A Post Full of Anger and Hostility… and Filthy Language

My ex-husband died.  My kids are devistated.  I’m sad.

His evil whore of a mother is banning my children from going to his funeral.

Who does that?

Damn the Luck

It’s no joke when I say I truly work my ass off.  And I’m not tootin my own horn when I say I’m one bad ass woman.  I’ll not bore you with the details.

Anyway, since I’m so bad-ass, I decided to take the evening and chill like I like to chill when I found out nobody else was home.  The boy is at work… the man is with his amigo chasing truck parts around the greater southeastern region…

What to do ?? 

Pop the cork out of a nice bottle of merlot, crank on the karaoke maker and sing, then retreat to a bubble bath. Most relaxing of plans for me personally.

So, the wine is breathing and I’m sipping a little, rockin some Rod Stewart when the power flickered a couple of times and POOF….. no music, no lights, no AIR CONDITIONING…. It’s like 980 degrees up in here and the last thing I want to do is drink merlot (it gives me hot flashes) or take a hot bubble bath (more heat stroke)…

I suppose I’ll go sit outside in the shade where its only a humid 100 degrees or so and stare at my dogs.  Can’t take my laptop with since the battery says 66%, which translates into about 8 minutes in real life.

Damn the luck.

Toilet Paper Shortage, Febreeze & Pissin a River

I’m not sure.  It might just be me.  But, bathroom etiquette has taken a dive right down the bowl.

Why exactly can’t people put a new roll of toilet paper on the little toilet paper holder when the roll is empty?  Seriously, it’s within reach.  Go ahead, throw that empty little cardboard whirlie in the trash and put a nice new fluffy roll on there.  It seems like I’m always going in there (at home, at work, at my friend’s, at my Dad’s place) to an empty roll…  Conspiracy? 

Yet another poo peave near and dear to my fart is the smell of Febreeze or any other fake flowery scent.  Not that those roses in a can are completely useless.  But, is it really necessary to spray half a can of it after taking a crap?  Do folks really think that it helps the stink?  Trust me, it does not.  

This seems to be more of a chick thing than a guy thing…  I mean, guys really don’t give a crap if a green fog follows them from the potty room…  But women… Good Lord.  For some reason when a girl comes out after making a poo, it’s not just the poo smell… it’s rose covered poo.  For the love of God, please, if you must spray, make it a quick burst of air fresh… not the whole can. 

Lastly, and this is a direct command to my step-son, PLEASE close the damn door when you take a wiz.  I’m all the way down the hall, with the TV blaring some brilliant show on History or Discovery or someother nerdy network… and I can still hear you pissin.  What’s with that?  Why can’t you take the .22 seconds that it takes to close the door before you whip it out and let it fly?  Really.

Thunder Storms, Bad Color and Lesbian Haircuts

Well, after all the build… not a damn thing noteworthy happened at work today.

Not one phone call… but I’m sure the voicemail is jam packed with griping bitchery.  There was a helluva storm in the greater metro area last night and it appears Comcast can’t get it together fast enough to get everything up and running again. 

Phones by Comcast.  Internetz by Comcast.  So, I had a very productive day today not having to listen to people on the phone telling me why their homeowners dues are late and how they mailed their payment already and it must be lost somewhere since the post office just doesn’t give a crap and how the damn lawn care people haven’t come and trimmed their already well manicured shrubbery…   So, tomorrow will be a scary day in management land, but today… today was pretty good.

Anyway, over the last weekend, I went to the beauty supply place and got a gallon of bleach and went to town doing my roots since  God didn’t see fit to let my hair stay as blonde as it was when I was a young’n.   I’ve been doing this routine for years.  Color and trim my own hair.  And for years and years, I was actually good at it.

Until this time.

First, I left the toxic goo on my mop way too long and frizzled the ends of it. So, it needed to be trimmed.  So, I got the scissors and started to trim it.  All was going well.  Dead ends were flyin. 

Then it happened…. I slipped. 

No, not just a little gap.  A full two inches of my fried locks fell to the floor.  I stood there and tried to objectively assess the damage.  But, there was no salvaging it.  It had to be chopped off.

During this few minutes, I saw the last two years of growing this mess out, flash before my eyes.  Two years of babying, pampering, trimming… all gone with one bad pass of the scissors. Dayum.

Now, I was starting to feel my neck turn red and my pulse in my neck was busting.   I think I even felt my eye twitch.

As it turned out, I had to cut the sides so short (the back has always stayed short) that I look either like a really old lady with bad color or a short lesbian.  I’m still trying to determine which…  Now, don’t get me wrong, I have no qualms with any chick that digs the girl on girl relationship.  I have lesbian family members and a variety of gay friends… so I’m totally not knocking anybody.

My problem with the lesbian scenario is that the cut isn’t saying I’m not a cute little lipstick lesbian.  I don’t have cutsie poo poo Barbie hair anymore.  Rather, due to the two toned stark contrast in color, I look butch.  Big T has taken to calling me Butch as a pet name.  He thinks all of this is freakin hilarious. 

My boss, texted her gay hairdresser and begged him for an appointment.  She told him she couldn’t take it anymore.  She told him she stops in front of my office and laughs.  Cold. Cold. Cold.

So, you see why I’m so upset over this whole hair thing.

Anyway, the hairdresser texts her back and I’m supposed to have my butt in his chair, on the clock, paid for by the company as a bonus treat.  I suppose that could be considered silver lining… bonus hair cut and color done by a gay guy.  If you’ve never had your locks fondled by a gay hairdresser, let me tell ya something… you have no idea what you’re missing.

Hopefully, this will solve all of my hair-do-don’ts.

 

 

Board Meetings, Beer & Cigarettes

Ahhh, a day in the bang ‘em up world of property management.  I swear, this last year has been the most up ‘n down year of my meager existence. 

To update anybody who might have missed me in the last three or so years, I got hitched, lost my job, lost another job and have been on a total rollercoaster and trying to figure out who the hell I really am at forty.

Folks, I have finally figured this out.  I’m a bookkeeper.

A bookkeeper for a local property management company.

I know, I know.  Last time I blogged about my job… I got fired for being snide and bitchy.  Lesson learned.  The Man won that battle.  However, if I don’t find an outlet for all of my professional frustration, I’ll just explode.

Seriously, if pissed off restaurant servers can vent on how they get back at horrible patrons, I can surely tell some of the funnies that go during my day to day at this job.  It freakin hilarious. 

Most of my day is consumed with poking payments and bills into a computer.  Not so difficult, right?  Right.

But on occassion, my presence is requested at a Board meeting.  I know, fun, huh?  Right. 

Alls I can say, is if I had to do it all over again, I’d be born rich and have nothing to do  but be a Board Member.  If for nothing more than just go mess with my neighbors.  But, presently, I’m not rich.  I work for the rich…  see where I’m going?

So, I smoke. Alot. 

Life has driven me to bad habits in the last couple of year.   I have foud that the occassional night of drinking a butt load of beer is good for my psyche.    The downside to drinking obscene amounts of beer is that I smoke way too much.

Frustrations on the Home Front

Since the last big bit of crap I got for my sarcasm and anxt, I have been pretty much keeping my opinion and complaints about life to myself…

Sometimes, venting (even if it’s just to blow off steam and really means nothing to anyone but me) can backfire… literally.

Whatever.  I’m just as full of sarcasm and anxt and pretty much miserable with life in this house.  All I can say is choose carefully before you make a big, fat, wrong life choice like getting married. 

I mean there are ALOT of factors involved in compatibility, and people should really pay attention to those factors.  Unlike yours truly.

TOLERATION OF THE SPOUSE’S SPAWNS.

I can’t tolerate his daughter.  She is horrible.  She won’t work and try to support herself.  She moves out. She moves back in. She moves out. She moves back in.  She steals from us, and when I say steal, she wiped him out.  She lies and denies.  She’s lazy. 

And at this point, toleration isn’t anything I can make myself feel.  I look over at her and I get angry.  I hear her voice and I cringe.  I see her eating and it makes me sick.  That’s all the girl does is eat, sit, sleep and run the roads.  God forbid she get a job.  God forbid she try to buy her own shampoo, soap, hair dryer. 

Why work when Daddy will keep letting her go in my room and use my things.

TRUE COMMONALITIES… NOT FAKE ONES

When me & Big T were just dating, he played himself to be a real family man.  He played himself off as someone who enjoys being around friends and interacting with people.  Yah, not so much. 

It is so easy for someone to fake someone else out when they aren’t together 24/7.  This man doesn’t do anything.  Nothing.  He sits on the couch and smokes cigarettes. 

Chain smoker.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  I smoke.  But it’s a pack every couple of days. Sometimes less.  This man goes through a carton of smokes in three or four days.  He’s not the healthiest person to begin with, but at this point, his health is his problem.  He doesn’t care, why should I?  But, my house SMELLS SO BAD.  And it’s impossible to get the stink out.   

He is lazy as his daughter and son.  He sits all day and the stupid dogs, which nobody wants to take out when I’m not home, apparently pee somewhere in this house.  I don’t see it, but I can smell it and it disgusts me.

I’m a neat freak and there is no way for me to live the way I want to in this house.  I work 55 or more hours a week.  None of these people that live in this house work.. or do house work.  I come home to dirty dishes pile high in the sink.  I come home to cook after I clean the kitchen and then I clean it again.  I have to dust and vacuum.  I have to scrub the toilets.  God forbid any of them do anything around here.

SEX – What the hell is that?  After four years of marriage, I do believe I could be certified as a re-confirmed virgin, and that my friends isn’t by choice.

What to do??

Pizza & Beer

I’ve spent the last couple of years not writing and gaining weight. Shit happens. 

I’ve done a lot of self-analyzing and a lot of wondering.  It seems like I do that on a daily basis. 

I went under the assumption that when one reaches four/tenths of a century in age, one would have a clue as to who one really is… not…

So, all this means that I’ve figured it out.  You Know You Need To Put Down the Pizza & Beer When…

 1.Your belly juts out farther than your saggin boobs do…

2. You have fat pooches blobbin out in all the wrong places…

3. When you’re sittin on the couch and you’re restin your arms on your gut…

4. you wear leggings you look like a cream puff with legs…

5. there’s a fat roll resting snuggly against your neck & you can’t even think where to start in looking for your cheekbones…

6. you spend your time avoiding Kodak moments but if & when the shutter bug does find you, you run to find something or someone to stand behind…

7. you have to adjust your fat rolls in order to sit any kind of comfortable… and sitting like a lady???  No…

8. you have the desire, but not the breath or energy, to sing a Go-Go’s song on the karaoke anymore…

9. the inkling of a thought of dancing to a song you could dance too even just a few short years ago makes your chest start to hurt…911… hello…

10. you have a whole trunk load of clothes you bought the last time you shrank… only problem is that you gave all your fat clothes away… Doh!