I grew up getting my ass kicked for screwing around in school, getting bad grades, being disrespectful, trying to dress like a ho, breaking curfew, cussing, smoking. etc. After 40 and having children of my own, I don’t hate my parents for it, no. I grew up to be somebody. I work my ass off and do my best to teach my kids not to be a waste of air.

I know this. Why can’t I just give in and leave well enough alone???

I lost my sense of humor like five years ago. It was replaced by sarcasm and disdain. This, in a nutshell, is why I’m so pissed at the world: stupid, self centered, egotistical, self righteous, entitled bitches.

I make my rounds down  at Blogger’s Landing on a daily basis. 

Here you’ll find all kinds of people.  You find folks who rant and rave, folks who have public service announcements, folks reflecting on life… you name it you’ll find it.  

I recently saw something that has been bugging the piss out of me.  I’m not going to make a daily stop at a particular page anymore because it is a major buzz kill to my joy and happiness factor.  And God knows, I don’t need anybody kicking me out of joy and happiness.  I won’t name any names, that wouldn’t be right.

This is just a public service announcement so that folks will realize that a blog that is used as a platform for a non-stop personal vendetta is extremely boring.

I’m not the victim of the below bunch of bullshit.  I’m not even sure I know who the victim of this blogger is, but I know for a long, long time this has been going on and frankly I’m bored as a monkey with no fucking trees to swing from with it all.  I don’t think I’ll be passing by her blog for tea and crumpets again because her style of writing makes me sad.

It’s a mean nasty person who is constantly stirring up crap with an people by constantly picking old wounds to keep them open.

I totally understand the occassional happening with an ex and it being something interesting or even just something a sister needs to vent about. Or a past ghost comes up and bites a brother in the ass…. makes for interesting reading and is perfectly acceptable. 

But, when someone makes it part of their daily routine to check up on and often write crap about someone, it’s sad.  These kind of people need to get a life.  A real life, not fantasy world. 

Whether whatever happened was right or wrong on either side, enough is enough.  The slamming of another person and constant degradation is boring to say the least.  I don’t think the person I’m referring to bothers to check my shit out, but if they do, I hope they are not infatuated enough with themselves not to realize this is a wake up call.  Knock it off. 

Get a fucking life, or not.  I don’t care either way. I’m a big girl and I can just stay away from your blogs.

We generally have friends over on Saturday nights. Not because we don’t dig going out, because we do. But going out all the time does tend to get old, plus you have to worry about the PO-PO pullin your ass over in the middle of the night.

Of course, I’m a spoiled, lucky girl. I have a designated driver at all times and I dig it. Regardless of that, it’s nice just to stay in, cook a smorgassboard of tasty good stuff and drink hot toddies or beer or wine or Jack….

Well, on tap for the past weekend’s buffet was pork tenderloin, rosemary potatoes, steamed snow peas and a variety of other crap.

I must say, I’ve never cooked a tenderloin before and I rocked the balls out of it. Baked it sloooooow in the oven, double wrapped in foil filled with every herb you can think of. After being on slow bake for 3 hours, I jerked that badboy out of the foil and slung it on the grill… G-R-U-B!!

Everybody ate way too damn much.

I, of course, was no exception. Quite the contrary. I started drinkin whilst cooking. The flavor of the day was Meridian Chardonnay, mighty good.

I asked Big T to open me the first bottle and it was on. Between me and Taucha, we polished off close to three bottles. A little much.

I paced myself, like a professional New Orleans drinker. Sipping all night long. It’s hard to tell how much wine one has consumed when one’s glass never quite gets empty before somebody happens by to freshen it.

So, it’s 1:00am, and everybody is leaving. I had been giving Big T the eye and making obscene gestures toward him all night. REOW… come here big daddy.

He was sitting on the couch in the love den, when I crawled up in his lap and made close up obscene gestures at him before departing with my clothes and heading toward the bed. I knew it was a matter of 1.8 seconds before he’d be following me that way.

Woooo! I was feeling my oats. I was gonna tear his ass up. I was gonna make him scream my name and write bad checks. I was gonna make him beg for mercy.
Let the makin out and major league cannoooodlin begin!

I kiss my way down into a desireable spot. Somehow, don’t ask me how… I passed out. His goodies right in front of me and I pass out. Of course at first, he thought I was thinking or taking a breather….

He taps me on the head. “Baby, are you ok? If you’re gonna go to sleep, release that and get on a pillow.”

“I’m not asleep. Swear I’m not.” As I sit up and leave a drool puddle on his belly. “Ok, so I might have been asleep.”

“That’s ok, baby. Go to sleep.”

So I did.

Well, I woke up to him staring at me. “Gotta hang over?”

My head was spinnin, “Hell ya. I’m dehydrated and my head’s spinnin.”

“Why don’t you go back to sleep?” He picked. “You do remember falling asleep last night, right?”

All day long, kids, I had to hear him slip in little comments about my inability to handle my alcohol and still be sexually fucntional. I mean, granted, it was all in fun, but how embarrassing is that?

“Sorry, baby. I swear I’ll never drink again.” Rolling my eyes. “Gimme some aspirin.”

“Yah. Yah.” He gets me aspirin, “You know you got yours and you were done, ready to go to sleep. Sometimes I think our roles in this marriage are jacked the hell up.”

“I know, huh? I spit, burp, and fart better than you.” Smiling at him like the cat that ate the canary.

Pick on me again some more.