Showing posts with label broke as a joke. Show all posts
Showing posts with label broke as a joke. Show all posts

This Summer Was a Bust!

As this summer draws to a close and I cheer that school will be back in session soon, I realize that we didn't really do shit this summer.  Usually we take a "family vacation" to somewhere.  Disney. Destin. Colorado. Somewhere!  But, nada this year.

No pina coloadas pool side.  No running around with mouse ear hats.  No trekking up mountainsides. No zipping down roller-coasters. Nothing.

Instead, we worked.  And, I chauffeured.  A lot.  I blame myself, though. It started with my constant nagging to the oldest spawn.  Nag, nag, nag.  I was all about "get your ass out there and find work!" and, "hell no, I'm not buying you those expensive ass jeans!" and, "how can you sleep until noon?!" and, "if you're not going to get a job that PAYS money, you will work for ME for FREE!"

It's that last nag that did me in, I guess. Because, what did she do? She got two damn jobs.  And, she has no car and no driver's license. (She failed driver's education.)

So, there's that.

Then, there's the youngest spawn.  That heifer is up in my face on a daily basis.  From the moment she was conceived, she's given me grief.  Horrible pregnancy, death-defying child birth, terrible 2's, 3's and 4's, not to mention the constant jabbering.  The girl cannot keep her mouth shut to save her life.

Littlest Spawn:  I've got a lot on my mind, Momma... I've got to get it out!

Me: No you don't.  Keep that shit in and save it for your Dad!

But, no matter what I tell her, she can't be quiet.  Even when she's alone and there's no one to talk to, she's busy running her mouth - singing songs, talking to people on the tv and whatnot.

So, when the opportunity to ship her off for a week presented itself, we were all over that shit!  She was invited to spend a week in Florida with one of her friends.  We let her go under one condition: that she call/text home at least 3 times a day.  She agreed.  So, we bought the little heifer a phone (after vowing that she wouldn't get one for another 2 years), loaded her up with swimsuits, sunscreen, bug spray and toothpaste, and sent her on her way!

Day 1 - she texted twice and called once.
Day 2 - I texted her three times and she replied with one-word answers:

  • My Text: Hi, babycakes...what's shakin'?
  • Her Text: nuthin
  • My Text: How's it going?  What are you doing?
  • Her Text: good. having fun. gotta go.
It was enough to want to rip my eyes out.  My kid is thousands of miles away and she doesn't even miss us?! WTF?!  Turns out, I missed the little monster.  Whodda thunk?

Day 3 - she called once, after not replying to 2 of my text messages.
Day 4 - I called and texted her all fucking day and she didn't reply until that evening with a "good night" phone call.
Day 5 - I called her.. I called her friend... I called her friend's mother... none of them were responding.  Where was my baby?  Was she ok?  Did something happen?  Something must have happened! I'm on the verge of sending Hubber down there to pick that lil heifer up and bring her home when my phone rings.

Littlest Spawn: Hi, Momma!  I had a great day!  We went to the beach and to the pool and I met a lot of new friends!
Me: Why didn't you get in touch with me all day? We had a deal. THREE times a day!
Littlest Spawn: Sorry!  I forgot!  But, I'm fine.  I'll do better tomorrow.  I promise.
Me: Fine.

But, she didn't do any better.  Day 6 and 7 were the same.  My stomach was in knots the entire week.  And, I'm pretty sure I pulled most the hair out on the right side of my head.  My sanity was worse off during that one week that she was gone than in all the other 12 weeks of summer combined!

The moral of the story is this:

Even though your kid gets on your last nerves with all their yammering, begging , whining, and simply just being... you will miss their snotty nosed asses when they're gone.

So, although my summer was a bust, I learned an important lesson: If my kids are going to have a fun summer vacation, it's going to be with me. We will either all go, or none of us will go and we will all suffer through a non-vacation together.

Homeless people beg for money on street corners because the government won't give them food stamps! They have too much cash on hand!

I was only 21 when I bore my first spawn.  Although I was in college at the time, I obviously wasn't making the best decisions.  I left home a year before she was born because I thought I knew it all.  My parents didn't know shit; and, I was old enough to make my own decisions and live my life the way I saw fit.  To sum it up, I was a fucking idiot.  I only got to live it up for a few short months before I got knocked up.  I stayed in school, worked a couple of jobs and lived in a "duplex" behind a barber shop. It was kinda hard to make ends meet (duh), so I took the advice of a friend and went to the "welfare" office to apply for food stamps.  They turned me down.

Welfare Natzi:  We can't help you.  You make too much money.

Me:  I get minimum wage and I go to school.

Welfare Natzi: Yeah, but you work two jobs.

Me: They're both part-time.

Welfare Natzi: Also, you have a car.  That's considered a liquid asset.

Me: It's a 1981 Pontiac Bonneville. It has no A/C, the gas gauge doesn't work, there are no seat belts, the driver's side door won't open and only two of the four windows will go down.  It's worth $5.  Tops.

Welfare Natzi: Are you currently pregnant?

Me: Uhm, NO!

Welfare Natzi: That's too bad. If you were pregnant, we could definitely help.

Me: I can't afford the kid that I have now and you want me to have another?!

Welfare Natzi: I don't make the rules, I just follow them.  Apply again if you lose your jobs or get pregnant.

Yeah.  That interview for food stamps was a fucking eye opener.  Here I was, a single mother, living in squalor, driving a kid around in a death trap, working two jobs, going to school and trying to make something out of myself.  All I was asking for was a little bit of help FEEDING MY CHILD...but the fucking government could care less.  The only way I could become a burden on society was if I was about to spew out another poor unfortunate soul from my loins.  My conclusion: The system is fucked up.

Fast forward 16 years.

My family of 4 is now living in an apartment.  Neither adult is working a REAL job.  I've got my writing jobs and the ball shaving thing, but basically, we're living off of our savings until shit starts to "happen" for us.  

For shits and giggles, the other day I decided to give this food stamps thing another try.  It's got a fancy new name now (the "Lone Star Card") and you can apply online and whatnot, so I figured it must be all evolved and shit from the olden days.  I figured wrong.

My "case worker" called for my required "phone interview" and after an hour of interrogation, she gave me the bad news.  

Welfare Natzi #2:  Your liquid assets (there's that term again!) put you way over the top.  You have too much cash on hand. We can't help you.

Me:  Your mean our savings?

Welfare Natzi #2: Yes.  Unless it's in a 401K or something like that, it's considered "cash on hand".  

Me:  ....meaning?

Welfare Natzi #2: ...meaning, you can use it to live off of.

Me:  That's what we're doing.  

Welfare Natzi #2:  Well, when it all runs out, feel free to apply again.  Unless you're pregnant... if you're pregnant, we can probably help...


It was around that time that I hung up on the bitch.  The system hasn't changed much in 16 years.  I can't believe I wasted an hour of my life on that phone call.  I could have been shaving a hairy man's back and making some CASH ON HAND... but nooooo.... I had to think there was a little bit of good left in the world!  

That welfare natzi bitch owes me $50 for wasting my fucking time.

I wonder where I can go to collect?

My adult play dates are sadly lacking in debauchery

Today I spent the day with my sister.  We started off with pedicures then went out to lunch for some pupusas and agua de tamarindo.  We were feeling especially ethnic for some reason.  We even talked about Our Lady of Guadalupe because I'm hoping to create a mexican folk art shrine on one of my bedroom walls in honor of my grandma who loved the shit outta that virgin.  I even almost stole the OL-of-G napkin holder from the restaurant... if sis hadn't been all, "God is gonna strike you dead if you put that thing in your purse; and what would Mimo think?  She'll roll over in her grave!" I probably woulda snagged it. I hate when she gets all Catholic-y on me.  Those peeps are good with spreading the guilt. Next time I go there, I'll go without her. I need that napkin holder.

We continued our play date with a visit to the segunda (thrift/resell shop) in search of el-cheap-o swimsuits for my youngest spawn.  Yeah, I buy used swimsuits... so what?! Kids' swimsuits are fucking expensive.  $20 for a new suit is a lot of money when you're poor like I am (and getting low on booze).  I need to find suits of the $5 variety.  But to my dismay, there were ZERO swimsuits in stock at the segunda.  The lady working there said they're "not in season" yet and to "try back in a couple of weeks".  We live in Houston, Texas, bitch!  There are no seasons here!  They had rows and rows of parkas and snow pants and it doesn't even snow here.  It's 80 degrees out today for crissakes!  No swimsuits?  That's just ridiculous.

Me: These bitches just lost out on my business today!  I was going to spend some money up in here!

Sis: I'm sure they'll be crying over the $6 you would have spent.

Me: $6?  More like $5.

Sis: Pfffffft.

Me: What's with all the furry fucking coats?!  This ain't Alaska!

Sis: You need to calm down and come back in a couple of weeks.

Me: I ain't coming back here.  I'm just gonna buckle down and buy the $15 swimsuit I saw at Target. So much for my Cruzan Rum.

Sis: You're such a cheapskate!

Me: ....says the heifer who just put back a pair of $6.99 jeans because they were "too expensive"!

Sis: Touche.

Me: Touche my ass.  The segunda sucks, yo.

Sis: Let's go play "Battleship"!

So, instead of ending our play date on a sour note, we went back to my house for a friendly game of Battleship where we reminisced about the olden days when the Battleship boards were made of steel (instead of the chintzy plastic shit they're made of now).  The Battleship games of our day even made those badass "you sunk my battleship" sounds (which are completely non-existent nowadays - unless you make them with your own mouth). Those were the days.

Obviously, I'm related to a cheater.
She better go to Confession this week!

Are "Escorts" Just "Prostitutes" in Disguise?

I've been busy, y'all.  Those who know me personally know that although I'm a struggling writer, I'm also a gainfully employed (on a part-time basis) heifer who collects a steady pay check in spite of her bitchy attitude and poor interpersonal skills (maybe that's why they've banned me from the office unless there's a staff meeting).  But, the gravy train is running on empty.  At the end of the year, after fifteen years, they're giving me the boot.  Right in the ass.

So, I've been spending the last couple of months trying to figure out what the fuck I can do to make the same amount of money without going back to work in an office full time.  Freelance writing doesn't pay shit, y'all.  (Just sayin'... in case it wasn't obvious.)  Aside from prostitution, diaper changing or serving as a drug mule, I'm pretty much open to anything.  Running an escort service would be awesome... but then I'd be a pimp and probably end up in jail.  I'm too damn cute for jail.

Anyway... I've been dabbling in some genius-ass stuff, y'all.  If it all works out, I'll fill you guys in on it.  Until then, we'll be munching on Ramen Noodles, Lone Star beer and generic peanut butter in a mobile home park that smells like piss.  Feel free to send us some charity.

My spawns get tired of me complaining about our lack of money.  The youngest spawn has even VOWED to never find herself in my pitiful situation when she's an adult....

Spawn:  I'm going to have lots of money when I'm grown up!  I'm going to be able to buy everything I want all the time!

Me:  That would be awesome.  You could even buy me a bunch of stuff.

Spawn: Yeah!  I'm going to marry a billionaire.

Me: Huh?

Spawn: Billionaires have a hundred bazillion dollars.  They never run out of money.  That's the kind of husband I'm gonna need to get me all the stuff I want.  And, I won't ever have to tell MY kids that they can't have all the awesome stuff THEY want.

Me: Sounds like a plan!  But I would rather YOU were the rich one... go to college and become some great, fancy doctor or something.

Spawn:  Oh, I'll be rich, too... but I'll save all my money in case my husband dies.

Me: Nice.  Well, it's good to have goals.

I have raised that heifer well.  My work here is done.

Yes, I'm STILL broke... don't let the fancy vacation fool ya

Tomorrow we leave for Panama City Beach, Florida. NO, that does not mean that we suddenly came into a windfall of cash.  No one died and left us their fortune.  We did not finally hit it big in the lotto.  Hubber isn't faking his death so we can collect his life insurance money.  And, no one suddenly decided to pay real money for my writing.  That's not the kind of luck we're having.  But... we are lucky, y'all.  Lucky to have some awesome family members who love us enough to foot the bill for our portion of a fancy beach house rental.  Woot, woot!

Don't be jealous.

Or, do be.  I don't give a shit.  Alls I know is that I'm fixenta get the fuck outta dodge for a few days.  I'ma be sitting my large behind in some soft, powdery white sand this time tomorrow.  Yes-sir-ee.  Know what I say?  I say FUCK the murky waters of Galveston!  Momma's gonna soak up some sun with an adult beverage in tow only 2 feet away from crystal clear, blue ocean water... complete with dolphins, boobs, pirate ships and whatnot!

If it rains one drop on this trip, I'm going to use the Lord's name in vain. Twice. And, I'm not going to apologize. End of story.

Shaving incidents and other shit that happens when you're poor

So... you know now that I'm being frugal and all, I've had to cut back on some things.  Things like regular shopping trips for shoes/handbags/panties, uppidy hair stylists, massages, professional pedicures, and..... waxing.  And by waxing, I am referring to the waxing of unsightly body hairs. The kind of hairs that have been known to cause rug burn... the kind of hairs that will poke your husband's eye out in the middle of the night.

Yes, now that I'm a poor, starving writer... I'm hairier than I used to be.  So, once a week (or so) I perform the world's longest shaving ritual.  First the pits... then the legs... then the nether regions.  I've survived mostly unscathed for over a year now - until today.  Today I was destined for pain and suffering.... and lots of blood. 

I shaved a quarter of my left pinky nail off accidently.  Don't ask me how that shit happened.  IT JUST DID, mofos.  I need two hands when I'm grooming down there... and that darned pinky just kinda got in the way.
I think I lost two pints of blood. And, some of my sanity.
I'm convinced that some other snarky bitch had it in for me and made a voodoo doll outta my hair and boogers with every intention of shaving off my entire hoo-ha from the inside out!  But, I am more powerful than that bitch.  I sensed that evil shit coming my way and I thwarted it with my left pinky!  Cheap-ass voodoo is no match for my pinky.  No, sir.

Although, now I'm afraid that my hoo-ha will be a little gun shy about having a razor get too close.  I might have to start a waxing fund on my blog.  Would YOU contribute?
proof that no matter how much pain I'm in,
Hubber can still find a way to be a perv

Sex Toys Are Your Friends (and mine)

All Stand and APPLAUD, Damnit!

It's a proud moment in Snarky Heifer-ville, y'all.  Momma got her first advertiser!  That's right!  Someone is actually PAYING money for a slot on my website! CHA-CHING!  I didn't even have to turn a trick; which makes Hubber a happy camper.

Nevermind that my advertiser sells adult toys.  They're still legit (because the check didn't bounce)... and cool as shit in my book. At first, I was tempted to trade them some ad space for loot.  But then I realized that my cupboard is bare and my peeps need milk and eggs before Hubber needs a blow up doll.  So, I opted for the cash.  Smart, huh?

Another good thing about my newly acquired [best] friends is that I've learned a lot more than I ever thought possible about the adult toy businesses.  There are contraptions for everything, y'all.  Turns out, I don't know shit about kinky sex.

For example, what do you think THIS is?:

No, it is not an attachment for your kitchen blender.

It is a vaginal/anal bi-polar ElectraProbe.  And, if that isn't snazzy enough for you... you POWER it up with one of these things:

I'm dead serious about this shit.  Kinda scary, if you ask me.  Pretty sure I don't want anything inside my hoo-ha that uses electro-thingamajigs in order to operate.  With my luck, my goodies would turn toxic and Hubber's dingaling would fall off in two months. Eeek!

But, wait!  Don't let that stop you from visiting my advertiser's lovely store!  They sell a bunch of normal shit, too.  I promise!  Go check them out:

I understand the concept of COOKING and CLEANING - just not as it applies to me...

Contrary to popular belief, I did not pull a bait-and-switch on Hubber.  Before I became his ball-and-chain, I made extra sure that mofo understood that I do not like to cook or clean.  I also don't like a messy house.  And, I love to eat.  So, basically, he was hitting the jackpot! 

No problemo, he said, "we're two gainfully employed adults - we can hire help and eat out!"  Back in those days, I had a housekeeper to do the dirty work; and I had all the take-out restaurants on speed dial.

Three moves, a few new jobs, two kids and 6 pets later we're eating Ramen noodles and covered in dog hair. Also, our pool needs to be completely drained of funk, our toilets need a good scrubbing and every inch of carpeting needs to be set on fire.

My house looks like shit, y'all. It seems that at some point after reducing my salary considerably, firing my housekeeper, and letting the youngest spawn take over the house, this shit just got away from me.  My peeps are lucky to have clean dishes and clothes. 

Well, usually. 

We all know I hate doing laundry.  It is a never ending fucking menace.

Me:  Hubber, please tell me you have clean panties for work tomorrow.

Hubber: Are you EVER going to do the laundry?

Me:  Yes or no, Hubber?

Hubber:  If I say no, will you do the laundry?

Me: Probably not. But, I MAY go to Target, in which case, I'll buy you a few new pairs.

Hubber: (rolling eyes) I keep a few spares for times like these. 

Me: Damnit.

I think he's on to me.  He can outlast me and the spawns when it comes to clean clothes!  I wonder if he has a mistress somewhere scrubbing away at his dirty panties in secret?  Anything to keep me from making an extra trip to Target.  Jackass.  I bet he has secret burritos stashed away for days when I don't cook, too!