Big Dreams

As a young girl growing up in the city, waiting for my fairy prince to rescue me and biding my time until I was rich and famous, I never once thought my life would turn out the way it did.

If you had told me, as the geeky, basketball playing - track and field running - staight A student that I was, that I would be slinging popcorn in a movie theatre, knocked up, unwed and poor by the time I was twenty, I would have laughed my ass off.

And then ran screaming into my bedroom, only to emerge for final exams and potty breaks.

I dreamt of becoming a doctor, specifically a neurosurgeon, and no boy, especially the big lipped, bad haired blonde from the sticks who followed me around and left carnival teddies that he won (while on dates with OTHER girls) on my front stoop to remind me of his existience, was going to deter me from that dream.

And then I hit puberty. And suddenly those big lips were very useful for things other than annoying me. Especially when strategically placed.

Ahem.

Sure we lived on ketchup chips, chocolate milk and popcorn for the first years we were married. Yes we argued over what type of music to listen to while rocking our rapidly expanding family to sleep. I was of the mindset that rock music was not for sleeping infants. He was of the mindset that he would shoot himself if he had to listen to the twang of a country guitar.

My dreams of becoming a peace-prize winning doctor slowly dissipated with the squealing laughter of small children and have been replaced with loftier goals. Keeping my daughter off of the stripper pole and out of the back seat that I was so fond of, while steering my son away from street racing, and prison cells.

My hubs and I struggled through school, to try to make something of ourselves and to support our family. He's had better success. His ticket actually earns money. The only thing I do with mine is talk dirty on the ole inter web.

It no longer matters to me how much money I make or how famous I will never be, as long as I never have to eat movie theatre popcorn again and my children grow up to be well-adjusted, happy adults.

Of course, I still worry what I look like, if that extra roll of lard around my middle will ever disappear, will my hairy toes be noticeable in my slippers and if Mrs. Chicky will be freaked out by my extremely pointed Spock ear. But I'm vain like that.

These days, the only things that matter to me is the fact that I have finally trained my husband not to touch the knobs on my stereo, my children are healthy, my gardens are blooming from the veritable green thumb I inherited from my granddaddy, and my husband still pesters me for sex every damn day he sees me.

Now, as I watch my children grow, I try to pass along my wisdom and my skills. I want them to be able to see the good in people, value hard work, identify clarkia and monkshood from stinging nestle and poison ivy, and be able to kick ass in a three-legged race. Of course, if they inherit my skill on the unicycle or adroitness on a pair of ten foot tall stilts, well, that's just gravy.

I am a woman of many talents after all.

Life is good. Even if it isn't the candy-coated dreams of a naive little girl.

These dreams are better.





Like their momma, they love a little nudity.

***Hop on over and go check out Racy Red. She's all about dressing it up this week.***

Survival of the Fittest

They say nothing in life is free. That includes the lazy dog days of summer. Sure, we have months of glorious sunshine and warm heat to curl our toes in the grass or sand, but like everything else, there is a price to be paid for this sweet luxury.

For some, it's the cost of an air conditioner. For others, it's endless summer camps for kids and the hunt for cheap childcare. And for a few, it is the simple price of getting tortured at the local spa to have their hair ripped violently out by it's roots all in the name of vanity.

For me, summer and it's splendor had a higher price tag. A family reunion. With the inlaws. While my husband was off chasing hot asian chicks and bringing home the bacon.

That's right. I just spent three days with Boo's entire family. From sun up to way past sundown. Side by side with the people my husband holds dearest. People I haven't seen since the last family reunion, two months before Bug died. Sure, most of them were there at Bug's funeral, but the only thing I really remember from that day is how I spent the day blowing my nose and wishing to be left the hell alone.

Good times.

So it was with great hestitancy and reluctance that I set off with my children in tow and steeled myself for the very worst. Turns out the worst was my inability to hold my liquor and my crappy-ass skill at playing games. It was actually a lot of fun.

(Shh, don't tell Boo, I plan on milking this for all it's worth....You have to do the laundry, I had to go to YOUR reunion by myself. It's your turn to go buy milk, I had to go to the reunion without you...Pretty good plan, don't you think?)

I was a little worried what Boo's ultra conservative family would think about my new body modifications. There aren't many tattooed and pierced people wandering around in this clan and I was a little scared I was going to be barred at the front door and prevented from entering in case I corrupt some of the young minds present.

Turns out, most just ignored the art. I did acquire a new nickname from my favorite uncle of Boo's. He's called me "Legs" since the day he met me when I was 18. Turns out, he now prefers the name "Rings."

Could have been worse, right?

There was a few bumps in the family road. I spent some time self-medicating myself and hyperventilating in the corner when someone mentioned to me how every family reunion we are down a few members.

Why thank you. I hadn't realized that my son was the only family member who has died since the last reunion. How thoughtful of you to point that out. Let me go jump in front of that million dollar motor home over there while you put your foot on the gas pedal and press down.

Then there was the moment when I realized I was truly a horrible, wretched woman. I caught myself oogling, no DROOLING over one of Boo's 16 year old distant cousins. I followed him around like a lost puppy dog, all in the name of keeping an eye on the children. Just when I was starting to feel really dirty I realized there was a long line of Boo's female cousins behind me, all with their eyes firmly planted on the young hottie's ass.

I may be a dirty gal, but at least I found myself in fine company.

But the highlight of the entire event was when one of Boo's aunt and uncle came up to me and said they had been looking for me but couldn't find me.

"Well, looks like you found me now," I smiled, as I took another swig from the cool beer bottle that had somehow found it's way into my hand.

"Yes, saw you, but we didn't recognize you. We couldn't believe it's you," the aging and graceful aunt offered as she eyed my tattoos and nose ring.

Thinking she meant my new body ornamentation, I replied "Yes, I've changed a bit since Bug's passing."

"Oh yes dear. We hardly recognized you with all the weight you put on."

Phew. I was worried the family would freak out about my new punky look. I'm so relieved they didn't notice them due to my big fat ass.

"Don't worry darling. It's nice to see you look so, er, healthy." Then they patted me on the head and wandered off to go aim their well-intentioned guns at some other innocent bystander.

Healthy. Great. Healthy with a fat ass. That's pretty much all I remember from the reunion because after that whammy, I drown my sorrow in whatever liquor therapy I could get my bloating hands on.







I spent the day yesterday examining my body in the mirror from every angle.

She may be right. I do look a little healthy. After thinking long and hard about my options, I came up with a plan. I'm going to go buy myself a funhouse mirror. One to stretch out my body and make me look thin.

That way, as I grow more healthy, I can live in my world of delusion.

Animal House

With summer vacation upon us, one would think that I would be able to get some much needed shut eye. After all, I don't have to rush the kids anywhere, there are no classes to attend, nothing but two months of leisure stretching out before us.

That's the theory, anyways. Tell it to the birds. Specifically, Abe and Lester. Who haven't learned to keep their big beaks shut at 7 in the morning.

Meet Abe and Lester. Or more affectionately, "The Fucking Birds."

(And yes, I did cover their cage. The fackers don't care. They just chirp away...)

Generally, I wake up to Nixon snoring in one ear and if I'm really lucky, my husband snoring in the other. However, this morning I woke up to something new. Something worse.

A bird, specifically Lester, pulling my hair out of my head, while Nixon snuffed softly in my ear.

The little facker escaped his cage. I thought the hand of God himself, had reached down to yank at my scalp. And then I woke up. I don't know who was more startled; me, Lester or Nixon.

Imagine my children's bleary eyed delight as they woke to the sounds of me cursing while I chased the damn bird around the house, naked as the day I was born. Soon our house was filled with the noise of Abe chirping Lester on to sweet freedom, Lester chirping his way to a heart attack, my creative verbal attempts at trying to coo to Lester (Come here you flying bag of fleas, mommy loves you stupid bird, come dumbass, well, you get the idea...) and my children giggling at the site of their mother running after a flapping, feathered creature, cussing a blue streak while her own bits were shaking like a bowl full of jello.

I did say my house was too quiet. I think I have solved that problem.

All I could think of was what would happen if Lester decided he wanted to pull on my boob rings with his big ole beak. Worse yet, perch there. Ouch.

Have I mentioned how much I love my birds? No? That would likely be because, well, I don't.

Not that I'm going to release them into the wild or feed them to my dog (however, I can't promise that he won't eat them if they continue to to be stars in their own version of Prison Break.) It's just, well, they annoy me.

"Over here Abe! I think I found an escape route!"

My husband was right. Birds suck. That said, welcome to our family. We willingly welcome annoying bird brains into our family. Just ask my inlaws.

(Just to be clear, that means I'm the bird brain. Oh, did I mention it's my husband's family reunion this weekend? And I will be attending without my husband? It's a good thing I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE my husband's family. And I'm not just saying that because they know where I live. Promise.)