January 30, 2010

And Into the Fray they rode, on shopping carts.

Once again here is one of many of my college endeavors that went hilarious with a message.

A long long time ago in a shopping cart far far away.

There we stood on that hill. We knew what was going to happen down to the impact. We were going to do it regardless. We didn't care. It had to be done. It was shopping cart jousting tuesday and we were drunk. Yes that is correct shopping cart jousting tuesday. We all had genius IQs that were blinded by alcohol that was higher proof rated than our brilliant intellect. So we figured it would be fun. I was the lead joust man. My goal was simple. Crush my enemy with the end of the pvc and boxing glove jousting pole that I had made. Within twenty feet I would make my opponent feel the pain. Even though I had no idea who it was. Before hand the ritual was simple. My group of friends all drew lots. Our teams were made of three people. There were twenty four of us. Eight teams one goal. The bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Granted most of us were too drunk to appreciate awesome scotch but we all chipped in for it.

Now for those of you who are uneducated to this most skilled of sports the shopping cart joust team has three positions; the pusher, which pushes the cart until about three quarters the way in which momentum takes over, the glider which is only on for about halfway to make sure the shopping car stay straight and the jouster, who simple shoves the jousting stick straight to the chest head or heart of whoever the hell is in the other cart (unless they suck.) Basically this means all the members of the team are important-- well actually the glider is kinda like a bass player, you sort of need em but really most of the time you could probably do with out em if you were truly good at it. The whole thing requires expert coordination and of course, shopping carts. We stole ours. I think everyone else did too. The rules were simple, you must be touching the cart until the other person was clearly hit and knocked over/turned (routed) by the jouster. Basically part of you had to be touching the cart at all times. That was the only rule.

Our teams strategy was fairly simple: put the tall agile motherfucker in the cart and have him sorta hop/jump and thrust the fucking pole at the opposition. That tall and agile mother fucker was yours truly. Let this be known: introduce me to your mom at your own risk... Anyways I just did this sort of hop thrust thing from the cart that while ridiculous looking was menacingly effective. Because I was tall enough to still be touching the cart while leaping. Believe me shopping cart physics are more complicated then they look when you add in jousting and tall people. So my goal was simple team three "The Angsty Monkey Dongs" would maybe have my reach but not my agility so I was to do my hop thrust the spear and derail them and get the bottle of gentleman jack.

So our glider helped the pusher (which every team did) up until halfway keeping us halfway and started shouting encouragement. The teams were random each week. My team was pretty much imbalanced. Everyone was over six foot tall and healthy. I was agile. The end. The pusher was a football player so I was going pretty fast. But I could recognize the person on team three. My best friend, and probably the coolest stripper I ever met Layla. She was looking back. This was going to be interesting.

Thoughts of chivalry and moral issues went through my head. Should I knock her cart over? Should I miss her? Should I give her all I got? Why the hell is she in the cart she is shorter then the guys on her team? Did they know this and do this intentionally? What would Brian Boitano do? Is she gonna pull a stripper move and out agile me? Is she wearing her heals cause then we are about even? Is this some sort of sick joke from some deity? Why am I thinking so much? After that I just did what was appropriate: I played to win. I hopped. We collided, she contorted in the air as only a stripper could and artfully dodged my lance. I didn't even have a chance but I was gonna tip her cart too. We went down together. We tied. The Johnnie Walker was shared.

All my stories have some sort of moral. The moral here is simple: Johnnie Walker blue label is ALWAYS worth it.
January 29, 2010

Another Day in Paradise: Single 'Mom' for a Night

I drove home from work. The Pens were playing, and the traffic queued through the tunnel and slithered up Greentree Hill. All the snow that had slowly melted over the past week flooded the downtown area so all the traffic that usually emptied off the Parkway clogged it instead, looking for new exits that didn't utilize submerged ramps. I called home to give a heads-up to my family. Don't expect me "on time and under budget". My wife answered the phone. Her voice was like cold soup, thin and watery. She was teetering on the edge of tears. Sick. Very sick.

She had both kids. I told her to hold on. I called my parents and told them I was twenty minutes away. I told them to go relieve my wife so she could lie down. They did. They're champs.

I got home to relieve my parents, but ended up telling them to stay instead, as I shuttled food. . . half a pancake and a freeze-pop up the stairs while heating up the grill so I could cook dinner for the kids. I took my wife a zofran and some chipped ice and she lay in bed under blankets, watery eyed and pallid.

Back downstairs the grill was warming up. I didn't have time to shovel the back patio, and a couple inches of fresh powder from the morning's snowfall lay on it. I trudged through on slick soled dress shoes, scraping the grill and putting hamburger patties on it. Back inside I kicked the snow from my shoes and started the deep-fryer, and made a salad before running up to check on my wife. Sleep, I told her. Go to sleep.

Back downstairs I set the table and trudged outside, careless of old tracks, stamping new ones, and flipped the burgers. I blew warm air through cold hands and pushed the door back open. I stamped off the snow again. It had started to build up on the mat inside the house. I shook frozen "Fast-Food Fries" into the fryer and set the timer to 4 minutes.

I put my youngest daughter in her chair and tried to get her to eat.

"You want some yogurt, honey?" I asked.

"Okay!" she said, happily, "Yogurt!"

I picked her up and strapped her into her chair, positioning it so she could see the television. I got a container of Trix Yogurt from the refridgerator and peeled back the foil top. "Try Again" read the underside of the foil. I lost, apparently. I sat down and dipped the spoon into the yogurt.

"No yogurt!" my daughter said. "No like yogurt."

I allowed myself a second to close my eyes and reopen them, focusing them again on my daughter. I'll spare you the dialog and summarize. . . You LIKE yogurt. . . Oh, look at the TV. . . one bite. . . no Wiggles until you take a bite. . . etc. Once a spoonful of yogurt was in her mouth she ate the rest, but a steady stream of banter, distraction and "redirection" had to be maintained. She might have eaten without it. . . but why fuck with success.

The timer dinged. I ignored it, finishing with my daughter. My mother asked if she could flip the burgers for me. I told her no and cleaned my daughters face before returning her "to the wild".

Back outside with cheese for the burgers, back inside, the snow beginning to mound in the shape of white footprints like clues in a comic book. Back upstairs to check on the wife. Back downstairs to pull the fries from the fryer, back outside to retrieve the burgers from the grill.

I called my older daughter from the computer room, prepared her plate and hurriedly ate with her. I checked the clock. It was almost time for my parent/teacher conference. I finished up, stowing dirty dishes in the sink until I could get to them later.

This blog is starting to bore me.

The teacher was running later. My seven o'clock appointment tricked over to 7:30 as I listened to another parent say, "I hit her. I slapped her across the face. I've never had to hit any of my other kids. She told me she said she ran into a doorknob. I said, you tell them I hit you! A doorknob! Like it's even the right height!" She was explaining this to two teachers. I think she thought she was setting them at ease. I know her son. Good kid. She's a piece of trash though.

I met with the teacher and got home around 8. My parents had put my youngest to bed. I thaned them and sent them home. They hadn't eaten yet. I checked on my wife again. She was almost asleep. I told her briefly about my conference. . . what should have been OUR conference. She asked for another freeze-pop. I got her one and told her I was going to play with my oldest before putting her to bed.

Garbage night. Fuck. I forgot it was garbage night. I'd put that off until after my other daughter was asleep. We went to the basement. She wanted to watch me play "Ratchet and Clank". My younger daughter started to cry over the monitor. I went to check on her.

The room was pitch black, no nightlight. Have to excuse the folks, they don't know the routine. I switched on the light to find that she'd tried to get out of bed and was stuck between the bed guard and the bed. She was so tired she didn't know how to get out. She was crying full out. Trouble ahead.

She started gagging then throwing up. I caught most of it, exchanging dirty hand towels for clean ones, peeling off my shirt, now covered. Peeling off her jammies, running water for a bath. I told my oldest to start getting ready for bed while I cleaned up the bathroom floor and plunked my youngest into the bath. What the hell, it WAS supposed to be her bath night anyway.

I asked my older daughter to brush her teeth and I dried my younger daughter's hair in her room. She was whining tiredly. I heard her trying to throw up again, thought, "jesus, not again" and ran her back tot he bathroom. She threw up, but just in the toilet. I cleaned her up and gave her water and put her to bed. She slept the rest of the night.

I crawled into bed with my oldest and read her a chapter of "King of the Wind". She said her prayers and I scratched her back before kissing her on the cheek and stealing silently from the room, switching off her fish tank light as I closed the door. Night little fish.

My wife was awake in our room, face lit by the glow of "The Mentalist" from the television.

"The nurse called," she said, "and told me to take another dose of Zofran at 10:30 if I'm awake, but not to STAY awake for it."

She was feeling a little better for having crashed. I told her I'd bring her up a pill after I took the garbage out. I changed into flannel pajama pants, collected the "upstairs garbage" before depositing it all with the "downstairs garbage" and taking it outside. Cold. . . soooooo cold. 12 degrees and dropping. I slid snow boots over bare feet and drug garbage cans down the driveway to the curb.

Dirty dishes awaited me. I heard water running upstairs and hastily cleaned the dishes. I'd make lunches later. I shook a zofran out of the pill jar and filled a glass with ice, running tap water through it.

Downstairs the Pens were losing 3 - 1. Upstairs Thomas Jayne was solving 'the case' from behind bars. DAMN YOU AGENT BOSCO! She took the pill at 10:30. I stayed with her and held her hand. Jayne escaped from jail to 'close the case'. "He's gonna be in big trouble for that," she murmured. She was watching through slitted eyes, feigning sleep. "Go to SLEEP!" I commanded before kissing her goodnight and going back downstairs to turn off lights and power off the television. I took a momentary break on the couch and found myself nodding off.

Whenever I'm called upon to perform double duty I'm helpless to stop myself from imagining how different my life would be if I was performing it every day, instead of "as needed". That day sucked. I mean, it was manageable, but it sucked. Single parents pull that kind of double duty everday. It AMAZES me. I don't know that I have the strength to encompass that sort of scope chronically. I am stellar at filling in during a crisis, but if that crisis were to become my way of life, I suspect it would crush my psyche and leave me drooling idiot on the couch. I can't believe sometimes how any parent could handle that daily duty alone. *Raises glass* "To Single Parents, underpaid, underappreciated; you do it for the love of the game!"

*Author's Aside* See, phile, you're not the only one who can suck up to hot single moms.
January 28, 2010

Forgive Me Father...

I was thinking of something, but then I lost it.

For some reason I had religion on my mind earlier. Oh yeah, Pope John Paul II used to flaggelate himself and lay on the floor naked for hours to get closer to God.

I like Trent Reznor's idea better.

Self flagellation is actually an ancient Christian tradition for spiritual cleansing, reliving the abuse Christ suffered before the crucifixion. Of course, very few actually did it to the point that it scarred them. Often it was quite the spectacle, men and women unclothed and whipping themselves in penitence to God. And then they would pass the hat around to those that would watch the display they put on. All show, no substance...go figure.

As I was showering this morning (lately this seems to be where I think my thinkiest thoughts) I got the picture in my head of the Catholic Church as a group of silly young boys in their tree house with a big "NO GIRLS ALLOWED" sign. What a silly bunch of little boys. You don't know what you're missing.

I don't think there's anything that has put women down and made them look like a bunch of lascivious troublemaker more than the Bible and the Catholic church. The one that sticks in my craw the most is the very first one. That troublesome tempting tartlet Eve. Everything was fine until she came along. We lived in blissful ignorance of pretty much everything. It was all good because it's always good when you don't know any better.

Now all Eve had to do was relax, let Adam throw one in her now and then, and just enjoy the scenery. No big deal. The devil though, he knew Eve's weakness. He knew what she secretly desired and craved. Knowledge. Learning. The ability to make herself more than just the first cum dumpster to walk the earth. The ability to look at God and ask, "Hey, what the fuck is up with that?"

So the devil pointed out the tree of knowledge. One bite would elevate her to God's level of knowledge. She would be able to see, be able to know, be able to think for herself. So she bit the apple even knowing it would cost her dearly...that with awareness came suffering and pain and the wrath of God. She was brave.

So I want to thank you Eve for being courageous and doing what was right. Knowledge is worth the pain and suffering. It is worth more than God's love. Ignorance may be bliss, but it's also emptiness.

Oh, and thanks for sharing. I know you took the bigger bite, but it's all good.

And thus the die is cast

Hi! For those of you who do not know me I am the new guy on the blogging team here. I would list my host of qualifications but I do not feel that it is needed to be blogged about. However I do know some things that do need to be blogged about. This is not one of them. But it is a hilarious incident from college.

A long long time ago in a hood on the east side of the Mississippi there was a man who was picking up something for his friend...

There I was looking for some various pudding that Bill Cosby so proudly sponsored he heard the cry of a mother trying to find her children. "Oranjhelo! Le'monjhelo! Get your scrawny asses over here!" I looked over and saw something disturbing as the two younglings darted by me. A box of jello. I then scowled and went over to the mother shaking my head "I can't believe you named your kids after a dessert." She started to yell something as I picked up the chocolate pudding mix. A box flew past my head as I reached down. I simply walked to the counter and handed the cashier two dollars. The cost for the Jello mix was 75 cents total. The cashier gave me 15 cents back. "Your a dime short." I told the clerk. She smiled and shook her head "Sorry long day." Understandable in this neck of the woods.

I walked over to the bus station, for the next ingredient I had to obtain for this college party of epic proportions was a certain kind of liquor that they only sold at one store nearby. I got on the bus and used my student pass to cruise over to the liquor store. On the bus everyone was giving me the stink eye. I then looked down at my jeans. Nothing. My shirt. Nothing wrong. My shoes nothing wrong. My suit jacket. Nothing wrong. Then I realized something. I fit the profile for a college dealer from the other side of the river. Oh. "Its pudding." I said pulling the jello out of the brown bag slowly. This caused two people to laugh and some others to just shake their heads. I walked into the liquor store and picked out the familiar bottle that looks more like some sort of weird peace of jewelry or a tiara. Either way I still had no idea why this was key to the ingredients.

I went back to the bus stop and got on the bus and headed to the metro station. And there was my arch nemesis sitting across the track. I could hear The Bride's theme from kill bill pulse through my head. It went by many names. My crew and I called it Joe the Tranny. Mainly because we weren't fully sure if joe was a surly hermaphrodite, a really angry and muscular chick that enjoyed wearing scarves or buffalo bob come to life only in his woman suit. I am all for alternative life styles but lets just put it this way. Joe was not in any way shape or form a decent human being that had redemptive qualities. Joe preyed upon young men who never had been out on the city before and were just taking the metro around because they were too drunk to drive. Joe would go after people like my buddies who almost fell for these shenanigans until my better judgement and my buddy Chris's Bruce Lee quick kick convinced them otherwise.

Joe quickly identified me as the train pulled up. Joe had a thing for me. I faked into a cart and pulled into another one and juked about like a pro football player. I got onto the train but Joe was on the car behind me. Looking at me. Pressed up against the glass pain and touching things in ways that were not at all pretty. The next move would have to be timed right. I would have to get off sidestep into the other train and make it look like I just moved a car up. The only thing is the other train passed us by. The next stop there would be no train to pull this manuver off. Inside my car there was a crackhead who gave me startling advice as he often did. Here is the rough translation.

"Sometimes a mans gotta recognize when he is out gunned. He got some options though. He can lay down and die. He can run away and live to fight another day or he can stand up and face it hoping that maybe for whateva reason somethin may be on his side. " I nodded to him. When the train came off the mysterious crackhead that my crew knew only as Tony assisted. He pushed his shopping cart infront of Joe the tranny causing one of the most hilarious barrel rolls in human history and time for me to disappear onto the other car. Once on there was one last stop to make.

I arrived near the college around sundown. I started walking towards the preset location where my buddy was supposed to meet me at and I could clearly see his car in the distance and someone stepping out of it. The only thing was it wasn't my buddy... I began to sprint at full speed towards the person mustering every muscle I had left in me from the previous flight from Joe. He didn't stop and he was running on grass and had a clear lead on me in my shoes. So I looked at my bag and shrugged. I picked out the liquor bottle and threw it at him. It hit him in the leg and caused him to stumble without breaking the glass. Score one good guys I use the last of my energy to catch up and dive on him.

"WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING TO MY FRIENDS CAR?!" I shouted. The horrified teenager looked up at me and said "Stealing." "STEALING WHAT?!" I demanded in the most demonic voice I could muster. "Doritos and his mag dude! I was just comin down from a high and I just learned how to pick a car lock and just wanted his doritos and his cool magazine I swear honest!" I shook my head and let up. My palm hit my face instinctively. I gave him a bag of chex mix from my coat. "Just fucking go." His reaction was mixed but he sort of gave me a nod and half smile half I can't believe what just happened look and ran off. I shook my head picked up the liquor which now had grass on part of it but was in otherwise good condition and walked over to my friends car and waited for him

Ten minutes later he shows up with a box of condoms a lighter and box of thumb tacks. I gave him an odd look and gave him his goods. He smiled as we drove over to the place the party was where he made some concoction that smelled of pure alcoholic death and chocolate pudding. After that was finished and some unusual decor was tacked to the wall people came in just for him to use the lighter on the pudding.

Now most people know what a flash fire or a grease fire may look like in theory but you have to see it up close to appreciate it like he did. Where he singed off part of one eyebrow. Without missing a beat he said "Tadaa! The appetizer is done!" and we all proceeded to party our asses off. It was also at that point in time when I saw the jello shots were lemon and orange. It was at this point that I laughed hysterically.

The moral of the story is that sometimes throwing random objects at strangers can lead to other strangers throwing random objects at strangers. Oh that and people really like orange and lemon jello.
January 26, 2010

On the Road Again

BREAKING NEWS!!! We here at BTFB have just recieved reports from our sister company, BiasNews, that police officers in the Cumming, Georgia area have been engaged in a high speed chase along US Highway 19 since early this morning. The vehicle has been identified as a multicolored 1972 Chevy El Camino SS which has reached speeds of 63 mph since the pursuit began hours ago.

Cumming authorities stated the chase began when a local officer attempted to pull the El Camino over around 6 a.m. Officer Cochran of the CPS department (Cumming Public Safety) called in to dispatchers and stated that there was a goat in the bed of the vehicle which appeard to be tied to an unidentified source by an indeterminable length of rope.

The registered owner of the El Camino was identified as Earl Mack Raybob Jones, a 73 year old resident of Ball Ground, Georgia, a nearby town of around 1000 residents. Ball Ground officers reported to BiasNews that Mr. Jones is a well known source of trouble in Cherokee County and especially in Ball Ground. In fact, a quick interview with officers by Bias reporters revealed that Earl Mack has a lengthy arrest record including several DUIs, assaulting an officer, obstruction, disturbing the peace, as well as a couple counts of bestiality with a goat named Lula Mae.

Earl Mack has been on the run now for about 3 hours and must be nearing the end of his gasoline supply. Seven police vehicles containing 11 area officers are in pursuit at this time. No one has been injured yet but officers have remained back fearing fo. r the safety of the goat, presumably Lula Mae, if more aggressive maneuvers are employed.

We'll keep you updated with the latest on this story here at BTFB. Stay tuned.....

UPDATE: Authorities in Cumming, Georgia have reported that Earl Mack Raybob Jones was arrested near lunchtime after a brief struggle with officers occured.

Earl Mack ran out of gas a little after 10 a.m. this morning after a 4 hour police chase in North Georgia. The suspect's El Camino stalled in the middle of US 19. Officers stopped the chase and eased closer to the stopped vehicle. A silent standoff took place for half an hour while Earl Mack smoked Marlboros and listened to a tape of George Jones songs. Apparently, this helped the suspect make a decision as he then emerged from the vehicle with a .22 rife in hand and pointed it straight at pet goat and occasional lover, Lula Mae. Officers attempted to negotiate with Earl Mack who would only reply with "I AIN'T DID NOTHIN WRONG, PIGS!" Eventually officers were able to distract him while a SWAT team swept in from behind and employed use of a taser. Earl Mack Raybob Jones was then subdued and cuffed. Before being placed into the back of the car, he looked back at the goat and screamed, "I'm sorry, Lula Mae! I love you, baby."

Lula Mae was not harmed and has been taken to a local clinic for treatment.

January 24, 2010

Dream a little dream

The dream is a little hidden door in the innermost and most secret recesses of the soul, opening into that cosmic night which was psyche long before there was any ego-consciousness, and which will remain psyche no matter how far our ego-consciousness extends.
Some dude named Carl Jung said that way back in the early 1900s. He founded analytical psychology and emphasized that the human psyche is best understood through dreams, myths, art, religion, and philosophy. As in, a good way to really understand the depths of someone is to look at their dreams and he is widely associated with dream analysis.

I'm not so sure. If it's true, I might just be in trouble.

I do think that it's inevitable for your feelings, fears, desires to come out in your dreams. Common sense. Some propose you can find common themes among everyone's dreams. Dream symbols. There's site after site, book after book of dream dictionaries or encyclopedias. But, to me, this just seems like total horseshit.

For example, if you dream about a butternut squash (vegetable), it's supposed to signify your need for spiritual nourishment. ok. really? could you just be hungry for some tasty squash casserole? hm? i think it's possible.

Alligators can represent "treachery, deceit, and hidden instincts. It may be a signal for you to take a new perspective on a situation. It may also represent your ability to move between the material world of waking life and the emotional, repressed world of the unconscious. Alternatively, the alligator represents healing powers and qualities. An alligator also suggests that you are thick-skinned or insensitive." Think we got everything covered? Seems like it could be anything. Also, if you're running from a gator, it's supposed to be that you're actually running from some big painful experience in your life.

What if you're fucking kicking the alligator's ass? I had a dream like that once. I was floating downriver on an intertube. There were lots of other people floating, too. It seemed almost like a migration. Then, out of nowhere, a ridiculously huge monster gator attacks. It went something like this:

The alligator chases me to my childhood home which is on the river in the dream but isn't actually on a river. I get myself and another person inside the house and in the bathroom. I fought like hell but it's an impossible David and Goliath type struggle isn't it? In essence using the above definition, I'm fighting some painful part of my unconscious related to my childhood that is pretty much impossible to tackle or so it seems. Heavy. I could see that. Things weren't easy and I've pushed a lot away. However, I think it just means I'm a badass. Look at me taking on the monstergator. Perhaps the actual meaning of this dream is "Do Not Fuck With Me".

Zombie attacks are supposed to represent stress or feeling overwhelmed by everything going on in your life. Ingenius, no? What kind of rocket scientist did it take to come up with this one? I used to have a recurring dream about my dad. It was set up sort of video game style and he was the major boss at the end. (Daddy Drug Lord?) At some point, I had to take out this huge group of zombies. It was a different scenario each time really but there was always a huge mob of these fuckers which usually resembled something similar to this album cover:

Some of you might say that this is obviously from media overload of videogames and zombie flicks. Wrong. If you know me well, you'll also know that I'm not really into either one. Well, unless you're talking old school super mario brothers. then, it's on, fuckers. i'll play you all night long. but killing games? no. dawn of the dead? oh no. I'm not into it. But there I was in dreamland taking out zombies like some Lara Croft badass girl often using a machete and then busting into my dad's house covered in gore to hunt him down. I never killed him in my dreams. I always woke up before it got that far. Sometimes he came looking for me and I'd have to hide in ditches or in the woods so he wouldn't have the advantage. I didn't start having the dream until I was no longer living with him and he wasn't a threat. So, I'm not sure how the above definition applies. I stopped having it after he died, though. Weird, no?

I have sex dreams like anyone else and dreams about my job, my friends, sometimes family. It's really inevitable that what you do during the day comes out in your dreams. I've never flown in them which is a disappointment. I have been forced to jump off buildings though. I've witnessed murders and gotten to hang out my murdered friend which is always good. But, perhaps the weirdest of all and the thing that makes me wonder about myself if carl jung is right about dreams leading to our inner core is a dream I had about Bill Cosby. I was sitting in a high backed antique chair eating a banana while he shaved my legs and told me jokes. I woke up the happiest motherfucker alive.

sex with an alligator

e knocked his girlfriend up. that's the text she sent her brother as she headed home from work shortly after finding out the news. his response was total shock. she replayed the conversation she'd had with e in her mind over again.

"what time are you getting home? i need to talk to you about something."
"i leave here at 1 like every other saturday i've ever worked. what do you want to talk about?"
"i'll see you later on today. i want to talk about it face to face."
"oh shit"
"you could say that."
"ooooh shit."
"you could say that again."
"what does it have to do with?"
"i said i want to do this in person."
"i said what does it have to do with?"
"me and a."
"oh fuck. no."
"i used protection."
"you are the most retarded person i know."

is that the appropriate response when you find out your ex knocked up his girlfriend? she's not sure, but either way it's funny, so she decides to share it with her most inappropriate friend. surely, he will get a laugh about it. also, he's usually the first person to get any of her news. she doesn't know why. that's just the way it's been since she started being friends with him about a year ago. old habits die hard. she's worried most about her 4 year old who doesn't see his dad enough as it is. how in the fuck is dad going to divide this time between two kids fairly? he's not. she knows it. the impregnated girlfriend is a 21 year old hooter's waitress and even though that rings maturity and balance, she doesn't really think that will be the case this time. thinking about it makes her remember a snippet of the earlier convo and chuckle.

"surely they aren't going to allow her to keep her prestigious job at hooter's with a baby belly..."
"well, she said she'd have to get a new job anyway. they'll let her work but she said it would be so trailer trashy to be working at hooter's with a huge pregnant belly."
"and it's not trailer trashy now????"
"uh huh, yeah."

(hahahahahahaha). she laughs to herself as she makes plans to go out with her brother, sister in law, and a friend. she needs to get out of the house and get her mind off things. definitely.

by the time, they actually arrive to pick her up, she's almost given up on the day. it's just been one bad turn after another, so she's somewhat cautious about leaving the house as well as ready to have a beer and laugh with friends.

they grab their table and pair up girls against guys. why? who the fuck knows. neither person with a vagina knows a damn thing about hitting balls. playing with them is another story. she orders a sweetwater 420 which is a decent pale ale brewed in georgia. after the first game, a round of jagerbombs is in order to really get the evening fully kicked off. she finishes her beer during the next game and is playing surprisingly well for a girl with a buzz and no idea about billiards whatsoever. maybe she she could give this a shot sober. glancing through the shot list, she sees a shooter called sex with an alligator and smirks. So, she calls out to the group, "anybody up for sex with alligator?" everyone looks at her strangely including a couple at a table nearby. she laughs and explains its a drink. everyone gets a chuckle from it when the waitress comes by and her brother tells her we all want to have sex with an alligator.

After another beer and the two shots, she's forgotten all about her ridiculous day. She and the sis in law run to the bathroom between games. On her way, a random ball hitter calls out "damn lady" and she throws him a smirk over her shoulder and a sly backhanded wave by her hip. He calls after her "you know you hot. damn woman." Her mind is on one thing only though...taking a piss.  Unfortunately, as anyone knows, the ladies room has a ridiculous wait when you've been drinking. She announces to the entire ladies room....excuse me, i'm going to step across the street to the men's." She ducks across the hall and right into the men's room. She doesn't look around but heads straight for the first stall and hears "when you gotta go, you gotta go." All the men in there are pretty wound up over it. Compare it to a stripper showing up at a funeral. It's inappropriate and no one quite knows what to do but they're excited about it anyway. One guy stood outside the stall door and guarded it for her. She calls out, "it's ok. i just have to pee" and they chuckle. The guarddog orders the guy in the next stall not to come out as there is a lady in their presence. She laughs and thinks what the hell does he expect those guys at the urinals to do. About that time, one of them says, "what the fuck? is that a girl's voice?" And she hears the guarddog explain that the lady needed to borrow the facilities. She thanks him through the door for helping out and tries to compose herself before stepping out of the stall. She definitely doesn't want to come out laughing. So, she steps out. Walks to the sink like everything is normal, washes her hands, and gives a little curtsy. The guys at the urinals look a little shocked for a second and then she walks out.

Once back out, she announces to her companions that she is ready to bust some balls. Actually, it's just because it's her turn to break. She relays the mens room experience and starts the game. When the waitress comes by again, she orders a round of blue balls for her and the sister in law. Blue balls are, without a doubt, something you don't want to end your night with...

A couple more games and some breakfast then it's time to go home. As she gets comfortable in the backseat on the way, she smiles to herself at her ability to reverse the effects of even the shittiest of days.

to all the men who saw a tattooed girl in the bathroom at pockets,

thanks for being so respectful and not showing me your penises. although that could have been an even more interesting story to relay if you had. my apologies for not putting the seat back up. my bad, dudes. take care.


This recipe takes 1/2 oz each of melon liqueur, raspberry liqueur, jager and sweet and sour mix (or pineapple juice if you're a cheap florida pool hall). You mix the sweet and sour/pineapple and melon liqueur in your glass. Pour the raspberry liqueur down the side of the mix and let settle, then pour the jager over the back of a spoon on top of it all. When you're done you should have 3 layers. Or if you're bartending in a pool hall, you say fuck it and just stir it all together. either way, sex with an alligator is tasty and everyone should try it at least once.

basically, this is the easiest shit ever. you pour a half can of a red bull into a glass then drop in a shot (1-2 oz) of jager. Or, if you're working at a pool hall in north florida, you can pour some cheap energy drink into a plastic cup and throw some jager in with it. to me, it tastes like nyquil. i'll drink them anyway because i've had way worse drinks, for sure. 

For blue balls, you simply mix the following together and then pout into your galsses, 1/2 oz Blue Curacao liqueur, 1/2 oz Malibu® coconut rum, 1/2 oz peach schnapps, 1/4 oz sweet and sour mix, and 1 dash Sprite® soda. In actuality, what we had was supposed to be an original Pockets recipe. That's because instead of the "fancy" stuff like coconut rum and peach schnapps they just used vodka. Blue balls burn. 


about me. not really.

dear you,

i don't talk about my child or being a mom. i don't talk about my garden. i won't mention my craftiness (often) or how much i save each week with coupons. if you're looking for that sort of thing, you're in the wrong place.

instead, let's abandon the tethers of domestication for a moment and remember what it's like to laugh at vulgarity and the world at large.



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