This is the story of a girl...

So, it may come as a surprise to some of you that I, Erotica, Verbal Assassin, castrating men with the flick of her tongue since 1969, that I, actually possess FEELINGS.

I always say that I don't really care what most people think of me.  And for the most part, that is still true.  I don't care that someone thinks I am old, wrinkled, fat, ugly, blah blah blah.  However, that doesn't mean I like to hear them say it, type it, sky write it, etc...

Let's talk about my pictures on here.  I have a full range of no make up, hair in a ponytail pictures (how I look 99% of the time).  I have drunk hair, smudged make up pictures (a.k.a. Adios MotherFucker bar nights).  And I have some from photo shoots (the ones PhotoShopped to hell and back).

That last set is what seems to be on the tip of people's tongues.  And not just my photos, but other people's as well.

Let me describe my non-PhotoShopped-self:

I am 5 foot, 10 inches.  I weigh 185 pounds.  I have freckles.  I am over 50% gray and have a monthly love affair with Shades and Fusions.  I have zits on my chin who have yet to realize that I am no longer a teenager and they can cease to appear.  I am a few months shy of 39.  I have developed what we women refer to as "bat wings" when I lift my arms.  I have a belly that tends to stretch some shirts the way they weren't meant to be stretched.  I have ass and thigh dimples due to my addiction to ass spackle (those tasty food items that you may as well just spackle on your ass, since that is where they will end up.)  And speaking of asses, I have one.  One that I believe puts J-Lo's to shame, that tiny little no ass singer.

And now my PhotoShopped-self:

I am 5 foot, 10 inches.  I weigh 185 pounds.  I have freckles.  I am over 50% gray and have a monthly love affair with Shades and Fusions.  I am a few months shy of 39.  I have developed what we women refer to as "bat wings" when I lift my arms.  I have a belly that tends to stretch some shirts the way they weren't meant to be stretched.  And speaking of asses, I have one.  One that I believe puts J-Lo's to shame, that tiny little no ass singer.

So, let's recap.  The zits are gone, the ass dimples have been spackled.  Other than that, it is still me.  All my flaws, all my glory, everything that makes me, well, ME.  I am not defined by my zits or cellulite.  So who really cares if I have someone digitally zap those suckers away?

Besides, I don't misrepresent that these are pictures of me in all my perfection.  I am the first to state that I am in love with PhotoShop.  Hell, I even told the photographer that since I had gained some weight, she might need to use what I paid her to buy a new edition of PhotoShop since she would burn this one out on my new dimples.

My point, and yes, I have one, is this:

We age.  Even if we do it gracefully, we may find flaws.  If there aren't any, we may make them up.  We may feel unworthy, unpretty, undeserving.  And if we decide that a pretty picture will make us feel better, then what is it to anyone else?

Because chances are, these new pictures will just help us to see what everyone else probably already does.  We are beautiful.  And we all deserve to feel that way. 

I went in to my first session a nervous wreck with a brave front.  I was a 6 month newlywed, married to a man 8 years younger and feeling frumpy.

I walked away with pictures that made me happy.  They made me proud.  They made me feel like a M.I.L.F.  Of course they also made me want to take that awesome photographer around with me 24 hours a day to always make me look like that.

But seeing that I was not what I had felt like made it easier for me to describe my non-PhotoShopped-self and be OK with it. 

So please.  Don't burst my bubble.  Don't rain on my parade.  Don't piss in my Cheerios.  Don't eat yellow snow.  Whatever.

When someone posts their photos, just realize they may not be bragging.  They may not be showing off.  They just may want to show the world that they feel beautiful. 

And who are you to deny them that?

4:08 PM - 6 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Mumbo Jumbo...

So.  I have gotten a few comments that my blogs are not as entertaining as they used to be.  It seems people want more about Mr. Wiggles and Revenge, or even Toadboy's medical mishaps.

Sigh.

I write to tell you about my life.  I don't live my life to have stories to tell you.  It just so happens that the majority of the time, my life reads like a reality TV show.

Happily, lately, my life has been close to drama free.  Which is not as good for my readers, since that also means blog free for the most part.

In the past few months, I have been disrespected by people I trusted, been terrified for a friend, had my life uprooted, put someone close to me in the hospital and cried a lot of tears.

Yes, I could blog about all of that stuff.  But who wants to listen to me rant and whine for a page and a half?  Besides, I love writing/blogging/whatever.  Feeling obligated to do it makes it seem like work.

And a wise person once told me not to make your living doing a hobby you love, or it becomes tedious.

That's why I never became a hooker.

11:23 PM - 13 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Am I Turning In To One Of Those...?

Well, Saturday night was another fun night of contributing to the deliquency of rednecks.  Rach and I played beer bitches at the SuperCross event here in town.

As far as beer bitch nights, it was fairly uneventful.  Didn't have to cut anyone off, neither figuratively nor physically.  Although I did learn that large breasteses make great salt licks.

I hung out for a little while and had a beer after we closed, but I was hungry, tired and fighting a cold, which, if you know me, translates in to "Run, before she hurts someone."

But I didn't.

Yet.

I stopped by Taco Bell on my way home.  Seriously, if it weren't for Taco Bell, I may starve to death late one night.  Since it was after the races, the drive thru was out of control, so I went in.

Mistake.

Hungry, tired, redheaded, left handed, female, Irish, Scorpio verbal assassins should not be released on the unsuspecting public.

As I am waiting for my order (my mood not improved by the fact that the teenage walking pimple asked if that was ALL for me...), a group of teenagers came in.

Now, it is not that I don't like teenagers.  Don't get me wrong.  I LOATHE them...  Well, some of them.  Like these kind.  Loud, obnoxious and disrespectful.

So there they are, in line like some little gang bangers.  Only, this being Grand Junction, our version of gang bangers is somewhat like the groupies that hung out with Barney, the big purple dinosaur.

They got louder, starting swearing and throwing hot sauce packets at each other and generally just making the rest of the people in there cringe.

And then I hear "Are you fucking serious?"

Oops, that was me.

Then this little prepubescent twit of a girl snarled at me.  "Ooh, look, the old lady has something to say!"

Sigh.  Wait!  What did she just say?

And it happened.

I snapped.

And I started walking toward the group, smiling and speaking very slowly.

"Old lady?  Is that the best you could come up with?  Seriuously?  Is this what our public schools are coming to?  You couldn't come up with something a little more creative?  Really?  Not even 'snatch'? 'Traitor twat'?  Nothing?  Old lady.  Pfft.  Pathetic.  I am going out to my truck.  If you can come up with something better, let me know."

They just stood there.  Fidgeting.  Jaws dropped.  Silent.

And it hit me.  Was I becoming one of those old people with no tolerance, who starts to call everyone 'Sonny', and began sentences with things like "In my day..."?

Nah.

At least not according to the manager who ran out after me, telling me that was the most awesome thing he had ever seen.

Of course it was.

But only because he has never seen my counter tops...

6:00 PM - 42 Comments - 30 Kudos - Add Comment

So...

I have decided to keep this profile.

Let the stalkers stalk.

Let them see what they are missing.

And if that isn't clear enough, let me say it in a manner that they will understand...

Nana nana boo boo!

As a wise friend likes to say... Trample the weak.  Hurdle the dead.

8:00 AM - 12 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Pop Quiz...

Which one of these is a picture of me?

If you can't tell the difference, don't feel bad. It seems a few people can't these days...

3:00 PM - 10 Comments - 14 Kudos - Add Comment

Bittersweet

First, let me tell you that I am a mish mash of emotions right now, so this will probably be a mish mashy blog.

B Daddy finally has his orders.  We are moving to Ft. Bliss, TX in mid to late September. 

There are so many reasons that I am happy about this. 

The possibilties for B Daddy are many at Bliss.

It is a change, and while that scares me to death, it also excites me almost as much as that new leather smell you get from a new pair of hooker boots. 

It is the next leg in my journey of life.  One that has been traveled a lot in the past year.

It took B Daddy a lot to get to this point.  Emotionally and physically, he has been run through a ringer lately.   Yeah, he signed on, he joined the Army on his own, of his own accord.  But that doesn't mean an emotional rollercoaster does not exist.

You see, B Daddy is currently in USAREC, he is a recruiter.  And to those who tell me "Hey, at least he is home every night.", go take a hike. 

Yes, I know he is less likely to get shot at as a recruiter.  He comes home as a recruiter.  But there is a trade off that most non-recruiting soldiers and civilians can never understand.

I joined the Army a year ago.  And by joined, I mean I became an Army girlfriend, fiance and now wife. 

And even though I have a severe dislike for what I have come to refer to as USAWRECK, it is also the reason I will be torn when we leave for our new station.

Without USAREC, B Daddy never would have been in Grand Junction and we never would have met.  I would still be walking around wondering why I was not whole.  I cannot even begin to describe how much my husband has changed my life.

Along with B Daddy, I never would have come to meet what I consider my extended family, the Kairs.  At first, they were just a couple to hang out with.  But the more I came to know them, the more I came to love them.  Rach is my rock.  Chaz is B Daddy's support.  Their girls make us want to rush out and have kids of our own and yet never want children again, all at the same time.  Leaving them is going to be hard for me.  As a general rule, I don't like women.  Period.  We are a bitchy, backstabbing breed.  But Rach is honest, strong and vulnerable, all at the same time.  And the combination makes a great friend.  Plus, she lets me throw her down stairs and break her leg.  What more could you ask for?

No people, I am not bi.  However, if I were to change my mind, Rach's ta-tas would be my first target...

During my time in recruiting we have also added others to the family: the ones who make me feel 10 feet tall, the ones who have left, the ex-Army wives who will never be ex-friends, an Angel... the list is long.

And there is Popeye.  The tattoo artist, the retired Ranger, and the one who stood up to make sure no one was left behind.  I know he will hate this, but truly, we owe Popeye everything and we owe him nothing.  At least I know that if people are too nice to me in TX, I can always count on Popeye to knock me down a peg...

Ugh, and there are friends, too numerous to mention.  Those I have worked with, those I have played with, those I laughed with, and those I cried with.  Oh wait, maybe it was those I made cry.

Of course, there are my kids.  That is a loose end that is still getting tied up.

Whatever my fears may be, whatever tears I cry, whatever excitement I face, whatever lies ahead:  Bring it on bitches.  I am Erotica.  I am Verbal Assassin.

So.  If you are in this area on Sept 13th, pencil this in on your calendar:  The Bocker Engagement Party/Bachelor~Bachelorette Parties/Wedding Reception/Going Away Party Bash.  More details soon for those who need travel arrangements.

Sigh.

I think I am going to go share a bowl of rocky road ice cream with my counter tops...

8:00 PM - 32 Comments - 26 Kudos - Add Comment

The Answer You Have All Been Waiting For...

I know you have been dying to know.

Why am I such a bitch?

I have an answer for you.

Because it is fucking FUN!

This is the story of a girl... Actually, a woman...

Who dated a boy.  Nope, that is it, he was just a boy.  (Side note: just because the other testicle dropped and you have a hair on your chest, that does not make you a man.)

And the woman was intellectually superior to the boy.

So she left the boy.

And she married a man.

And they are awesomely happy.

What happened to the boy you ask?

Who cares? 

I don't.

Because I am a bitch.

Why you ask?

Isn't this where we started?

Do we HAVE to go thru this again?

I hope you are having a great weekend.

Bye bye!!

6:36 AM - 12 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Supporting the troops... But which ones?

Ever since war began, any war, people have had ways to support their soldiers.  Signs, flags, ribbons, you name it.

Since the terrible fall of the Twin Towers, Americans have quadrupled the ways they show support.  That is awesome!  As you know, to show my support, I bang a soldier every chance I get.  (And before you get all excited, it is the same soldier, my husband...) 

However, if you are going to create a unique symbol supporting our troops, do some research.  Especially if you are going to use it for your business.

Otherwise, you end up with this:

Please note "U.S. ARMY" and "ALL AMERICAN OUTFITTERS"...

Now please note the Canadian soldier and the British tank...

Sigh.

Seriously?

At least this next sign was probably thoroughly researched.  And it makes me giggle.

7:10 PM - 3 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder...

But self beauty is self taught.

Today I read a bulletin from a photographer who wanted to know how or why women chose photographers that may or may not be the best choice.

I just wanted to share my response to him.  I wrote it, and then reread it several times, and even edited it.  Why so much attention to a bulletin reply?  Because part of my answer surprised even me... Please keep in mind that none of this is directed at the photographer who posed the question...

I am sure this was directed at certain people, but I have an answer for you, as to how/why I chose LTD.

I am not the typical model type of today.  I am fairly insecure about my body, because I am a recovering anorexic who really WAS a model for S.O.S. in California in the late 80s.

When I began looking to have some photos done for my new husband, everyone's sample pics were of gorgeous, skinny people.  And I am not bitter against them, but what insecure person wants to look at photo and say "That photographer does great work... if you are already gorgeous..."?

My second issue was with photographers who "pick" women to pose.  If I am going to pay someone, shouldn't I get to pick, not them?  It is hard to trust someone who basically is telling you "I only photograph the pretty people"?  So I never approached any of them.  Who wants to get turned down?

So what it boiled down to was the personality of who I worked with.  Melissa made me feel beautiful personally, not just in the pictures.  And for those of us pushing 40 with imperfect bodies, that is just as important to us as how the photos turn out.

Anyway, please don't take any of this as a slam, or a personal attack against you, as we have never met.  I was just answering your question...

Have a great Sunday.

After I wrote and reread this I realized it was true.  How I felt about me was more important to me than how the photos turned out.  And in turn, it made me truly love the photos, because it gave them a more personal feeling for me.  And again, in turn, it made my husband happy to see me so giddy about them.

So, to future/aspiring/current photographers:  If you want beautiful pictures that your clients will truly cherish, it takes more than lighting and lenses.  Just remember that not everything on the other side of that lens is a prop. 

Now... I am off to let Bock Daddy take some pics of my counter tops!

Wait............... HAPPY BIRTHDAY COUTRNI!!!  I LOVE YOU WICKED BITCH!!!

6:09 PM - 25 Comments - 20 Kudos - Add Comment

Taking a Break

Every now and then, I just need a break from MySpace to go back to reality.  Kind of like an Eminem song.  Only without bitch slapping hos.

I have discovered lately that people I care about have been disappointing me. So instead of sulking about it, I am going to just remove myself and enjoy those people in my life who truly care about me.

I hope all of you have had a great and safe holiday weekend.

Oh, and to those who asked, I will post pics of the new tattoo soon.

Ta-ta.  Kiss-kiss.  Bye-bye.

5:50 PM - 7 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Is Round a Shape?? ***UPDATED***

OK, so I know I am not fugly.  And I know I am not obese.  But I am what *I* consider overweight.  I know there are people rolling their eyes at me.  Some call it as false modesty.  I call it poor self image.  Whichever it is, it is something inside of me that I have to change.  You can't change it for me.  And telling me to "get over it" won't help.  Honestly, all it will do is piss me off.

You see, I am a recovering anorexic.  I let people in my life make me feel bad about who I was.  I thought that people's feelings for me were directly linked to how I did or didn't look.  I let other people control my thinking, my eating, my life.

About 10 years ago, I took that control back.  To an extent.  My self image is still skewed.  My self esteem is still lower than it probably should be.  Some of that has not changed.  What HAS changed is how I choose to let that affect me.

I am still looking for that happy medium.  I have an addictive personality.  So when I do something, I overdo it.  I decided that I wanted abs.  So within 2 weeks, I was doing 500 crunches, usually twice a day.  I got my abs and was looking pretty good.  And yet I was still not happy.  It took me a while to figure out why.

It was because I didn't care about my abs.  I thought someone else did.  So I had achieved this great thing.  For someone else.  It sort of sucked the fun out of everything.

What brought all this up?  A couple of things.  First, it was trying on shorts for my bar bitch gig at Country Jam.  None of my shorts from last year fit.  And when I went shopping, 2 sizes bigger were still lie on the bed and zip them up tight.  Then, it was trying on clothes for a photo shoot.  Everything I found seemed to accentuate my almost 39 year old child bearing hips.  All of it got me in to a funk.

And then I had the photo shoot.  And then I saw the pics.  And then I felt better.  I was looking at the proofs, thinking Wow, I am a lot bigger than last year.  But then I thought, Wow, some of those are kind of hot.  Once I got past what I thought were flaws, and just looked at the pics, I realized that there is nothing wrong with the way I look.  Hell, I am almost 39 and am the mother of 3.  I don't have to be a size 5 to be a MILF.

The gal who took the photos, Melissa at La Tee Da Photography, was so encouraging.  My great new friend Rachel was invaluable.  But most of all, there was my husband.  He is so excited to see the pics.  He thinks I am beautiful.  He knows I am too critical of myself and he lets me work on that myself.  He doesn't try to talk me out of it, he simply lets me know that my perception does not change his.

Don't get me wrong.  I am not cured.  I do not feel like a goddess.  But it is a huge step towards defeating my inner demons.  And just maybe, that will make one less day I want to beat myself up.

I didn't write this to get you all to give me reassurance, or compliments.  It was one of those things where you talk yourself, or in this case, write yourself, thru an issue.

If there are any fit for MySpace, I will put up some of the pics when I get them.

THE PICS ARE NOW POSTED IN MY PHOTO ALBUMS UNDER LA TEE DA SHOOT.  LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK...

Until then, I think I am going to go show my counter tops some self lovin'...

11:28 PM - 10 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Erotica Wishes...

As a general rule, I am happy being me.  But like everyone else in the world, I wish for things...

I wish my house cleaned itself.

I wish there was a cure for Alzheimer's.

I wish I had a place for all 100+ pairs of shoes that I own.

I wish I had not inherited my mother's ass.

For that matter, I wish I had not inherited my father's chest.

I wish I had the confidence and self esteem that everyone presumes I have.

I wish I didn't bite my nails.

I wish my dog would quit dragging my clothes out the doggy door.

I wish my period was as much fun as they make them seem in the commercials.

I wish I were braver.

But most of all?

I wish I could always be this satisfied with my life.  I have an amazing husband, 3 wonderful kids that I only want to clobber 1/2 of the time, and some pretty cool friends who still giggle at fart jokes and the phrase 'traitor twat.'

What more could a girl want? 

Other than, of course, self cleaning counter tops...

2:41 PM - 12 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

The Origination of the Counter Tops

I have some new subscribers who have been asking about the counter top references.  So here we go, here was the first blog to mention the counter tops. 

Originally posted January, 2006

Way too blueberry for me...

Current mood: nauseated

OK, everyone has met that person. The one who just shares way too much. I mean, it is OK to share with your spouse, your boyfriend, whoever you happen to be banging at the time. But your co-workers? Draw a fucking line! No, wait, better yet, build a brick wall. It is bad enough that I can pretty much tell you the monthly cycle of all 150 women I work with. Ucky, ucky, ucky.

Now I have been called a frigid bitch by some of my exes. But to those who really know me, I am about as much a prude as Mother Theresa was a Satanist. My point is that none of this comes from me thinking that sex belongs in the bedroom and nowhere else. Not at all! (By the way, if you ever come to my house for dinner, you might not want to eat off the kitchen counter.)

Back to my story. I happen to work with someone who is slightly younger than her spouse. (And when I say "slightly younger", please read "She listens to Stone Temple Pilots; he was there at the creation of Stonehenge.") Nothing wrong with that, right? Not in itself. They have kids. Great, how sweet. Happy marriage? That is great. Over active sex life? Um. Well. OK. Swell. Has everyone seen Big Daddy? You know Adam Sandler, yelling "Old balls!". Yeah, there is the visual. Every excruciating, sick, twisted, perverted, pruny detail.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." It must be. I see Colonel Sanders, she thinks he is Sean Connery. (So much for THAT fucking fantasy!) "To each, their own." Again, yep. Just keep it to your own! Let me set it up for you. Because I know that you think I am over reacting. You are picturing Jessica Simpson, having a nice, active sex life, with, say, Al Pacino. No, picture Deliverance. Only Ned Beatty is the chick here.

So, what does any of this have to do with the subject line you ask? One particular detailed conversation outlined how he thought he was too old and flaccid for her. And she said if he were any harder and bigger, he would hurt her, and since he was asking, she didn't think he needed blueberries.

Blueberries? OK, I admit, that one had me stumped. Viagra? They are little blue pills, right? Wrong! It seems that blueberries, as well as some other dark berries, contain a natural aphrodisiac.

Aha! Redneck Viagra!

At least this experience solved one major mystery. The popularity of IHOP. I will never be able to eat another blueberry blintze.

Unless, of course, I am at home and on my kitchen counter.

11:00 AM - 17 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment

Happy Happy, Joy Joy
Current mood: vibrant

I am in an obnoxiously giddy mood.

It is my husband's birthday, so about 20 of us went out to dinner.  Thanks to everyone that went, we have awesome friends!!

Next weekend is the first of our summer events, motocross baby.  I LOVE being a beer bitch...

May 9th is the first mud race of the season, woo hoo!  Most of you know that I used to be the co-owner of a mud racing company, but this is my husband's first race.  (And I am overlooking that fact that we are putting a Ford in the mud.)

Then we have Sober Grad, which is an awesome midnight event that is co-sponsored by the Army, and we are lucky enough to take part in that.

And of course June ends with COUNTRY JAM!  And hopefully, my backstage pass with Tim McGraw.  This will mark the end of my bar bitch career with CJ, after 14 years. 

And 2 days after CJ, it is VEGAS BABY for the 4th of July.  We just confirmed our reservations for the Grand Suite and connecting room for a group of us for 4 nights.  No kids, no teens, just grown up type people.

And then there are more mud races, more beer events and Rock Jam, and then there is goodbye to all my awesome friends and family in Colorado, and off to California.  Yep, Nate is being stationed at Ft. Irwin.  Hello Mojave Desert!

Anyway, if any of my pretties will be in Vegas around July 4th, let me know.

I look back a year ago and cannot believe the awesome turns in my life.  The incredible new friends, and I mean very incredible.

I am being yucky and mushy and just so you know it really is me, I am going to throw a birthday party for my husband on my countertops.

Loves!!

7:44 PM - 8 Comments - 10 Kudos - Add Comment

Temper Tantrum in Kohls...

So, I lost my temper today.  BIG time.  In the middle of Kohl’s nonetheless, on my cell phone.

At what point do we let our 16 year old girls fight their own battles?  I am not talking about letting them duke it out in the middle of the mall, but figuratively speaking.

My daughter is in town for spring break, and wanted to go to the mall to hang out with her best friend from here.  Now, her friend was already hanging out with another friend, so we all decided to join up.  My daughter and the other friend don’t get along, but my daughter decided to suck it up, just so she could see her friend.

Well, my daughter was fairly quiet, and soon, the other 2 girls started talking about what my daughter’s problem was, while my daughter was standing 4 feet away.

It upset my daughter who walked out of the store, and more or less blew it off.

Then her best friend informs her that she is taking this new friend to the concert that she and my daughter had already discussed going to.

Next thing I know, my daughter is just walking out of the mall.  She dropped her friendship ring on the floor and just turned to walk out.  She was so calm, I didn’t even realize anything was going on.

Now, let me explain.  This particular daughter has a bit of a temper.  SEVERE temper.  She has worked quite hard to get it under control. 

And for the first time, I think she has got it.  I asked her if she was going to say goodbye to her friend, still not realizing that she is upset.  She said bye and simply walked away.

We are not even out of the mall parking lot when both she and I get a text from the girl’s mother.  Telling us she is tired of the drama brought to her family and to stay away.  

Excuse me?

I ask her this.  She tells me that my daughter is jealous of her daughter’s birthday present.

Huh?  So I call her.  She answers her phone with the fact that she now has to leave work to pick up her girl at the mall, because my daughter threw things at her, and now she was upset.

Wow.  Not.  I tell her she wasn’t there, I was, and that was not what happened.  She doesn’t want to hear it.  Basically, my daughter is a little bitch, and I am lying.

Now, normally, I don’t really jump to my daughter’s defense.  When she complains about someone, the first thing I ask is what she did to deserve it.  But for once, she was blameless, and I was a witness.

And yet this mom is still going off.  So yep, I lost it.

What it boiled down to was me telling her to check her fucking facts before sending out snotty texts to me or my daughter.  I believe I also told her that if she ever came around to my house, I would kick her ass.  I closed it off with a nice "lose my number bitch."  It must be nice to have the blind faith that your teenage daughter would never lie to you.  * snort *  Enjoy it honey, because you have the ONLY one on the planet...  Oh, and by the way... remember the story she told you about losing her virginity?  Nope.  Guess again...

Yet the whole time she is telling us to stay away from her precious innocent baby and the rest of her family, her daughter is sending text after text to my daughter.

Seriously.  Are we 12?  I feel like it.  And so I snapped.

In the middle of Kohl’s.

With my daughter staring at me.

Not my proudest moment, but on the other hand, dood.  Give me a break.  They are teenagers.  They will fight, cry and make up.  All in the same breath. 

I guess this al leads back to a blog I wrote about being tired of people underestimating me.  Yeah, I am fairly laid back and have learned to pick my battles wisely.  But you know what?  That doesn’t not mean I can’t or won’t kick ass and take names when I need to.  Or feel the urge to.  Or am just bored.

OK, I am tired of wasting my time with this, so I am going to go soak in the tub and buff my countertops.

9:00 PM - 20 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment