've always tried explaining to people that Arkansas is very country, think Hank Williams' "A Country Boy Can Survive" meets "Family Tradition". There are rednecks in Georgia and there are hillbillies in Arkansas. Hillbillies are completely different than rednecks. If you need more of an explanation, this website really sums it up.
I love Arkansas, I really do. It's relaxing, it's not over populated, there's nothing to do (which I happen to love), everything is just so simple in Arkansas. However, when the shit hits the fan there, it makes The Jerry Springer Show look like a Disney cartoon. We just got back from a 4 day Arkansas visit. How much shit can hit the fan in 4 days? You're about to find out.
We decided to make the 12 hour drive to Arkansas during the night so the baby would sleep the whole way. When we arrived in Arkansas on Wednesday morning, I was told my Grandfather (some of you may know him as Carnpa) had been admitted to the hospital. Grandpa has lived a rough life, he has asthma, emphazema, and various heart and lung ailments. He takes daily breathing treatments for his health issues. Carnpa spent all day Tuesday working in his yard, tending to his garden and mowing the lawn with his new riding lawn mower that he is extremely proud of. He worked too hard, he was over heated and worn out and decided he needed to take time out to do his breathing treatment. Since he had worked himself entirely too hard, the treatment wasn't working as quickly or as well as it typically does. So, Carnpa takes another hit then goes to bed. He wakes up in the night and he isn't able to breath so he drives himself to the emergency room and checks himself in. He said he thought he was dying and didn't want to wait around for someone to take him. When he checks into the ER, a nurse and an orderly are taking care of him and the nurse asks if he has any money or valuables he would like her to lock up in a safety box for him. Carnpa tells the girl he has $700 in his pocket but she's not taking it. Carnpa doesn't use banks, instead he keeps a nice chunk of change with him at all times and has an even bigger stash hidden away in his house. The nurse and the orderly gave him something to help him sleep after a doctor checked him out. Later, Carnpa wakes up, checks the pocket of his jeans which were laying on a nearby table. The money is gone! My Grandpa insists the orderly stole the $700 from his pocket while he was sleeping. Carnpa has the hospital security call the local police who come to the hospital and make a report. As if having $700 stolen from you while you are in the emergency room isn't bad enough, the doctor tending to Carnpa gives him the wrong blood pressure medication and Carnpa has a bad reaction and is taken to the ICU. By this time, it's Thursday and they want to keep him over night in the ICU to monitor his high heart rate and blood pressure. Friday comes along and they still won't release him. The hospital's policy is to keep ICU patients over the weekend if they are in ICU on Friday after a designated cut-off time. Carnpa ends up staying in ICU all weekend. Apparently, he was so angry over the stolen money that he treated the hospital staff very badly and was kicked out of the hospital on Monday. So, first they steal $700 from an old man, then they give him the wrong medication which puts him in the ICU, then they kick him out for being difficult. Lesson #1: Do not go to the hospital in Arkansas.
I am straight up terrified of tornadoes. I think about them all the time and I actually plan where to hide in my house in case a tornado hits. Arkansas was hit with some really nasty stormy weather while we were there. There were 9 tornadoes in the area in one night, which somehow missed us by only a few miles. We were staying at my Grandma's house (Carnpa's ex-wife), my aunts and cousins were all there to see us. We were hanging out, catching up and playing pool. My cousin Rance suddenly gets a whiff of something smelly, like poop. Everyone in the house starts searching for the smell, assuming one of the dogs had an accident. Rance goes to grab a different pool stick and suddenly drops it, yanking his hand back and making a disgusted facial expression.. A nice big chunk of feces was stuck to the pool stick. Human feces. Someone pooped their pants and tried to clean it out, they managed to get poop on their hands and decided not to wash them, picked up a pool stick and left the turd behind. Lesson #2: Wash your hands after you clean poop out of your pants.
I'm the oldest of 5 and the most responsible and well adjusted of my Father's children. My oldest younger sibling is 22 years old and quite the little mess.You might remember her from the story I wrote about her wedding. In that story, I referred to her as "Tuna King" and I don't see any reason to stop considering she is still married to that lousy slob, Sir Eats A Lot. Although we might have to add on to his name; I'm thinking Sir Eats A Lot the Pudgy Predator has a nice ring to it. My Father decided to call Tuna and tell her that Carnpa was dying and she needed to get to Arkansas ASAP so she could say goodbye. Everyone tried telling Tuna that it really wasn't that serious, he was not dying. He was more likely to be arrested for assaulting an orderly. Nevertheless, Tuna called my mother and begged for money so she could drive to Arkansas and say goodbye to Carnpa. However, the real reason my dad told my sister Carnpa was dying was because my youngest sister was turning 13 and he was planning a birthday party at his house on Saturday and wanted all of his kids there. Tuna was the only child who was not in Arkansas at the moment so Dear Ol' Dad took advantage of Carnpa being in ICU and told her he was on his death bed in order to get her to Arkansas in time for the party. I would like to point out that Tuna has a job but never has any money. I know, it costs a lot to feed her hungry husband. Let me also point out that Tuna never makes any effort at all to visit our relatives in Arkansas even though I always invite her to ride along with us. She always manages to blame me for her never being able to visit. I digress.... Tuna arrives just in time for our youngest sister's 13th birthday party on Saturday. My dad lives with his girlfriend and her 14 year old daughter. Dad also has custody of my 8 year old brother. One of the things I always look forward to when I visit my dad is his fried catfish. It is the only catfish I will eat. It is so delicious that my mouth waters when I think about it. Seriously, this is the stuff dreams and fat are made of and it's wonderful! Anyway, my dad told me to be at his house between 5:00 and 6:00pm. We arrived at 5:30pm. That fat slob, Sir Eats a Lot managed eat all the fried fish before I even got there. When my dad told me this, I seriously considered stabbing him with a fork but I knew he wouldn't feel it through all those layers of fat. I also decided not to ruin my little sister's birthday party right when they were about to cut the cake. Once I realized it was a cookie cake slathered in the thickest purple frosting I've ever seen, all my cares melted away into a puddle of sugar and all things nice. Here is where the new addition to Sir Eats a Lot's name comes in. Just as Dad's girlfriend, Polly, unleashes the beast cake from it's white cardboard cage, I notice Sir Eats grab my 13 year old sister from behind. He wraps his arms around her blossoming 13 year old bosom and proceeds to lean down and her on the neck. I'll give you a minute to process that. I'm not exaggerating when I say that he makes me gag. I wasn't aware a person could be so horribly disgusting. My first instinct was to throw myself across the kitchen table and rip his face off his fat body; but no one else seemed to notice and I didn't want to cause a scene and ruin the party. I was also starving to death since I hadn't eaten since I had breakfast that morning around 9:00am and I didn't want to destroy the cake with my body when I had just made plans to destroy it with my mouth. So, I put on a happy face as we all sang Happy Birthday. Then my mouth begins to water and my stomach begins to growl and threaten to eat my body from the inside out as I watch as they slowly cut the cookie cake. My 13 year old sister wanted to cut the cake since it was her birthday but Polly's 14 year old daughter didn't like the way my sister was cutting the cake and they started arguing, slowing down the cake cutting and passing of plates process. Just as the cake was about to reach me, Polly's daughter who Polly prefers to call "Sassy", starts freaking out about her piece of cake having too much frosting. She starts screaming and demanding another piece. Too much frosting? Give me the damn slice and shut up!!! That's what I was screaming on the inside as "Sassy" begins screaming at my dad who is trying to calm her. Then "Sassy" runs out the backdoor, slamming it behind her. My dad, who has been giving me 10 tons of crap for the last 9 months about not bringing my baby to visit him, hands my baby back to me and runs out the door after "Sassy". Slowly everyone begins to crowd around the window in the back door. Since no one was paying attention, and there were plates full of cookie cake just sitting there all alone on the table, I make my way around the kitchen to the other side of the table. Just as I take a bite of cookie cake heaven, I look up to see if anyone is watching me cram this cake in my mouth and see my dad and "Sassy" pointing fingers and shouting in each others' faces. At that moment, my dad makes the best decision anyone has ever made and shoves the 14 year old into some bushes. The house cleared out faster than it would have if it had been on fire. I continued eating. I mean, what was I going to do? She had already managed to climb out of the bushes and was now running through the field behind my dad's house and heading straight for a fire station. My dad, who is an alcoholic and was on his 2nd case of beer, came back into the house and went out the front door. I heard him mutter "Little Bitch" as I took a bite out of my 2nd slice of cookie cake. Tuna and SEAL the PP (Sir Eats a Lot the Pudgy Predator) take off after "Sassy", beers in hand, chasing a 14 year old to a fire station to report my dad for assaulting a minor at his daughter's 13th birthday party. I planned on grabbing a 3rd piece of cookie cake but decided I wanted to keep my child. I decided to book it before the Department of Children and Family Services were called. Lesson #3: Do not push a child into bushes for not wanting cookie cake. You will go to jail.
Today, Tuna called me to let me know Polly was trying to have her arrested for harassment. Apparently, Tuna had a facebook fight with Polly' sister and because I am so nice and I want you to feel better about your lives by allowing you to laugh at mine.... I copied the exact facebook fight that Tuna insists is going to be the reason Arkansas police travel all the way to Georgia to arrest her.
Polly: Tired been working on trailer n packing got till friday to be gone. Crack Ho Jr. has been great she has been working hard so proud of her!I can say I'm. A single women now! no drunks for me no. More.goodnite fb friends. (btw, she posted this at noon today and apparently it was night time at her house).
Polly's sister: if i didnt have ains id help but i wouldnt be any help with her. sorry
Tuna King: I see that talk Seal the PP and i had with you the other night ment nothing at all, i thought you understood and were better than that.
Polly's sister: shes better than to let people talk to her like you just did. Stfu.
Tuna King: Oh this must be Polly's sister that Polly's son hates so much. I hope you fucking die in the worst way possible bitch!!! Kbye
Polly's sister: yah he hates me so much hes here everyday. I bet ur whole family is full of druunk loosers. Get a life u scuzzy whore
Tuna King: whats a scuzzy whore? that must be hillbilly talk. i dont keep alcohol i my house, i dont sit around and smoke pot in front of my children and i none of my sibling or i was on birth control at 14. so who is the scuzzy whore?
"Sassy": Tuna it's to regulate my periods because I skip months at a time & to help with my acne. Nothing else.
Polly's sister: hey u dont know me so dont say things that are not true, are u really gonna pick on a 14 year old kid? I feel so sorry for u. Is your life so miserable that u want to try to make everyone as miserable as u? U have my pity.
Lesson #4 (and probably the most important lesson so far): I am a druunk looser and I might even be a scuzzy whore.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Strange Fingers
I love my personal space. To quote my favorite movie "Look, spaghetti arms. This is my dance space. This is your dance space. I don't go into yours, you don't go into mine." I'm not, however, a big germaphobe. Yes, I wash my hands and stay clean and that sort of thing but, if I drop a cookie on the kitchen floor, there's a 92% chance I am going to pick that delicious treat back up and dust it off before sticking it in my mouth to be devoured. I don't waste delicious treats. Although, with 5 dogs living in my house right now, I do sometimes wonder just how much dog hair I consume in one day. It's probably best not to think about these things.
It is best to think about strangers putting their grubby fingers in my precious baby's mouth though. My daughter is teething. She drools a lot and chews on anything she can get her little mouth on. Which is why I wash my hands so much. Strangers don't always wash their hands and a certain stranger who came to purchase my husbands truck put her old lady fingers in my daughter's mouth while I stood there with a horrified look on my face. I ask you.... what do you do when a strange old lady puts her boney fingers in your baby's mouth????????
It is best to think about strangers putting their grubby fingers in my precious baby's mouth though. My daughter is teething. She drools a lot and chews on anything she can get her little mouth on. Which is why I wash my hands so much. Strangers don't always wash their hands and a certain stranger who came to purchase my husbands truck put her old lady fingers in my daughter's mouth while I stood there with a horrified look on my face. I ask you.... what do you do when a strange old lady puts her boney fingers in your baby's mouth????????
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Did I Mention...
That I am part carny? Probably explains a lot. True story: My wonderful and beautiful grandmother who I love very much, went to the carnival in the country when she was approximately 18. Granny and her friend decided to ride the ferris wheel. While aboard the ferris wheel the young carny operating the ride took a liking to my Granny and decided to give her several free rides. Later he drove Granny and her friend home. A year or two later that carny became my father's father. Making me 1/4 carny.
As if this grandpa, who we will call Carnpa (only appropriate given his carny past), didn't add enough ridiculous to my life just by adding a dash of carny to my blood; The man actually licked my ear once. Yes, you read it right son! My own Carnpa licked the inside of my ear, wax and all. It happened on a Christmas visit to his house. Are you really that surprised that Christmas was involved? Me either. I was 13 years old, tall and skinny with long brown hair. I was sporting my new outfit, and lookin damn good if I do say so myself. No wonder he couldn't resist. I had on bell bottom khakis and a babydoll shirt with a big shroom on the front. As I walked into his house he got up from his rickety old recliner to greet me and my family. He said I looked like Cher in the 60s and 70s with my long hair and retro outfit. Then he leaned in and got himself a good old lick of my ear. I wouldn't say I was molested. I think that's pushing it. Violated for sure. Molested? Not quite. I mean, maybe he just likes the taste of ear wax or we could say he's just old and slightly insane. I'm sure the carnival circuit can really mess a man up. All those long nights operating ferris wheels can drive a person insane, just watching that wheel go around and around all night. He might have even gotten thrown up on a time or two or 12. I mean, besides, if I were asked to point out where he touched me on a doll it would probably be impossible. Most dolls don't even have ears, do they?
Either way you look at it, I'm still part carny with or without the ear lick.
As if this grandpa, who we will call Carnpa (only appropriate given his carny past), didn't add enough ridiculous to my life just by adding a dash of carny to my blood; The man actually licked my ear once. Yes, you read it right son! My own Carnpa licked the inside of my ear, wax and all. It happened on a Christmas visit to his house. Are you really that surprised that Christmas was involved? Me either. I was 13 years old, tall and skinny with long brown hair. I was sporting my new outfit, and lookin damn good if I do say so myself. No wonder he couldn't resist. I had on bell bottom khakis and a babydoll shirt with a big shroom on the front. As I walked into his house he got up from his rickety old recliner to greet me and my family. He said I looked like Cher in the 60s and 70s with my long hair and retro outfit. Then he leaned in and got himself a good old lick of my ear. I wouldn't say I was molested. I think that's pushing it. Violated for sure. Molested? Not quite. I mean, maybe he just likes the taste of ear wax or we could say he's just old and slightly insane. I'm sure the carnival circuit can really mess a man up. All those long nights operating ferris wheels can drive a person insane, just watching that wheel go around and around all night. He might have even gotten thrown up on a time or two or 12. I mean, besides, if I were asked to point out where he touched me on a doll it would probably be impossible. Most dolls don't even have ears, do they?
Either way you look at it, I'm still part carny with or without the ear lick.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Just a Quickie
After writing back to back posts about my MIL, I think it's only fair that I follow up with a post about my own mother. Lord knows she can be just as absurd, and the Lord would know because they are great friends. I don't have much time so this is just a quickie. Enjoy.
For a few years now, my mother has been dealing with various female health related issues, mostly bladder related. She went to several different doctors who all told her she had this condition or that disease. Each doctor she visited had a different theory. They put her on diets and new medications, they performed surgery after surgery and nothing seemed to be working. She was in a lot of pain for quite a long time.
A few months ago, I was leaving Starbucks, delicious hot coffee in hand. My phone rings and it was my mother, so I answered. We talk for a few minutes about her latest trip to a new doctor, while I sip my coffee in the car. She said this time they have really figured out what is wrong with me! I've heard that from her as many times as she has heard that from her numerous doctors. The new doctor thinks her problems stem from her bladder dropping while pregnant with me. Of course, everything is my fault. Without warning (remember I'm sipping a hot beverage), Mother begins to tell me that the new doctor has referred her to a physical therapist who has a magic touch. My mom said that the physical therapist can heal her by massaging her bladder and pelvis internally. Internally!
Just a quickie! And next time on to catch a Predator...... Doctors who touch their patients.
For a few years now, my mother has been dealing with various female health related issues, mostly bladder related. She went to several different doctors who all told her she had this condition or that disease. Each doctor she visited had a different theory. They put her on diets and new medications, they performed surgery after surgery and nothing seemed to be working. She was in a lot of pain for quite a long time.
A few months ago, I was leaving Starbucks, delicious hot coffee in hand. My phone rings and it was my mother, so I answered. We talk for a few minutes about her latest trip to a new doctor, while I sip my coffee in the car. She said this time they have really figured out what is wrong with me! I've heard that from her as many times as she has heard that from her numerous doctors. The new doctor thinks her problems stem from her bladder dropping while pregnant with me. Of course, everything is my fault. Without warning (remember I'm sipping a hot beverage), Mother begins to tell me that the new doctor has referred her to a physical therapist who has a magic touch. My mom said that the physical therapist can heal her by massaging her bladder and pelvis internally. Internally!
Just a quickie! And next time on to catch a Predator...... Doctors who touch their patients.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Now I Get It
I've been putting off writing this for a while now. Mostly because I didn't want to follow up Chrisuckmas with another hater blog about the MIL (mother-in-law for those of you not down with internet slang). Let me just say that I do not hate my MIL, I just find it difficult to get along with her sometimes. For years, I feel like, I have tried to be friends and it just hasn't always worked. I don't think it's anyone's fault, I just don't think we are meant to be BFF's. As I mentioned in Chrisuckmas, my MIL has not always been my biggest fan. My husband insists that she likes me now but I'm just not so sure. I feel like she just tolerates me because she knows I'm going to be around for the rest of her life and there's nothing she can do about it.
My in-laws have been living with us for 7 months. 7 MONTHS!!!!!! You might be thinking that 7 months is not really that long but let me remind you that 7 months is over half a year! Oh, and not only have they been living with us but their 2 dogs have been living with us as well. So, that's 4 people 5 dogs and a teething 6 month old baby in one 4 bedroom house. You are probably asking yourself the same question I have been asking myself for 7 months....
As I mentioned, there are 2 dog-in-laws living with us at the moment. One of the dogs, let's call her Fatso, is obsessed with food. OBSESSED! The only time Fatso runs is when there is food on the floor. Then you better watch out because she will knock you over getting to that food and if you're not careful she will turn around and try to eat you next. I'm afraid to put the baby on the floor for tummy time because I don't want Fatso to mistake her for a dog cookie. My MIL actually makes homemade dog food for her 2 dogs. She also has to feed them pumpkin. Why the pumpkin? Because Fatso will eat anything. Including dog shit. So, my MIL has to feed all the dogs pumpkin so that Fatso doesn't go outside and indulge in a poop smorgasbord. Pumpkin apparently makes poop taste so bad that not even Fatso will eat it. Now that Fatso knows she can't eat the poop in the yard, she refuses to go outside. What's the point if you can't eat shit? Well how and where does Fatso poop, you ask? She simply holds it in until she literally explodes. On more than one occasion Fatso has simultaneously shit all over my house while throwing up more shit. Yes. Shit came out both ends at the same time! Shit came out of the dogs mouth! The dog had so much shit inside her that it just exploded out of her. I'm surprised it wasn't coming out of her ears.
I think my MIL has always wondered why her son married me and not a girl I like to refer to as ass to mouth girl. Ass to mouth girl is a girl that my husband dated for a year while he and I were on a break. A2M girl was terrified of getting pregnant so she refused to let my husband have normal intercourse with her. Instead, she preferred rear entry. One day, A2M girl was feeling extra generous and decided to give my husband a little oral pleasure after participating in some rear entry lovin. Yes, the girl my MIL probably wishes her son had married, removed his penis from her rump and immediately licked her poop off of it. You can't spell classy without ass.
I think I finally get it, the reason my MIL doesn't like me is because I don't eat shit.
My in-laws have been living with us for 7 months. 7 MONTHS!!!!!! You might be thinking that 7 months is not really that long but let me remind you that 7 months is over half a year! Oh, and not only have they been living with us but their 2 dogs have been living with us as well. So, that's 4 people 5 dogs and a teething 6 month old baby in one 4 bedroom house. You are probably asking yourself the same question I have been asking myself for 7 months....
As I mentioned, there are 2 dog-in-laws living with us at the moment. One of the dogs, let's call her Fatso, is obsessed with food. OBSESSED! The only time Fatso runs is when there is food on the floor. Then you better watch out because she will knock you over getting to that food and if you're not careful she will turn around and try to eat you next. I'm afraid to put the baby on the floor for tummy time because I don't want Fatso to mistake her for a dog cookie. My MIL actually makes homemade dog food for her 2 dogs. She also has to feed them pumpkin. Why the pumpkin? Because Fatso will eat anything. Including dog shit. So, my MIL has to feed all the dogs pumpkin so that Fatso doesn't go outside and indulge in a poop smorgasbord. Pumpkin apparently makes poop taste so bad that not even Fatso will eat it. Now that Fatso knows she can't eat the poop in the yard, she refuses to go outside. What's the point if you can't eat shit? Well how and where does Fatso poop, you ask? She simply holds it in until she literally explodes. On more than one occasion Fatso has simultaneously shit all over my house while throwing up more shit. Yes. Shit came out both ends at the same time! Shit came out of the dogs mouth! The dog had so much shit inside her that it just exploded out of her. I'm surprised it wasn't coming out of her ears.
I think my MIL has always wondered why her son married me and not a girl I like to refer to as ass to mouth girl. Ass to mouth girl is a girl that my husband dated for a year while he and I were on a break. A2M girl was terrified of getting pregnant so she refused to let my husband have normal intercourse with her. Instead, she preferred rear entry. One day, A2M girl was feeling extra generous and decided to give my husband a little oral pleasure after participating in some rear entry lovin. Yes, the girl my MIL probably wishes her son had married, removed his penis from her rump and immediately licked her poop off of it. You can't spell classy without ass.
I think I finally get it, the reason my MIL doesn't like me is because I don't eat shit.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Chrisuckmas
Christmas always sucks for me. Which in itself sucks because I love Christmas, but apparently Christmas hates me. My earliest Christmas memory was at approximately 4 years old. I remember wishing and hoping for an Easy Bake Oven all year long, or, for what seemed like all year long; but at 4 years old it could have been a whole week, who knows. Anyway, the point is, I wanted that Easy Bake Oven and I was going to get that shit. So, all of a sudden it was Christmas Eve and time for bed. I was so excited I could barely sleep. Morning finally came and I ran to the tree to tear into my gifts. After ripping into gift after gift and tossing each one aside and moving onto the next; I get to the end of the pile and my mom says "Oh, look....there's one left" and there at the back of the tree was this giant box. It was so beautiful! This was it, I could feel it in my tiny bones like old people feel the rain coming! My very own Easy Bake Oven. I could finally bake treats in a flash all day long! I tore the wrapping paper off as fast as my little fingers could tear and revealed that glorious pink box and read those 3 little words EASY.BAKE.OVEN!!!!!!!!!! I screamed and began to jump up and down with so much excitement. "Wait.... open the box" my mom says with a nervous tone to her voice. I don't need to open it! I know what's inside!! Then I notice the look she gives my aunt. The "Oh shit, I'm in trouble look" and the world stands still. I don't know who opened the box or how it was opened but the next thing I remember is looking inside this giant empty box at a red and black puffy shirt with matching prairie style skirt. This memory has haunted me my entire life. Many years later, I remember having drunken sex with my future husband while my gay friend threw up in an Easy Bake Oven box nearby. I blame it on my mom. Both the being drunk part and the having sex before marriage. How else was I supposed to cope with the loss of my Easy Bake Oven? Maybe if I had gotten one I would have been at home baking mini brownies in a flash instead of riding my boyfriend into the vodka tainted sunset while a gay man slept on a couch nearby.
Unfortunately, things never really got any better as far as Christmas is concerned. On multiple occasions I found letters from Santa under the tree explaining that the reason I didn't get a scooter, a barbie mansion, or roller skates was because Rudolph was testing them out before Santa delivered them and the bitch broke them. It's a wonder I didn't turn out to be an avid hunter. Of course, several years later, my sister received all three of those gifts on one Christmas. When I pointed out that those were things I wanted when I was little my mom simply replied "I guess the Elves fixed them".
About 8 years ago, my husband (before he was my husband) had his own apartment. We decided to have our own mini Christmas before he left to go visit his parents in another state for the Holiday. I had put a lot of effort into getting him the perfect Christmas gifts. I was so proud of myself for purchasing the engraved flask and the stocking full of various sexy items for the extra merry Christmas send-off I had planned for him that evening. I couldn't wait for him to see the gifts I so carefully and lovingly chose for him. So, I let him open his gifts first. Then it was my turn, there was only one gift under the tree for me, he had several gifts under the tree for him. So I thought this single gift has to be pretty amazing since it's the only one, right? Wrong. It was a bottle of vodka. That's it. Just a bottle of vodka. Which, let's admit, was really for him anyway since he was going to, first help me drink it ,and then take sexual advantage of me after I drank half the bottle. Asshole.
The first Christmas we decided to actually spend together was a year after the vodka incident. He invited me to spend Christmas with him at his parents house up north. His mother had never been a huge fan of me, so I was extremely nervous. I put all my effort into buying gifts for his parents that I hoped they would like, it was really difficult considering I didn't know much about them other than the fact that they hated me. I decided I wanted to change their opinions of me. Voodoo dolls resembling me would probably be a big hit but wouldn't help my cause. A few days before Christmas we packed up and made the 12 hour drive to their house. We brought my dog with us, and as soon as we arrived at their house, my dog runs in and lifts her leg and pisses on a potted plant by the front door. While we are cleaning up the pee, the dog runs over and craps on the fireplace. Awesome! This was definitely the first impression I had in mind. Surprisingly, everything else went well. They seemed to like their gifts, or at least not hate their gifts. Although, they probably would have been happier with the voodoo dolls. They even bought a few gifts for me! Then it was time for Christmas dinner. My family is a little bit country so I was accustomed to eating Christmas dinner, buffet style, on a paper plate and sitting on the floor or wherever you could find a spot. The future in-laws do things a little differently. We ate dinner in the formal dining room with different courses of food and silverware we were supposed to use for certain courses. There were even name plates for 4 people!! What, is she afraid one of us will be seated next to someone we don't like? Then why the hell did she put me between her and her husband? I sit down at the table and find 2 forks, a spoon or 2 and maybe even a few different knives. There were also 2 plates and a bowl all stacked on top of each other all fancy like. The future mother in law made this disgusting carrot soup which she knew I didn't like but her son loves (by the way, this is the only time in 10 years she has made that disgusting soup so I'm pretty sure she did it to spite me), since she knew I wasn't going to have any soup she took my bowl back to the kitchen and told me it was okay for me to start eating the main course. I take the top plate and start loading it up. I look down and see all these utensils staring up at me. There are 2 forks! I quickly try to remember what the hotel concierge told Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman about the order of silverware when eating a fancy meal. I couldn't remember. So, I just picked one as quickly as I could before drawing attention to myself. I had already sat there staring at the forks long enough. I began to eat, I was enjoying my meal, then all of a sudden the future MIL looks over at me and says with a snooty chuckle, "You're using the wrong plate. That's for salad." I look down at my plate and notice the larger plate underneath. Since there wasn't a salad on the table I thought the bigger plate was just a decorative charger. Since I usually crack jokes when I'm nervous, I reply "Oh, I thought the larger plate was for dessert. My bad." Everyone laughs except her. Instead of laughing, she says "You're using the wrong fork too." At this point, I'm mortified and can't think of a joke because I'm too busy holding back tears. So, I simply say "I'm sorry" and continue eating. That night I got the shits. I'm convinced she poisoned my crab cakes since I was the only one eating crab cakes. I am funny about pooping. I try my hardest to keep it from being too obvious that I am pooping so I went to "take a shower" and pooped. I pooped so much it required multiple flushes so I flushed once, got in the shower, then got out of the shower and flushed again; but there were still dooky streaks on the bowl. So, I took one of her fancy disposable shower caps and covered my hand with it and used one of her fancy guest toothbrushes and scrubbed the poop streaks off the bowl and flushed a final time. I should have put the poo-poo covered toothbrush and shower cap back in their cute wrappings and neatly placed them back in the drawer. But I didn't. Or did I? Things were not going well at this point. I could not wait to go home. We left the next morning, I cried the entire 12 hour drive home.
Believe me when I say that things haven't changed. This year my in-laws are living with us. My father in law took a job near our house and they sold their home up north. They're in the process of buying a house near us and have been living with us while they house hunt. It's a pretty stressful situation. I'll go into detail another time. I've been stressed out for a number of reasons and pissed at my husband for several days now. I am so excited about Christmas this year since it is our daughter's first! I have been talking about decorating the tree for a few weeks now. Yesterday was the first opportunity my husband and I had to bring the Christmas stuff down from the attic and decorate. I had really been looking forward to it. I couldn't wait to take cute pictures of the baby with the tree. Maybe put an ornament in her hand and pretend she is putting it on the tree and take a picture. Adorable. I spent most of the day cleaning house while my husband brought stuff down from the attic. He set up the tree and had just finished putting the lights on when our daughter, who is teething, started having a meltdown. So, I had to take her up to bed. My husband came with me and helped me give her a bath. While I was feeding her, he said he was going back downstairs to get some water and would be right back. It was 30-45 minutes before he came back. I had a really bad feeling about this since his mother had been going through the ornament box as I was taking the baby upstairs. Surely, he wouldn't decorate the tree without me! Right?! I mean, he knows how excited I've been. So, when he comes back into the bedroom I say "The tree isn't decorated is it?" he replies with this excited little "Yes"! Him and his Mother decorated the tree together!!!!! Without me!!!!! The hell? So, I spent all day cleaning up after everyone so that you and you're mother could decorate my Christmas tree without me? I guess I'm just the maid. I'm still excited about Christmas. Just in a different way now. I can't wait to see what a giant mess this Christmas will be!
Unfortunately, things never really got any better as far as Christmas is concerned. On multiple occasions I found letters from Santa under the tree explaining that the reason I didn't get a scooter, a barbie mansion, or roller skates was because Rudolph was testing them out before Santa delivered them and the bitch broke them. It's a wonder I didn't turn out to be an avid hunter. Of course, several years later, my sister received all three of those gifts on one Christmas. When I pointed out that those were things I wanted when I was little my mom simply replied "I guess the Elves fixed them".
About 8 years ago, my husband (before he was my husband) had his own apartment. We decided to have our own mini Christmas before he left to go visit his parents in another state for the Holiday. I had put a lot of effort into getting him the perfect Christmas gifts. I was so proud of myself for purchasing the engraved flask and the stocking full of various sexy items for the extra merry Christmas send-off I had planned for him that evening. I couldn't wait for him to see the gifts I so carefully and lovingly chose for him. So, I let him open his gifts first. Then it was my turn, there was only one gift under the tree for me, he had several gifts under the tree for him. So I thought this single gift has to be pretty amazing since it's the only one, right? Wrong. It was a bottle of vodka. That's it. Just a bottle of vodka. Which, let's admit, was really for him anyway since he was going to, first help me drink it ,and then take sexual advantage of me after I drank half the bottle. Asshole.
The first Christmas we decided to actually spend together was a year after the vodka incident. He invited me to spend Christmas with him at his parents house up north. His mother had never been a huge fan of me, so I was extremely nervous. I put all my effort into buying gifts for his parents that I hoped they would like, it was really difficult considering I didn't know much about them other than the fact that they hated me. I decided I wanted to change their opinions of me. Voodoo dolls resembling me would probably be a big hit but wouldn't help my cause. A few days before Christmas we packed up and made the 12 hour drive to their house. We brought my dog with us, and as soon as we arrived at their house, my dog runs in and lifts her leg and pisses on a potted plant by the front door. While we are cleaning up the pee, the dog runs over and craps on the fireplace. Awesome! This was definitely the first impression I had in mind. Surprisingly, everything else went well. They seemed to like their gifts, or at least not hate their gifts. Although, they probably would have been happier with the voodoo dolls. They even bought a few gifts for me! Then it was time for Christmas dinner. My family is a little bit country so I was accustomed to eating Christmas dinner, buffet style, on a paper plate and sitting on the floor or wherever you could find a spot. The future in-laws do things a little differently. We ate dinner in the formal dining room with different courses of food and silverware we were supposed to use for certain courses. There were even name plates for 4 people!! What, is she afraid one of us will be seated next to someone we don't like? Then why the hell did she put me between her and her husband? I sit down at the table and find 2 forks, a spoon or 2 and maybe even a few different knives. There were also 2 plates and a bowl all stacked on top of each other all fancy like. The future mother in law made this disgusting carrot soup which she knew I didn't like but her son loves (by the way, this is the only time in 10 years she has made that disgusting soup so I'm pretty sure she did it to spite me), since she knew I wasn't going to have any soup she took my bowl back to the kitchen and told me it was okay for me to start eating the main course. I take the top plate and start loading it up. I look down and see all these utensils staring up at me. There are 2 forks! I quickly try to remember what the hotel concierge told Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman about the order of silverware when eating a fancy meal. I couldn't remember. So, I just picked one as quickly as I could before drawing attention to myself. I had already sat there staring at the forks long enough. I began to eat, I was enjoying my meal, then all of a sudden the future MIL looks over at me and says with a snooty chuckle, "You're using the wrong plate. That's for salad." I look down at my plate and notice the larger plate underneath. Since there wasn't a salad on the table I thought the bigger plate was just a decorative charger. Since I usually crack jokes when I'm nervous, I reply "Oh, I thought the larger plate was for dessert. My bad." Everyone laughs except her. Instead of laughing, she says "You're using the wrong fork too." At this point, I'm mortified and can't think of a joke because I'm too busy holding back tears. So, I simply say "I'm sorry" and continue eating. That night I got the shits. I'm convinced she poisoned my crab cakes since I was the only one eating crab cakes. I am funny about pooping. I try my hardest to keep it from being too obvious that I am pooping so I went to "take a shower" and pooped. I pooped so much it required multiple flushes so I flushed once, got in the shower, then got out of the shower and flushed again; but there were still dooky streaks on the bowl. So, I took one of her fancy disposable shower caps and covered my hand with it and used one of her fancy guest toothbrushes and scrubbed the poop streaks off the bowl and flushed a final time. I should have put the poo-poo covered toothbrush and shower cap back in their cute wrappings and neatly placed them back in the drawer. But I didn't. Or did I? Things were not going well at this point. I could not wait to go home. We left the next morning, I cried the entire 12 hour drive home.
Believe me when I say that things haven't changed. This year my in-laws are living with us. My father in law took a job near our house and they sold their home up north. They're in the process of buying a house near us and have been living with us while they house hunt. It's a pretty stressful situation. I'll go into detail another time. I've been stressed out for a number of reasons and pissed at my husband for several days now. I am so excited about Christmas this year since it is our daughter's first! I have been talking about decorating the tree for a few weeks now. Yesterday was the first opportunity my husband and I had to bring the Christmas stuff down from the attic and decorate. I had really been looking forward to it. I couldn't wait to take cute pictures of the baby with the tree. Maybe put an ornament in her hand and pretend she is putting it on the tree and take a picture. Adorable. I spent most of the day cleaning house while my husband brought stuff down from the attic. He set up the tree and had just finished putting the lights on when our daughter, who is teething, started having a meltdown. So, I had to take her up to bed. My husband came with me and helped me give her a bath. While I was feeding her, he said he was going back downstairs to get some water and would be right back. It was 30-45 minutes before he came back. I had a really bad feeling about this since his mother had been going through the ornament box as I was taking the baby upstairs. Surely, he wouldn't decorate the tree without me! Right?! I mean, he knows how excited I've been. So, when he comes back into the bedroom I say "The tree isn't decorated is it?" he replies with this excited little "Yes"! Him and his Mother decorated the tree together!!!!! Without me!!!!! The hell? So, I spent all day cleaning up after everyone so that you and you're mother could decorate my Christmas tree without me? I guess I'm just the maid. I'm still excited about Christmas. Just in a different way now. I can't wait to see what a giant mess this Christmas will be!
Saturday, November 6, 2010
A Bucket of Double Downs and a Wedding... 2nd Attempt
So, I had a long version written and ready to go when I accidentally deleted it. I'm very depressed right now so I've decided to go with a much shorter version. First I'll start with a very brief history as well as a disclosure of sorts, then we'll get to the trashy part. Which, let's be honest, is the main reason you're reading this.
First, let me say that I love my sister and really do want the best for her. However, she is very gullible and naive which makes it very easy for someone to manipulate or take advantage of her. She has chosen to marry someone that several family members are not very fond of because we feel he does take advantage of her. They have been together for a year now and he has managed to take advantage of several of my family members as well as myself during this year long relationship. While you read this, please keep in mind that this is my version of events as well as my opinions. For now, we live in a free country and have the right to express our own opinions, which I always do. Your opinion might not be the same as mine but that's the wonderful thing about living in this country. I always try to look on the funny side of life and find the humor in every situation. This is not meant to be mean, it is meant to lighten the mood of the situation and hopefully make everyone smile a little. If you can't laugh about it or if you think I'm being mean then stop reading now.
My sister has accumulated several names/nicknames over the years. For the sake of this story, she will be referred to as Tuna and her new husband (vomit) will be referred to as Sir Eats A Lot (because he does). Again, if you can't handle my humor... stop now.
When my sister announced her plans to marry Sir Eats A Lot, no one was excited. Since she had dated him briefly in high school but had broken up with him due to his tendency to ask, scratch that, demand free handouts; we all assumed he was just a rebound from her most recent break-up. Unfortunately, we were all wrong. After insisting she planned to marry Sir Eats A Lot, my mother offered to pay for the quickie wedding my sister wanted. My sister decided to get married in Gatlinburg, which is a beautiful town but it's like the Vegas of the South as far as quickie weddings go. Since my sister isn't allowed to make any decisions, Sir Eats A Lot chose the wedding chapel and wedding package. Tuna said he chose it because he wanted to get married by the charming little creek. So, the plans were made and my mother paid the bill and we all loaded up the truck and moved the family to Gatlinburg for the weekend.
Sir Eats A Lot decided that everyone should meet up for a pre-wedding lunch at KFC. The groom chowed down on a bucket of double downs before squeezing himself into his button down shirt. When we pulled up to the Abiding Grace Wedding Chapel (go ahead and google it, you know you want to), the first thing I noticed was that the charming little creek was actually a sewer run-off with trash floating down it. As I entered the chapel, I was quickly ushered down to the bride's room to help my sister change out her pre-wedding attire, super long men's basketball shorts and a too tight t-shirt which left little to the love handle imagination (this must have been the conservative innocent virgin look). Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with a little cushion for the pushin... who am I to judge with a booty that can make a black girl jealous? I do take my fashion seriously and my sister and I have always butted heads when it comes to this, the poor girl just wasn't born with a sense of style. That being said, there are ways to dress in order to flatter your fatter. After zipping my sister into her busting at the seams dress (for real), I ask her what she plans to do with her hair. She replies that Sir Eats doesn't want her to style her hair or wear a veil so she plans to walk the plank, I mean aisle, with a 2 tone diy dye job and slightly frizzy half straightened hair. I would love to have helped but alas... Sir Eats calls the shots round here.
The aisle was too narrow for anyone to walk my sister down the aisle so the father and stepfather of the bride had to wait at the end of the aisle to give her away. Tuna cried throughout the 6 1/2 minute ceremony, Sir Eats A Lot looked hungry. Since I wasn't sure if he would spontaneously combust out of his clothing first or charge the aisle and devour the first small child he reached, Ryan and I chose the seats in the very back. Safety first! After the quickest ceremony in the world ( we should be contacted by Guiness World Records any day), we were forced to take pictures with the happy couple. The photographer kept commenting on how miserable I looked, I was mostly just distracted. I kept looking around for the quickest exit. There was no way I would be able to run in heels with 15lbs of baby belly in front of me if Sir Eats lost his control over his hunger and decided to make me his 2nd lunch.
After the wedding, we were supposed to enjoy cake and cider. Sir Eats A Lot was not about to share... he asked the wedding coordinator to pack that thing up so he could take it home. At this point, while not completely surprised I was a little shocked that he would invite people to drive out of town to watch his bigness get married and then pack up the cake and refuse to share. The only reason I even got out of the jacuzzi bathtub (not too hot, don't want to hard boil the baby) in our chalet was to have a piece of cake. Hey, I'm 6 months pregnant... I have an excuse and you know butter cream frosting is the shit, especially when it's formed into a little rose.
After the wedding, instead of a reception, they asked everyone to meet up at the local Golden Corral for 2nd lunch. When I asked why they chose Golden Corral over a more suitable restaurant, Tuna explained that Sir Eats loves a buffet. Of course he does. So, everyone changed back into casual clothes. My sister wore the same too tight t-shirt but decided to go the Britney Spears route and spice things up a little post wedding ceremony, so she traded her over-sized basketball shorts in for some short shorts that gave everyone an excellent view of her Grand Crackyon when she bent over. At Golden Corral, everyone enjoyed a plate or 2 of buffet goodness before hitting up the ice cream bar. Sir Eats A Lot, not wanting to be out done by anyone on his wedding day, indulged in 5 plates of fried foods and meats before hitting up the dessert buffet where he piled up 2 plates of sweet treats. Just a little something to hold him over until he can eat the entire wedding cake and wash it down with an entire bottle of cider.
So, that's all folks. I hope you enjoyed it. By the way, the newlyweds now share the last name King. That's right, Tuna King and her husband Sir Eats A Lot King. We didn't take any pictures of the wedding. I think we all want to try to forget it happened. They did have a photographer on site though so maybe you will all get lucky and I will obtain some of these pictures in the future.
First, let me say that I love my sister and really do want the best for her. However, she is very gullible and naive which makes it very easy for someone to manipulate or take advantage of her. She has chosen to marry someone that several family members are not very fond of because we feel he does take advantage of her. They have been together for a year now and he has managed to take advantage of several of my family members as well as myself during this year long relationship. While you read this, please keep in mind that this is my version of events as well as my opinions. For now, we live in a free country and have the right to express our own opinions, which I always do. Your opinion might not be the same as mine but that's the wonderful thing about living in this country. I always try to look on the funny side of life and find the humor in every situation. This is not meant to be mean, it is meant to lighten the mood of the situation and hopefully make everyone smile a little. If you can't laugh about it or if you think I'm being mean then stop reading now.
My sister has accumulated several names/nicknames over the years. For the sake of this story, she will be referred to as Tuna and her new husband (vomit) will be referred to as Sir Eats A Lot (because he does). Again, if you can't handle my humor... stop now.
When my sister announced her plans to marry Sir Eats A Lot, no one was excited. Since she had dated him briefly in high school but had broken up with him due to his tendency to ask, scratch that, demand free handouts; we all assumed he was just a rebound from her most recent break-up. Unfortunately, we were all wrong. After insisting she planned to marry Sir Eats A Lot, my mother offered to pay for the quickie wedding my sister wanted. My sister decided to get married in Gatlinburg, which is a beautiful town but it's like the Vegas of the South as far as quickie weddings go. Since my sister isn't allowed to make any decisions, Sir Eats A Lot chose the wedding chapel and wedding package. Tuna said he chose it because he wanted to get married by the charming little creek. So, the plans were made and my mother paid the bill and we all loaded up the truck and moved the family to Gatlinburg for the weekend.
Sir Eats A Lot decided that everyone should meet up for a pre-wedding lunch at KFC. The groom chowed down on a bucket of double downs before squeezing himself into his button down shirt. When we pulled up to the Abiding Grace Wedding Chapel (go ahead and google it, you know you want to), the first thing I noticed was that the charming little creek was actually a sewer run-off with trash floating down it. As I entered the chapel, I was quickly ushered down to the bride's room to help my sister change out her pre-wedding attire, super long men's basketball shorts and a too tight t-shirt which left little to the love handle imagination (this must have been the conservative innocent virgin look). Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with a little cushion for the pushin... who am I to judge with a booty that can make a black girl jealous? I do take my fashion seriously and my sister and I have always butted heads when it comes to this, the poor girl just wasn't born with a sense of style. That being said, there are ways to dress in order to flatter your fatter. After zipping my sister into her busting at the seams dress (for real), I ask her what she plans to do with her hair. She replies that Sir Eats doesn't want her to style her hair or wear a veil so she plans to walk the plank, I mean aisle, with a 2 tone diy dye job and slightly frizzy half straightened hair. I would love to have helped but alas... Sir Eats calls the shots round here.
The aisle was too narrow for anyone to walk my sister down the aisle so the father and stepfather of the bride had to wait at the end of the aisle to give her away. Tuna cried throughout the 6 1/2 minute ceremony, Sir Eats A Lot looked hungry. Since I wasn't sure if he would spontaneously combust out of his clothing first or charge the aisle and devour the first small child he reached, Ryan and I chose the seats in the very back. Safety first! After the quickest ceremony in the world ( we should be contacted by Guiness World Records any day), we were forced to take pictures with the happy couple. The photographer kept commenting on how miserable I looked, I was mostly just distracted. I kept looking around for the quickest exit. There was no way I would be able to run in heels with 15lbs of baby belly in front of me if Sir Eats lost his control over his hunger and decided to make me his 2nd lunch.
After the wedding, we were supposed to enjoy cake and cider. Sir Eats A Lot was not about to share... he asked the wedding coordinator to pack that thing up so he could take it home. At this point, while not completely surprised I was a little shocked that he would invite people to drive out of town to watch his bigness get married and then pack up the cake and refuse to share. The only reason I even got out of the jacuzzi bathtub (not too hot, don't want to hard boil the baby) in our chalet was to have a piece of cake. Hey, I'm 6 months pregnant... I have an excuse and you know butter cream frosting is the shit, especially when it's formed into a little rose.
After the wedding, instead of a reception, they asked everyone to meet up at the local Golden Corral for 2nd lunch. When I asked why they chose Golden Corral over a more suitable restaurant, Tuna explained that Sir Eats loves a buffet. Of course he does. So, everyone changed back into casual clothes. My sister wore the same too tight t-shirt but decided to go the Britney Spears route and spice things up a little post wedding ceremony, so she traded her over-sized basketball shorts in for some short shorts that gave everyone an excellent view of her Grand Crackyon when she bent over. At Golden Corral, everyone enjoyed a plate or 2 of buffet goodness before hitting up the ice cream bar. Sir Eats A Lot, not wanting to be out done by anyone on his wedding day, indulged in 5 plates of fried foods and meats before hitting up the dessert buffet where he piled up 2 plates of sweet treats. Just a little something to hold him over until he can eat the entire wedding cake and wash it down with an entire bottle of cider.
So, that's all folks. I hope you enjoyed it. By the way, the newlyweds now share the last name King. That's right, Tuna King and her husband Sir Eats A Lot King. We didn't take any pictures of the wedding. I think we all want to try to forget it happened. They did have a photographer on site though so maybe you will all get lucky and I will obtain some of these pictures in the future.
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