When I Have a Life, I'll Quit Talking About my Truck

Ninja Truck has disgraced the family. He went to a shop. This is uncool.

Even less cool is the series of phone calls I received from the mechanic over the next two days.

Him: MannyRee? Hi, uh...it looks like you'll need about $4000 to fix your truck.

Me: Uh...I could buy three of my trucks with that much money. What's going on? I just needed an alignment.

Him: Well....you have a tail light out.

Me: No I don't.

Him: Yes, it doesn't work...we can replace the bulb for you.

Me: Have fun with that, because you have to take the door off and use four different screwdrivers and then once you get the bulbs in, you realize that there is a wiring problem.

Him: Oh. That sucks. I don't do wiring. But you also have a power steering leak.

Me: Ok. But what about an alignment?

Him: You need new tie rods.

Me: Those are  new tie rods. Alignment?

Him: You need new ball joints.

Me: Those are new ball joints.

Him: Well, they don't fit the control arm. You need a new control arm.

Me: Can you tell if the control arm is forged or stamped?

Him: ...

Me: If it's forged, maybe we could tack weld the ball joints. The stamped control arms are more uniform.

Him: MY computer didn't tell me that.

Me: Put my truck back together, I'm coming to get him.


I don't know an awful lot about cars, but when the shop mechanic argues with me based on what his shop computer told him -- it's time to find a garage mechanic. Like my brother. Yay, for brother! He gets to spend more time under Ninja Truck, which is basically his birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. (Don't tell him, though, I want to see the look of excitement on his face when I surprise him.)

I went to the shop to surprise the mechanic yesterday, and boy was he happy about it. I made him show me everything he was talking about and he was so glad for that opportunity. I'm sure he appreciates the more "hands-on" customers. When I called later, the guy on the phone told me I was close to winning the Most Annoying Customer Ever Award. They are scoring big points up there, let me tell ya. I think they quoted the $4000 just to get rid of me. I don't understand why it's such a big deal that I want to understand exactly why they want to charge me more than my truck is worth to fix it. If this isn't a time to ask questions, I don't know what is.

Anyway, Ninja Truck is on his way home, and I have about two weeks to fix him before school starts again. And he can forget about a new air conditioner, because he is being all high maintenance and I'm feeling used. When school starts, we get to start the whole other type of stress, so the truck is going to have to suck it up until next summer.

I'm Not Even Sure What I'm Saying Here

Today I learned that there is a good reason for the "delete" button.

Also, I can still be upset by things that happened five years ago.

Also? I can't wait to see my babies again and make them clean their rooms. There is nothing better than an afternoon spent telling people to clean their rooms to make you feel more in touch with reality.

It rained last night, so I went for a walk. It was lovely...it was totally dark outside and the air had that awesome scent. I took Shucks and a flashlight and my phone (in case I got attacked by cows or something). The thing with walking in the dark in the country with a flashlight is that you get mauled by giant bugs that you really can't see coming until they smack you in the face. They liked the flashlight, so I turned it off. It was really dark and scary, so I turned it back on.

I had taken Shucks so I wouldn't be scared, but he was on a mission to pee on every blade of grass and didn't really care that I was being eaten alive by pterodactyl sized bugs. Even after I said "fweep." Eventually, the bugs went home because of the rain, but the cows started following me. They are bigger than bugs, so I went home.

Here's the thing about dirt roads: If you own a 4WD, 7.3l Powerstroke and can't go more than 10mph because you're worried about a rock hitting your paint, please trade me cars because you aren't using your truck correctly and I can absolutely find something to do with it. Or let me pass. Because WOW, annoying. If you don't have a cloud of dust in your rear view or mud splattering your truck bed, you aren't doing the dirt road thing right.

Ooooo, baby!

So yeah.

Most romantic date EVER.

Anyway, speed up or hand over the truck -- redneck law.

The Good Doctor/Dealer

Ninja Truck is still feeling down, and my neighbors have got to be wondering how long they get to enjoy the epic reneckiness of this:

This is some BS right here -- I don't know who put all that mess there and left that Chevy on blocks, but it's lowering property values. Also? What's up with the vacuum leaning against the house? PSHHH...some people.

I had to go visit the doctor today, and he didn't tell me to quit smoking once. It was a WIN for me. He also gave me one single pill that is supposed to help with bronchitis, the TUMOROFDEATH on my ribs, and the broken leg from the Fourth of July....anyone else think he's lying to me and trying to placebo me out of his office. He needs to recognize that it literally costs three dollars per second to have a conversation with him and that placebo pats-on-the-back should get a serious discount. That was some BS, too.

He did assure me that the magic pills would work, just so long as I took SIX of them at once. Dude, anytime someone tells you to take six pills at once and you'll feel better all over your whole entire self? That means DRUGS, yo. Not the doctor/pharmacy kind, either. The kind that you learn to say no to in second grade. Too bad second grade was a loooong time ago for me, because I put all six of those pills in my hand, looked at them and said "REALLY? Six of them? At once?" Then swallowed them anyway because I'm not going to pay three dollars a second and not do what the man says.

On a completely unrelated note, my walls were purple and melty when I got home tonight, so guess who's getting a phone call from their favorite tenant tomorrow! Landlord these days...I may have to get a pill to help me deal with the purple melty walls, and also the roof keeps telling me what kind of dog food to buy. But on the bright side, my leg doesn't hurt AT ALL.

Truck Rules

Some guys think that the hot car is going to get them the hot girls.  They're probably right.  At least for a time, and there is a certain kind of "hot" that is attracted to expensive cars.  It's the kind that comes with a side of gold-digger and nothing else at all. 

Because I can't seem to figure girls out most of the time, I honestly can't say what sort of car most girls would like to see their man drive, but I do have very strong opinions myself.  Those opinions are turning into pet peeves the more I have to drive in the city.

I can't stand expensive cars.  You know the people who have to park far away from everyone else?  They take up two parking spots and always sit near a window so they can make sure nobody walks too close to their baby.  Oh, and they call their car "baby".  The car has no quirks, other than it's stupid name.  A real car should have quirks, yo...the things you have to tell people about when they borrow it.  A real car should be able to be borrowed in the first place, without your friends and family feeling like you've given them your last remaining kidney.  If you have to spend ten hours a day thinking about your car, it's too expensive and not worth the worry.

I dated a guy once who had a brand new something-something, bright red, perfect everything, fast as hell.  He picked me up for dinner and we had a pleasant conversation about his car all the way there.  When we got out of the car, he carefully inspected every inch of it before we went inside.  He went out to check on it twice.  I called a friend to pick me up and never talked to him again. 

Also, no man should ever drive a "compensation" car.  Because really, it's jerky and doesn't work.  Buy compensation cars for your wife, not for yourself.  This will prove whatever you are trying to prove while still allowing you to appear like a non-wuss.

If you want to spend a ton of money on your vehicle, put the money into the vehicle, not into a dealer's pocket.  Buy a diesel.  Used.  Then blow the rest of your money on super chips, cat-backs, stacks, intakes and a killer sound system. 

Or buy a gas beater and fix it up.  Spend the extra cash on custom paint or something.  Don't buy something girly, is my point, even if it's expensive. 

And for the love of Pete, buy American.  I know our cars don't always out perform the others, but at least you can take the damn things apart and still get them back together.  It is very manly to fix your own car; it is not manly at all to not be able to find the oil filter because it's shoved up under a Toyota passenger seat or something.  The other countries make their cars like this so they can laugh at people dropping their cars off at a dealer for repair, sinking even more cash into their company because nothing on a foreign car can be fixed in a home garage.

If your car is super-loud, that's fine.  But you don't have to rev the engine to show off, because most girls can't tell the difference between Loud on Purpose and Loud Because this Car SUCKS.  If you find a girl who does know the difference, marry her instantly.

Nothing will ever beat the pickup in the manliness category.  But if you drive a pickup, you must also follow the rules.  Cowboy hats go on the dash, guns go in the back....never the opposite.  Always wave at passers-by on a dirt road.  You must wave at other trucks no matter where you are.  If you happen to drive a diesel and need to fill up, it is necessary to trade specs with the guy on the other side.  If you don't drive a diesel, you don't have to do this unless the guy on the other side has a similar truck of a different make...then you must compare until you WIN, yo.  Also?  Girls get the right of way at a four-way intersection.  Always. 

These are my own redneck girl's rules for manliness in driving.  Take them or leave them, but mostly take them because y'all are starting to drive me crazy.

hollahollahollahollahollahollaholla

This week has been absolutely crazy. My plans for a relaxing spring break were not realized, but I think the kids had a good time, so I guess that's what counts.

I went out to the local hole in the wall bar with my oldest brother this weekend. I messed up his pool game, but he still hung out with me. Nothing like brothers for sticking with you. Also, nothing like being the driver for people sticking with you, either.

There was a dude there who told me he was gonna' have to "holla'" after he asked if I had a boyfriend. I don't like being holla'd at (or on or with whichever thing you do when you holla'). I tried to brush him off with the claim that I had enough kids to scare anyone away. He said "Oh, I love kids...I can support 'em. I'll support those kids, I'm an electrician." Clearly, the man was very drunk. He hadn't even asked for a phone number, yet was offering to support my kids.

A friend of his came to drag him away, and he told me he needed to get my digits first. I said that if digits had anything to do with holla-ing, I didn't have any. His friend thought I was very funny, but the electrician thought I was mean. I wasn't mean, only confused. I am obviously too old for that scene and have no desire to keep up with the lingo.

I stayed out until four that morning, and stayed up until six. When I went to bed, I left my phone out in the living room and woke up to about forty missed calls and eight thousand text messages from everyone who had my kids. I was scared until I realized only one of them was trying to find me for anything having to do with the kids, and the rest thought I had died. That's what happens when you get the flu after drinking one night...nobody believes that you can hold your liquor, and everyone thinks you're dead when you're only sleeping in. Never get the flu when people can mistake it for a hangover. Just don't do it. You'll never live it down.

That about sums up what this week has been like, which, if that doesn't explain why I haven't been posting, throw the kids on top of it and add some lack of sleep. Tomorrow is Monday, so if that doesn't give me some complaint to blog about, I don't know what will.

The Gate

When I was a kid, I had this amazing group of friends....y'all have heard about them before.

I hardly talk to any of them anymore, but it was worth it, yo.

There was this place called The Gate where we used to hang out. We called it The Gate because that's what it was. There was a road with nothing on it except for this field. And then a gate. It was the best bar around.

The parking lot was for one, made of gravel.
The bathroom was a cattle guard.
The music came from the stereo in the truck.
The chairs were a tailgate and the sides of the bed.
The beer ....*ahem*...soda was warm.

We laughed and sang and danced and then we went home.

The one night I remember best, there were three of us couples, only all of us had just broken up. We were trying to figure out if we should all just get back together because it sorta stunk not being part of a couple. So we did. If only relationships could be fixed so easily when we're older.

One night, we met on a dirt road (and I'm not sure if this was anywhere near The Gate) to shoot fireworks with my best friend's parents. Till my one cousin (you know, the one cousin...the one we all have???) shot someone in the pants with a roman candle and we all got in trouble.

There was another night when there were some major tornadoes. May 1999, to be exact. It was awesome. We were all "storm chasers" back then, so we loaded six of us up in my boyfriend's tiny little car and went out. We knew we were right near what they were calling an F4 (That stands for Really Frickin Big One), but we couldn't see it because there was this huge cloud covering the sky that was blocking our view. When the lightening lit up behind the cloud, we were all, "Uh....that's not a big cloud...." And we drove the other way.

Only by then, someone had to pee. I don't remember who this person was....at all. We were in the middle of nowhere and it was raining like crazy and we also still need to run from the Giant Tornado of Doom, so, without going into too much detail, it was decided that the person in question would lean against the back of the car and go potty while everyone else just stayed inside. Only this person's boyfriend thought it would be really funny to keep moving the car every few seconds so that she fell over and also almost got tornado-ized.

That's why she married someone else less than a year later. And that's a whole different story.
The End.

The Other's Gold

Let me just take a minute to tell you all to back the hell up.

This post is not directed at you, so if you're thinking it is, please examine why.  This post is for my friends, the ones who I grew up with, the ones who held me up when I needed it and who helped form my character and beliefs.  My new friends would rock your face off, and I should talk about them sometime, but for tonight, I want to talk about my old friends.

These are people who I knew when I was a child, who were still around through high school and our first years of becoming adults.  This group of friends was inseparable.  We were Fourth of July parties as little kids, sneaking extra pops and starting fires in my grandparents' field.  We were ear twists from my uncle and running down to jump the creek and get away from everyone older and younger than us. 

We were sneaking cigarettes behind Pancho's after church and thinking our parents didn't know.  We were driving too fast with the windows down, singing our favorite song at the top of our lungs.  We were our first beer, our first :::um, other substances...or not::::, first cigarette.  We were parties on the weekends and watching TV during the week.  We were sharing secrets and planning our futures.  We were debating Important Things, and righting the world's wrongs.  We were hanging out at "the gate" and slipping through the cattle guard.

They were there for my driver's test, for fights with my parents when I was a kid and knew everything, for my first kiss, for every single break-up I ever had, for every new boy I decided to marry, for every crazy outfit, for my first apartment and for moving out of it later, for fishing trips and movies.  They were there when I saw both lines on that test, and for all the decisions that came after, and for the day my son was born.  They were there for my wedding day, and you know what?  After everything we've been through, and the gap that is between most of us....they are here for me now, too.

I have been through hell with these guys.  I've even been through hell because of these guys.  I'm sure they could say the same about me.  Over the last ten years, we have grown apart.  Our lives weren't as parallel as they had been when we were growing up.  We fought, we cried, we made up and fought again.  Some of us have no contact at all, some of us are merely polite.  A few of them I can see and it's just like the old days, but only with one at a time, it's been years since our little group has reunited and been entirely comfortable with each other.

Here is what I want you to know.  There are many things that can break up a friendship.  Sometimes, it's a stupid fight over something petty.  Sometimes, we just lose touch and don't really know how to get it back.  Sometimes, it's bigger than that.  Maybe they were dishonest, rude, or did something else you find completely wrong and you felt that you should end the friendship, or maybe you did something wrong and they ended things.

Let me just tell you that nothing is worth losing these friends.  If I could go back in time, knowing then what I do now, I would let nothing my friends did (aside from things like murder or harming children, but I tried to weed those types out in kindergarten) stand in the way of keeping them in my life.  When things are just really shitty, I need those friends.  I miss them.  They helped me decide who I wanted to be, and sometimes, I need them to remind me of that person.  Sometimes, I want to know how they think I've turned out.  Sometimes, I want to say "remember that time...", and have them say "yes" and laugh with me.

Don't be too proud to call.  Don't be so angry that you pick your friends apart.  Don't be so grown up that you can't deal with a little childishness from the kids you grew up with.  Don't go through the hardest parts of your life without these people.  As my friend Sarah said, have a "to be continued attitude" toward these friends.  Cherish them, nurture these relationships.  They are very important.  Who else would sit in the back of your cousins pickup and light farts with you now?  Nobody, that's who.  Who else would dress in disguise and help you stake out your what-a-woo?  Not your grown-up friends.  Who else would sit in the garage with you and have a serious discussion about how not to grow up?  Only those people who saw you through growing up remember the path you took.  Who else can make you laugh with your entire being?  Only the people who grew into your same sense of humor.  Who else can see you after ten years and know exactly what's on your mind? 

Don't let this go.  I hope you have the kind of friends who will hold on, and I hope you're the kind of friend who will hold on.  It gets worse, and you're going to need someone to hold on to.  And then, it gets better. 

As Chuckie said when he got his trike stuck, "When you're stuck in the mud up to your shiny parts, you find out who your friends really are."  Be the friend who will dig your buddy's trike out of the mud, even if they ditched you for the big kids.  You'll be glad you did when it's your trike that's stuck.

Guest Post: Redneck Woman

Breaking up is hard to do, or at least that what some song says. 

Tonight, I am fed up.  I have been breaking up for a year, now, and you know what?  It's freakin' hard, because you can't just break up and have it done with, now, can ya?

When I broke up with the guy I dated before my future ex husband, he told me I couldn't break up with him, because we were both in the relationship, so we both had to break up.  He wasn't breaking up, so neither could I. 

And life just comes full circle, huh?  So now, I am being serenaded by the little noise my phone makes every time I get a text message, because some people just don't understand the words "leave me a-freaking-lone".

I'm done answering messages.  I'm not accepting anymore phone calls.  I'm putting all emails into the "show the judge" folder without reading them first. 

I am not going to give you one half of the children any more than I would give you one half of one child.
I am not going to "lean on you" when my friend is ill.
I am not going to give you helpful friendly advice the same day that DHS shows up at my house because you called them.
I don't care if you managed to get yourself on the VIP list at DHS.  Of course your house is clean, you live with your mom, and she has a staff.  And no kids live there.  (Nor will they ever.)  I am one adult living with six children, so I am completely positive your house is cleaner than mine.  But that's not what makes a home. 
The number one thing that makes a home is love.  The number two thing that makes a home is not being a complete asshole.  The number three thing that makes a home is get a freaking job.  The number four thing that makes a home is I hope you get paid for sending text messages, and if so, you owe some child support.  The number five thing that makes a home is you don't teach your kids to talk back to police officers.  The number six thing that makes a home is you don't tell your kids they're too dumb for school so they should sing.  The number seven thing that makes a home is yes, I'm using this list to bring up an infinitesimal number of things you have done to piss. me. off.  The number eight thing that makes a home is if my dog doesn't eat you, there are more vicious things inside, and only six of them are the kids. 

Finally, the number nine thing that makes a home is I will fight tooth and nail for my kids.  Not to keep them.  Not to prove a point.  Not to get you back.  But for them to have an opportunity to develop and grow into the men and women they are supposed to be.  Don't get in my way.  Do. Not. Get. In. My. Way. 

To my readers:  I am sorry.  This is a rant.  I hope it's out of my system.  It's probably not.  It takes a lot to make me mad.  It takes a lot more to make me mad enough to say anything about it, especially on the Interwebz.  But you know what?  It's been more than a lot, and I've had it.  My inner redneck has kicked her way to the outside, and I'm afraid she's here to stay for a spell.  Please be nice to her. She isn't even a decent writer, but she doesn't know that, and she's quite outspoken, so just bear with her, please.  Her expected departure is October 26th, please pray that nothing delays it. She's kind of a bitch.

I'm too classy for DHS...so classssssy

Dear People Who Won't STOP SCREWING WITH ME,

I have had six sick children this week.  I have missed one day less than the maximum of school days in order to be with these sick children.  I am one absence away from academic probation, not based on my grades, but on the fact that my kids come first, and I needed to take care of them.

So today, after I got home from picking up the non-sick children from school, it was just Totally Awesome when they found the note on my door from DHS.  That was fan-freakin-tastic.  What made it even better was that, in spite of my terrible mothering, they somehow know how to read. 

As many times as I have used this blog to brag about the funny things my kids say, I never thought I would hear "Mommy, does this mean we have to go live with someone else?"  Lovely, really.  Because, for all of you who are "only thinking of the children"...I'm sure that makes your day.  It's very good for kids to not ever feel secure and to wonder if today is the day they get to go live with strangers...I'm sure they're all very excited at the prospect.  I just hope you don't feel bad that when it doesn't happen and you got their hopes up for nothing.  I really. do. hope. you. don't. feel. bad.  Because I'm sure that would suck for you.

It's also cool that people get to leave notes on my door, completely screw with my head, ask me to call them as soon as possible and then not return my phone calls.  Thanks, yo.  I hope you're having a nice relaxing evening at home with your family.  I really do.  Honestly.  Because, ya' know, I am sure that would be nice after a stressful workday.  Not that I know that first hand, but I'm sure it's nice for you.

Also, I am just loving the idea that I, as a parent, am expected to entrust my children to total strangers at the public school, yet the strangers cannot entrust my children to me, their mother, but felt the need to interview my kids behind my back, without my consent, without even telling me afterward.  That's just amazing of you guys, really.  Don't send them home with their mother until we lock them alone in a room with a complete stranger.  Totally appropriate, really. 

Also?  Really a good day to send home yet another request for my kids to bring more shit up to the school.  It really was.  Because I'm all about supporting our schools, yo...because ya know, they're so awesome and everything.  What with the learning, the interfering and all of the physical exams behind closed doors.  Where do I send my check???????????

Is this because of the bruises?  Probably not, because there was one scraped knee on a FOUR-year-old.  Maybe because of the obvious malnutrition?  Nope, nothing I can see...they're all a normal weight.  Oh, I know, it's because of the fruit loop on the floor of the car!  I knew that teacher was judging me for that.

Maybe because they were five minutes late to class?  Because if anyone has a problem with that, they are welcome to come get all six of my kids out the door in the morning for me.  Really, go ahead and do that for a week.  Then multiply that by fifty-two, then again by ten, and maybe you'll know what I deal with here.  Except you won't, unless you add in the rest of the day.  Also, add in PEOPLE WHO SCREW WITH YOU.  And you may want to add in the fact that you even have stresses that don't involve your children.  But maybe not, because those things barely even register when compared with your kids.  So try it out and get back with me.  If you kick my ass at it, that's just awesome, but you won't.  (By the way, the house needs to be clean, dinner needs to be made after you take the kids grocery shopping, five of them have homework that requires your help, they all need bathed, and the toilet is flooding....have fun!  :D )

And lastly, to The Caller.  Bravo.  You've actually outdone yourself this time.  I didn't know it could be done, but congratulations.  I'm sure the kids would like to thank you, but I'm going to be a Super Bitch and not tell them who is responsible for this.

But here's the thing:  I know who you are.  And you have my sincere gratitude.  Really.  No, really.  And let me tell you, my thanks is something you're just gonna' be so glad you have!  LOL!  No, really.  Because I'm a Very Nice Girl, and I do things like make cookies and stuff, so I'm sure you'll have a gift basket or some other lovely thing coming your way, just as soon as I get done with all these pesky meetings and stuff.

Until then, my sincerest regards, and also some other feelings,
Me.

Ps:  The Rednecks send their love.

Boom! Roasted!

As promised, The Slam...

Ok, I promised last night that I would update y'all on The Situation.  Due to the plethora of material provided to me last night, I simply cannot tell the entire story.  And if I could, I wouldn't, because contrary to popular belief, I am not that big of a bitch.  So, a condensed, hypothetical how-to.

If, say, you and your husband split up.  And it's been nearly...oh...a year.  And if he were to decide to start being a jackass....here's what you should do:

1.  Find a house with some Country Boys nearby.  These should be nice, good-looking Country Boys who like you.  If they don't like you, you should move away.

2.  If the Country Boys like you, feed them and water beer them often.  This makes them loyal, and also protective.

3.  If (and this is a big IF) your ex starts harassing you with text messages at three in the afternoon, just ignore them, and hope it stops.

4.  If (bigger IF), instead of stopping, your ex tells you he's on his way over to your house, then you alert your posse.

5.  If (nearly impossible, but I've heard of this happening -- NEVER in my own experience) your ex then spends eight hours telling you all kinds of crazy things, getting drunk, and telling you he's coming over, then you need to do exactly what I would do IF I were you (which, of course, I'm not, and we discussed this the other day) which would be rush to the bathroom so you don't pee your pants, because that would be embarrassing.  Then, call your posse over.  Call the police over.  Go out in your driveway and play with guns.  Put the guns away BEFORE the police show up.  Because this causes problems, yo, and you don't want any confusion on who should actually be shot.

6.  If your ex texts you and asks (again) if he can please just come over, then you have some decisions to make.  You could be all, "OK, yo...I don't know why I didn't just say that in the first place and save everyone a lot of trouble."  OR, you could just ignore it and hope he stumbles into your Country Boy posse, because it just seems like it would be good old-fashioned entertainment.  OR, you could list the arsenal currently contained in your driveway and warn him it may not be a good idea.  IF I were you, I would chose that last option.  However, seeing as how I have absolutely never been in this situation, I am not really the one to ask, now, am I?

7.  If, the next day, your ex tells you that you are a bitch, because of the way you handled the evening, then you should probably ignore that, because dang, woman!  What's your problem?  Maybe you should have just tried to be understanding.  But nooOOOoooo...you had to go and say no.  You got all freaked out and scared.  You called the Country Boys.  You were unable to get a single thing done all day because you were getting threatening messages.  You didn't get any sleep.  And worst of all, you didn't say anything mean or nasty or hateful at all.  You're such a bitch.  My only advice for you after you've screwed up so royally is to just move into your parent's basement and become a creepy blogger, because really, there's no hope for people like you.

So, hypothetically, that is what I would say to those of you who find yourselves in these types of situations.  If you were awesome like me, you would never experience anything like this, and you would live in bubbles of happiness filled with kittens made of chocolate and unicorns that poop rainbows.  So, life would pretty much be awesome if you were me, but you're not, so you have to deal with crappy circumstances like these, is my point.

I am *not* going to use this blog to slam my ex...

Even though I have been harrassed all day.  Even though I didn't get anything done today because I was dealing with "issues".  Even though I am exhausted and need to sleep, but I won't be able to...I'm not going to do it, ok? 

So stop. asking. me.  Because it's very tempting. 

Stop.

I mean it.

Ok, I'll make you a deal.  Tomorrow, I will tell you the story, and I have a feeling it's going to get more interesting in the next ten minutes, so I'll just tell you the whole thing all at once, ok?  Tomorrow, though.

So, glad that's over with.  It's now nearly two in the morning, and I am way too tired to write anything.  I would like to thank my merry band of rednecks for always being ready to come screaming into my driveway in their purty pickups.  Because, really, my life is incomplete without this.

I should also thank Donovan for locking my keys in my car tonight, along with my ciggies and my LAST SODA.  Dude.  Because if that hadn't happend, I wouldn't have been able to...well, actually, I'm a little upset about that.  See, I was going for a silver lining there, but it didn't happen.  Surely the effort counts for something, though, right?

Also?  I was really needing this weekend to happen, and now it looks like it won't.  So, to whoever screwed that up, the rednecks are coming after you next, because that just wasn't cool, yo.  I gosta' have my Saturdays or I get all murdery.

Big Sisters are Ninjas

When I first got my license, I took my little brothers and sisters to church one week for my mom.  I think she was sick or something.  After that, I thought I would be all cool and take them to McDonald's, because little kids like that stuff, and I figured that would ensure I would have babysitters in the event I got knocked up or something.  (Totally worked, by the way.)

About four seconds after we got our food, my little brother (about five at the time) ralphed all over my car.  I don't do this stuff.  Even now that I'm a mom, I don't really handle puke very well...it makes me all stabby and murdery feeling.  The only reason I didn't scream at him (because yes, that is how evil I am) is that he had been sick on and off for months, and we were all worried that there was something very wrong with him. 

So I help the kid out of the car and he..erm...finished up behind my car.  Across the parking lot, there were two guys eating in their car, and while I felt vaguely sorry for ruining their lunch, there wasn't much I could do about it. 

The guys rolled their windows down and started yelling things at my brother.  They weren't calling him names or anything, they just thought it would be really funny to yell gross stuff and see if they could make him even more sick.

Here's the thing.  Don't screw with my little brother.  Actually, don't screw with any of my siblings.  Because it makes me a little insane.  Just in case you forgot, I was already stabby from the puking, so now these guys were gonna' get stabby and insane.

I cleaned up my brother, put him in the car, and walked deliberately to the pickup with the two assholes inside.  They saw me coming and rolled up the windows.  That wasn't going to work...I was insane.  And they were mean to my brother.  So I pounded on the window.  The driver got out.  He pretty much looked like this:

I was skeered.  But also crazy and murdery.  So even when this guy got out of his truck, stood two inches in front of my face, and said "What's the problem", I went off on his ass.  I told him he was a jerk for picking on a little kid, and that my brother had been sick for a long time and he should watch what he was saying, and that also, don't mess with my brother, yo.  Then I stared him right in the eye and tried not to pee my pants because I may have been crazy, but I was still sane enough to be scared.

He said "you look hot when you're pissed."  I said "you're an ass".  I walked away.  He followed.  I was very frightened, and all my bravado had chosen that minute to go away.  It took all I could not to run.  He followed me all the way to my car, didn't kill me, and apologized to my brother.  Then he told me he was sorry and asked if he could help me.  I glared at him because I was still so scared that I couldn't talk anymore.  He took that for "dignified cold-shoulder", apologized again and left.

So take that, big scary old dude.  I'll get all crazy-stabby-but-really-scared-to-death-of-you until you DIE if you're ever mean to my brother again!  I have big sister ninja powers, yo.  Or at least I did...I'm not really hot when I'm pissed anymore...more like, well, just pissed.

Puff the Magic Ford F-150

My Dad has a magic truck.  Actually, he has had quite a few of them. 

He worries when we get on the road when it is snowing, because our vehicles could never possibly make it down the road when there is the slightest bit of frozen water anywhere on Earth.  In Oklahoma, icy roads do become a problem, because it happens so seldom that our state isn't really equipped to take care of every road every time.  So, as far as that goes, my dad is probably right, in a vaguely over-protective sort of way.  HOWEVER, it's lucky for all of us, because his magic truck can ALWAYS drive on ANY road.  And the truck before this one, all the way back to my grandpa's old Chevy (even though it was a Chevy, which is clearly a lesser truck).  That truck is the only one that won't slip, slide, or roll, and it also impervious to the slipping and sliding of other vehicles.

One time, when I was a teen, my dad's truck magically drove itself around for 200 miles, then parked itself back in our driveway, and told my dad that I did it.  The thing is, I had my own car, which I loved, and no reason to steal my dad's...but my dad insists that the mileage was 200 miles higher than it was when he went to sleep that night, so that's how I know it's magic.

My dad takes very good care of his yard, and he mows religiously, more religiously that he does religious stuff.  (Not really, but just as much.  It's serious business.)  If other people park in my dad's yard, they leave The Ruts.  So, when the driveway is full (which happens at least weekly) and people start parking in the grass, it causes my dad to start shaking his head and snorting and pointing to a parking spot over there.  If the offender doesn't move, my dad will chase them all over the yard and tell them all about The Ruts and The Lawn, and how they need to quit tearing up his yard, even if that means they just go home.  BUT....Puff is allowed to park in the grass.  Puff drives all over the grass.  Because he never leaves The Ruts.  Because he's magic.

Puff has a friend in Laffeyette, and they have a pen-pal thing going, only instead of letters, they exchange a little Mr. Bill doll.  If that doesn't proove he's magic, I don't know what does.