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.

When I Asked You to Stock Me, I Wasn't Serious

First of all, let me tell you that I do know how to spell stalk, but I find it extremely funny that Internet thinks you spell it "stock".  So, now that we have that cleared up...

Dear Stalker,

I thought it was weird when you followed me home the other night and did a u-turn as soon as I pulled in my drive.  I was slightly concerned when you showed up in my driveway at 5 on a Sunday morning, sat there for a second, then left.  But when you didn't come in and stab me or steal my trash, I let it go.

When I saw you creeping down my dead end road last night, after I knew all my neighbors were locked down for the night, I started to worry.  When you parked your car behind the trees near my house and turned off your lights, I knew I was right to be a little freaked out.  When I saw nothing for a few minutes except for what looked like someone lighting a cigarette, I started to think I was a little full of myself and maybe I just wanted a stalker so badly that I imagined one.  But I called my brother anyway. Actually, I called my mom, and said "Send Brother and his gun over, please...don't worry, probably just some kids making out in their car, but just in case." 

When my dad, my mom and Brother showed up, and after I attached the dog's leash to my jeans (with the dog on the other end, of course) (because I couldn't let him eat any chickens when I was expecting him to save his appetite for stalkers) and stuck my Giant Killer Super Dangerous Gun in my back pocket, I finally got the nerve to go outside and see who those rascally teenagers were and if they were indeed making out or if they had any pot they wanted to share in exchange for not getting eaten by Shucks.  Lo and behold!  It wasn't teens at all.  I do have a stalker.  It's you.  Ass.

Let's get this straight.  When I asked for stalkers, I only meant to please follow my blog, and, if you're really feeling crazy, comment every once in awhile, because blog comments are like crack for writers.  I did not mean to literally show up in the middle of the night, scare me to death and make me invite armed relatives over for a little family reunion.  Dude, seriously. 

So, stalker, please go home now.  Please leave me alone.  In case you haven't heard, my dad is crazy and likes to shoot at stuff.  Also, Brother is very angry, and I once defended him from Scary Old Dude, so he owes me one.  If you happen to get past them, you'll have to deal with My Mom, and she's a pretty bad mama bear when someone messes with her babies.  And Shucks hasn't had chicken in a veeeerrrry long time, and also has Death Bark.  Last but not least, I'm not dealing with it any more.  This is my town, yo.  I have surrounded myself with rednecks for a very good reason, and son, you're that reason. 

Very Sincerely,
Me

What's Up with June Bugs?

I had to go outside just now, and the porch light was on.  There were June bugs and I hate them.  Then, because I try to always be nice, I sorta felt bad for hating them, because it's not like they hurt anyone or anything.  I even like spiders - and they bite.  (Ok, I don't like drunk spiders, but that has more to do with them falling in my hair....ohh....that's why I don't like June bugs...)  Anyway, I started thinking that maybe June bugs are misunderstood, and here's the story I made up to force me to like them:

(It didn't work, by the way.)

JUNE BUG STORY

A long time ago, June bugs were known only as bugs.  They were small, smart, and unobtrusive.  They lived quiet existences in the dirt, and they didn't ever go out during the day, because they hated any kind of light.  They would spend four years in the ground, growing up, and it wasn't until they had proven their adulthood that they were allowed to venture outside.  Even then, they had to follow careful rules about never going near any light.

One young bug named Joe couldn't wait to be an adult so that he could marry his high school sweetheart, June.  He heard a rumor that he would grow faster if he could get to light somehow.  He snuck out every afternoon when the other bugs were sleeping and sunned himself until he grew to immense proportions.  It wasn't long until he was the biggest bug ever seen. 

He was ready to prove his adulthood, but June, he realized, was not.  She was still tiny.  Joe was very impatient to marry her, so he convinced her to go into the light, as well.  It would take weeks of afternoon tanning sessions to get her to grow, so Joe thought it would be a good idea to hide her in a porch light.

After he had her hidden away, he went to see his mother to tell her that he was ready to be an adult.  She was amazed at how large he had grown, and after three hours of the careful questioning that makes mothers the envy of police interrogators everywhere, she discovered that he had been in the light. 

"Joe!  You don't know what you've done!" She cried.  "When bugs are exposed to light, they lose their brains, honey...within days.  There is no cure."

Joe was in anguish over putting his beloved June in danger, and quickly explained to his mother what he had done. 

"It's different for females, Joe.  She will not lose her brain, but will be stuck in the porch light for the rest of her life, unless you can save her before you lose your brain."

Joe flew as fast as his wings would carry him to the porch light, but was too late, for alas! he lost his brain on the way.  The only thing Joe could remember was that there was something very important he needed from the porch light, and he had to get into it. 

So poor Joe spent every night for the rest of his life braining himself on porch lights until he couldn't fly anymore, at which point he would stand on his head and spin himself around with his wings until morning.

And, I assume, for every June bug you see on your porch, there is a mother-bug at home wondering if her unlucky son ever got the girl.  So you see, don't be angry with the June bugs, they are hopeless romantics with broken hearts and no brains, just trying to remember what they left in your porch light.