Bitter Wives Club

Well aren’t you lucky?  Another post thanks to my recent bout of insomnia.  I’m gonna blame it on a mixture of stress, bitterness and the flu.  So while my chamomile night night tea cools, I’ve gone nothing but time…

So as you may remember, Too Legit and I have been on the lookout for a main gay.  She used to have one but he moved to Miami to be with his sugar daddy.  And I have “good friend” gay but (1) he lives in Austin (2) I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be caught dead in cut off daisy duke shorts singing show tunes (hello, requirement… non-negotiable).  So I’m sitting at my ex-favorite bar with my ex-favorite bartender¹ and chatting with some people everyone.  Despite my normally stoic demeanor, get six beers in me and I’ll be your best friend (this helps to explain why I have about 8 numbers in my phone that I don’t recognize… but obviously I was super excited when I put them in because I used a lot of exclamation points.   CHRISTA!!  And Kayla I apparently liked so much I put in twice.  Linda!!!  Etc.) So I’m chatting with people and this guy sits down next to me and orders a drink.  We start talking and I find out that he’s the manager of Aqua.  THE. DRAG. SHOW. Holy Mary mother of gay jackpots!  Um seriously.  What’s better than a main gay who can decorate your house?  A main gay who can decorate your house DRESSED UP LIKE CHER OR LADY GAGA.

So I cozy up to this guy thinking- make him my main gay, start hanging out and then get to know the “ladies” and swoop in and get one of them to be my main gay.  Great plan right?  Well, said guy is in fact, not gay (my bad but seriously how could I have possibly known that?)  BUT it seems he has forgiven me for the misunderstanding since he wanted to take me to lunch today (oh ladies do not worry, I’m totally going to eat with him next week- cause at the very least we’re totally getting that plaque put above our VIP booth).  So yay, potential for a best friend who can sing show tunes and teach you how to tuck your sack back (really you’d be amazed at how well they do this, it defies the laws of fucking gravity.)

¹Cupcake* (formerly known as DP) got mad at me the other night.  For getting drunk.  AT A BAR.  To be an ass he cut me off.  So to be a bitch I walked into the main bar, bought a beer, and came back to his bar.  So I’m officially grounded from said bar which is fucking fine by me… cause if you can’t get drunk IN A BAR where the hell else can you?

*Cupcake was not, nor ever will be a term of endearment.  It was a night of drinkings progression.  Bar baby.  Baby Bar.  (take a few shots)  Baby CAKES! (a few more shots)  I got it I got it- CUPCAKE! Now he tells people its because he’s sweet and delicious and better unwrapped.  Just remember ladies, cupcakes are bad for you

“Brittany salad”-  Why do I feel like this wasn’t meant to find Viv’s salad?  I’m guessing it was more of a salad toss of a certain bleach blond pop star.  But I’m deducing that from the fact that there are a whole lotta perverts out there.

“lace up man shorts”-  I’m picturing these in my head.  And they’re pleather. And paired with a matching page boy cap.

“what happens at a passion party”-  Really, you need to google this?  Remember that jewelry/skincare/chocolate/air freshener party your friend conned you into coming to at her house?  And not only did they try to get you to buy their crap but then join their pyramid scheme?  Okay well think along those lines but instead of testing out how soft a moisturizer makes your skin, you get to feel how realistic the “skin” on that giant purple dildo feels.  But be warned, what happens at a passion party does not stay at a passion party.  Cause it’ll be the ONE time the box breaks as the hot UPS man is delivering your package full of anal beads to your door.

“wives who shit in public”- Really?  You sick, sick fucks…

While I have nothing new and interesting to talk about because seriously my job couldn’t be more boring, I did promise Too Legit (after a somewhat threatening text message from her) that I would post something.  I didn’t say something good, just something.

Actually it is kind of funny.  It’s how Madonna’s name changed and came to be Too Legit.

Originally it was Madonna because there are only so many one name rock stars out there.  That was the first one that came to mind besides Deonne and after that whole Psychic Friends Network debacle I am not real keen on that bitch.  So whatever, Madonna.

Then one day I get a text from M.  Her husband’s younger college co-ed sister was in town with some of her friends.  They are young and beautiful and “hip” (and by virtue of the fact that I just used that word means I am incredibly unhip but whatever).  So they’re telling M how “legit” she is (apparently this is a HUGE compliment?).  Her house is “legit,”  her boat is “legit,”  the Keys are “legit,” etc.

M: if I start chanting “Too Legit, too legit to quit” will that negate the comment?

C: They’re probably too young to know what the hell you were talking about.

M: Omg. That is true.  Today hubby made a bionic woman reference and they looked at him with a blank stare.  Apparently they could not appreciate Lindsey Wagner.

And thus Madonna became Too Legit.  She’s also known as DCMac but that’s another story for another day (but strangely also has to do with a has-been 90′s rapper).

You know how I love vanity plates.  This is the most amazing one I’ve ever seen.

Too Legit saw this in the parking lot after happy hour and immediately sent it to me.

I’m not sure if this guy has an amazing sense of humor OR if he’s (IDK if it’s a he but I’m gonna assume so, cause no self respecting woman would drive around like this) totally clueless.

I recently read an article about how DMVs have a whole division dedicated to weeding out dirty vanity plates.

How in the hell did they miss this?

So I got a job.

I’ll give  you a second to recover from choking on your cocktail.  (I hope the olive gets stuck in your damn throat whore.)

And it blows.

Oh you’re still laughing?  Take all the time you need.  I don’t have shit to do… EXCEPT WORK MY ASS OFF.

It’s not that my actual job sucks, it’s fine.  It’s that any job sucks.  Especially when you’ve spent the last 8 years being a “kept” woman.  (I didn’t say kept well, but kept just the same.)

And don’t get me wrong… being a full time parent is totally a full time job.  More than full time.  You’re expected to work 800 overtime hours a week.  But here’s the beauty: you can do most of your work in your pj’s and totally unshowered.

It’s my guess that my new boss might frown upon me rolling in wearing a ratty tshirt and my old maternity shorts.  And I’m pretty sure I might scare the clients if I went without showering for three days.

But that’s just a guess.

And I got my first paycheck today.  As my mom points out, it’s more money than I had last week but… is it worth the water bill from having to shower EVERY. SINGLE. DAY?

We shall see when I get the next paycheck.  It better be a hellovalot better.

Good news for you is waking up ass early only to deal with complete morons only serves to make me more bitter.  So stay tuned.

Now I’m gonna go drink myself into oblivion.

Peace out homies.

So everyone is allowed a blond moment (or two).  We all have them.  Huz used to look at me and say “please don’t say things like that out loud” whenever I would say something especially dumb (of course this is coming from a guy who thought a swine was a cheap whore).  Normally I would laugh it off and move on.  HOWEVER, I had the worlds biggest blond moment the other day.  One in which I said something so stupid I fear I’ll never live it down.  The friends who heard it will forever laugh at me.  The complete stranger who I said it to, will probably refer to me as “that fucking idiot in Key West” forever.

I’m sitting at the bar chatting with my favorite bartender (read: he gives me free drinks).  A guy with a heavy accent asks if the two bar stools to the left of me are open.  I tell him yes, he and his friend sit down and, as is customary in bars such as these, the whole group gathered around engages in conversation.  Dude next to me starts telling me about where he’s from (Puerto Rico) and talking to me about his life.  Sometimes he talks to his buddy en espanol.  He tells me to friend him on Facebook and proceeds to watch me do it¹.  Then he’s making fun of my Michelob Ultra (♥) and telling me I should go to Puerto Rico and try some Puerto Rican beer.

You know what I say?

Me: I don’t like Mexican beer.

Everyone stops what they’re doing and looks at me in fucking shock.  And I still don’t get it.  It was like dead silent for what seemed like 10 minutes (but then I tend to exaggerate as you well know.)

Then it hit me.

Fuck.

Before I could correct myself…

Cupcake the bartender: Coco, Puerto Rico isn’t in Mexico dear.

Me:  OHHHHH Sorry!  I was thinking Costa Rica!

They’re still staring and giving me that I sure hope she’s joking look.

Me: Whatever it’s all in South America.

Still staring.  Their concern is clearly growing.  I’m pretty sure they all think I’m THE dumbest person on the planet right then.

Cupcake the bartender (in a poor thing tone): Neither Mexico or Puerto Rico is in South America.

Me: You know what I mean.

All proceed to shake their heads and pretend the conversation never happened (while I’m sure dying laughing and calling me an uneducated southern hick in their heads).

Sadly, I’m not even a real blond.  FML.

¹How the fuck are you supposed to say no?  But WHY does he wanna be FB friends?  He doesn’t even live in the US² and all of his posts are in Spanish!  WHY??  But you know, I’m such a nice person I did it anyway and still don’t have the guts to unfriend him.

²Puerto Rico may practically be a state, but almost doesn’t fucking count.

Otherwise known as “the ridiculous things that come out of my husband’s mouth that maybe he should have thought about before saying out loud.”

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I’m looking at some peanut curry dressing.

Me: Doesn’t this look good?

Huz: PEANUT? Eww.

Me: Hu?

Huz:  Peanuts in dressing?  That’s disgusting.

Me: Don’t you like Thai food?

Huz: I love Thai food.

Me: There’s peanuts in pad thai.

Huz: No there’s not.

Me: Uh, yeah.  There is.

10 minutes later he orders Spicy Thai Peanut Pasta.

Huz: Yum this is good!

Me: *eye roll*

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After walking into a freezing ass cold restaurant…

Huz: I’m just not used to this sweltering a/c.

Me: You mean arctic freezing.  Which would be the opposite of “sweltering.”

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While discussing SP’s broken shoe rack.

Huz: You need to get some sauter glue and fix that.

Me: Sauter glue?

Huz: Yeah.

Me: What the fuck is sauter glue?

Huz: It’s really hot glue.

Me: No, that is called hot glue.

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Huz: There’s a bunch of cockroaches scurveying around.

Me: Scurveying?

Huz: Yeah, they’re all scurveying around.

Me: You should give them some vitamin C.

*********************************************************************

I threw Sassy’s sheets in the wash, as we had guests spending the night later that evening.  I put clean sheets on the bed and asked huz to put the laundry in the dryer when it was finished and then put the pillow cases on when they were done drying.  Several hours later I come home.  He is visibly proud of himself.

Huz: Look honey!  I made SP’s bed!

I look and see the cabbage patch sheets on the bed.

Me: Uh, I already made the bed.

Huz: No!  I did!

Me: I had already put clean sheets on there… did you take them off?

Huz: There were no sheets on there.

Me: Uh yeah there were.

Huz: No there wasn’t!

Ummm, yeah there was.  He put a fitted & flat sheet over the fitted and flat sheets that were already on there.  And apparently he never noticed.  It must have been those damned invisible sheets.

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Me: So you’re sure you won’t eat sweet potatos?

Huz: Yes.

Later.

Huz: What are you doing?

Me: Looking for sweet potato recipes that you might eat.

Huz: Why have you all of a sudden become obsessed with making sweet potatoes?

Me: Because I have five of them!

Huz: What are you talking about?  A sweet potato is different from a regular potato?

Me: Uh, see those giant orange things right there?

Huz: oooohhhh.

<Apparently he thought his mom just added sugar and orange food coloring?  Who knows.>

•So do you ever have those nights where you drink too much and you totally black out?  You spend the next day getting random flashbacks and trying to retrace your steps via Foursquare and the bar stamps all over your arms?  Then you get a call from an asshole friend who feels the need to tell you (most likely over exaggerated) stories of your drunken debauchery… ooooh you made that stripper put his cock in your ear¹, ooooh you did a barrel roll in a party skirt off the hood of a car in the Whataburger parking lot², ooooh you did a line of coke off that Tri Delt’s ass³, oooh you totally tripped over your own foot and face planted on the concrete¹ (thus explaining the missing eyebrow), ooooh you made it rain on the bartender¹,  ooooh you tried to make a pregnant chick drink vodka while you rolled around the driveway in DBag’s sweater while playing George Strait songs on a kazoo¹, ooooh you told the neighbor that her granddaughter was the devil²… Blah blah blah.  I find this part incredibly annoying.  I black out after a few beers and I fucking love it.  Do you know how much easier it is to go out and get blitzed again if you feel no remorse for pushing that old lady over in order to cut in line at the all night pizza stand the night before?  I DON’T KNOW WHAT I DID AND FRANKLY I DON’T CARE.  Well this is where my sympathy for Charlie Sheen comes in.  What if he does sober up?  Instead of asshat friends calling him up to tell him what he did, he’ll have millions of hours of video to show him.  And that will just drive him to get obliterated all over again.  So Charlie here’s my advice… continue your drug and alcohol fueled tirade.  Do it for your honor, for your self esteem.  You may feel like you have tiger blood now (and believe me Chuck, I know the fucking feeling), but you’re just gonna feel like a giant dick once you get the drugs outta your blood stream.  Oh, and you’re also gonna realize that the “goddesses” in bed next to you are just 3rd rate hookers with bad acne scars and too much cellulite (*I’m not saying I don’t have cellulite but hey, I’m not doing Charlie Sheen).

¹Me.

²Viv.

³Who the fuck knows but if you read texts from last night, it seems that it happens frequently.

Don’t EVER leave your phone unlocked and unattended.  If you do, you’re liable to wake up to this…

Assholes.

So I realize that lately my posts may have been a little more… uh, angry, than usual.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m cool with being bitter but I think I may be approaching a more unattractive state… one that will leave me living in a one bedroom apartment surrounded by soiled adult diapers, old newspapers and cats.  God knows I do not want that.  I’ll at least need a boy toy in my old age and well, I guessing the smell of animal urine and rotting food might scare any of those away.  So from now on I will try my hardest to be less, ehhh… rage-full and just stick with bitter.  Cause as far as I’m concerned, it’s a good look for me.  But then, we all know about my over inflated self esteem.

By the way, that was my fucked up version of an apology.  Don’t like it?  Kiss my bitter ass.

SOOOOO anyways… this week is spring break.  Yes the GTL¹ crowd is out in full effect (if I see one more “SPRING BREAK 2011!!” shirt I will fucking kill someone… or at least bitch about it incessantly… and given my perpetuation towards the passive aggressive, I’d bet on the latter).  While I try to avoid the mass crowds of underage hoochies at Fat Tuesday (no one checks ID’s till 9pm), sometimes it’s just fun to look at.  Cause watching and judging is one of my most favorite activities.  (More on this in a second.)

Part of letting SP go to her other grandparent’s house for her birthday was that they would get to spend break with my parents.  (You know, the grandparents who actually give a shit AND don’t question the paternity of one of their grandkids just because he happens to be blond, just like the maternal side of the family.)  So yesterday I drove them up to Pompano Beach to meet up with them and give them the kids (yeah yeah, they drove much further but I cut 8 hours off their trip… what more do you want from me?  I’m still scarred from the last cross country drive.)  SP says to me “momma, don’t cry when we say goodbye.”  I say, “no of course not.”  Really what I wanted to say was- ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  I GET TO SLEEP AS LATE AS I WANT FOR A WHOLE WEEK!  (Me a bad parent?  noooo.)  Well I was already freaking exhausted due to a complete lack of sleep, nicotine and caffeine but I had planned on making the trip back home.  Since I still have a key to Tower’s house (a move I’m sure she regrets) I figured I’d go take a nap at her place and then drive back.  Wanna guess what didn’t happen?  Yeah, me getting back in the car.  She has the most comfortable couch ever and keeps her house at like 65 degrees… there was no chance in HELL that I was leaving.  Although come to find out, and given my hatred of manual labor, I probably should have.

Tower and the Edge are moving into a new place (and YES they gave me a key!  Although I’ll never be able to find this place on my own… this was probably part of their amazingly cunning plan to keep me from stopping by unexpectedly… thank God for google maps! bwaahaaahaaa!)  Again, I totally intended on just napping and then making the 3.5 hour trip home which didn’t happen.  Lucky for me I came on a weekend where they were not having a 70′s party or playing flip cup, but painting their new apartment.  FAIL.  So what did I spend my first childless (Friday) night doing?  Fucking painting.  And painting an off white house, white.  The good news is that there was beer (which, let’s face it, makes EVERYTHING better).  Better news?  There was a trip to my all time fav diner in South Florida… it’s called Lester’s.  (The whole “Lester Lester child molester thing will totally make sense soon.)

Here Tower and I were, minding our own business when we hear this “squeak squeak”…  There’s an episode of Scrubs where at the end they get these super ghey purple pleather outfits.  They can barely move.  When they do move, they squeak.  This was exactly the same sound.

Then we see what’s making the sound…

And there were two of them.  Leather pants, leather shirt, leather jackets… And then the other dude had a hat which said “Daddy’s Boy” which just weirded me the fuck out.  I don’t know if anyone watches South Park but when I saw them, all I could think of was this…

So Tower and I wait to leave to make sure they’re getting on Harley’s.  But no… they get into a 4 door Mitsubishi Diamante.  Epic fucking fail you posers.

¹Speaking of GTL and spring break, Angelina from the Jersey Shore was out in town the other night (of course a night I couldn’t go out) and was doing shots with my friends.  Waiting for pics and I promise to share.