WEEEEEEEEE Are The Champions!

FINALLY!!! The boys came away Friday night with a Championship win. The final score was 17 – 7 and both the pre-game and post-game celebrations were AWESOME!

(Z is middle right)

(Isn't he handsome? Cougars need not apply.)

We arrived at the stadium a couple of hours early to tailgate before the game. There was great food and much laughter in preparation of a challenging game. Here we have my brother and my daughter hamming it up for the camera. Actually, in the second shot I was just trying to get a photo of the sun setting on the stadium BUT Spawnette had to get into the act.

(His ears aren't REALLY that big, he just pulled his hat low for a "special Kodak moment....man, he'll be pissed when he sees I posted this picture. LOVE YOU FINNIE!!!!)


(Scary shot of her mouth.)

After the boys pulled of a much deserved victory I hoofed it down to the field. Looking around I also noticed that no other parents (other than Satan himself who happened to jump the wall) were down on the field. I am such a hoodlum, I know.

(Come on guys, it was a long day; you were expecting me to look sexy???)

Spent Saturday with my sister and family. Here I am with my niece "Legs"…..she just turned fifteen....she’s kinda tall.


(Hellooooo??? Can you see me???)

Hope you all had a MOST fabulous weekend as well!

WEEEEEEEEE Are The Champions!

Missed Me, Missed Me, Now Ya Gotta Kiss Me!

So I bet the past two weeks with no word from the Marnster has driven all of my regular readers away in disgust. Bitch ain’t got’s the time fer us we outta here. Well let’s see, things to get you guys caught up on:

· Workin’ the Storms

· Judy-Judy with the Bubblegum Bootie’s Surgery

· Sister Sister in Town to Cover My Ass

· Reconciliation With My Man

· Spawn’s Football

· Insurance Coverage for Teenage Boy

· I Love Football

Okay, that about covers the first ten days since I was last here; get the picture of how hectic my life was sans the football? Because come on, everyone has to have a vise or thirteen.

Workin’ the Storms

It sucked. I worked anywhere from twelve to fifteen hours a day. And remember, State Emergency Response covers the entire State of Florida. They get a thunderstorm over Key West and yes, it’s us to the rescue. And can you say it’s been Africa Hot? She’s been spittin’ out storms like a toothless old man with over active mucous membranes standing on the front porch hockin’ loogies at the neighborhood hoodlums. We also offer assistance to neighboring states should they be impacted as well. Guess what? Next big storm they’re gonna deploy me to a staging area instead of “The War Room”. Okay, so that would be cool; I’m not complaining about that.

Judy-Judy with the Bubblegum Bootie’s Surgery

Yes folks, I got pictures. If my mother sees this she will be SOOOOO pissed but then again, she has no internet and the only people I can think of that would tell her I posted a post-op picture of her in all of her glory would be my brother or my sister.

(Judy-Judy doing her impersonation of a morphine addict as my brother, Finnie, provides her with a chaser of vodka. Okay, okay, she'd just awakened from surgery and was thirsty. Note the snicker on my brother's face? Yeah, he spilled a bit of water onto Judy-Judy's boobies but she was still doped up so we didn't tell her.)

Judy-Judy’s surgery went well. She’s up and hobbling around with just a cane. However, for those of you that have never been a caregiver of any kind whatsoever, it’s a tough job. My mom wasn’t even sick and she drove me nuts. She’s lucky I love her as much as I do….and I love her BUNCHES…..but washing her hair for her while she was unable to take a shower proved that Shampoo Girl is not an optional career choice for me should I ever decide to get a new job. I soaked myself, my mother, and her friend Pat The Telephone Junkie in three minutes flat. Thank goodness she finally got her stitches out and can bathe herself.

I won’t tell you about her sponge bath; it even scared me.

Sister-Sister in Town to Cover My Ass

My sister arrived Monday night of this week to take over the care of my mother.

I. Love. My. Sister.



(Remarkable how much she resembles Angelina Jolie, isn’t it?)

Reconciliation With My Man

Way back in June, King Dork and I had a bit of a tiff and after three years of long distance relationship struggles, he called it quits. Nine hundred miles DOES tend to put a strain on a romantic relationship and no being able to see each other as often as we liked, irrational insecurities on both sides attacked our over-active imaginations and BAM…..disaster struck.

BUT, I really, really missed my snuggie-wugg’ms.

I caved.

I contacted him, told him I missed him, he missed me too, we talked about what goobers we both were and SHAZZAM….he showed up at my door for Labor Day weekend. Next week we’re meeting in Denver for the WVU/Colorado game. YEA!!!! Sex, football, beer, and no kids. Can you say “YESSSSSS”?

I’m so glad I called this big, bald, tattooed, lovable guy…..



....besides, he’s a Steelers fan so I have to keep him.

Spawn’s Football

Friday August 29th was my son’s first football game of the season. He is the starting left guard and guess what!

Hold on a minute, I’m a bit emotional and my eyes are tearing up; I can’t see to type.

Okay, thanks for being patient with my sentimental ass.

Spawn received his very first personal foul.

I KNOW!!!! He makes a mother proud. A kid from the opposing team said something derogatory so Spawn lifted him up by the front of his jersey and threw him to the ground. I’m in the stands hold up this sign:



I jump up yelling into the face of the guy sitting next to me DID YOU SEE THAT?!?!? THAT’S MY BOY!!! (Pointing proudly at my offspring)

Then I remembered he plays for a Christian school so I quickly sat back down.

I’d like to think the kid said something ugly about me so Spawn felt the need to kick his ass. He neither confirmed nor denied so leave me with my dream, will ya?

Insurance Coverage for Teenaged Spawn

Speaking of Spawn, I contacted my insurance guy to see how much my insurance would increase by allowing Spawn to finally get his regular driver’s license.

I would increase by 400%.

Spawn’s not getting his license any time soon.

I Love Football

Did anyone else cry at the beginning of football season because they were so glad to see it again? None of my family has ESPN because they’re all a bunch of cheap bastards so party at my house on any given game day.

I am a football whore. I really don’t have much to report on here and don’t ask me to recite stats or tell you where any given player is from (that’s Spawn’s job), just leave me alone if there’s a game on TV because I. Love. Football.

Just remember….if you’re coming over to watch a game, bring beer.


There you have it folks, a busy time was had by all. Sister Sister goes home on Sunday, I leave for Denver on Wednesday BUT I will do my best to come a visit all of my long lost friends this weekend and get caught up.

And by the way, I missed you guys, too!

Missed Me, Missed Me, Now Ya Gotta Kiss Me!

Betty Ford Ain't Got Nothin' On Me

So, I guess I should fill you in on the actual conversation I had with Spawn about the beer because it really wasn’t as bad as I made it out to be. I will do my best to relay the conversation as accurately as I can remember it verbatim. (Is that grammatically correct or did I just totally and completely rape the English language?) We’ve had conversations in the past about alcohol, driving, and all the ramifications of drinking underage both legally and at home. So here goes – as good as it gets:

QB - *drops herself down onto the couch and schlumps up next to Spawn* S’up?

S – Nu’in’

QG – So man…..didja get my note?

S - *slightly turns his head toward me and raises and eyebrow* Huh?

QG – Dude, you are so busted.

S – What?!?!

QG – So who drank the two beers I found in your garbage?

S – I don’t know.

QG - *drops her head slightly and looks at Spawn over her glasses* Come again.

S – I drank one.

QB – Who drank the other one?

S – Cooper

QG – Dude, you are such a dork; who drank the other one?

S - *shrug of shoulders*

QG – Z…… (That’s his nickname)

S – Okaaaaaaaay, I drank them both.

QG – Dude that is so totally uncool.

S - *shrug of shoulders and dropping of head to the side*

QG – Man, I am so disappointed. Number one, those beers were mine and not for you to just take. Number two you drank alcohol while I was outta the house knowing how I’d feel. And number three, I really don’t want to have to worry about you going to a buddy’s house and roaming the streets after a few beers. Do you know how uncool that is? You do remember it’s illegal, right?

S - Yeah.

QB – So you know I don’t want you in a car if you’ve had any alcohol, right? You remember this conversation we’ve had?

S – Yeah.

QG – You’d call me?

S - *slowly swings his head toward me and raises one eyebrow*

QG – Cool.

S – *Throws his arm over my shoulder* Yeah, cool

QG – ‘Ja eat yet?

S – Chicken wings.

QG – Whatcha wanna watch?

S – Knockaround Guys

QG – Cool, Vin looks hot in that wife beater.

* Long pause*

S – Love you mom.

QG Love you too, Baby.

Betty Ford Ain't Got Nothin' On Me

Oiy, The Drama

I know, I’ve neglected some of my loyal readers all three of them as I haven’t posted for almost an entire week. A whole week bereft of my sarcasm, my humor, and my biting wit. I’ve been dealing with that proverbial “laundry” that needed airing out but is now neatly folded and tucked safely back into the closet. I could always blog about that but come on, do you really want me to bitch, rant, and rave about a failed relationship? I didn’t think so.

Not much to report on in my neck of the woods as the spawn have both been gone and I have been lazing around the homestead for the most part. I did some reading and some cleaning (as you all know) but nothing other than sparing with my former Man and addressing issues at hand which I know would humour you but I would feel guilty about sharing. OH WAIT!!!! OMG, so as ya’ll know I spent what felt like DAYS cleaning the house. While in my son’s room scraping away layer upon layer of dust and grime, I turned to empty the hated Florida Gator garbage can and do you know what I found? Evidence he did not even bother to hide from my prying parental eyes? Two empty beer bottles. (You were waiting to read condoms, weren’t you? I’ve already run that marathon so no news there. Remind me to tell you all about the heart-to-heart we, or rather I had about sex and sexually transmitted diseases. Spawn. Was. Mortified.) So anywho, I found these two beers in Spawns garbage can. Not only were they not hidden but those were two of MY beers. MY BEERS! That little bastard went into my stash of Bud Lite that I keep in the vegetable crisper, (because really, who keeps vegetables in their refrigerator’s crisper anymore?) snagged two beers, and drank them both. I wrote a short note and taped it to one of the bottles that said “WHAT THE HELL?!?” and waited to see how long it would take him to see the 4x4 bright green note hanging over the edge of the gator’s head painted on the garbage can. Nothing, that little worm said not one word to me. You know why? HE DIDN’T SEE THE NOTE! In fact, the note I had written and left for him Saturday is still there! I had to bring up the subject and go through the whole “this is unacceptable”, “you’re throwing your life into the gutter”, and “you’re going down the path your father chose, is this where you want to wind up” conversation and he acted like it was not big deal. NO BIG DEAL!

So what do I do? Should I leave it alone, just count my beer bottles, and not worry about it until he does it again (because we all know he will - he’s sixteen). I’d kinda feel like a hypocrite if I continue harping about this to him, you know? Because come on, raaaaise your hand if you hijacked some beer or liquor from your parents when you were a teenager. Yup, just as I thought; every single one of you has your hand raised. Okay, how many of you had smoked a hog-leg or two of skunk weed by the time you were sixteen? I see that a few hands have gone down, including my sister’s, but I still see quite a few raised. So what do I do? Help me out guys, I’m floundering and that’s not a swimming stroke I’m comfortable with. What? Only two of my readers have teenagers and those kids are straight A students who have never traveled the wrong side of the law? None of those cute little kindergartners have ever stolen a beer or smoked some weed? None? Not even the ones that live in California?!?!?!

CRAP!!!! I’m doomed to a life of eternal lecturing, aren’t I? I hate lectures. I’d much prefer condemning him to a short stay in an iron maiden than lecture him. You guys got any good lines I could throw in as a good moral to my lesson? No? Ooooooh, you want to hear more about the sex talk instead, don’t you? Alrighty then, your wish is my command.



(to be continued)

(Don't you hate those words? Right when you're getting into a story or movie and you KNOW you've figured out the plot, those evil little words pop up outta nowhere ruining your entire day.)

BASTARDS!

Oiy, The Drama

Public Humiliation

Is it just me or do other parents wake up in the morning with thoughts of how they will embarrass their children in public on any given day? Does anyone else find the need to plot revenge for impertinence or come up with strategically planned and properly executed practical jokes knowing your kids will roll their eyes and pretend ignorance of your existence?

When the spawn were young and impressionable, grocery shopping and trips to the mall were fun. It was a smorgasbord of slap-stick comedy and props and took nothing more than juggling tangerines at Publix to get a belly-rumbling laugh from either one of the two. Now that the spawn are fifteen and sixteen “respectively” (insert your own chuckle here), the acts of sabotage are more difficult to achieve.

I’ll give you an example. A few months ago Spawnette informs me there are still a number of items she needs before going on her ninth-grade class trip. The next day. It’s Easter Sunday. In a small Southern town. Where the hell did she think we were going to go? But ah-HA, there WAS a store open. One bound to be extremely crowded on this Easter Sunday afternoon. And what store would that be? None other than the dreaded life-sucking parasitic desperado…..Wal-Mart.

I despise Wal-Mart. It leeches tolerance, kindness, and patients out of all humanity. It turns sweet, blue-haired ladies into the vampiric creatures of small children’s nightmares. Its horror descends upon the unsuspecting leaving nothing but bloody stumps and appendages behind. It’s every human being’s nightmare come to life in 3-D Technicolor. It is hell.

I do not want to go shopping; I hate shopping. And I really do not want to go shopping in the only store open this lovely Easter Sunday. Spawnette is a browser. She has difficulty deciding upon which pair of white socks she will wear every day of the week. All her socks are the same. We. Will. Be. There. For. Hours. Hours of shopping are unacceptable so I must put my thinking cap on to devise a way to get in and out of hell as quickly as possible. What gets Spawnette moving faster than a speeding bullet? Humiliation and embarrassment. Wow, the ideas were endless. Should I change into my flamingo and trailer pajamas, grab my green frog slippers, and roll some pink curlers into my hair? Pajamas – check. Slippers – check. Rollers – SHIT – I don’t have any rollers. I looked for a breast plate and helmet so that I could do my impersonation of King Leonidas but failed to locate the necessary costume for an authentic reenactment of the Battle of Thermopylae. Crap. I had to call in forces and submit to the deviously scheming thoughts of Spawn. He liked the King Leonidas idea and went off to construct a leather skirt and wrist bands. “Good luck with that, Honey, let me know when you’re done.”

And then it hit me; I had just organized my arts and crafts and sewing materials. I had brown fake fur and some tartanesque material. I had plastic swords and daggers and a nice leather belt. I had the makings of William Wallace and I was raring to go. I slipped on my work boots, wrapped the pieces of fur around my shins and tied them on with yarn. I threw the plaid material over my shoulder and fastened in to my waist with a belt. Dagger in boot and sword in belt I left my room and headed for the front door hollering over my shoulder to Spawnette that Spawn and I would be waiting in the car. (He never did come up with leather for the skirt and wrist bands so he settled for a little kid’s plastic police helmet and a big foam sword.) Would you believe she was so busy primpin’ and make-upin’ that she never did notice our attire? Until, that is, we got out of the car in the parking lot of hell. She whipped her long hair over her shoulder and with piercing eyes and lips pulled back in a snarl she told me I wasn’t to walk closer than ten feet behind her and I was not to say one word to her because “I will not respond to ONE word YOU have to SAY!!!!”

Walking into the building I ran into a supervisor from work; he told me I looked good.

We were in and out in under 25 minutes.

Learn. From. The. Master.

Wanna see what I looked like?

Cooper thought that I looked HOT, even with my highlander scowl.

Public Humiliation

What A Drag

No, Spawn has not taken to purchasing sequined gowns, stilettos, and really big wigs. In fact Spawn hasn’t been home in almost a month. Spawnette has been gone this week as well and to top it off, my mom left for ten days and my longtime boyfriend decided he could no longer do the long distance relationship thing. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve enjoyed the slovenly lifestyle I’ve been living this week. I come home from work, throw on shorts and a T-shirt, and have Cap’n Crunch for dinner if I want to. The TV stays off and there is always a book or twenty-seven to keep me occupied for the quiet evenings at home. Coop is with me…..wherever I go…..following, following, always there…..and he’s great company. Never demanding (unless his food bowl is empty); always with a kiss on the end of his tongue. But I must say that without my mother, the spawn, and the Man around providing me with inspiration and awkward situations to write about I’ve come to the realization what a big bore I am.

I. Am. Boring.

I have yet to do something to make myself giggle. I don’t roll my eyes at myself. I don’t tell myself I’m gonna take my phone away if I don’t start talking to me in a better tone of voice. I don’t complain about what’s for dinner and stomp my foot in a fit of anger because something on the plate is green. I don’t make excuses to avoid doing the dishes and I actually brush my teeth and go to bed when I’m supposed to without being told fourteen times that it’s way past my bedtime.

I. Am. Boring.

I need a hobby. A hobby that takes me out of the house. Out of the house in something other than cargo shorts, Vans, and a T-shirt advertising Guinness. Something that does not take place at the retirement center six blocks from the house. (Although those velvet paint-by-number classes look fun; everyone needs a velvet Elvis!) I enjoy photography but haven’t had the opportunity to hone my skills lately. SHIT…that huge glob of mendacity just disgorged itself from my lips, didn’t it? That is what my father, in his all-encompassing wisdom would have called “an excuse”.

G-R-E-AAAAAA-T. I hate it when I’m right. I hate it when those light bulb moments take place illuminating my self-deception.

I. Am. Not. Boring.

I. Am. Lazy.

What A Drag

Summer Jobs

I love my kids. No really, I do. They’re funny, inventive, creative, boisterous, argumentative, belligerent, cantankerous, hormonal, quarrelsome (but we call this petulant because it sounds way cooler)……..WAIT! I’m trying to tell you how great they are and I got side tracked by this morning’s “conversation” with my daughter as I was leaving for work. Yeah, early morning conversations with teenaged girls are my favorite. Goes well with a nice, hot cup of coffee. Lots of sugar and milk. In the coffee, not over my daughter’s head. Here I go digressing again…….that’s what I do people, and I do it oh so well!

Back to my opening comment; I love my kids. Now that final exams are over and school is out for the summer I had a brief moment of peace before I realized that SCHOOL WAS OUT FOR THE SUMMER! I’m not married. I work a full-time job in addition to my many mommythingsIdothatnooneelsecandobecausetheydon’tdothemright. Oh for the love of God what the hell am I going to do with the offspring?!?!?

We took this past weekend and spent it at the beach. I figured we all deserved a break. There you go guys, there’s your vacation! Hope you had a good time now get a job. Is that cruel?

Yea, I thought not.

Spawn is off to Pensacola to work with FAPOS for the next three weeks. One down, one to go.

Spawnette. Ahhhhh, Spawnette. *Big sigh*

“Sweet Pea? Have you thought about getting a job for the summer?”

“I’ll work at that shoe store by the lake.”

“Honey? Not gonna happen. You come by your shoe-whoreness naturally so nope, don’t even think about it.”

“I’ll work at the mall.”

“Sugar? How are you going to get there? You don’t drive and I work all day. On the other side of town. In the opposite direction. Is there anything close by that you would be happy doing?”

“Yeah.”

“Want to fill me in?”

“’Kay.”

“And?”

“I wanna be a Movie Critic.”

“A Movie Critic? Now that is an aspiration I had not aimed for when I was 15. Tell me Sweetling, how are you going to become a movie critic?” (As I think to myself of her difficulties speaking, let alone writing, in complete sentences. And she wants to become a movie critic?!?!?)

“You know that list you made?”

“Which one? I’m a compulsive list maker.”

“The one you just updated.”

“That narrows it down to about twelve.”

“The color-coded one.”

“Oh, the updated list of our DVD’s?”

“Yeah.”

“And how does this help you get a job as a Movie Critic?”

“I’m gonna watch all the movies.”

“And?”

“I’m gonna rate them for you. “

“That sounds arduous.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind, go on.”

“I figure if I watch four movies a day everyday of summer break I can be done before school starts.”

“Perfect, Honey, I’ll let your dad know so he can send you a paycheck.”

“Sweet....hey Mom? We’re out of popcorn.”

Summer Jobs

All In The Family

This past weekend the spawn spent time with FAPOS (acronym for Fat Ass Piece Of Shit) or, as I usually refer to their dad, Satan. He doesn’t live here in town so they only have to see him (oops, did I say that) every other weekend. As he was not in town for their birthdays a week and a half ago, a party was planned for his side of the family to get together and celebrate spawn’s and spawnette’s birthdays. Now before eyes start rolling and heads start shaking, I need to fill you in and let you guys get to know “the other side of the family” before you start to judge.

I. Love. My. Ex.’s. Parents. Big Daddy and Grandma are two of the most wonderful people I know. I never married their only off-spring but to me they are still my family. FAPOS and I split up approximately fourteen years ago and had it not been for his parents, our lives (the spawn and I) would have been extremely difficult. It goes to prove that even though we are well educated, loving, compassionate, and God-fearing people, there’s no guarantee our kids will be. Crap, that means my children still have the capability of turning into serial killers, arsonists, or stock-brokers.

So anywho, back to the party. You already know I’m from the South. Big Daddy is one of three locals left that is actually a native of our “Just This Side Of The Georgia State Line” town. Grandma was born and raised in Alabama. As you can imagine, it’s a totally different dialect when we’re visiting their home. Now, the birthday parties aren’t just for parents and grandparents, no-siree-bob! We invite the whole family: aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, the whole kit n’ kabootle. And can the family arrive just baring gifts? No, they bring along with them any livestock within arms reach as they jump into their cars on their way across town. The finally tally was as follows: one mom, one FAPOS, one grandfather, two grandmothers, three aunts, three uncles, one niece, four nephews, three dogs, three kittens (that were trying to be handed off to any unsuspecting family member), and four baby chickens. Chickens, I say…..CHICKENS! Someone brought frickin’ chickens to my childrens’ birthday celebration!

Hey, at least I knew what we were having for dinner.

All In The Family