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.

Is There a Cheat Code for this?

I would just like to ammend a previous statement that I made, declaring the Lug-Nut NOT a man-child. While he is in very many respects a responsible, functioning adult with aspirations and ambition and drive and all of that great stuff that men are made of, he has a vice.

PlayStation Network.

As a few of you man-children out there who took a moment away from whatever toy gets your mojo workin' to read this are aware, the network was recently hacked and temporarily shut down to repair the damage done and to prevent further issues related to credit card information stored on the site. It was a very peaceful few weeks for me. I have to admit, I have a love/hate relationship with electronics, video gaming systems being at the tippy-top of that list for a few reasons:

Pro

1. I heart Netflix. I absolutely adore everything about it. It's reasonable price, access to all of the guilty pleasure movies and t.v. shows, and accessibility from nearly every damn electronic appliance I own. Seriously, I watched a Dexter episode from the toaster the other day..I love it so much that I declared our satellite dish completely useless and it is now living a new life as an industrial-sized yard wok.

Con

2. Having said that, I loathe everything about Call Of Duty. The game is disgusting and addictive and somehow invaded my home when I wasn't looking. I do not think that my ten-year old daughter should know what a "clay more" is , I'm not even a hundred percent certain that I spelled that right and I come from a military background, full of real soldiers that shot at real people and will tell you there isn't a goddamn thing cool about it.

Pro

3. The games that aren't disgusting and addictive are a wonderful distraction for my children so I can get something done. It's honestly the only thing they'll do together with zero complaints. Rock Band is a genius invention that can manage to occupy all five of my children at once ( and teach them cool music that if I had suggested that they check out, they would scoff..professional scoffers, they are..)

and finally,

Con

It's one of the few things my husband likes more than Kevin Costner movies. ( The Lug-Nut's admiration for all things Costner is a blog for another time.) I mentioned this in the pros and cons list because his desire to play racing/shooting/zombie games puts quite the damper on our alone time. So, I sulk when he plays and make him feel bad ( which, I suppose I should be grateful that he notices that I am sulking and reacts with the appropriate response..) But I just don't get the appeal. So, while I am sulking and being all passive-agressivey he says "Why don't you go write a blog about how much I suck, that'll make you feel better." Touche, Lug-Nut..Well played.

I also take issue with the blue-tooth head-set thingy. I hate walking into a room and hear my husband shouting out obscenities and half-sentences that may or may not be accurately describing my mother and looking around at the source of his frustration, ony to find out it's the damned t.v.

I say all of this thinking that my husband has to be some sort of anomaly with stunted emotional growth for him to love this gaming concept so much, but it must surely be a world-wide epidemic, lest the games be marketed for children and not blood-thirsty,cynical,desensitized adults. Logically, I know that this is just the new millenium's version of the weekly poker game, the bowling league, or the Grand Poo-Bah lodge deali-o that Fred Flinstone fancied so much.

I suppose that men need toys and games to act out fake wars and validate themselves and massive-phallic-waiving burly wharthogs of death and destruction but I'll be glad when this feeling comes in pill-form.
So now a retort for the blog remark..

" Hey Lug-Nut, Zelda, Donkey-Kong and Pac-Man called and said that they retired from gaming a long time ago and since you're all the same age, you should too.However, Mario says that he's in his prime, but I think he's in denial."

Lug-Nut ; " Mario kicks ass, he's the Keith Richards of video game icons.He'll be free-basing toadstools till he's 80.." ( clickety-clickety-clickety )
That would be the annoying controller noise there..



Check and mate.

It's been a WHOLE YEAR since I posted a blog???

Have I been under a rock?? No, but I have been under the effects of some heavy-duty hallucinogenic drugs..Just kidding. I have been more than a little preoccupied, however,but thanks to a day of boredom that led me to stumbling upon a wonderfully quirky little blog written by a kick-ass gal named Allie, I am now inspired to return and twist your minds once again! Muahahahaha! So, I apolgize to the new-comers that may be confused as they read back and find HUGE gaps in the postings, but I did a little house-keeping while I was here to weed out things that were just not as entertaining as I thought they were at the time. Forgive me. I promise to do better.

Now, let's get back on track..Today's theme is "looking better by comparison"

I would just like to thank all of you crazy people that force yourselves to stay attached to even crazier life-partners that make you insane and your life miserable. Scratch that, the Lug-Nut would like to thank you. I would like to smack the shit out of you for a number of reasons. The obvious aside, I can no longer stay mad at my husband for more than 10 seconds.

I have always had difficulty with this, but I used to be good for at least a day or two before forgiving him of his annoying little discretions. The spike in my rage-inducing hormones was good for me, I think. Plus, ya know.. the making up part is always a treat but now, NOW all I can do is wrinkle up my forehead and search for a name or two to hurl at him for being so dumb and I can't. Why? you ask.. Because he is none of the following things : 1. a drug addict, 2. a habitual gambler, 3. a psychopath , 4. an abusive hill-billy, 5. an emotionally absent hill-billy, 6. a controlling, manipulative habitual liar, 7. a dead-beat with no job prospects or ambition 8. a grown man without a driver's license, 9. a hoarder, an obsessive compulsive, a manic-depressive or a recluse or, 10. a completely ambivalent man-child with no sense of responsibility, personality or self-worth.

So basically, all the Lug-Nut has to do is stand there and be a Lug-Nut and he looks like a goddamn bronze statue of manhood. He's like the girl who calls up all of her ugly friends to go out on the town with her so she can feel better about herself. But it's not as though he even does this on purpose. Because of Facebook and everyone on God's green earth that insists on displaying not only written but photographic proof of their relationship disparity, he has earned his Master's in Husbandry.

He would probably like to think that he at least deserves some recognition for his own efforts but, I'm gonna just keep this train going for now..

Because he is not any of the above mentioned things, he now gets away with the following things with very,very little recourse.. 1.being extremely vague about what he wants to eat, where he wants to go, or what he wants to do at any given moment. I am required to decipher his man-language of passivity and obtuseness and figure our what is actually going to take place and when. Before these past few months, this would have warranted me shouting "FOR GODSSAKE, MAN! TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT OR YOU'LL GET NOTHING!" Now, I'm just a puddle of "oh well's" and try to make do.
2. Giving me the least amount of information or putting forth the least amount of thought or effort on any given subject." Example:

Lug-Nut : "Your phone rang"
Me : "Who was it?"
Lug-Nut : "I don't know but it rang a lot."
Me: "So, why didn't you answer it? It's right beside you?"
Lug-Nut : (indiscernable grunt) It's ringing again, I think it's the same number.."
Me: "So, answer it! My hands are full!"
Lug-Nut : " eh,They'll call back..."

3. Not remembering anything that I tell him for more than five minutes after it comes out of my mouth.
4. Not answering the phone when I am calling him because I really need something and not listening to his voicemail to find out that I really needed something.
or finally
5. Forcing me to threaten to do things (such as weed the yard) by myself in order to make his puffy chest grow and take the weed-eater,or whatever, out of my delicate female hands.

SIGH...

So, in closing , a plea for you ladies out there in Facebook-Land..If you insist on staying with these guys, for goddsake , stop complaining about it on the internet so I can go back to temporarily hating my husband for peeing off the back porch. I haven't had make-up sex in ages..

Thank you.