Tag Archives: WTF

The Peach-Bean Strategem

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I know, I know. It’s been like 80 years. My bad yall.

 

In my defense, I’ve spent the last year in a whirlwind: engagement, wedding, now we are expecting!! Holy smokes right?

 

The Bean (yes, we call our son-to-be The Bean) is due in about 3 weeks, and I am so ready. As excited as we are about having our Bean here with us, this has been one long, long long pregnancy. I’ve gone through night sweats, day sweats, crazy dreams, swollen ankles, gigantic growing boobs, a waistline that refuses to give up the ghost resulting in a “B” belly silhouette that just makes me look fatter, broken underwire (while I was wearing it), waistbands of underwear just popping at work, swollen fingers that can’t wear my wedding rings, senseless crying, and many other ailments. I can no longer feel the urge to pee (thanks to my shifted bladder), so I just wear panty liners and do a lot of precautionary bathroom visits. I toddle about like a penguin from place to place bringing humor to whoever sees me, and get stuck in chairs in an endearing habit that the hubs calls “turtling”. My boss and GM have offered to buy Segway for me to get around the hotel. I’ve considered taking them up on it.

 

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What you can’t see here is that the elastic in my underwear’s waistband is busted, as is myunderwire… and my dignity.

 

All of this will be worth it once The Bean is here! Right?!?

 

So… anyway… that’s my excuse for being such a horrible slacker on my blog. I have missed this. So many stories and hot messes that I haven’t shared, hilarities that I didn’t document in their full glory. I hope I can make up for that.

 

For example, I’ve had one client recently tell me that she didn’t realize that I was pregnant, but just thought I was getting fatter (!) while another was trying to add up on her fingers the months between my wedding and due date to make sure “it added up right”. I swear on my life this stuff is really true. And I missed blogging about it.

 

Then there’s the creepy lady in the Honeybaked Hams that as snifing me and talking about how we have the same credit cards in a nutty, “Single White/ Black Female” kinda scenario… and the lady in the Asian restaurant we go to that gave the Hubs a high-five for… and I swear on y life this happened… for KNOCKING ME UP! Yes. YES. Her words, not mine. Hubs was grinning from ear to ear. I turned red, a pretty amazing feat for a brown girl.

 

So much I’ve missed in my blogging hiatus.

 

Right now I’m just focused on one goal: Evicting the Bean. I love him so, but that will not stop me from serving him with a notice to vacate. The doctor keeps saying “big people have big babies” and seems to be on this mission to convince me that my baby will be born as the Son of Hulk, but so far nothing. The back and forth game of will he/ won’t he is pushing me to the edge, and I’m ready to take this into my own hands.

 

I call it the Peach-Bean Strategem, after one of my favorite episodes of Doctor Who, the Sontaran Strategem.

There are several steps to this process, and we will carefully follow each one to ensure a swift victory:

  1. Start eating spicy food more often.
  2. Enjoy more bouncy time on my yoga ball.
  3. Um… physical congress (yall get my drift)
  4. More walks (or penguin toddles) around the lake by our house.
  5. The tried and true method: the Eggplant Parmesan from Scalini’s.

 

# 5 is really the piece de resistance… the no-holds barred, guaranteed final step in the Bean Eviction Notice… women in Atlanta have been standing by this recipe for years. Messy Jessy the BFF added this one to my Strategem. As a Peach myself I feel I stand a good chance of this working for me too.

 

Bee (yall know him as the BBE, BFE, now the BHE   – Best Husband Ever) seems willing to go along with the plan. I can’t tell if he’s truly on board, or just afraid of his pregnant wife who seems to be endowed with superhuman strength, yet still seems to todle like a penguin, and get stuck in chairs like an upside down turtle.

 

Granted, the Peach-Bean Strategem may be as doomed as the Sontaran Strategem ( read the synopsis of the episode), but I’m sure it will make for some good stories. In the interim I plan to spend some quality time with the Bee, go do adult stuff that I probably won’t be able to d much of for a few years(any suggestions welcome), and take lots of naps in between my plotting, spicy food and yoga ball humping.

Yall pray for us…

 

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It’s My Birthday! No, not really.

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So I know you guys will enjoy this…

 

My clients that just left after a two-week program took us out to dinner at Kobe as a thank –you… totally unexpected and very, very cool. The staff for this conference was mostly male, and mostly pranksters. Every day, they pulled a new one on me!

 

So I should not have been at all surprised when after dinner, this dude with a giant drum comes BANG-BANG-BANG into the hibachi room, followed by one of our servers with a cupcake on a plate.

 

During dinner, we’d been talking about upcoming birthdays among the staff, so I’m clapping along with everyone else, trying to figure out whose birthday it is. I was virtually… no LITERALLY speechless when she plops that cupcake in front of me, lights the candle with her little lighter and starts leading everyone into a round f “happy birthday”.

 

My birthday is in December.

 

I was horrified and out of breath from trying not to laugh outright at our poor little server, who, by proxy, was now party to this joke. I’m also craning my neck around, trying to figure out WHO DID THIS.

 

As I’m struggling to breathe, and trying to work it all out, she crams this hat on my head.

happy birthday lol

THIS is why I don’t like restaurants singing happy birthday to me. Once when I was turning 16 I went with friends to a Bennigan’s on my birthday, where they made me dance on a chair waving sugar packets in my hands like castanets. I’ve been traumatized ever since.

 

 

Anyhoo, for the rest of the conference (we had one more day with them), every conference staff member snickered out a “happy birthday”

 

They all kindly signed my hat, so I will never forget them. Not that I ever really would but… 🙂

signed har

 

Apparently One Size DOES NOT Fit Most

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onesize

 

So… I was telling the BFE about my visit to the Farmer’s Market with Messy Jessy last week, and he stopped me and told me that I should blogging about what happened. So here I am.

 

Let me first start by saying that this is NOT a rant about being a big girl in a size 2 world… I am more happier with myself and my life than I hae ever been. I know I have to lose weight, and it’s a process. This is about other people, and their awkward WTF statements.

 

So here’s what happened:

Messy Jessy came down to visit this past weekend, and found ourselves wandering around the Farmer’s Market in Winter Garden. I was excited, since I’d been wanting to go to this Farmer’s Market for a while, but always missed it! I was starting to think it was the Shangri-la of Winter Garden… or perhaps a desert oasis for the farmer’s market challenged. I swear, EVERY TIME I tried to go, the fricking thing wasn’t there.

 

So we’re wandering around, amused at all the different vendors and their wares, and, thanks to the mobile credit card apps that all vendors have these days, unfettered by the “oh, sorry I don’t have any cash” excuse. We were literally sitting ducks for every adorable hat-making, custom jewelry-selling, home-made pickling, hippie-smelling soap-making tent in that place.

 

But I digress.

 

We walked into the coolest tent in the place – this lady made the coolest aprons evarrrr!!! Jessy and I ooh-ed and aah-ed so much that the proprietess comes over and enthusiastic shows us her different styles and patterns. Just as I’m flicking through the racks and debating which card I can charge my new apron to that will least upset Mr. Scrooge – I mean, BFE – the  proprietess comes over and puts her hand on my shoulder. Her first mistake.

 

First of all… don’t touch me. I don’t know you. We are not cool. She clearly did not realize that my personal space is protected by a social contract I maintain with everyone around me, an invisible bubble that only those of my choosing are allowed to enter.

 

So I was already unsettled by the touching with Apron Woman upped the ante and added the piece de resistance: “I just want to let you know, I have PLENTY of clients that are YOUR SIZE so I’d be happy to make to take your measurements, and in a couple of weeks you can come back and pick up your own apron!”

 

WHAAAT?!!?! It’s an apron!! I thought aprons were like umbrellas, ponchos and socks” one size fits most!

 

Seriously – should I be getting measured for aprons now? Shopping in the husky section for my kitchen attire? I am so confused. I have aprons at home, aprons that I share with my skinnier BFE, and I feel like they still do a pretty good job of covering the necessary areas.

 

After getting schooled on proper apron attire, I thanked said proprietess, removed my personal space out of her reach, and headed to a tent that is DEFINITELY “one size fits most”: the headbands and hair clips tent.  Or should I get measured for one of those too?

 

Well I do have a big head. 🙂 Bigger than most?

 

southern peach

Wal-Mart. A Love Story.

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So I wrote this back in early December, and for reasons to be revealed in the blog post I couldn’t post it. Until now.

Happy New Year’s yall!!

– Peach

 

 

 

Every. Fricking. Time.

Today: found an item on my Christmas shopping list for the BFE at walmart.com and, since i was so late in ordering, decided the “site to store” option would secure my item at a good price and i would leisurely walk up to customer services and pick it up. Right?? Ha.

First thing: no where on the site does it tell you where the “site to store” desk is located. So i headed to customer service and stood behind a girl that was smacking her head.

 

 

If you’re not familiar with the Smack Technique, let me explain: when your scalp itches, you smack your head instead of scratching it, usually to avoid messing up your hair (weave/ wig) or, if you’re getting a perm/relaxer soon, as this avoids irritating the scalp. It’s a fairly ghetto thing to do, and i am ashamed to admit that after learning about it in college (where most of our worst habits as people are formed) i have been a hair smacking offender from time to time, in between relaxers. This girl wasn’t waiting on her next Dark n’ Lovely fix; she was slapping her head to avoid messing up her rather ratty weave ponytail. I was a bit intrigued, and found myself staring without really meaning to: how often do you get to see that kind of train wreck up close?? The only thing that finally drew my eye away was the long false nail of the customer service rep.

 

Ever find yourself in a situation so crazy that you start looking behind pillars and corners, waiting for Ashton Kutcher to pop out and say “you’ve been punked”?? Only, that never happens, a: because you’re not a celebrity and b: because that show isn’t even on the air anymore. So there’s nothing left but to realize that real life can be truly, truly crazy.

 

So – Yep, the customer service rep had one of the longest set of false nails I’d ever seen, and was missing at least three of them. I got a pretty good look at them as she was waving them in the face of a guy I can only assume was her baby’s daddy – not because I’m falling prey to stereotypes, but because she was specifically yelling at him about not picking up their son when he knew the kid needed to be at football practice. Guy just stood there taking the verbal lashing while standing awkwardly in jeans and a construction worker vest. Poor man. Yes, this was all happening while I stood in line behind Smack Weave Girl.

 

When I finally got to the front, I found out that the Customer Services desk is not the same as the “Site to Store” desk, and that was located at the back of the store. Le sigh. I counted my losses and figured I’d come away with the start of a good blog 🙂 and headed to the back of the store. Cutting through the men’s clothing section to save time and dodge the shopping carts, I got sniffed – yes, SNIFFED! – by a creeper near the men’s sweaters…

 

Finally reached the Site to Store section, which requires walking past the electronics section, and a display of the VERY ITEM I WAS THERE TO BUY (Call of Duty Black Ops II). Two things: 1 – I discovered that the Site to Store line is also the line for layaways at Christmas time, making for mass chaos. and 2 –  I couldn’t just forego the Site to Store line in favor or grabbing one of the games off the shelf, since I’d already paid for the other one online.

 

So I stood in line behind a woman wearing jeggings about a size too small, and watched another woman having a meltdown with her husband over a child’s pink ATV on layaway. Finally, I whipped out my phone and began to capture the entire experience. Got to the Smack Technique and realized that I couldn’t post this until I gifted the video game to the BFE unless I wanted to ruin the surprise. Le sigh again.

 

Oh, but the story doesn’t end there. One of the reasons I chose to pick up the game from Wal-Mart was because I also purchased the other half of BFE’s Christmas present – tickets to a hockey game – online, and selected the option to pick up hard tickets from, as Ticketmaster called it, a “retail location”. It wasn’t until I paid an extra $3.95 each that the website showed me that Ticketmaster’s “retail locations” for picking up tickets in my area were ALL Wal-Marts. So I thought I’d be smart and kill two birds with one stone, pick up the video game AND the tickets in one swoop. Too bad I picked the one Wal-Mart in my area that couldn’t print the tickets. So two days after my initial visit I found myself at another Wal-Mart, braving the crazy for my beloved BFE.

 

Get to the electronics section, since that’s where they print the tickets, and pass another display stand of Black Ops II games on my way to the cash register (the irony was not lost on me). The cashier prints my tickets… on receipt paper. I paid $3.95 for each ticket for RECEIPT PAPER!! What the hell?!?! Seriously??

 

I feel like Wal-Mart and Ticketmaster partnered together to jack me. Yes, JACK. ME! I ended up in Wal-Mart not once, but twice in the course of 3 days. I got entranced by a Customer Rep’s nails, watched the magical art of head smacking for ratty weaves, got sniffed by a creeper in the Men’s section, and finally got to investigate Jeggings up close. I didn’t even include the number of “pants on the ground” devotees I witnessed, and caught a guy checking out my rack. All in all, I think I got my Wal-Mart fill for the next 18 months. Until then, I return back to the safe, normal confines of Target, where all of the employees wear name tags and easily recognizable work-related clothing, and the only uncomfortable moments I’ve experienced have been hiding from Hot Doctor, walking into a stranger’s fart cloud, and stalking a Target employee named Bubba. Yep, Target, sweet Target.

 

Well played, Martha Stewart, Well Played.

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PINTEREST, I’M LOOKING AT YOU!

**Shakes fist angrily at the sky.**

I am convinced that pinterest was invented by conservative men that are determined to get the liberal, bra-burning, birth control taking wild women back into the kitchen and back to making things “homemade” and thusly created a website to draw them in and incite a crafting wave that has even resulted in television shows about crafting. Why buy chicken at Boston Market when you can raise and create the entire meal by raising the chickens, growing the vegetable garden, and harvesting the tea leaves (for sweet tea of course) yourself, all in the apron you made yourself from a pattern you found on Pinterest? I believe that we’re all born with talents, and it’s ok to rely on the talents of others – say, a person that knows how to cook versus my pathetic efforts – instead of trying to excel in every “pinned” idea on fricking pinterest, as we are determined to swap recipes, share wedding ideas, and showcase our personal clothing style. There is NOTHING wrong with utilizing the Boston Market drive through to pick up dinner for you and your boo while showcasing your style in betty boop pajama pants, sequined yellow box flip flops and a beanie.

 

Yes pinterest, thanks to the “anyone can craft like this, it’s easy!!!” attitude, and the wild, waving-your-carefree-hot-glue-gun-in-the-air website of yours I just dropped $62 at Michael’s tonight.

 

At the cash register I hung my head in shame, and texted the BFE as I walked out the door.

Me to the BFE: “Don’t me mad”

My next test to the BFE: “I just left Michael’s about $62 poorer.”

I got no return text, this warranted a phone call that was basically heavy breathing and one long sigh.

I sighed too.  A $62, pinterest-induced sigh.

 

I also blame Martha Stewart for part of this. Her corporate plot to corner the women’s market in adorable, crafting supplies and organizational tools while charging exorbitant prices is working, and I’m ashamed to admit I have fallen prey to her ploys. It pisses me off that Stewart knows ever shade of blue or blush that I would peronally enjoy, and uses this information to her advantage, forcing me to hand over my Disney Debit Visa (ha!) time and time again at my local Staples. Seriously, she’s making a killing off of the Pinterest crowd.

 

Which brings us back… and PINTEREST I’M STILL LOOKING AT YOU!

First, let’s talk about how you sucked me into your ways by making all of the crafts seem easy and fun. I started looking at ideas in August for holiday stuff, thinking, “ooh, this looks easy!” “oh, I can do that!” “Man, doing that myself is gonna save me soooo much moneeeyyyyy…” Huh.

 

One key thing that most pinterest crafts need: a hot glue gun. Another thing they all need: fricking patience. I did not have either of these things as I ambled into the Michael’s, starry-eyed and excited to produce handmade ornaments for B and I’s first Christmas in our own place.

 

 

Craft #1: Cute, painted glass ornaments

All I thought I’d need: glass ornaments, simple acrylic paint and a small amount of competence.

What I actually needed: glass ornaments, a large amount of skill, and Martha Stewart paint (or so she would have me believe)

 

This is where I say “well played” to our favorite former felon, Martha Stewart. I’m standing in the glass ornament aisle, and guess what brand of acrylic paint is located there? Martha’s! I grab it immediately, ignoring the $3.49 a bottle price tag, as I was so excited to work on my project. As I wonder around the store some more, I start thinking about the acrylic paint I normally buy for projects (yes I’ve crafted before) and how it’s significantly cheaper and also significantly missing from the acrylic paint display next to the holiday ornaments.

I find the rest of the acrylic paint selection on the OTHER END OF THE STORE, no where near the holiday mania and impulse holiday craft shopping on the other side of the store. And guess what? It’s priced at 99 cents. NINETY-NICE CENTS, as in TWO DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS cheaper than Martha’s paint. Determined not to let the felon win, I swap out my “glittery gold” Martha branded paint for the “Venetian gold” color that’s the less than a dollar. I did keep the “pond” color, because, well let’s face it – Martha’s color palette really is dead on. So again to Martha, I say, well played, madame. Well played.

But don’t think the foolishness ends there.

 

Craft Project #2: Sassy and super cool beaded ornament

All I thought I’d need: Some pretty beads and clear glass ornaments, some level or finger dexterity

What I actually needed: A LOT of fricking beads, clear glass ornaments, A LOT of free time,  A LOT of manual dexterity and… a glue gun!!

 

I got halfway through my trip to the Michael’s before I realized I did not have a glue gun to hold this project together – literally. I finally found a glue gun and glue sticks and then I had to pick a “cute” glue gun (really Peach??) in a cool design. I’m not proud of the 5 minutes I spent in the glue gun aisle, comparing patterns, but it really happened.

 

On my way home, I kept thinking how it would have been cool too add in some blue beads on the ornaments and how I should have gotten some. “No worries”, I thought. “I’ll get them on my next trip”.

 

MY NEXT TRIP – are you kidding me. I’m already planning a future visit.

 

Well played Martha and Pinterest. Well played. I shake my fist at you while simultaneously burning all the fingers on my other hand, and thinking about what color ribbon I need to use for hanging my ornaments on the tree.

See you both again real soon!

Road Trip!!

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So…  with tomorrow being Thanksgiving , and the holiday season of traveling to and fro and visiting friends and family is about to begin! It got me to thinking back to about a month and some change ago, when I went home to Atlanta for a quick weekend jaunt, and the BFE and I took Ojeda with us.

 

God bless. It was a hot mess.

 

There’s something about guys – you out them in groups, and they conspire and join forces on the craziest sh!t. We left Orlando really early and I guess the early morning rush combined with their general loopiness to great a cacophony of mayhem and foolishness. Pretty early in I decided to journal all of the stuff that happened on our ride up – otherwise no one would believe it. So here it goes…

 

 

5:41 am – BFE and Ojeda come up with a new product that turns your farts into floral smells. They nominate me as the spokesperson and even come up with a commercial. The slogan: “do it with dignity”.

 

6:04 am – BFE drove and I played with Google Sky Map while the stars were still out. HOW HAVE I NEVER KNOWN ABOUT THIS APP?? So neat!

 

7:21 am – We stop at Mickey D’s. Ojeda argues with the cashier over coffee. Dude keeps asking him “How do you want your coffee?”, and O keeps responding, “with cream and sugar”, only to get a response from cashier dude of  “yes but how do you want it?”I could see O turning red and immediately add this event to our trip report.

They ask for a name for our order and I toy with the idea of giving them the name “Primrose Everdeen” so I could yell “I volunteer as tribute!” I know it’s cliche but I do not care.

 

9:04 am – While driving through Tifton, GA (the Reading Capitol of the World) and BFE gets cut off by a large SUV. We pass the vehicle, curious to look at the driver, and debate whether it was a redneck version of Pat from SNL or Honey Boo-Boos mama. Then BFE and O contest that Tifton, GA could not possibly be the reading capitol of the world. I tell them both to stfu.

 

9:20 am – BFE and O argue that computers have only 3 uses for guys: email, facebook and porn. Apparently girls only use computers for email, facebook and pinterest.

 

9:26 am – Pass an old, run-down farmhouse. Ojeda, my Southern-illiterate friend, asks, “is that a plantation?” I tell him to stfu. He asks if plantations are like haciendas. I tell him again: stfu. BFE giggles.

 

10:14 am – We argued over whether pandas and koalas are bears. Fact: koalas are marsupials and pandas are bears. Also discussed acid rain. For some reason, BFE mimics acid rain with a disco beat. Strange. He drives on in silence.

 

10:24 am – Stop at Pilot plaza outside of Macon for gas and bio break. I see a gas truck there. I point and laugh “Bahaha where do gas trucks get gas?!” No one laughs. Guys begin serious discussion of diesel versus gas, and fuel planes fueling mid-air, etc. I don’t understand how fuel planes are more interesting than my gas truck joke. Boys suck.

 

10:36 am – B asks whether to take 75 N through Macon or 475 around Macon. After much debate we decide to take 75 N. O jokes, “you know whichever route we take it is going to be the wrong one!” Immediately the speed limit drops from 65 to 55. B’s all like, “we should have taken 475!” I think he just said that to be on O’s side. Just sayin.

 

10:41 am – Pass sign that says in all caps “lust drags you to hell”. Ain’t that the truth. Interesting change from all the anti-abortion signs, “truck driver lounge/ massage” advertisements and stripper billboards that you usually see in South GA and North FL.

 

10:51 am – Learned something new today. B and O argue about the origin of mobile homes. B says mobile homes are called such because they are from Mobile, AL. O insists it is because they are mobile. Research on the snopes.com website confirms that D is correct.

 

11:00 am – Ojeda reads myths from snopes.com and we guess whether they’re true or false. We’re obviously running out of material.

 

11:40 am – Traffic slows for accident. Ojeda rolls down window and signals to driver driving Dodge Caravan in next lane to see if we can get over. Driver looks at him and then stares straight ahead, continuing to edge forward with no knowledge of O’s request. String of 4 letter words ensues. Once we pass accident BFE floors it to stream past Dodge Caravan dude while I fist pump in the air. I didn’t see it but suspect that Ojeda flipped him off.

 

12:04 pm – Finally – THANK YOU SWEET BABY JESUS! – we arrive in Atlanta. Ojeda yells “ATL Dirty South B!tches!!!! …Oh mylanta!”  out the window with complete abandon. We check in on Facebook at the Pink Pony South. We have arrived!

Choosing My Attitude!

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Lately I’ve been working on this theory I have – if you choose your attitude, no matter what, your day will be a good one.

People often think of me as this bubbly, perky person. I have no idea where this idea came from. I’m kinda of an a-hole. I try not to be, but I have some a-hole tendencies. When I’m frustrated or if the “triumvirate” occurs: hungry, hot tired – then the a-hole tendencies show up in spades.

That said, I’m determined to work on my interactions with others, and my overall outlook by choosing my attitude each day. I make a conscious decision to be pleasant and friendly to others, to smile, and to be a positive force wherever I go. Mostly to work on being myself, and occasionally just to eff with people. I am an a-hole after all. 🙂

Some day positive thinking works, and some days I get home with a desperate need to bang my head against the wall. I’m doing my best to get up everyday and just keep trying again. My hope is eventually the positive days will outweigh the crappy ones, and I’ll lose less brain cells and make fewer holes in the walls of our new condo.

Yesterday and today are perfect examples of the dichotomy of my positivity efforts: I was fully prepared last night to write a blog about how my experiment in positive thinking was totally working. Yesterday I had a great day at work, was incredibly productive, smiled, felt good, headed over to the Whole Foods where they were playing “Barracuda” in the grocery store which put a little wriggle in my step, joked with another lady that was shopping about how, since it was her birthday, she should just get TWO cupcakes instead of agonizing over which ONE cupcake to get. I walked out of the store feeling just as energized as I had all day.

I got home and had a great dinner with the BFE, we talked about our workdays over dinner, worked out together later, and just generally had a great evening. The positivity from my Awesome Day carried over into my morning today, and I tidied up our condo before I left for work, made myself breakfast, and bounced out of the door to work – ON TIME (sort of). Today had a great start!

Then – it happened.

This WOMAN in a RED SUV zipped out from behind a slow-moving school bus and cut me off on my way to work. This wouldn’t normally be a big deal, but I almost rear-ended her because of how close she cut it. If I had, it would have been the 2nd dent left in her bumper – clearly she’d tried this crap before. I honked at her, to express my displeasure, and she FLIPPED ME OFF! WTH? So I waved my finger in the air in a “no you di-in’t!” kind of way, and tried to let it go. I could see in her side rearview that she was yelling things at me, and then she slammed on her breaks. Seriously. I didn’t think people still did that kind of stuff.

I tried to get around her, but she haphazardly slid her car halfway into the other lane to block me then slid back over. I could see her in her side mirror, making faces like a maniac! It was unreal. Why exert so much energy and nastiness at a stranger? A stranger YOU cut off in the first place? This woman was a bully. A grown-up, ignorant, sorry-ass bully. In a red SUV.

 

Remember that scene in the movie Fried Green Tomatoes where Kathy Bates’ character goes nuts and rams the back of the little compact car of those two skanks that steal her parking space? She rams the car over and over while yelling Towanda!!! In my mind, I had an “Ally McBeal” moment just like that, where instead of slamming on my brakes to avoid red SUV lady’s already abused bumper, I slammed on the gas and went full steam ahead, crunching her trunk into her backseat. When she got out to yell some more and assess the damage, I simply shouted “Towanda!!!!!” while simultaneously punching her in the throat and kidneys. Onlooking drivers cheered for me from their cars, like I was a gladiator in the ring, grateful that I’d taken the middle school bully down a notch and taught her what happens to aggressive social psychopaths that ruin the morning drive for everyone.

In reality I slowed down and let her speed on. The truth of it was, I wanted nothing to do with her nonsense, I just wanted to get over it. The encounter left me shaky, my heart was racing and my palms a little sweaty. I do NOT like confrontations! And these days you never know what that person is going to do, or just how crazy they are. I remember a story back in Atlanta, where a road-raged-fuled driver would get so angry in traffic that he started baking potatoes every night so that he could throw them at the cars of drivers he thought weren’t driving properly. That’s nothing compared to drivers that prefer bullets over potatoes.

 

The whole point is, red SUV lady’s behavior kinda pooped all over my day. I mean, a massive Debbie Downer kinda feeling, all before 9 am. I struggled to find the bright side to any of what happened, and just couldn’t. I even thought to myself that harboring ill will wouldn’t do any good, but I hoped in my heart of hearts that I’d see her again and cut HER off to see how SHE liked it. Christ commanded us to love our neighbors. I struggle with that part sometimes, especially with the only “love” I have for someone is my “love tap” I wanna give their car, or how I’d “love” to slap them across the face. I said I was an a-hole. Look, I’m trying ok?

 

The poopy feeling carried over into the rest of my day, and the funk of crappiness just settled over everything for a while. It took several hours before I remembered to CHOOSE MY ATTITUDE and get back with the program. An evening with friends and the love of my life helped with that. By bed time, things were right as rain.

 

Seriously, this attitude stuff is a process. It’s hard at times, but I’ve found the more I try the better my days go. The urge to smile comes quicker, the laughter and the jests with the people around me. I’m less inspired to punch people in the throat and spleen and visions of Kathy Bates and her battle cry “Towanda!” are fewer and further in between.

 

Am I still an a-hole? Pretty much. But at least I’m choosing to work on it!

 

The Badass, The Mushroom and The Little Guy

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Sliding into my seat at the Mellow Mushroom tonight, I looked around at my friends Reyes, Love and Bryce and just giggled. I was giddy with the story I needed to tell them, and eventually that giggling turned into full on laughter as I started the story:

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A few days ago while having lunch with my friend Stee she tells me a story about the newest guy in her life… apparently their love was “forbidden”. Well forbidden by company policy at least, and she accidentally spilled the beans to some of her work friends during a drunken night out.

Bear in mind, my friend Stee is one of the most badass people I know – she’s not afraid of anything, speaks her mind without hesitation. She always makes me laugh with the stories she tells about life, boys and work. At our engagement dinner, she had me cackling with her description of how break a guy’s car windshield without getting caught by using a brick tied to a rope. I’ve never asked her how she seems to have first hand knowledge of this particular how-to skill, I just take it all in as part of the Stee Package. The Stee Package is full of unexpected hilarity and by proxy, adventure. So when she starts to tell me a story, I listen, because I know it’s going to be good. There’s also the chance that I’ll learn a new how-to skill. :p

According to her, the gaffe where she blurts out her new dating status came about after her work friends kept talking about the new Moroccan guy, not knowing that they were together… she got irritated after hearing them say over and over:”he’d be so cute if only he were taller”.

I stopped her there. “What do you mean… if he were taller?”

She gave me a funny look. “He’s a little… short.”

“Ok. So? How short?”

“Um… 4’11?”

….?

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I paused in telling my story to my friends at the Mellow Mushroom to gauge their reaction, and just as I thought, they proved why they are my friends. They laughed. Lord help us all, they laughed. Ever since Stee told me this story earlier in the week, I’d been holding in my laughter, knowing that by laughing any more than I already had that I was proving that I was pretty horrible! Granted, I’d already proven I was a horrible person, because of what happened after Stee told me his height:

“I’m sorry, did you say 4’11?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep, I’m pretty sure. Why?”

I began howling like a hyena. “Because that makes him a little person! You’ve been hooking up with a little person! That’s hilarious!” I continued laughing until I cried. gasping for air, tears squeezing out of my eyes.

“Shut up!!! He’s not a little person!” Then she said the immortal words that sent me over the edge: “Stop making fun of my little man!”

The did it for me. I was screaming, knees buckling, laughing all of the air out of my lungs. We were standing in the restaurant parking lot, and I braced myself on the trunk of her car to keep from falling down with convulsions of laughter. It wasn’t his size that made me laugh, it was just the irony of it all. Of course, she would be the one to hook up with a little person from Morocco! To see her indignant look was all too much. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry – I have nothing against… little people. I have the utmost respect for them. It’s just that you were 5 foot 9, and he’s 4 foot 11. How is it that you never told me about this guy??”

“It’s no big thing – it’s not like we’re dating or whatever. I’m getting transferred to another city, so we always knew it was only temporary. I just don’t see the big deal.”

“Ok, ok, fine. I’ll respect your … little relationship… bwahahahahaha!” I just couldn’t help myself. “You’re hooking up with a little person!”

“He’s not that little! He comes up to here”, indicating the base of her nose. “I only have to bend down this far to kiss him… see?” She inclined her head down, as if ducking under a low doorway. It looked like she was trying to break her own neck. I just laughed harder, if that was even possible.

I begged her to let me blog about it. “Don’t make fun of me and my little guy!”

I tittered, “can that be the title of my blog?” She ignored me. I laughed some more.

By this point we’d made our way into the restaurant for lunch, and had taken a seat. I was determined to compose myself and finally pulled it together. We chatted about other topics, and things were back in track until Stee started looking over my shoulder with a funny look, then looking at me, then back over my shoulder. Finally, I look over my shoulder and see… a littler person waiting to be seated with some friends. I looked at Stee, and she burst into laughter. It’s like he’d been placed there, at that moment, in that restaurant just to drive home the point. We are horrible people.

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When elating this story to my friends at the dinner table, I was a little nervous that they would think I was a horrible person, but as I told them the story, they responded as only my friends would: by laughing like howler monkeys. I turned to Reyes, telling her that I’d been worried all week about telling any of my friends, in the event that they would think me a horrible person. Earlier in the week, I’d told the BFE about about it, adding that I planned to blog about it. Being the kind, good-hearted half of me that he is, the BFE cautioned me against it, since some people might be offended. At dinner tonight Reyes reminded me that I’m not friends with any of those people. All of my friends would find it funny.

I explained that I wasn’t sure how to tell the story, as much as I wanted to share it with others. How to relate the details? To give the gist and cadence of our conversation? Telling it as I told my friends at dinner tonight was the only thing that made sense.

I don’t know why but after relating my story to my friends I relaxed and smiled. I think it’s knowing that I have such appalling friends that would laugh at my story really made me feel better. I know – I’m terrible for laughing at my friend’s shenanigans, and there will be some people reading this that will be appalled and offended by my post. All I can say to that group is that at some point, everyone has a moment of political incorrectness, and if they’re lucky, they’ll have friends around to laugh at them and tell them it’s okay.

Two things came out of this: I have exactly the kind of friends I should have, and love & attraction can be found anywhere, even between the badass and the little guy.

The Rules

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This evening while I was doing my part to get us packed for our big move in 2 weeks I came across a cache of dusty self-help books on one of my bookshelves.

 

One book was “Sexy at Any Size” (a really good book actually), another was the Bridget-Jones inspired “Becoming a Goddess of Inner Poise“…still yet was the snarky “He’s Just Not That Into You“. DID NOT LIKE. THAT BOOK.

 

Then I stumbled across self-help GOLD.

 

My copy of “The Rules: Time-tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right“.

 

Yeah, that’s right. Like many single women, I was handed this book by a well-meaning friend, and actually tried to live by some of the bat-shit crazy rules in this book until I realized trying to live my life by rules set forth on a paperback book was insane and made me look like a controlling social engineer from the depths of crazy-land.

 

It’s funny, it specifically talks in the book about how if you break the rules in this book, you will not find a successful relationship. I personally believe that if you don’t break a few rules in this book, you’ll walk around like you’ve got a stick up your ass. Following this list of arbitrary rules didn’t really work for me. It wasn’t until I broke a few of The Rules that my dating life actually got interesting, and went from the “wishing and reading the Rules” stage to the “living and laughing and leaving the Rules behind” stage.

 

Some rules I effed up on:

 

Broken Rule #1 – Be a “Creature Unlike Any Other”

Hmph. This rule was mostly about keeping a certain amount of mystery in your relationship. I guess I broke that one the first time I peed with the door open. He literally screamed. Now he tries to hand me bank slips to look at while I’m in there with my underpants around my ankles, having personal time and reading Adele’s article in an old Rolling Stone. I’m all like,”What is this?! What do I do with this?!” and He’s all like “I dunno.” Neither of us finds it strange that the interaction is happening while one of us is pantsless.

On 4th of July I pulled  a prank that involved telling him to lift my leg (pantsless of course) and then farting directly into his face. Again, he screamed. And gagged. And laughed.  Almost a week ago and I still cry with laughter about that, and so does he.

Speaking of pantsless… I guess introducing him to my “Pants Off Friday” celebrations probably blew up Rule #1… unless it actually supports #1. I’m pretty sure dancing around without my pants on Fridays makes me a “Creature Unlike Any Other”

 

 

Broken Rule #5 – Don’t Call Him and Rarely Return His Calls

I always returned his calls. I was always so excited to hear from him that I didn’t have the self-control to be coy and all not-calling-back right away.

 

 

Rule #6 – Always End Phone Calls First

Um… yeah, like the first 2 months he was ALWAYS the one that hung up first, usually because he fell asleep while I was talking excessively. See Broken Rule #5

 

 

Broken Rule #14 – No More Than Casual Kissing on the First Date

I guess now’s the time to tell the Story of the Cold.

The BFE and I met through online dating. When I finally bullied him into asking me out, we jokingly came up with a code: if he tried to kiss me, and I wasn’t feeling it, I would just say “I have a cold”.

Our first date was a movie… while we’re sitting there, he leans over and is all like “Hey, I don’t have a cold”… I laughed and kissed him. I haven’t stopped kissing him yet. 🙂

Our good-bye kiss after he walked me to my car lasted about 25 minutes. I don’t think I ever left so happy. I guess technically it wasn’t “casual kissing”. 🙂

 

 

Broken Rule #17 – Let Him Take the Lead

Are you kidding me? What is this, 1925? See Broken Rule #14… he kept beating around the bush so I finally got him to ask me out. I kinda let him believe it was his idea. So in theory he took the lead… right?

 

 

Broken Rule #22 – Don’t Live with a Man (or Leave Your Things in His Apartment)

Whatever. He moved in with me, so I didn’t actually move in with him. It was the best thing we ever did.

 

 

Broken Rule #31 – Don’t Discuss the Rules with Your Therapist

That smacks of someone desperate to hide their crazy. I’ve said it before, and I’ll said it again: “In the South we don’t hide our crazy. We sit it on the front porch and give it a cocktail”. My friends are my therapists, and the idea of having to hide some element of my nutjob personality from my friends is exhausting. I once tried to explain the rules to my friend Kev, and I could visually SEE part of his life force draining away due to the sheer tedium of all the rules.

 

 

I guess each person has to decide for themselves if The Rules is something they want to do. I just felt it was a bit antiquated for me and my lifestyle, along with somewhat crazy and most importantly, a set of rules specifically designed to hide the best parts of yourself from your partner.

I mean, yes, some of that stuff is common sense, and is designed for those girls that get so excited with each new prospect that they shoot straight for Stage 5 Clinger. I agree – you probably shouldn’t go all stalker-y on potential new date guy, but seriously? Why should I hide who I am? How could I NOT share Pants Off Friday with the dude that might end of being my Baby Daddy? If you can’t take me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best. And that means no Pants Off Friday for you!

Baton Bob

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Okay, so like 10 years ago, I was walking to class in downtown Atlanta (I went to school at Georgia State University), and as I was crossing Peachtree Street to head into my classroom, I spied the most peculiar sight: a grown a$$ man marching and dancing down the street, head held high, wearing sunglasses, a tutu and marching band boots (you know the ones I’m talking about, that the baton girls wore), swinging a baton and blowing a whistle. It was crazy, and slightly exhilarating to see this random sight in the middle of a very blah school day. I remember texting friends about what I’d seen – keep in mind, TEXTING at that time was on a alphanumberic keyboard and took a lot of time. Obviously I really wanted to share what I saw.

 

It wasn’t until three days ago (as in 2012!!!) that the identity of this baton-twirling man was Baton Bob.

I had no idea who Baton Bob was until I was looking at one of my favorite blogs When In Atl (it’s the best place for keeping up with my hometown hilarity) and they posted up an article about Baton Bob getting harrassed.

Suddenly it all clicked. I remember Baton Bob! Omigosh, by my recollection he’s been marching and whistling and twirling his baton faithfully through the streets of Atlanta for over TEN YEARS. Amazing that it’s the same guy! To think that I remembered him from all these years. The sight of his one-man parade mesmerized me so much that day; I can still remember it like it just happened.

I’m saddened that someone went as far as to threaten his life, just because they didn’t care for his “lifestyle”. Who gives a flying fart in space about his “lifestyle”?? So what… he’s a little left of center.  We all are (granted, he more than most). The man gets joy out of performing in the streets, why exert the energy and negativity to threaten to kill or hurt him? I’m constantly surprised by the number of douches the rest of us are forced to come into contact with every day. How does his behavior afect you? He’s not harming himself or anyone else. I can personally state that seeing him brought a little joy back into my day that day. He’s like an effing Santa Claus, spreading joy. Who would want to kill Santa Claus?? douches.

What would Christmas have been like if Santa Claus delivered your presents in THIS outfit? Woudl there have been disco music involved? Just asking.

 

What happened to the Southern adage, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say nothin’ at all”?  Another favorite of mine was “Bless your heart”, which is used when you don’t know what to say, or you think the person’s an idiot. Typically this is said inconjunction with another statement and often behind the person’s back. Southerners are NOT very confrontational. Which is why I’m shocked that this ignunt fool got all up in Baton Bob’s grill. How mad must he have been?

 

Granted, we might believe in Southern Hospitality, bit there’s always just a pinch of crazy in that mint julep.

  

I mean, are you just that angry and bitter that not everyone falls in with your description of “normal”? Did someone pee in your cheerios when you woke up this morning and that made you into the cranky, self-righteous TOOLBAG who think’s it’s your God-given mission to rid the city of those you deem unacceptable? Or are you just mad that SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE is having… (Lord help us all)… FUN???? Puh-lease. get a grip. Better yet, get a hobby. I’d suggest baton-twirling, but I bet you won’t be as good at it as Baton Bob.

 

Hell, I wish I had the guts to parade down the street with a fricking baton and march to the beat of my own drummer. If someone tried to tell me I was wrong for doing it, I’d probably throw one of my marching band boots at them. Probably not right to answer hate with violence, but I bet they couldn’t fus as much if their mouth was swollen shut.

 

Pretending to wave at my subjects while walking the streets of Disney’s Animal Kingdom is about as close as I’ll get to pulling a Baton Bob. Unless alcohol is involved.

 

I think one of the number one problems we have these days is the number of people that get personally involved in $hit that’s none of their business (example: other people’s uteruses, but don’t get me started) and don’t get involved in enough stuff that’s everyone’s business (i.e., voting, community work, education, the arts).

I’m glad to hear that people are supporting Baton Bob, though. It reminds me alittle of the drama that’s going on with the bus monitor that got harrassed by a douche canoe of $hitty students. Clearly those boys lacked any type of home training. My mom would have whupped my a$$ from sunup to sundown if I’d done something as atrocious as this. After reading another one of my favorite blogs, Angrivated, he mentions that people stood behind her so firmly that they raised enough money to not only send her on vacation but let her retire. Kudos!

Even though I got an update on Baton Bob because someone threatened, it was nice to hear that he’s still alive and high-stepping, bringing a little mirth to the merry citizens of downtown Atlanta. I admire his resilient soul. How about a bit fist (baton?) pump in the air for Baton Bob!!!

 

Now if only I can find out about the whereabouts of the sausage man… this dude that used to standon the street corner near my high school, wearing sickeningly tight bike shorts. Then the circle will be complete.