Monday, November 5, 2012

Attachment Disorder?

I have decided that I cannot be connected with anything that brings me so much joy that it interferes with my life, or overshadows it in a way that I become somewhat obsessed with that object. In doing so, I keep my life simple and can be more focused and stop worrying about the ‘thing’ for which I have so much affection. I thought it was called attachment disorder, but that's something entirely different, apparently what I am is part of a minimalist movement.
My ex-husband helped me with that when after I left him he threw out everything I own. And I do mean everything. He did a favor for my teenage kids as well, threw out all of their belongings too. Someone who was garbage picking that day hit the motherload. So now I am 44 y/o I have a garage with a few boxes, and apt and no storage facility of any kind
Here is a quote from Fight Club:
“It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.”
Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

Thanks again douchebag ex-husband. I know I can do anything. I am a minimalist. Except when it comes to clothes. Even then I’m not typical of a woman.
For example: When I was married, my ring was absolutely breathtakingly stunning. I loved it. I stared at it every day. I got my nails done all the time just to make sure it was highlighted by a perfect manicure, I worried about it, checked it, cleaned it, thought surely one day someone would chop off my finger to get it. That ring became part of my identity, I worried over it so much it owned me. It identified me and it tortured me. It elevated me in social standing or so I thought.  I sold it. It was a anvil off my chest.
Example 2: My BMW Z3. It was hot. A convertible, dark blue, tan interior. It turned heads. When I was in it, I felt like a movie star or Charlie’s Angels or something to that effect. I babied it, I talked about It, I obsessed over it, I worried about it, I paid a lot of money maintaining it, I worshipped the car. It supposedly elevated me to a new level of class. I traded it in, I cried like a baby, it was a monkey off my back.
Example 3: My hair. It’s red and curly and everywhere I go, every single day of my life, it receives commentary and attention. It’s a curse, it’s a special power. The attention it draws has caused love, adoration, crushes, women crushes, fawning, embarrassment, sexual harassment, undue attention, an air of unprofessionalism, and a general message that …I want to have sex … if I wear it down. If I wear the hair down, in public, in general I can count on someone behaving in a way that they are sure that I want to have sex with them or that they can behave inappropriately towards me.  For instance, yearly work conference, biggest guy in the system comes over pulls on my hair over and over again and tells me ‘oh what I want to do’ and smells it and declares how much he loves my hair. Inappropriate. I cut it off…  No I didn’t but I wear it in a bun most of the time.
So in other words, things that own me or I adore too much, I get rid of. Next things on my list are my ultra amazing bed in which I spend too much time adoring it and the way it makes me feel (alone) and my jetta – of which I am too fond and think about and obsess about too much. And my hair is next on my list, I’m wondering if I should cut it off and be done with it … relying on the fact that I can attract husband no 3 purely by my wit and smile. Unlikely. It would be like Sampson (sp?) and Delilah I would surely get fired, be an old maid, and lose all of my social standing, (choke) power, charisma and influence.
“Only after disaster can we be resurrected. It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything. Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart.”
Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

Thursday, October 18, 2012

I got good genes

A Story of Douchebaggery
 So I work with a guy who is, let’s just say he’s mentally challenged. And I don’t mean because he has something wrong with him. He is mentally challenged and a douchebag because he must have a very small penis, small brain, or gotten hit in the head to0 many times by people he offended.  I’m guessing the third.
This guy started about one year ago and although he still has learned basically nothing about how to do his job, he pretends to be all knowing and goes about his business of checking up on his coworkers to make sure they get things done, that our boss assigns, even though he is not the boss. Doesn’t sound that bad does it. But cumulatively, he aggravates me so much that I’m glad I’m not one to resort to physical violence, however verbal abuse is fair play. Here is an example of his douchebaggery.
Our boss tells us to move all of a certain report, for all of our customers, to another spot on our database. Essentially electronically move 50 files from one spot to another. It would take hours and it’s a very stupid exercise. With that being said we had until the end of September to do it. (I still haven’t done it) On September 10th douchebaggery comes to my desk and says, “Hey did you get all your files moved?” I say “Um. are you my boss? We have until the end of the month to do it. It’s only the 10th” he says “Well just checking, you’ve got to get it done” I’m like HELLO MYOFBDB !! (Mind your own fucking business Douchebag) WOW WOW WOW my blood starts boiling. (I still haven’t done it. WHY? Because he told me I had to)
Second example: He comes to my desk and says “Hey why were you out of the office yesterday” I say “none of your business” he laughs and I smile (because I’m at expert at bitchcraft) and say “I was sick DB, I had a  migraine all day” He says … “Sounds like the wineflu to me”  I think Duh dumb dumb I drink vodka. Grrr. From then on every time I’m sick he says I have wineflu. He’s putting nails in his coffin.
Third example: He comes to my desk (essentially he is at my desk at least 5x per day harassing  me) He says “hey, how was your weekend”  I say it was great. He says “So you got some strange?”  MIND YOU!! I have never talked about anything sexual with this mentally challenged douchebag! He should expect it when he least expects it. (Get Smart – literally)
Fourth example: Walks by my desk and says under his breath “Hey Hooker how you doing” And I say excuse me what did you say? He says “I just say hey hey how you doing” Uh huh. He shouldn’t walk in front of my car.
Fifth example: I say your parents must have been ugly because that is hereditary. He says what did you say? Terriditory? I say no ding dong, HEREDITERY. He says oh. They aren’t and neither am I, but it is not hereditary it’s genetic. (HA) I say it’s the same thing. I guess your parents were stupid too. He says … no genetics and heredity are two different things. I say no they aren’t. We are like 5 y/o now going back and forth. He walks away. As he does I say one of the meanest things I’ve ever said in my life … “Don’t get in an accident on the way home” he didn’t hear me. I think you can get fired for workplace violence. I wonder which is worse, sexual harassment or workplace violence?
So he leaves and I look it up. And apparently the study of heredity is called genetics. I sent him the proof via email (link and excerpt) and I said … Boom Farm Boy Wrong Again. Of course he doesn’t respond.
So with that being said, there is something to be said for good breeding and apparently his parents should not have had children. I know mean but true.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Crazy Dream

I have a sister, she obsessed with moving away and whenever things get stressful or overwhelming she would revert to the ‘I’m just packing up and moving away’ conversation. My sister is really eccentric. That's a nice way to say batshit crazy. I'm only eccentric. (Joking Sis) We have crazy ideas and verbalize them and people don’t think we are serious. But we usually are. Like her Kill List for example. No blog about that. Anyhow --- So over years and years and years she’s been driving me insane with the I’m moving scenario crazy dream. 
She reminds me of a visit to an elderly person and they tell you every single time that they see you, about their bunion, or their bedsore, or their heartburn whatever. But I would just smile at her and basically say …. OMG you’re just stressed out and you ramble about this when you want to escape. In my mind I would say … STFU I’m so tired of hearing this stupid bullshit story. But I love her I do.
Ironically, the other day, she said to me … "Hey will you stop! You already told me the x,y,z story 3x and I’m so tired of hearing it over and over again.(Mind you it was only about the 3rd time) it really drives me insane." And I just said something like ok sorry. Internal dialog said ... omg you are such a bunt. reminds with ... ha. Not nice. Needless to say EVERY SINGLE TIME I see her or talk to her, she repeats one of her stories … like years old stories. I used to kindheartedly let it go. Now, because I’m passive aggressive, I say … “I’m so sick and tired of hearing that story over and over again. It drives me insane” I’ve had the privilege of throwing it in her face about a dozen times in the few weeks that it’s been since she scolded me for boring stories. Ha payback is a bitch. It’s so fun to win. HA.
So I have a crazy moving dream too, and I’m going to move within 5 years to Italy. Why the 5 year mark? Because I want to be less than (Insert my age here)  when I move. There will at least be a slim chance of hope that I’ll have lost weight by then, gotten a facelift and boobs, and will  be totally hot.
Incidentally part one of the plan is in motion. I joined the health club. Sadly I didn’t make it to the gym today – that makes the 5th year in a row. (I stole that joke)  
With that being said the second part of the plan is the bring Prince Harry with me, for which I’d have to be totally hot, or if he declines – which I’m guessing he will because I’ll be nearly (insert age here +5)  by then and he will still be significantly younger .. .. plan b to part two is that I’ll go alone and meet some hot Italian guy who knows no English and can speak Italian to me while we are naked in bed. plan c is i'll go alone, send Prince Harry a shit ton of photos and packages until he just can't resist 'visiting' and then i'll steal his passport and clothes so he can never leave. (I say I wouldn't do that ...the stealing his passport part is totally inappropriate and wrong, the other part is totally socially acceptable to do in my book)
(I Blame all of this blog on Tourettes. I was telling my friend today that I really like diagnosing people, and since I present the diagnosis as if it were fact, I should really go back to school to get the credentials to back it up. Not gonna do it. Just saying.  Too bad I can’t diagnose myself … look a pony! )  
The first scenario is the favored one though. Just saying (Prince Harry)  And it’s a crazy story and people think I’m not going to do it, and I tell people every single day that I’m going to do it ---- and mark my words I’m going to do it. Unlike my sister I’m actually going to move somewhere fabulous. And then there will be bliss, and lots of walking by the ocean, great food, and sex.  Italy is conducive to sex, food, and walking. That’s just the way it is. It’s the way of the world. And music too. Yes music.
So do you sense some competition among sisters? Hell I’d like to write just about that today but I won’t. It would be a BOOK. Hmmm that’s an idea. Anyhow my crazy sister packed it up last week and moved somewhere fabulous too! I can’t believe that bitch beat me to it. She moved by the ocean. She’s a bitch on the beach and she one-upped me.  Healthy competition is good – or unhealthy as the case may be. This is just the inspiration that I needed to get my 5 year plan going --- full speed ahead. Italy here I come.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Excuse me Ma'am where is the GYM?

I’ve been in the contemplative stage for I don’t know, years about exercise. Honestly the only time that I exercise is when I am naked. And if that activity is … well inactivity … I naturally start to get fat. Not only fat, but fat and unhappy. So with that being said I’ve been in the contemplative stage for, well most of my adult life.
This is my life. I wake up, look in the mirror, well I try to only look in mirrors that are like … medicine cabinet mirrors … when I’m naked. That way I can’t see the damage I’ve done below the breast area. Or should I say the damage children, inactivity, and Indian food have done to my lower body. Here’s a thought. Went to the Indian place the other day and we were joking with the owner that we’ve gained weight because we go to her ‘buffet’ like 3x a week. She vehemently denied her food would make us fat. This is the food. Creamy sauces, cheese, and fried food. Ok. I don’t understand the logic there. She said, but seriously ladies do you ever see Indian people who are overweight? They are fit and healthy. We nodded in agreement, in my mind I was thinking the following. First of all, yes I’ve seen plenty of fat Indian women. They wear Sari’s with their back fat hanging out (sometimes) and they have men with big fat bellies. Incidentally they are usually smaller in stature, but still can pack on the lard. Conversely NO I haven’t seen Indian people, say on the internet or TV that depict the desperately poor people that live in India. Of course starvation makes you skinny, but if you eat cheese, fried food, and cream sauce you are going to get fat. After her dumb logic in that area I decided never to go back, until the next day when I was really starving for some saag paneer. Ha.
Ok back on the subject. So what has my contemplative stage looked like. I avoid mirrors, especially at night when gravity has done even more damage on my body. It pulls everything downward. The best time for anyone to see you naked is clearly in the morning. That is why I firmly believe that men enjoy morning sex so much, aside from that they are usually unconsciously ready for it without even trying. If you know what I’m saying. (I’m getting a visual here. It’s daytime and I’m inactive – this is not a good thing)
When I do look in the mirror there is internal dialog. From the shoulders up my brain says … Wow (insert my name here), you have an afro, you are ugly, you are getting wrinkles, look at your chin. Age, Alcohol and smoking are taking its toll. You have to stop. Then I accidentally walk by the full view mirror, the only thing I don’t like about my new condo. Full length mirrors in every bathroom and bedroom. Clearly the college aged women who rented before me were conceited bitches. Moving on … I glance and stop and say to myself … holy shit you are a hideous fat ugly monster. (no lie) and then as I go about my day I compare myself to every morbidly obese woman, and those in between, and say to myself … Angela surely you look exactly like that. You’ve got to do something about your big fat butt. You have to exercise. How can you accomplish that? Yes you will start exercising … someday. This is literally an every single day dialog that I have with myself.
When I do bite the bullet and exercise it lasts MAYBE a week or so. This is why … I head out usually running, and being the perfectionist that I am I do it full force, render myself disabled for the next 3 days, go about my day looking like I’m a pathetic senior citizen, and promise myself next time I’ll start slow. There never is a next time.
I’m in a stage in my life where I have to make a decision. Either I’m going to age gracefully – make sure my body is as HAWT as possible, and if my face is ugly it won’t be that large a blow because I can just stare at my awesome a** and make sure other people do as well, or let myself continue on this road of laziness and gluttony and get a facelift when I start to turn heads --- away from me. OR … find a preferably younger man who will have sex with me 3x a day, inspire me to participate in a very cardio –exercise way, AND get a facelift. That’s the plan that I’m shooting for. I’ve posted a job ad on CareerBuilder. The job doesn’t pay, because if I did then I’d end up on the news, and /or in jail. But it would be a fun ride, literally.

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Diarrhea Mouth

So. Thursday night there was nearly an incident on the flight coming from O'Hare flying to Omaha. Why? I was on it. Here's how it went 

Ever been on a flight when someone,, in my life usually next to or within a few rows of me, thinks the world is a stage. Yes and not for entertainment but rather to use the passengers that are sequestered on the plane as an unsuspecting victims to spew diarrhea on them from their mouths. Disgusting huh. Do you know what I'm talking about ? Verbal diarrhea. This is how it goes ...

They sit down to some poor a hole, who is also party to this atrocity, and start with the sweet politeness. "hi how are you? My name is Sheila Blowhard ( or suckhard whatever you like better
) how are you ? So what do you do for a living (yes this is how you know that you're gonna wish you brought something sharp on the plane to kill yourself or the other person with) and en its the banter back and for. At first it's like .... I, listening, this could be interesting, oh I bet we know some of the same people, then it's obvious she wants the person and all those within earshot, to know how wonderful beautiful smart and accomplished she is. Only thing is, the ones with diarrhea mouth just think they are. Oh Mr A Hole who keeps engaging me, I am a big wig at FNB and oh you are an astronaut? Wow we are hiring astronauts. Since I've been chatting with you all of ten minutes I'd like to give you my card, you should call me because I'd like to hire you. Then sadly, that's not the end of the convo. Mr A Hole thinking this stupid dumb biotch is really looking for an astronaut, says minor things to keep her fueled for conversation. Its been about 15 minutes the convo is fucking boring and it's about time they would stop talking. NOPE now the convo turns personal. 

Oh where did you go on your trip 
Where do you live
Do you have kids 
Where did you grow up 
Are you married 
This looks like Mrs blow hard and suck hard is genuinely interested in his answers. She's not. She uses each as a platform to talk about that particular question and how it relates to HER. And it's not interesting. She is a mom. She works at fnb she grew up in Ponca and went to Omaha north. She is married and she knows about computers at least she knows that databases are sequel. Pooh ahhhh the guy is attractive and unmarried. She makes a point of telling him she's married, what part of town she lives in, HOW HARD IT IS TO BE MARRIED and incidentally soon after, how her husband is out of town. Literally an hour of non stop bullshit coming out of her mouth. 

I put my headphones on and turned the music up as loud as possible until blood dripped out of my ears. I could still hear her. I wanted to absolutely hurt her. I wanted to reach over and slap her so hard her mother could feel it. I wanted to say lady you are such a dog you aren't getting any tonight and you'd look better if shit really were coming out of your GD pie hole. I was that angry. 

Why so angry? Because the guy was hot and I wanted to talk to him and she stole my thunder. Ha. Just Jk. Because she was stupid and uninteresting and she was invading my brain and spewing her diarrhea mouth all over me. And I still have her horrible voice ringing in my ears. Why people. Don't do it and the flight attendants should have bats that they are allowed to use on these people ...just whack em on the head and knock them out for the duration. I fly. 2x a month. On 99percent of the flights someone is afflicted with diarrhea mouth for which only bodily harm is the cure. 

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Crazy Town

So. I was in Chicago and after a full days work, I was ready to drive to my next destination. Unfortunately I would never make it because, although I'm an exceptional genius when it comes to travel and logistics, somehow I justified going to Chicago in January and a blizzard was grounding me at the airport Hilton.  Good news is I did learn from my experience. I made the same travel schedule for next year.

So. I'm at the hotel and realize that I'm stuck. There will be no white castle, no portillos, no Chicago hot dogs. I'd have to put my mission to develop the baddest badonkadonk on hold. I'll have to eat in the hotel. I look at the room service menu and it sucks so I walk down to the restaurant and wait at the hostess station to be seated. The restaurant seating is vacant and there is no hostess to be found. Could it get even worse ?! I look around the corner to the hotel bar, where they also serve food. It's packed, with men.

Normally this would not be a problem, but rather a delight. But I have a staunch rule. I do not ever ever ever drink or go to  bars while traveling. Alcohol, and unfamiliar people and places are dangerous to a vulnerable woman. Anyway, so look at that. You really can have two personalities. Work me, and play me. Not literally PLAY ME  though I do feel like its written on my forehead sometimes.

So. I nervously choose the safest place to sit. One stool between a guy with his head in his iPad, and the other who was extremely fat and loud mouthed. As soon as I sat down the fat dude steered his conversation to me. First asking me questions to feign interest, then revealing he was a TEAMSTER and so what else could I do but swap BROWN stories with him. It actually was a very entertaining convo even after he gave me his card, told me to "look up the lies they tell about him" on google, and invited me to call him saying "it never hurts to know a TEAMSTER" in case you have to dispose of a dead body. I giggled, haha what a bullshitter. The fat TEAMSTER leaves, my food and 3 rd drink arrive, and I turn towards my plate. I realize at that point iPad guy is looking at me. I look back and smile, and he says in a perfect English accent, Babs why were you talking to that guy, he was such a freak?! I laughed and said ... Because he was entertaining. He asked me if he gave me his number and I said yes. We both laughed, a lot, and I said lets look him up on your iPad and see if he was lying. Mr Accent looks it up and BAM the guy is on Internet with all sorts of indictments and accusations against him. This guy was the real deal. This would only happen to me. I texted my friend and told her about the teamster. She got all excited, and asked if I got his phone number. Can you imagine what a perfect boyfriend he would be? He was rich, he was a criminal, and he was willing to hide bodies for me. She said it not me. At that point I was able to confirm that my friend really was twisted and deranged. Those are the makings of a perfect friend. :) 

Honestly i did think of the benefits of such a boyfriend, but frankly I would rather not rot in jail, or HELL  for that matter, before I'd accept a big fat guy for a love interest, never mind the fact that someday he could decide to hide MY DEAD BODY !

COMING SOON  an even better part two to this story. Same night, more insanity story. 

Remember these blogs are TRUE 

Get Busy

So. I'm sitting in the airport by the gate and some old lady just farted. GREAT.

They say in writing you should write to please one person, aside from yourself. If you try to appeal to mass audiences you will achieve nothing.

I am going on a journey starting Monday. For years I haven't owned a TV and now Im going to commit to no vehicle usage during daylight hours. Yes daylight hours only.   1. Because I live in the hood and someone will hit me over the head with a pipe.   2.The Leavenworth rapist is on the loose. I wonder if he's hot.   3. Because I don't want to take a bus or cab to the bar, round trip. Lol. I'm going to write about those experiences on public transportation, a cab, or walking. Seeing that every time I've walked anywhere I ran into some crazy random person it should make for some interesting commentary.

Got to go now. Plane boarding. White castle here I come

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Permission to Act Stupid

For a short period in my life, albeit a very drunken period .... I was clumsy. Clumsy in the way I describe in my entry "a crack to the head" but also many other ways. Admittedly drinking correlated with the mishaps. Here is one of them. 

Beloved Cupcake
I was at a bar, imagine that, at a table with a bunch of my "girls" one of my BFF's had a stalker of sorts. A really old guy who wanted to have sex with her. That wasn't happening because she already had a stud on retainer who ascribed to her very unusual tastes. You know how terrified you were when your child or a child you knew was bitten in daycare? Well she likes bite marks, on herself. Enough said. 

So ... BFF gets a lovely gift from old man perv. It's a specially wrapped cupcake. She is touched and thanks him profusely. I laugh and say OHH how sweet. She says I'm going to save it for my grandma who's on hospice and won't eat. Maybe she will eat this. Then she exits to the toilet. The beer has made her incontinent like grandma.* While gone, and with an audience to entertain, I take the box, open it, and take a gander at the treat. It's beautiful and I must have him, I mean it. I take it out and while laughing hysterically, eat it with wreck less abandon while they look on in horror, but gay delight as well. Like watching something really naughty and trying not to enjoy it. I rewrapped the box and place it neatly in its place and put on a straight face while the rest can't stop giggling. BFF came back realized what I had done and I and everyone else started laughing so hard. I had to goto the bathroom. While I was gone, Prince Harry walked in and sat at the table. I came back, still laughing and loaded, and went to sit down, missed the chair and fell on my a**. He smiled, walked over to me, picked me up, and said its time to go.  Later I say omg Harry I'm so embarrassed. He says oh darlin it's ok you fell very gracefully. You were like a little ballerina, you just went POP.  Permission to Act Stupid.
*the part about Grandma was a lie. 

Monday, September 17, 2012


So. I’ve been following a Facebook page called IDATEDTHATDOUCHE.COM. At first it was funny, then it was hilarious, then it was discouraging, then it was just down right sad. If you haven’t seen the site it’s essentially meme cards that say mean/funny/rude things on them, and stories submitted by women and douchebags about their horrible dating life. Hey that sounds like my blog but here’s the difference. I mainly make fun of myself and its self-deprecating humor based on my bad decisions. This blog is purely man-hater material. I actually felt myself becoming more and more opposed to the male species the more I read it, then I was ovulating and all men became beautiful again. AH the beauty of hormones.
So. Since we are on the subject there should be a site called And with that being said, I’ll share with you a douchebag story about my first husband. God I hope he never reads this because I think he’s still in love with me. After all, who wouldn’t be!
So. In one of my past blogs I talk about how we met, how he was sterile, how we had lots of babies together, etc. That is the once upon a time part. Now comes the first couple of chapters. We met he was tall, dark and handsome and wore z cavarricci’s, plus he was a good kisser. I thought at the time that he was a good lover but I’ve been proven wrong since. VERY VERY wrong. But that is not the most important part of a relationship. At least that is what HE said. Literally.

So. I’m pregnant and my brother and sister-in law are getting married. It’s going to be a great affair at a fancy hotel on New Year’s Eve. By that time I’ll be big as a house because Baby #1 is due mid-January. Super exciting – especially since this is my favorite brother in the world. Albeit my only brother. My sister-in-law asks me to be her maid of honor. I was surprised and happy that she asked me. I tell my douchebag. I mean my husband. We talk about it. Being the cheap selfish bastard that he is, he is first worried about money. Second. He is jealous. Yes he is jealous that some Italian Stallion will come around and sweep his very pregnant wife off of her feet. I wish! So he manipulates me. Oh. You don’t want to do that. It’ll be awful outside, what if you have the baby early; you are going to be huge and uncomfortable. Then of course I buy into the garbage and say yes you are right dear, I will be an embarrassment to my sister-in-law. I don’t want to be an embarrassment to anyone. Incidentally he was very good at making me feel like I was an embarrassment and failure every day of my married life.
So. I call her and tell her and give her all the stupid excuses on why I am thankful she asked me, but it would be a bad decision and rationalize all of it. To this day I still feel like a big pile of poop for doing that – thank you very much. I married that douchebag.
Next chapter.                                                                                                                                                      
So. I go to the wedding, I didn’t look TOO bad, though I was probably 200 lbs. and I live through it. It was a great affair. I guess I thought about this event because I’m going to be staying at the same locale on Wednesday evening in Chicago. So. I have the baby and enjoy my 6 week vacation with him and return to work. I’m excited I love my job and everyone is glad to see me. I look great. Honestly. I’m 22 years old but that’s beside the fact. I am going about my business of catching up and settling down when my boss comes in and tells me there is a phone call for me. No one ever calls me at work. I pick up the phone in my boss’ office and its prince charming on the phone. Hi (Insert my name here) how is your first day back at work? Did you enjoy the roses that I sent you? I checked on our newborn son and his sitter and everything is going great. Would you like me to pickup dinner on the way home from my new job at the car dealership? I was so touched. Wait for it, Wait for it, Wait for it. That was bullshit and this blog is about REAL STORIES. This is how it went.
"Hi (insert my name here) I am the dealership and I need a ride home from work". I say “Why do you need a ride home, I’m working” Prince Charming says … "because I cannot work for these a-holes anymore and I told them to F off and I had to give my demo car back and I need a ride home". This was the introduction to my happily ever after, and after that, and after that, and after that. Same Story, Different Job. Touching isn’t it. If you are a masochist.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

Prince Hairy

So. One night, Back in the day, I got home from work. It was gorgeous outside and I didn't know what my plans were, but I knew I should plan nothing because that's when great things happen. Im the phone, coaching someone on how to deal with a psychotic employee. And my phone is beeping there's someone on the other line. I know who it's gonna be ... Because it feels like this friend and I have some kind of weird intuition thing .... I disconnect and see who called. Yay I am the luckiest girl in the world.

So. I know I always say that. If I say it enough it may happen. There's a theory about that. Let's take a little side step. It's my ADD. Intuition, willing things to happen, ESP, life after death, blah blah blah. The most surreal thing that ever happened to me when I was a kid was .... Mom used to call us and say ... girls we want your dad to do XYZ so chant it over and over and we will see if it happens. And it usually worked. We only used our dark magic for really important things ... Like bewitching my Dad into coming home with KFC. Woot woot.

So. Back to the story. This friend, who I feel like I've known forever, is a young buck. Lol. That's what men that I know call him when we are out together. So (insert name here) how's your young 
buck. I say stfu he's not my young buck he's my future husband. No I don't really say that. I might think it. I don't Say it out loud. I have more discretion than that. Ha. 

So.  Where am I going with this. Good question. Let's be honest. All my stories are true. Sad but true. So why stop now. So this young buck, I mean fiancĂ©, ooops I mean stud ...he needs a name. Let's call him Harry. Cause he really is a prince and he's sort of hairy. Did you know, incidentally, that hairy men, back hair included, are very good in bed? Just sayin. 

So.  My God I didn't take my meds this morning. I'm kidding. Or am I ? Who's to say. So Harry calls. Yay luckiest girl in the world. I feel like a princess when I'm around Harry. (had to say it ) he's sweet he's smart he's artistic, he is musical, he's gentlemanly - but only when he should be, he's romantic, he's chivalrous, he's HOT AS F@&$/@&$& Sorry Tourette's. He comes and picks me up. We go to an outdoor seating area and in our usual style we drink and we smoke and we smoke and we drink and we drink and we drink and we drink oh then we smoke. Normally there is dancing intermingled in there but we drank hard core really fast out of the gate so when it came time to dance, well we just were to wasted to bother. Just to be frank. We went bar hopping a little bit, we stopped and I got a piano concert, it was awesome. We had deep discussions as usual. We encourage each other and listen to each other and basically we understand each other. Harry is a friend I love. This is my litmus test. Harry is the only man in the world that I love, and would still love, even if his penis fell off. I mean the romantic love for a man, not a relative you sickos. So again where am I going with this. 

So. The night is ending, Harry is exhausted reasonably so, and abruptly says (insert my name here) I need to go home. He throws a couple smokes on the table, hugs me goodbye and goes home. I say why, why don't you stay, he says nope gotta go. I am drunk. He is drunk. No one acts normal when they are drunk especially me. That's why I drink because drunk makes me more interesting. He leaves and I absolutely have a melt down. Picture a toddler in the toy aisle wailing. Yes literally that is me. It was a tantrum. A temper tantrum. I can say though, that I didn't punch a wall. I am beyond pissed. I call Harry. His phone is dead. I text him, no answer. ( duh drunk girl his phone is dead) and suddenly I realize my phone is going dead and I left my wall charger in his car. How am I supposed to send him messages about how pissed I am if my phones going dead. 

So. I get in my car and race to his house, and ring the bell about 3 times. He doesn't come to the door, I'm getting in my car and he appears at the door. I see him from the driveway and he's gorgeous in his underpants. Shit I'm almost not mad for a second. I simply say Harry unlock your car I need my charger. He does. I take it, I don't say a word, I get in my car and speed away. Yes smart, angry drunk girl driving. Very dumb. He emails. It says ...something like ... You sped away  i lost my phone  youre very angry and i dont want you to be upset ... He didnt know why i was angry. Thats because I'm a crazy bitch ! Idk when I saw it. Since I'm considered brilliant to some I'm sure it was not drunk angry and driving and checking emails all at the same time. No absolutely not. I agree I'm stupid as fuck. I just ate Taco Bell. I'm sure that I'm fine. So now I go back to bar, for what purpose idk. I'm red faced obviously crying drunk girl going to get her drink on. I have two, call the cab, and go home. In the interim sending Harry a rash of mean bitchy texts. 

So. Then it's the morning after. I tell my good friend the story, she puts it in perspective. (my god she always puts it in perspective) I realize why I freaked out, Harry would not bend to my will. You know what else I realized, that's part of the reason I love him. :). 

Friday, September 14, 2012

A Good Crack in the Head

So. Back in the day I was going about my business, casually dating, meeting various people and having fun regularly with a somewhat crazy girlfriend of mine. We would go to the local ‘place’ and drink and smoke and do whatever else it is that you do in a bar. One night in particular, it was Halloween. I dressed up. NO I didn’t dress up in a costume, I dressed up in a ‘really hot outfit’ or so I thought. Thinking back the thing that comes to mind first is WTH were you thinking?!
So. I’m sitting on a stool. I’ve got some new hot jeans on, fleur de leis on the pockets, woot woot, they were only about 150 bucks. They were worth it though. I got good use out of them. I think I wore them about twice. And a white long sleeve t-shirt, and these crazy high heels. Why were they crazy you say? Because they were cowboy style clogs. I mean the heels were like 4” high. They were really easy to get on, your foot just slid right into them. It felt like you were walking on stilts with these shoes on. Incidentally they were very easy to slip off your foot, while walking no less.
So. In usual style I drink. And drink. And drink. And smoke. And drink. Then I drink more. At this point I’m not thinking rationally. I go to the bathroom and sit down on the stool (I hate that term) in a little bathroom stall. A multi-stall bathroom. I feel sleepy. In my ultimate wisdom I think I should close my eyes for a minute. (Sitting on the toilet with my pants down in a public bathroom, at a bar) Yes it was a wise thing to do.
So. I wake up. I’m sure it was just a few moments that I dozed off. (Sure) someone is knocking on the stall. She says … “Insert my name here” What are you doing? You’ve been in here for a long time, you have to come out. I say “Insert her name here” I’m just really tired. I’ll be okay” She says “no seriously, you need to come out of the bathroom (Insert my name here)
So. Somehow or another I put my pants back on, I don’t remember if that was an independent effort, or if I got help. Two people (man and woman?) help me outside of the establishment, out the backdoor, around to the front seating area outside. Probably in case I threw up. As if I’d ever do anything that disgusting. (Look forward to more stories about getting sick later) My little friend, and she is little, comes out to help me. She decides she can half-carry me to her van and take me home. If I was of my right mind, I’d know she couldn’t do it. But I was giddy with vodka and thought the whole thing was hilarious and couldn’t stop laughing. As I’m leaning on her we walk through the lot and get within feet of her vehicle, and my shoes don’t cooperate. I’m not sure exactly what happened with my feet, but I start to fall backward and just remember a thud on the back of my head. This is where the story gets interesting.
So. Apparently I knocked the base of my skull on the back of a pickup truck bumper. No big deal. So I go about the business of my life. Go to work, Go out, Drink more, smoke more, casually date more, etc. I didn’t notice anything unusual. The only thing different in my life was I had just met Mr. Right. Yep this was the guy that was going to be with me forever. Let me go on …. Please!
So. Mr. Right #451 was a Dentist. He was well-educated. He was fit (if you call a tiny little anorexic man fit) He was cute (if you call an older guy who looked like a cartoon character cute … yes that is a reference to a past post) and he was, admittedly, rich. Now as you know RICH and WELL-EDUCATED and PROFESSIONAL is unusual for me. I usually am much more discriminating. Normally, I’ll say it again; I go for the biggest losers. Mr. Right #451 was definitely not a loser. On paper anyway. 
So. I was dating Mr. Right #451 and we were having a good time. Dinner, talking, wine, chats, etc. The relationship was just moving to another level – if you know what I mean – coincidentally right after I hit the base of my skull on the bumper of the pickup truck. Actually I think it was just a couple days before. I arrive at Mr. Right #451 home, and we drink some wine, we have some dinner and we sit on the couch. We start to ‘make out’ and soon I’m lying flat on the couch. I’m surprised at how good Mr. Right #451 makes me feel.  Whenever we start making out, never mind the fact that it also correlates with me lying flat, I get so dizzy and my head feels like its spinning. This surely is what love feels like. I’m in love with Mr. Right #451 I tell him, and he tells me the same. Life is beautiful. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.
So. Fast forward. We end up spending night after night after night together. Actually it was about 14 days straight. Some people may call this a weird unhealthy, moving too quickly relationship. I call it love. He told me how it ended with the last love of his life, he shared everything with me and if I were thinking clearly I’d have realized that he was a stalker and was involved in court proceedings because someone was pressing charges against him. One day, I decide it’s time to go home and feed my dog. I wonder if he’s still alive?! (Just kidding) and I go home. I’m tired and it’s good to be in my own bed. So I retire in my bed. I’m lying flat. Something really weird happens. I’m so dizzy and my head feels like it’s spinning, like I’m in love. What am I in love with my bed?! It goes away after a while and I don’t think much of it. Then I stay home another day, and another day, and another day. Guess What? I’m dizzy and my head feels like its spinning EVERYTIME I lie down in bed. This is a come to Jesus meeting with myself. I am not in love. He is not Mr. Right #451 and while sitting upright and contemplating the ‘relationship’ I’m realizing that Mr. Right #451 is probably crazy and I should make a mass exodus. I don’t know if that’s proper English but I love to say it whenever possible. Mass Exodus.
So. The moral of the story is, if you hit the base of your skull on a truck bumper, or anything else for that matter, you really should go to the hospital immediately. Otherwise you may put yourself in grave danger. You could fall in love and God knows what else could happen.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Ah Sweet Romance ..

What were my most romantic moments:
1.       Brian I’m pregnant. Don’t worry we’ll get married. (1st proposal)
2.       I missed you for the last 6 mos. Since we’ve been apart I have dated about 50 different women and none of them were like you. Will you marry me? (2nd proposal)
Those are my top 2. Every girls dream. Yes I’m an idiot for marrying them.

Most romantic:
Sitting in a studio with David (the English dude) while he sang me a song and played his keyboard – a song he wrote for me.
·         Spoiler: He didn’t have a job and was on public aid. Biggest Loser.
My first make-out session ever  when I was in college, with my very first boyfriend.
·         Spoiler: (He later moved to Omaha coincidentally and went out with my sister, dated her for a long while, and told me that she was a better kisser than me)
 Kissing my then husband after I gave birth to our first son. Doing the same after my daughter. Doing the same after our 2nd son.
·         Spoiler: my husband told me he was sterile and couldn’t have children.

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Do you like to ...

Do You Like To ….
So now for the tale of the random suitors I run into on a regular basis.
I was at my favorite establishment and sitting amongst a fairly large group of friends. Actually switching from table to table to visit with various people. I decided to take a BIO break, and when I returned I saw three well-dressed gentlemen. I sat down by a friend who said, those boys are Mayor XYZ’s kids. I’m like wow, I don’t care. They were fairly attractive and obviously had a stiff neck because they had a hard time looking away from my direction, but as you all know if you’ve read my blog before I have great discernment. I always pick the biggest losers.
Turns out these guys were financially taken care of, but were just basically socially inept.
A friend switched from one table to another so I walked over, past the gauntlet of drooling, drunk , staring fools, to sit next to my friend. I thought I was in the clear when one scooted in front of me, stared into my eyes, (how romantic huh) and simply said … DO YOU LIKE TO F*** ??
Even I, who has heard every rude, crude, inappropriate comment was stunned. I was dressed well, I looked respectable and I was not all hookered out. No FMP shoes, No Low Cut Top, No Tight Jeans, Nothing. I stared back, for full effect, and smiled. I said …”Everyone likes to F*** What kind of question is that?” and added “Maybe if you paid your dues, and put a ring on it, I’d consider F***ing you” and I walked away and sat down.
So there it is. I can say that my response evoked even more admiration and declarations of love, and I’m proud to say that I did not go for the loser in this case. Maybe I’m learning J

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Getting What I Deserve

So. Let’s talk about Romance huh?
I met my second husband at a bar. It was a country western bar, and it’s the same bar that I went to 2x a month with my then best friend (don’t you like the ‘then best friends’) who was basically an alcoholic and was introducing me to the fun and frolic of dancing and drinking and the quest to meet Mr. Right at the best possible venue … a country western bar.
So she and I arrived and she was dancing with God knows who, and I was people watching. I was frequently asked to dance, but at that point in my life I rarely did anything at social gatherings but drink, and sit silently observing. At that point in my life I was recovering from a prison sentence. Prison sentence is putting it lightly. I was recovering from my first marriage – virtually a living nightmare.
Who says people don’t make the same mistakes over and over again, I met my first Mr. Right in a bar too. But seriously lightening doesn’t strike twice in the same place. Or does it.
So – It was ladies night. Woot Woot. My Red Solo Cup. Not really it was a clear Dixie cup. Vodka and Cranberry. Literally 2 ounces. But the drinks were only like $2.00 each. Needless to say I went crazy and drank 2 of them. Right about that time Mr. Right #2 came over and started chatting with me. He looked attractive, he was tall, he was dressed as if he was some sort of businessman, and he was polite. He pulled out a chair for me, he listened intently, and he had a genuine smile. Apart from his horrible dental issues, he was perfect. Suddenly I felt really sick (after 2 drinks) and started to walk towards the ladies room, and didn’t make it. I fell down flat on my face. Very odd indeed because I only had two drinks and I was well on my way to alcoholism by that point, and 4 ounces of
Ywdzr5 mixed drinks would not get me there. Mr Right #2 was not phased, and he brought me outside. I sat on the bench and threw up all over the place. How attractive huh. Normally that would create a mass exodus right? Nope.  Mr Right #2 stayed by my side. Warning sign or good sign? Who knows.It does seem like an admirable Suddenly after the poison was out of my system I felt 100% better. We went back inside and had a few more drinks, we danced which was something I never did, and I eventually went home with my drunk friend.
Incidentally this bar eventually closed after it was discovered that the bartenders were putting roofies in the ladies drinks. Ah the classy venues I’ve frequented in this lovely city.
I was in love. Fast  forward 3 years after a long and tumultuous courting period, which I will write about later … It’s time to pick out a ring. He says go to Borsheim’s and pick out a ring. I say “I can’t just pick out a ring. I want to be surprised by the ring.” (Surely I can pick out a ring, I want to pick out a ring because though I loved my fiancĂ© he was cheap, and he had bad taste, and he would probably pick out the ugliest ring ever) So here is the moment of truth. Take notice women this is how you do it. “How about if I go pick out several rings and then you choose the one you like best and you can surprise me with it.” Aw how sweet and not manipulative at all. Uh huh. (it wasn’t at the time, looking back it totally was) However  ladies … this was not going to be a surprise for me. I knew I’d get exactly what I deserved.
So I go to Borsheim’s knowing how much my future husband makes a year. Let’s just say he makes a shit ton of money. He’s going to go big, or he’s going to go home. I look at the designer case. You know the one where the rich old ladies hang, or the sexy mistresses, and try on the $50,000 rings. Yep I went there. I chose the most fantastic ring ever, knowing full well there wasn’t a chance in hell he would buy it for me, and wrote it down as a choice. It was a cool $30,000 dollars. Next I went to the cheap section, chose a ring that was acceptable and very reasonable. IT was about $5,000. I didn’t want that ring. And now, I have to choose THE RING. I want to get the ring that I deserved. I choose a radiant cut 1.5 carat diamond ring with a Victorian setting. It was stunning. It was about $15,000 dollars. (Needless to say Saul’s Pawn Shop didn’t pay that much for it)  This is the ring that I wanted.  Being the master negotiator, spin selling salesperson I knew that my strategy would work. He went, he bought, he proposed. I was the luckiest girl in the world. For the entire 6 years that we were married there was not a single day that went by that someone didn’t stop me and say … OMG that ring is gorgeous. Or … OMG I have never seen a ring that beautiful before. Or … Your ring is amazing. Etc etc etc. That ring owned me. Sometimes I forget I don’t have it and touch my finger and feel panicked. Once I even cried when I realized it was gone. With that being said, I’m glad I pawned it. No one should love material possessions that much.
So. Dreams really do come true and I got exactly what I deserve. Another 6 years, in a living hell, with Mr. Right#2 that I met at the bar.  I wonder where I’ll meet #3?

Monday, September 10, 2012

In Search Of ... The Most Interesting Man in the World

In search of The Most Interesting Man in the World I decided in my ultimate wisdom to place an ad on So here is my genius script meant to attract a qualified love match.

I'm sane
(most of the time)

I'm a real person. This profile is not a joke.
(Only my life is)

I have nearly grown children

I'm self-supporting
(until now)

I'm divorced
(twice. I couldn’t say no and embarrass him in front of everyone, and besides what would he do with the BIG ring?!)

I don't regret past mistakes I learn from them.
(the quick fixes, cures and get rich easy schemes are easier the second time around - you know what they say hindsight is 20/20)

I have great strengths. I'm intelligent, I'm driven, I'm resilient, I'm discerning
(for instance you know that show biggest loser? well I can always pick em that is a valuable strength if used responsibly, never said I was responsible.)

I'm reasonably attractive.
(My Match dates have said Wow your photos do not do you justice..coincidentally I think all of their cell phones broke because I never heard from them again)

I'm sarcastic
(I'm really not)

I love to laugh and have fun
(Especially in church)

I enjoy the company of a good man
(Or at least one who looks good I can find the good in any man, at least that's what the waitress at the bar says if it’s a BAD thing!!)

I like to make new friends
(And borrow money from them)

I like men who are men not women
(You know ... are not prettier than I am, do not spend more than 20 minutes or so getting ready, dress like men, act like men, perform basic tasks like pitching instead of catching

Honesty is important.
(like when I followed my last match date he said "Lady you are crazy I never want to see you again" what a liar! I know he just lost my number and didn’t want to admit it! )

Disclaimer: that’s a joke I’m not a stalker I've only followed 1/2 of my ex match dates and none of my ex-husbands.

Compliments are nice
(you know ... nice shoes, pretty dress, nice butt ... nice blankity blank ... I like compliments )

(OH sweetie thanks for brushing your teeth before we went out this time ,sweetie it was nice of you not to throw that drink in my face when I told you that dirty joke ... )

(Theory of relativity. I don't know it is do you? - I want to learn something from my date. Like current events...someone has to tell me what was on the news last night because I was at the bar! ... someone well read and well spoken ... you know good manners rub off if you hang around long enough I may learn some good English)

I want to watch the movie TRUE GRIT over and over again so I can learn good English. loll.

Men who are well formed
("Excuse me ma'am where's the gym" have all of the appropriate parts, 10 fingers 10 toes, 3 legs, fully functioning brain ... two eyeballs are always good)

Someone who is attractive, in my eyes.
( I love a guy who looks like a cartoon character. Don't ask me what that means, it’s just what my sister and dad always told me that I was attracted to ... "You know all these guys you like look like cartoon characters?" they didn't notice that the guys I brought home were really not men but life size cardboard cutouts. - the most interesting man in the world ... )

Men who like small children and animals
(but don’t want either ...joking it's ok if you have kids or dogs but I'm not going to birth anymore babies)

And on to my next task .... I'm nearly done with match it's getting boring and I think I've ruined every chance I had with the 450 nice guys I've gone on a date with on here .... hookup Omaha here I come ... NOT!  well perhaps maybe

Sunday, September 9, 2012

An Act of Congress

So. I never legally changed my name – and I thought changing it on your social security card was ‘legally changing your name’ and the other identifications that you use such as a drivers license, or a passport were just alias’ if you will. So I go about my entire adult married life thinking, “I never changed my name legally – I’m so cool” and then after I got divorced (2 nd time) I go to the DMV to get my driver’s license changed. They say …”You have to bring your stamped legal divorce decree” (I’m like whatever I have my passport my birth certificate, my copy of my decree, residence proof, everything I could think of) So I get the legal copy with all the dumb stamps and everything. I go back. The lady behind the desk starts reading the decree and I’m thinking … am I really letting a 10 dollar an hour clerk analyze my divorce decree and for what purpose? And other explicative (whatever however you spell it) running through my mind. She says “Sorry you don’t have the legal order in the decree that allows you to change your name back” I said “Really, Really? What are you talking about. I’m divorced, I never changed my name legally, what are you talking about” She says “You can’t change the name on your license back to your maiden name without a court order or verbiage in your divorce decree saying you are allowed to do that” I said … “Jesus I guess we live in a 3 rd world country or something and it takes an act of congress to get rid of your stupid ex-husbands last name on your driver’s license”

Ok so there is my story. Doesn’t it suck! And to this day my stupid attorney still hasn’t gotten me a court date and my legal name remains as Mrs. Douchebag

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Don't Worry We Will Get Married ....

I've been sorting out where all the fun started and it's become abundantly clear ...

It all started when I met *HIM* at a bar in the city. He was wearing his Z Cavarriccis (sp) and a black t shirt. He was at the club dancing on the stage and was doing some kind of MC Hammer thing. I saw his ass and was immediately in love. We met. We chatted. We traded phone numbers and the games began.

He was a stud tall dark and handsome. A perfect candidate for forever.  Lived with mom and dad had no car no job and no education. He told me he was a CPA when we met. That was a *story* soon forgotten. He was a great storyteller.

He was aloof. He was selfish. He was a bad boy. And he was unattainable. A Perfect Storm. I was an Italian daughter, with a strict father, and the hymen intact. I had just started to learn what heavy petting meant at 21 y o. We went on one date, he kissed me, I went inside and told my Mom we were going to get married. My mom said "I know" and started crying. My Mom is very intuitive.

Fast forward 6 mos. We had sex on the beach around my bday. I didn't have to worry though because he said he was sterile, from when he used to take steroids. I'd say his penis shrunk, but he was definitely fertile. I was having a baby. I called him after taking the test and said ... Hey I'm pregnant. He said something like "really? Don't worry we will get married" the guy with no job no money and no car said don't worry we will get married. I was the luckiest girl in the world. Now to tell Dad.

Dad said about two things .1.. You can get married or you can have an abortion. 2 where exa
ctly did this happen? Both equally disturbing things to say.

So shotgun outdoor wedding 2 weeks later. Pretty dress, wonderful food, beautiful decor, the family is there, the judge is there, the bride is ready and it's time to go. It starts raining ... Hard. Good thing because prince charming was running late. He lost his (empty) wallet.  He is 1 hr late ... He updates me ... I lost my keys .... He is 2 hours late ... Can't find wallet or keys ....3 hours late he shows up ....with the best man .... 3 sheets to the wind. Apparently the gay best man was delaying his arrival trying to talk sense into him. See he didn't know the whole thing was grooms plan to get girl pregnant and immediately move up in the world.  That some role reversal huh. It didn't stop there either.

Dad did say something that was full of wisdom ... It was " baby girl you don't have to do this" when prince charming was a couple hours late for the wedding. Well I couldn't not do it .... We already had the food, cake, and guests. WHY DIDN'T THE GUESTS OBJECT ?

Incidentally the day of the ceremony the guy I was dating before prince charming who was away at college came to town asking where I was. Sis told him I was getting married and he cried and said he wanted to marry me. Yea no big loss he was an architect with a job a car a plan and money with a very big .... That I also loved. That's another story. 

Needless to say 11 years later, 3 beautiful children, and a mentally ill physically unfit train wreck of a husband and relationship .Verbal and physical abuse, horrible sex every night, i mean the big o 5 times in 11 years, quicker then wham bam thank you mam Ended in divorce. He got the house the money the car and all of the belongings in the houses  did I mention he probably worked 6 mos out of the year while I worked full time and even on 3rd shift took care of the kids 
while he never lifted a finger. I worked all night and then stayed up all day with kids. I slept 3 hours a day for over a year. 

Moral of the story. Don't date anyone you wouldn't marry. You sleep with dogs you get fleas. You lie with pigs you get dirty. Good looks don't pay the mortgage. And so on and so on and so on ,,, 

So... In hindsight I should have seen the signs and run away  ...