To You from Me, Pinkie Lee

Alright, it's got to come out or I'm going to burst. The filter is off and I'm mad as Hell..So, here it goes. Over the past year or so, my life has stopped sucking in a way that it did for a very long time. Some of it is purely because I grew up and started realizing what was and was not important enough to get riled up over. A lot of it is because I learned along the way that I did not have the answer to it all and that is o.k. A little bit of it was restraining myself from making terrible decisions. Even more still came from being "once bitten and twice shy"in my old age. A good deal of it is because I created a safe distance and a feeling of apathy for people that caused me trouble and whole heck of a lot it came when my husband and I decided to do all of these things together on a common ground; because we realized at some point that knowing each other's best and worst can either "make or break" you and we both feel that we had rather be made. My point in all of this is an apology. I am SO SORRY that it is pissing some people off so badly that we are not who we used to be. I apologize profusely for the fact that you cannot get behind the idea that we, as individuals, a couple and as members of what is left of our family,are trying to move forward. I feel terrible that you can't wrap your heads around concentrating on today rather than yesterday. I feel sure that if you just tried to be supportive, and damn..even a little happy for us it would be fan-fucking-tastic for everyone concerned. I'm starting to realize that the reason that some people never change is because those around them won't let them pass the never-ending test. While it is mostly the young and idealistic that are the score keepers of our past transgressions; insisting on reciting a distorted play by play to suit their own agendas,at will,and without provocation...There are still of few of you that have been around the block enough yourselves to know that every trip hasn't been a glorious or honorable one so you need to lay off the hater-ade..Seriously. But today I'm just gonna concentrate on setting you children straight. I call you that because that is what you are. You will be so until you have lived long enough to REALLY screw something up so badly that you cannot take it back and it becomes a part of the invisible name tag that you wear every day of the rest of your life. It must be fucking glorious to live life through your young eyeballs (protected by corrective vision devices that you did not have to worry about how to pay for.) To have everything still be in neat little black and white boxes and the whole world to be so clear. God, how I envy your ability to just say that you are going to do things and TRULY believe that is just how it will turn out. Listen to me, you insufferably entitled little shits, NOTHING turns out exactly as planned. Sometimes this is the best thing in the world, sometimes it's a disaster and you have to start over. I don't care if you're painting the kitchen, planning your career, marrying the person you love or deciding where to eat for lunch -- there will be some, uncontrollable (or hell, even completely controllable but still somehow unruly) aspect of this venture,no matter how large or small, that will be just a little different than you imagined. And every now and then, the whole thing will blow up in your face and the only thing left that you can afford is a bologna sandwich and you call it a day. That, Dear Child, is life. It ain't a game, it ain't a cereal, it ain't a cleverly written period movie starring two black comedians. It is being left with nothing some days and more than you can stand on others; and no matter what kind of day you happen to be having, SOMEBODY is going to be standing around, all judgmental like, telling you how you did it all wrong and they could have done it SO much better. Well, guess what, They are full of shit and six months from now, they'll be eating bologna too. To be truly grown up, as you are in such a damn hurry to be, what you need to learn is forgiveness,tolerance,empathy, humility, perseverance and most of all, that 99% of streets in the world go BOTH ways. You want someone to be there for you? Be there for them. You want someone to respect you? Respect them. You want someone to help you? Help them, damn it and stop acting like the world owes you a huge favor for overcoming your awkward period. Life is going to be especially difficult for you if you don't grasp that part, quick-like and in a hurry. You are going to need the people that you are pushing away. I just hope we're here when you figure it out.

Vintage blog - original air date August, 2006

In an effort to understand where I am going, I searched my journalisitic archives to find out where I've been. This one made me chuckle so I decided that it should be the first of the vintage blog installments. ENJOY! Sooo.... My belly is full and my body is tired , the children are imposing cruel and unusual punishment on eachother and my husband took a ride so I decided to float around on the web and see if I can find a little more ignorance to amuse myself before I hit the hay and I'll be damned if I didn't find it . Oh boy , what a doozy.... I love to search websites that list weird and crazy news stories.I suppose because I am a little crazy and weird and sometimes reading about other people's idiocy makes me feel a little less nutty . ( Oh Come on, let me sit atop my condescention cloud for a minute..) Well , this is probably going to make me sound not only morbid but also cold-hearted , but just bear with me will ya? ( You obviously aren't doing anything else anyway..) Picture it , a headline that reads 'inmate commits suicide with toilet paper' I know , I know ... What the fuck , right? Okay , you would just know that this completly ignorant being was from the little town that I call home. AHHHH.. Sparkle City , where the only thing that sparkles is the reflection off of the appliances at the county dump. Home of the most unecessary road construction in the free world. Where the guinea hens run the streets of the trailer park and your cousin is your lover. And now we are not only the most featured town on the ' World's dumbest criminals and police chases' We are the home of the dumbest form of sucide EVER.... The guy was locked up for lewd act on a minor. Good job to my only slightly over weight friends at the county sheriff's office. If he grabbing little girls boobies , a jail cell is where he belongs. Well , apparently he was trouble from the start because only two days after his arrest , someone fell asleep during their shift of the suicide watch and the fool stuffed toilet paper into his own nose and throat until he suffocated and died... HE DIIIEED.. How long do you think this process took? How much effort and thought did he put into this master plan? Had the toilet paper been previously used? Okay , so they've taken away weight- lifting priveledges , shoe laces , belts , steak knives ( which you don't really need a knife to eat a bologna sandwich anyway) and God knows what else away from these nincompoops to keep them from hurting themselves ( which if you think about it , would probably lessen the overcrowding issue if they 'd just give it all back to them ) And now they aren't even going to be able to wipe their own asses. I read an article once about a primitive tribe that only ate using their right hands because they wiped their hineys with the other ( I swear , might of gotten the hands switched but you get the point. ) I suppose this will become the norm out there on California Avenue too. ( Good thing you only need one hand to hold those sandwiches ..) Alright , alright .. I'm done with this now.. It was just too sad and wayyy too stupid to let go without saying something. Don't judge me, monkey... (DISCLAIMER: No husbands were injured during the making of this blog . Even though mine choked on a cheese nip and almost died laughing..)

A Hell-Worthy Passage

So, I thought earlier today that I may have been bitten (once again) by the writing bug..Yes, it is a pesky little infestation that never seems to go away. When this thought first occurred to me, I was in a much better mood. I can only offer my apologies that now, I am not.
I am beyond furious. BUT, writing a diatribe of my feelings and metaphorically bleeding all over my keyboard will neither do me, or you, my masochistic readers, any good. Nope, we're just gonna poke fun at this like everything else, because by tomorrow, I will have compartmentalized it and moved on, and no one needs nasty written proof of their descent into a world of crazy.
So, being a parent truly sucks major balls sometimes. First, you go through the worrying about diaper and formula brands, and "Oh my gods, will they stop breathing in their sleep??" and then comes the toddler years , when ALL you want is a moment of peace and to be able to take a crap without interruption, which is followed by the "cute years" when they start school and bring home pilgrims made out of paper towel rolls at Thanksgiving and everything they say is so insightful and "aren't they just adorable now that they can clean their own butts and work the microwave?"
Newsflash, kiddies... those years are fleeting. THEN they become teenagers. Button pushing, boyfriend having, back-talking, eye-rolling, teeth-sucking , I know the secrets to the ENTIRE GODDAMN UNIVERSE and I'm not telling , TEENAGERS.
Teenage girls have the uncanny ability to be the most condescending ( which is a talent in itself considering they haven't achieved a damn thing but growing boobs) manipulative, mean and hateful people on the face of the earth. They can also, with believable crocodile tears and all, make you think that it is YOUR fault that you are so upset when ALL they did is take possibly one of the most sensitive and upsetting facets of your life and mention the idea that it could all come to bite you in the ass and turn your life to ruin while you're tending to a fucking pot roast.
Yes, folks.. That's Wednesday evening at my house.
I don't get much time at home these days, and I was truly thrilled at the prospect that I managed , not only to make a dinner for my family that didn't come from a cardboard box, but also to clean the "third layer of hell" , otherwise known as the master bathroom. Hell, I even shaved my legs today and ENJOYED IT.
Which, I suppose , is the reason that I let a snivelling, snot nosed kid get to me with her passive-agressive jabs at my life choices. The world may be her goddamn oyster but I have worked my fingers to the bone just insure that she had the fork to pry it open with.
Forgive me if I sound bitter but insolence in my own house, I will not take.
So, yes, she got a nice dose of Momma's good, old fashioned ass-chewing, along with everything I had (apparently) been harboring in a dusty box inside my brain for quite some time. Now she's fasting like Gandhi, just to make sure that everyone knows that she is truly the martyr in this situation.

Fine with me , I'll eat ALL the pot roast, because you know what? I've earned the privelege of carrying around these hips when I sacrificed them to the birthing gods.

Oh, Days of Enfamil, where have you gone???

I before E , except after you pass the Mason-Dixon Line

Living in the South has its advantages and disadvantages, just like everywhere else. I am happy to say that being Southern is not quite the cultural tragedy that it once was, we don't have AS many tv shows and movies displaying what the general population deems as our inherit ability to be completely stupid. Thanks to Tom Clancy and the the like, we now have even a few novel-based films that feature prominent,strong,and articulate Southern lawyers spinning horseshit into Egyptian cotton in the courtroom to insure that justice is served. I love these movies but I hate that everyone in them is always so sweaty. Yes, the South is hot but we got central air along with the rest of the country so I'm not sure why everyone else thinks that we don't use it.

Although, there is nothing quite like being all dewy from perspiration, holding a gin and tonic on the front porch and pontificating on days gone by and the firey desires that burn from within.. Ok, I don't actually do that.... very often...

So, like I said, lots to love about being here. The mild winters, magnolia trees and their intoxicating scent, sweet tea and everything all fried and dipped in mayonnaise, the way everyone will shun you if you serve anything but Duke's mayonnaise (we are the only sub-culture that could get that fired up about the integrity of whipped eggs.), the polite tendencies of the people, the seemingly slower pace of life in general, etc...etc..If you live here , you know it and if you don't, you have a whole list of things to tell me why living anywhere else in the world is better..

BUT, one of the irritating things about living here that I never noticed too much until the-social-network-that-I-refuse-to-mention-by-name-again-unless-they-pay-me..Bless our hearts, we just don't spell very well.

That is not to say that there aren't oodles of nearly illiterate people from all geographic locations on the internet because,I gotta tell you, I weep a little for future generations every time I scroll through my newsfeed. But, what I have noticed is that Southerners consistently misspell the same words and now I've figured out why.

We're doing just like our teachers told us to do. We're "sounding them out".

I wrote a very short but mean rant about this subject once,a long time ago, because another-social-network-that-fell-off-the-map,shoved in my face that almost everyone I know misspells "want" and "won't" by using them interchangeably. I could not for the life of me figure this out but a short while ago, it hit me. It's a pronunciation issue.

So, here's a challenge for you to prove my point. If you are from the South, say this sentence loudly and slowly;

"I want to go with you."

I guarantee you that if this had been an oral exercise and I had asked you to write this sentence, a helluva lot of you would have written this ;

"I wont to go with you."

Because that's how you pronounce it.

I'm not really sure why it seems to work the other way around but it does. I have seen countless examples of status updates saying

"I want go in there anymore because they are rude."

Or something to that nature. So, let's clear the air right now and fix this..

To WANT something is to express desire. "I WANT you to go with me."
To use the word WON'T,first you need an apostrophe because it is a contraction. It is used to replace "will not" in a sentence. "I WON'T do that anymore."

Got the hang of it now?


The next example of this is the word QUIET. Say it with me, because this actually does have two syllables and it's the only one that Southerners don't use more than they need to pronounce. Time after time, I see it spelled QUITE, because again, that's how we say it.

The word QUITE is an adverb, used as an exclamation in most sentences.
"This is QUITE good, I am really enjoying it."

QUIET is the word you are looking for when expressing that something,someone or somewhere has no sound.


I'm sure there are a few others, but I will have to return to ammend this when I think of them...

So, in closing, let me say again that I love being Southern and I love my own twangy accent, so please by all means, let's continue to "push buggies" and "mash buttons" and ask about everyone's "mama an 'nem" but let's also try and make an effort to look like we know what we're talking about because, let's face it, most of our communication these days is through writing. *SIGH* I miss just talking, don't you?


SO, let's recap people, say it with me.

"Ms. A is QUITE the smartass for writing this blog and I WANT to punch her in the face but I WON'T. I will just be QUIET and listen because all she really wants is to save the world, one lesson at a time."

As you were....

Lug-Nut's ( not so dead ) language

As most of you have realized by now, my husband is a dork. He's also sort of a redneck.. a "good ole boy" , if you will. He loves NASCAR, or any type of racing for that matter, he wears a baseball cap at all times and he drives a pick-up truck. His nick name is Lug-Nut, for goodness sake , so if you have any brains at all, this should have at least drawn you a crude sketch of his personality. This is not to say that Lug-Nut subscribes to any of the bad stereotypes that come along with this sub-culture. He is anything but ignorant or racist. The Lug-Nut is actually rather well-read and open minded for someone who was raised in a trailer park.

For the record, we do not live in a trailer park, so this very fact should draw you to the conclusion that Lug-Nut desires more for his family than what he knew as a child. I think that the sweetest thing that he ever said to me had to do with his desire to give me a good home to call my own because I never truly had one growing up. But that is a tangent for another blog and I'm too drunk to go there right now.

As a side note, you are welcome for this- my first drunk blog in a very, very long time. I do apologize in advance for the typos.

This blog is not really about me being married to a Redneck but it is about my Redneck's wonderful way with words. I have never been sure if his diction is a wonderfully hilarious accident or if he does this on purpose. I kind of hope I never find out. It is a little difficult to explain what I mean ( especially when I'm this lit) so I'll just give you a few examples and hopefully you will find it as humorous as I do. And if you don't, well.. it will just be another testament to why I married him and you didn't..So there ya go, and here it goes..


Me : So, did you pick up on Binyah's kid's recent Facebook posts? She's found religion and shit.

Lug-Nut : So, is she one of those "Jesus-Beaters" now?

Me : I think the term you are looking for is "bible-beater".

Lug-Nut : Is it? Oh yeah, I guess the Jesus beaters are another group...






Lug-Nut : ( while watching a completely fucked up episode of Nip/Tuck, oh.. how we love that show..) I bet he's gonna come out all naked, because , you know.. he's one of those "prostidudes"

Me: I'm guessing that this would be a dude that prostitutes?

Lug-Nut : Well, duh.. what else would it be?


ON OUR FIRST DATE

Lug-Nut : ( at the movies ) So, do you want some cock-porn?

Me : I'm sorry, what?

Lug-Nut : you know..the , umm.. corny stuff that explodes when it's exposed to heat?

Me: POPCORN???

Lug-Nut : Is this your first time at the movies? Because, I'm pretty sure that this is a common, across the board kind of movie theater snack..

Me : (rolling in laughter) Have you ever heard of a Freudian slip and,on that note, have you ever considered that you might be gay?

Lug-Nut : I love the way you talk..You kill me..really, I'm just gonna get this cock-porn and we'll go inside...



I started writing this blog because another gem had popped out of his mouth as we were eating dinner, I really should've started with that one because now I can't remember what it was..


I'll be back after a few more shots, I feel like testing out this "total drunken recall" theory..

Oh yeah, HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY Y'ALL! God bless Amerrrrrca!..There's no "I" in our country when we're really fired up about something..

My Life as Played By Bridget Fonda

I'm not sure how many of you are old enough to remember the movie "Single White Female" so I apologize if the reference is lost, but that's what IMDB is for..

I have met a few wanna-be Hedy Carlson's in my time,you know,the kind of girl that you think just wants to be your friend but then you notice that she takes a little more pleasure than she should by following you into a public bathroom and you catch her sniffing your hair, a lot. This is a little different. Either I have finally crossed the line into delusional paranoia, I'm being seriously punk'd by someone with a morbid sense of humor OR I have a real life sociopath trying to gain at least partial access to my life. God only knows why anyone would want it, I have a very full and stressful plate. I also have a boatload of people that at least pretend to like me and for that, I consider myself very lucky. I am aware that not everyone can say this and that most people consider themselves fortunate to have one confidant to lean on during their adulthood and that it may seem as though I am jubilantly followed by a mass of adoring fans hanging onto my every quip ( Thanks again, Facebook..) These are not my words,they were thrown at me during a tete a tete with the Lug-Nut who was at the time, quite miffed at me. You see, Lug-Nut struggles with trusting people and for that he (thinks that he) doesn't have many friends. I would be willing to bet that a helluva lot of people consider him a friend of theirs, he just won't pick up the phone when they call so they can tell him so. The Lug-Nut is far more likeable of a person than I , I just happen to be a conversationalist by nature. So while it seems as though I have many people that I converse and wax intellectual with on a daily basis, in truth their are (very) few people in the world that I am sure of my place with.

So, I guess if my own Lug-Nut can make this assumption and harbor a little resentment toward me because of it (at least in a moment of vulnerability) it stands to reason that someone that I am on an acquaintenance-only level with would gather the same assumptions about my social status.

And now the crowd says , Ms. A, what-in-the-hoovie-doovies is you talkin' about?

( I don't know why you guys sound like that in my head, but you do...)

Ok, so back to the movie - In it Hedy Carlson answers an ad for Allie Jones's need for a roommate. While everything starts out well, in the end, Hedy turns into a psycho that dresses in, acts, eats, and sleeps with everything Allie loves, essentially taking over her entire life. I make the reference because the person of interest in this blog, let's call her "Little Miss S" (because I am in an Edie Brickell kind of mood today),is slowly but surely taking over my circle of friends.

I have been very quiet about this until now, almost clinical in my observation of her passive-aggressive actions in an effort to better understand her but I have to admit that now I'm just starting to get hocked off about it.
I invited her into my home and to every get-together I have had recently, introduced her to The Crazies that make my life interesting and then just kind of assumed that she would continue to let me play dodgeball in my own goddamn yard. But after a few weeks, I noticed that my own involvement in planned activites with MY friends, people that she knew very little, or nothing at all bout, became minimal. I was being told later on that Little Ms. S had asked them to go here, there and yonder with her and it was like there was not even a second thought that I would've appreciated an invitation.

As I said earlier, I have an extremely full plate and very little free time. If it weren't for a temporary lag in my schedule this month, this blog would still be getting ignored. So, I admit that in the past,I have not accepted every invitation I've been given, but damn..I at least appreciated the forethought to ask me. I have also not ever been one to believe that my friends were only allowed to do things with me, that's juvenile, but there comes a point when you have to start wondering if you are repeatedly being left out and juvenile or not, it isn't a pleasant feeling.

I have expressed these feelings to a couple of confidants that I AM sure of my place with, and they each offered some insight into the situation but I gotta tell you, it doesn't creep me out any less. The Lug-Nut says that Little Ms. S's insecurities are at work here, and that since she has no close friends of her own, she is drawing off of The Crazies and finding a haven with them, feeling like she can display her vulnerabilities that she fears I will analyze, dissect and write a speech about. ( The Lug-Nut assumes that everyone thinks I am as scary as he does.) I do have a tendency to intimidate people who think I have my shit together, but I promise, this is just a defense mechanism of my own. Ms. A's got her own demons, she just don't go around cryin' about them.

My friend, The Odd Duck, says that she is living vicariously through my friends in an effort to get to know me better, because I have a propensity for keeping people at arm's length even when I associate with them daily.( another one of those defense mechanisms..) And that Little Ms. S is infatuated with me and thinks that by crawling into my world she will either a.find more reason to hate me or b.find more reason to love me.

ICK...

Ok, so I was willing to blow that second theory off because, quite frankly, it made my skin crawl but when this "let's make life-long, bosom- buddy friends with everyone Ms. A has ever associated with" went from my closer family and friends to random people I went to school or bar-hopped with in the past, it made me pull it back under the microscope.

They say you can learn a lot by the company you keep, but when someone else takes all of your company an leaves you in exile, what does that say?


In a few weeks, I will be able to give this entire thing an honest to goodness test run because I was actually included, along with everyone I've ever come into contact with, in an invitation to a soiree held in her honor. It will be very interesting to see how this plays out.

What shall I wear?

Spring Fever

Only one more week of school...only one more week of school...only ONE MORE WEEK! I CAN DO THIS! I CAN wake up for just a few more days at the dawn of the sunrise and scream to the top of my lungs, shouting out orders (that are the EXACT same damn thing I've said every flippin' morning since Drama Mama started kindergarten) for forty five minutes until the last child is dropped off and both me and Vannie Mae (yes, my van has a name) heave a sigh of relief,that is,until it's time to pick them up again. Oh GAWD, how I HATE everything that has to do with this process. I know it makes me sound like a terrible mother but it's true. If it were up to me, we'd just run off with a travelling carnival and they would soak up the Theatre of Life and read books that I chose for them and we'd all live happily and peculiarly ever-after.

Ok, maybe not that extreme, but pretty close. The only thing that keeps me from home-schooling them is,well, I'd like to keep the hair I have left and home-schooled children creep me out. They all seem to be so excited to speak to anyone that's not their mother that they stare at you with wide-eyed wonder and poke you with sticks because they've never seen a live specimen of the "dirty people" that go for days without using hand sanitizer and have names that are actual first names, not obscure trendy monikers that end in '-on'. ( you know, Hudson,Carson,Grayson etc..)
I know this because I worked a very short stint as a manager at our local Chuck E. Cheese's and every month or so, the Regional Home School Mom Cult would come in with their quilted purses and Earth Shoes, Stepford children in tow and order everything on the menu that had no grease and no flavor and force their children to pretend that they know how to socialize with one another. The kids spent most of the day asking me if my children were allowed to have candy because they had heard it was edible but were skeptical.
So, being a carnie and home schooling aside, my only option is to pack them up and ship them out daily to the public schools to which we have been erroniously assigned to. ( I say it is in error because when we lived in Nowheretown, they went to Smallburg Elmentary, when we moved and got a Smallburg address, we were suddenly in the Littleville school district. It makes no sense..but I digress..) So, I put on a brave face and fuss through the dressing ritual which starts out as me,nicely asking them to dress and groom themselves and then it proceeds to me sternly suggesting, then demanding, then screaming, then pleading, begging and,finally, me turning into a slobbering nut trying explain the concept of time and having a sense of urgency to a six year old boy who has no qualms whatsoever about running around ALL day with boogers hanging out of his nose.

So, now that THAT mess is over with, let's talk about "Whose Mom Loves Them Most Day". This is the day of the year that the children are to report to school dressed as their hero, favorite book character, an 18th century concubine peasant girl, a Model T car, a twelve string guitar eating guacamole, or what they want to be when they grow up.Do I look like a costume designer with a blockbuster budget? For goddsake, can't we just concentrate on cursive? I'll by you all the wide ruled paper that you want but please don't make me sew eight million buttons onto a a piece of felt!
Ultimately, I cuss and improvise my way through these days and make a doable costume out of stuff around the house only to have which ever kid it is turn around and point to the little jerk getting out of his mom's gas guzzling urban assault vehicle wearing a spandex tomato plant costume that grows real tomatoes. Then I am forced to leave them picking their pride off of the pavement as they trudge into class. Damnit, I love my kids more because I am teaching them to have an imagination! Right? RIGHT?

And then there's the papers. Gawd almighty at the papers these kids bring home! You would think that in this internet age, they would just save the paper and send their test scores, memos, invites to conferences and reminders about 'whose mom loves them more day' by email. But no. They don't. They make me put my signature on anything that used to be a tree, every freaking night. This is annoying enough for one kid,I'm sure but I have a house full of children which means a stack full of papers. I had to take a muscle relaxer after orientation day this year because the student info packet for each kid is nothing short of a Stephen King novel.

And now that it is the very tail end of the year, the papers that are coming are even more plentiful because we're not only getting memos for the impossibly full schedule of band concerts, field days,field trips, beach days (because that is so practical and relevant), spring carnivals, bake sales, end of the year conferences, exams, awards days, class parties and the last opportunity for the PTO to bleed you dry, they are also sending home all of the wonderful little pieces of genius that your child has worked on all year. I love seeing this stuff but I'm never sure what I'm supposed to do with all of it-I filled up an entire moving box with these things, just today. And you can't throw it away, it's their ART WORK, MOM!
That's why the damn teachers send it home, again proving that I DO NOT love them more because I don't have a big enough fridge to hold their entire portfolio until the end of time.

If any of you up-and-coming mommies are wondering if I am exaggerating, just call up my good friend Binyah-Secretary Extraordinaire of the Booster Club

She'll school ya.( but she may ask you for a donation first.)

Don't ever let anyone tell you that public education is free.The biggest cost however, may be your sanity.