An Open Letter of Pre-Apology

So. Thunderduck springs on us last night that he and TheLongestOneNightStandEver are getting married. 

In less than 24 hours. 

And they don't even have to. 

Imagine my surprise and heartfelt disappointment that there was no time to plan a decent bachelorette party.  I am taking this opportunity to publicly apologize to the Lucilles who have been cheated out of an excuse to raise h3ll. AND I can't even go shopping for a new dress or anything because all the good thrift stores don't open until later on Sunday.  Did they think of that?   No.  They are "in love" and are all happy and crap and are under the starstruck misguided effing impression that this is about THEM. 

Also.  Not sure how I am feeling about letting an AGGIE into the family since we are still adjusting to the fact that BrideOfTrainwreck is a Yankee.  But there is some consolation in the fact that she is cute enough to potentially produce acceptable-looking offspring for my wallet.  Because if Trainwreck's baby had been ugly I was just gonna keep the picture off of a jar of Gerber baby food and tell everyone it was just an amazing coincidence that he looked like that.  

Also to her credit was her remarkable ability to almost keep up with me last night after 3 bottles of wine.  Our evening almost ended prematurely when Thunderduck mistakenly thought she had fallen asleep in the truck on the way back to our house.  I made sure that THAT was not the case by hauling her out of the truck and into the house where we commenced to trying on our dresses and tiaras and made the menfolk build us a fire so we could finish off a box of wine and play Bride while they looked on helplessly just praying that they wouldn't have to call the fire department with us sprawled out in lawn chairs looking all wedding-ish and sh1t.

So there. She can't back out now because I have already blogged about her. 

You Tee'd Me Off

Listening to a yuppy dude (in a UT t-shirt and UT flip-flops for Gawd's sake) try to explain to a yuppy chick where and what Billy Bob's is (because nothing screams "I"m a real cowboy" like UT t-shirts and UT flip-flops).  If he is having to explain it in THAT much detail she is apparently not from Texas.

 Sadly, he is not capable of telling the truth her due to his obvious impairment: Let's face it, a yuppy-in-a-UT-t-shirt-and-UT-flip-flops-for-Gawd's-sake is overkill evidence that you A) did not actually go to UT or B) are an alumni who was a transplant from another state because we all know that UT really doesn't have anybody from Texas that ACTUALLY goes there unless they are football players.
The truth that he failed to impart is this: Billy Bob's is a great place to go for Rick Springfield concerts and to watch bull riding if you know someone who is actually riding bulls that night. Otherwise, Billy Bob's is where the yuppy dudes in UT t-shirts and UT flip-flops for Gawd's sake hang out trying to be all Texan and shi+.

And if you go in there trying to act all Texan and shi+, us real Texans will sniff you out because you are the one who gets up to go line-dance in boots that are too expensive. In the process you invariably and stupidly will leave your margarita unattended, so we'll send our drunk-a$$ sister-in-law to put a booger in it.

 I've HEARD.

Do You Want Fries With That?

So. MyPoolBoy and I go to Whataburger and I'm pretty sure that we saw a prostitution deal go down. (THAT sounds totally Harold and Kumarish doesn't it?) We sat at a table off to the side so that we could people watch because I haven't blogged in a while and I needed material. Whataburger did not disappoint. Across from us sat two women who looked like they had not yet recovered from the previous evening's festivities. Maybe even the previous week's festivities. Anyway... they started up a conversation with these guys wearing golf shirts who had arrived in a nice truck. One of the women (let's call her The Management) struck up a conversation with them that went something like this: "There's no good men in this town." (Now THAT's a pick-up line!) Translation - There's no men in the bars where we hang out that make enough money to buy their own drinks AND our drinks The Golf Shirts smiled and nodded and made the mistake of humoring her. "Well, we're not from here." Now... The Management took the social politeness as INTEREST and continued.... "That's good. We went out to the bars last night and it was just the same men as usual. Where are y'all from?" They told her. "Oh that's good." By this point, another pair of guys had arrived and seated themselves nearby. Ok. Let me rephrase that. Grizzly Adams and Barney Fife arrived and seated themselves nearby. The Management lowered her standards. "So where are y'all from?" They told her they used to be "from here" but now they lived somewhere else. "Oh that's good." This interpersonal communication proved to be more successful in that it involved more than one person in the conversation. Well "involved" beyond the point of me and MyPoolBoy listening in and muttering smart-a$$ responses to everything she spat out between bites of her Breakfast on a Bun. The gem was when she announced to both tables of men that right now she had no place to stay because her mother was about to kick her out. (Me under my breath: Why do you think that is?) The Golf Shirts left quickly in their nice new truck and she announced that she was going out to smoke and she would talk to Grizzly, Barney, and her sidekick in a little bit. The remainder of everyone else's meals continued in relieved silence and then the three got up and left at the same time. By the time that MyPoolBoy and I left, The Management had Grizzly Adams cornered at his work truck with Barney standing sheepishly at the passenger side waiting to get in. By the time we were through the double doors, The Management and her silent sidekick had started jaywalking across the highway to Walgreens. Grizzly and Barney had gotten in their truck and were pulling around to exit past the drive-thru. At this point, MyPoolBoy was receiving direct succinct orders from me to FOLLOW THEM FOLLOW THEM FOLLOW THEM! Sure enough. Grizzly's truck crossed the highway and pulled into the Walgreens parking lot. There was an exchange of words out in front of the RedBox rental machine and then the foursome entered the store. I had to continue my surveillance because of the aforementioned lack of blog material. They came out with beer and condoms. And then went to the motel across the street. Seriously. MyPoolBoy complained that all he ever got with his meal at Whataburger was heartburn.

Hey BooBoo

PSA: Yoga is infinitely more relaxing, yet completely unsuccessful when vodka is involved.

Curses! Foiled Again!

How many answers are we allowed to give?

#1 - The obvious answer: Wrap the foil around the rabbit ears antenna to get better reception because if you are old enough to know this answer, you remember when there was no such thing as cable.

#2 - The White Trash answer:  Put foil in the windows of your mobile home to keep the incoming sunlight from creating a glare on the screen while you watch your stories.

#3 - The improvisational rotten child answer: Roll the foil into a long cylinder and clamp onto the midpoint of the rabbit ear that you broke off while rough-housing in the living room of your mobile home.

#4 - The parental answer:  Use the empty cardboard roll to whoop the rotten children when they get in front of the set and block your view of the screen or if they are rough-housing and break one of the antenna off the top of the set and try to disguise it with rolled up foil.

#5 - The nutjob recluse neighbor answer:  Wrap the foil around your head, creating an unattractive yet functional beanie/hat to use while watching the television so that the messages coming in from "them" won't infiltrate your brain and make you end up like the white trash people in the mobile home next door.

Letter Rip

This is supposed to be all inspirational for planning a wedding and being romantic and whatever blah blah blah.  The bride and groom write each other a note to read before the ceremony. 

I was drawn to the changes of the expression on the bride's face (joyful, pensive, then touched -or heartbroken cuz he decided to end the letter with an "it's not you it's me and I can't go through with the wedding).  In contrast, check out the expression on HIS face - it never changes. 

I think it is because he is still trying to sound out the words!

Games People Play

OMG.  I just participated in the most exhausting game of Fetch ever known to mankind.  DammitDog, Killer, and Spazz would dutifully run after the ball I threw, but the little one couldn't get his mouth around the ball to bring it back and ended up just jumping around and barking like a fool. 

The 2 big dogs chased the ball, but by the time they crossed the yard to get to it, they apparently forgot why they were running and got all sidetracked into some sort of ADHD version of Tag and neglected to follow through with their end of the game, too.

In the meantime, DonnyCat began to feel left out of the frolicking and proceeded to start his own game of "Attempted Murder" by weaving in and out of my legs each time I went to "fetch" the dogs' effing ball for them. 

The V Word - And It's Not VODKA

If you are getting your dander up and even remotely thinking I am going to be all political with this post you are way off, so you can pick your beer back up and put your earrings back on.

Look, the only party I will say I totally support is a cocktail party.  Or a keg party.  Because, honestly, people, I am too busy trying to mess up my own life to give too much of sh1t about politics messing it up.  Now don't get me wrong... the government is important, and the news is important, but I am the parent of two sons in the military and, pretty much all I care about is that no one shoots at them.

Ok, ok, I don't want anyone shooting at the 2 sons who are NOT in the military, either.

Here's the issue - I am linking to a video to describe what I am talking about in case you, like me, get your news from Google newsfeeds, gossip at the taco stand, and the Daily Show. (Jon Stewart: The Vagina Idealogues)

Why is everyone so shocked that using the "V" word got this woman in trouble?

H3ll, using my V-word got me "in trouble" FOUR TIMES!

As Young As You Feel

So. Queen B posted a Facebook "game" with instructions that indicate participants are supposed to reply to her post with a single word response that conveys how and/or where we met her. Then we are supposed to copy and repost the same "game" on our own Facebook status so that she can do the same.

Basically, I'm just too freakin' lazy.  However - I will never pass up the opportunity to give someone, especially a family member, a hard time.  Queen B is only 8 years older than I am.   I have all kinds of things I could say about THAT.

Furthermore, I  have a complete and total lack of ability to follow instructions.  So my first thought was to respond with TWO words - tennis balls.  Because in order to meet his bride, my father used the completely unorthodox date-pick-up method of whacking tennis balls over the chainlink enclosure of a tennis court and literally "hitting on" Queen B.

I then decided that I WILL respond with a single word (which incidentally MyPoolBoy is disputing its actual lexicographical existence because spell-check is putting that annoying effing red squiggly line under it).  Also, I will not post the the "game" on my own Facebook  (refer to the aforementioned lack of ability to follow instructions).

Anyway.  The word I have chosen is  CRADLEROBBERY.   I am going to post now and watch the merriment commence!

Say Cheese

I didn't take a lunch to school today, so I took the very adult problem-solving action of cutting in the cafeteria line in front of my students.  As I was attempting to communicate to the sweet lady behind the serving line that I wanted a quesadilla, one of my boys kept saying my name over and over. "Mrs. WTP."
I ignored him.  Again..."Mrs. WTP."
Ignore. Yet again... "Mrs. WTP."
I finally got my tray of food and turned to address his incessant beckoning..."What do you need?"
"Well, I was trying to save you.  Those quesadillas are really gross!"

Cup of Prevention

After multiple days of feeling under the weather, my housekeeping skills have gone from "lacking" to "nonexistent."  So it was not entirely surprising to me this morning when MyPoolBoy's boot became entangled in the straps of a bra that I had carelessly (as in, I could care less) left at the foot of the bed.  As he propelled forward and unsuccessfully attempted to regain his balance before falling into the door frame in a display of Three-Stooges-like physical comedy, I punctuated his unfortunate ordeal with the hilarious-to-me commentary:  "Booby trap."

I think I may have unintentionally found a way to save money on security systems.  My new enterprise will be called "Second Base Security," and we will keep you ABREAST of your home's safety with 24 hour SUPPORT!

Quick Quips

At the faculty meeting this afternoon, I was delighted to discover that my colleagues had provided mini-Snickers and mini-Butterfingers AND THREE different kinds of brownies. As I made my way down the line with my plate, someone questioned what the topic of the meeting was to be. The response: information from a curriculum audit of our campus.

 To which one of my co-workers interjected this ABSOLUTE PEARL of wisdom -- "Audit." That's not really a party word, is it?

 BWAHAHAHAHA!

 Now that I am home, DonnyCat and I have come to the happy realization that it's just us here, and that we have first dibs on leftovers for dinner.

Important Video Message

You should go HERE for an important video message about my blog.

Hot Tub Time Machine

So.  I am the proud new owner of a $50 hot tub.  It is straight out of the late 70s or early 80s and after moving it, we NEED it! 

I had to clean the heating element with vinegar to remove the lime scale while we were dong some maintenance on it.  Now the whole back porch smells like Easter egg dye.  Or douche.  

It is big and ugly.  Ivory fiberglass with dark brown Spanish tile trim.  I fully expect to lift the cover and find Ron Jeremy sitting in it.  And probably the only way we  can emulate the time machine experience is to  drink heavily and then hit replay on our mp3 player and zap us back a whopping 2 minutes and 39 seconds in time.  Deja vu all over again.

Best 2-line Conversation of the Whole Day

MyPoolBoy (to Chunk who had severe bedhead):   Good morning, Mr. Bieber, you missed breakfast. 

Chunk: Shut the h3ll up!

Foo King Chinese Food

Actually it is the Panda Cafe, but we are here because we needed to eat and the Telenav Gypsy Bi+ch reviews said it was cheap delicious college Chinese food.  It was next door to a place called BULLrittos and the Frozen Goat yogvurt shop.  We really thought we were getting the better deal of the three.   And THIS was sitting on the first table when we wlked in the door. 

What's HapPINing

So.  I get on Pintrest after hearing how it is the suburban woman's crack.   And my verdict is a resounding "maybe."

I've seen a few little tidbits of info here and there, and it has been brought to my attention that there is even etiquette for "pinning."  And none of this has ANYTHING to do with voodoo dolls or getting a hot fraternity guy to mark you as his territory.  Unless I run a search for hot fraternity guys on Pintrest and then I could see what it sends me to.  (Reminder to self: look up hot fraternity guys on Pintrest later.  Reminder to self #2: check original sites for ages of hot fraternity guys before repinning to avoid pesky jail time.)

I don't have it all figured out yet, and I'm not really sure how the site chose all these random-a$$ people or pinners or pin-ups or whatever-the-h3ll-you-call-them for me to follow.

There was one that came up tonight under the category of "Architecture."  Now, first of all - I don't give a rat's shiny green a$$ about architecture.  And second of all - it was ugly.  Commenting thusly  (Hey, I don't give a rat's shiny green a$$ about your ugly architecture, etc.) on the pinner's prized collection of virtual Ugly probably violates one of those decrees of pinning etiquette.  Instead, I "Unfollowed" it, but I really was considering for a moment of "repinning" the whole shebang to MY account and just renaming the category "Ugly Sh1t."

Ventilation Without Filtration

If I said everything I was thinking I would be unemployed, divorced, and have no friends except Felix and DonnyCat.

Here's what I am thinking and not saying today....

187.  It's my IQ.  It is also the California Penal Code for murder.  Trivia you might need.  

Oh, really?  Wahhh wahhhh.

You know what this place needs?  A big g0ddayum giant chocolate cake.  And vodka.

I'm so glad you have time to post on Facebook while the rest of us WORK for a living.

Your lack of planning is my emergency because WHY????

You know what you need?  About 10 more years of life experience.

Oh h3ll yes.  Please let me stop doing everything that I am doing and take care of YOUR crap,  because I know your crap has GOT TO BE way more important than mine.

Instead of thanking me for all the work I do for you, why don't you DO SOME OF THE WORK YOURSELF?

Dog and pony shows sure leave a lot of sh1t behind for others to clean up later.

If you can't say anything nice -- well, you seem incapable of saying anything nice, so shutting the h3ll up is really your only option, isn't it?

Sorry.  I forgot to be overwhelmingly impressed.  Do you want me to do a f*cking cartwheel?

Even if you spraypaint bullsh1t gold, it's still bullsh1t.

Yippee - effing - skippy.

Why yes.  I'd love another motherf*cking responsibility on top of all the sh1t I already do to make your life easier.

Oh f*ck.  Please go away.    

Heartbreaker

Wednesday.  Driving to Sonic with MyPoolBoy in the Beemer because it was a gorgeous day and I needed to have the top down for more than the 7 blocks from school to the house.  As if I was not already a nervous wreck due to the abysmal reality that I sometimes refer to as MY DAYUM JOB, I had the added pressure of transporting a backseat driver in the passenger seat.  I was doing the best I could to keep the clutch-shift-gas rhythm going in my head to avoid hearing the sounds of his teeth grinding and his nails digging into the leather of the armrest -- I was doing completely fine with only the intermittent distractions of squirrel roadkill and turning up the volume for an appropriate cruising song, and he drops this on me:  Well, Davy Jones died today.

What?

Ok.  Admittedly I was distracted by the dead squirrel in the road at this point and for a millisecond I thought he meant the pirate.

Then it hit me.

What?

So he goes - "I SAID Davy Jones died today.  A heart attack.  So there will be no more Monkees reunions."

I HEARD you.  What kind of sadist are you?  Crap.  Don't do that to a woman -- don't just break the news to her that one of the cutest men on the planet is dead while she's trying to shift from second to third.  Are you trying to get us all killed?  I could have careened out of control at the breakneck speed of 21 mph and it would have been ALL YOUR FAULT.

To make matters worse - this morning, the GrandMarshal spearheaded a celebration of Dr. Seuss's birthday by getting the cafeteria to serve green eggs and ham for breakfast and he totally missed two other very important occasions - Texas Independence Day and Jon Bon Jovi's birthday.  No mention at all.  Not one whit.

Fast-forward to now - because the in-between is a h3llish blur that would drive most women and all men to drink. Being in the category of "most women" I have concocted a "sort-of-pina-colada" from remnants of various flavors of vodka and rum and a pitcher of frozen pineapple juice.  And some flavored syrup sh1t like you're supposed to put in coffee but coffee contains no alcohol so SCREW THAT.

So I'm cruising Facebook and mulling over the comments by a few of the Banned Camp girls, and I come across THIS phrase: geezer rock stars I'd still do.

It's like an even MORE inappropriate though thoroughly precise version of Do-able/Not Do-Able.
And so, I am inspired.  Here's my list.

Rick Springfield (obviously)

Bon Jovi (though I am not sure that he qualifies as a geezer because he's only 50, so technically he is not even old enough for the senior discount at Denny's)

Possibly Barry Gibb of the Bee Gees.

Davy Jones WAS on the list but he's not now that MyPoolBoy broke my heart with his insensitive announcement.

Elvis WOULD BE on the list, but I was like, 9 when he died so that kinda would've been statutory rape and besides at THAT point in my life I thought Leif Garrett was cute, so what did I know?

P.S. Add Leif Garrett because now I'm inebriated, and it's just funny!

We May Not Win But We Had Fun Trying

 So.  Me and Felix and Duckit and Hyphen entered the campus chili cook-off, which I must tell you was disturbingly bereft of  a number of health code protocols.  I know WE didn't use those ill-fitted plastic glove-thingies OR hair nets -- unless you count the Dr. Seuss hats we were wearing as hair nets. 

Along the way to the culminating moment of chili judging, we also hit some other lows.... slightly inappropriate attempts to turn a stuffed Cat-In-the-Hat toy into a voodoo doll, eerily realistic-looking plastic cockroaches that *somehow* appeared on the lids of other contestants' chili entries, an impromptu acapella rendition of the "buy the world a Coke" song, and the shameless waving of a crumpled five dollar bill in the faces of the judges. 

Someone came by our classrooms later and excitedly reported to us that they thought they saw a ribbon on our table. 

Yeah, we know.  A blue one.  We put it there as a subconscious message to the judges that we deserved to win.