Vomit, Nudity and Tequila

Patsy:  How are you doing without the booze?

Me:  Do you think I'm an alcoholic?  Because I most certainly am not.  If anyone MIGHT be an alchy it's Hubber.  That mofo drinks beer every day!  I only have a swig or two of vodka a few times a week.

Hubber: Hey, now.  I only drink beer daily because you make me!

Patsy:  She MAKES you?

Hubber: Yeah. She's collecting beer bottle caps. She told me I needed to drink at least a six-pack a day in order for her to have enough bottle caps to finish some stupid table thing she's crafting.  She did calculations and mapped it all out!

Me: Oh, yeah.  I forgot about that. I'm not really going to make a crafted, mosaic bottle-capped table.  I just like him when he gets tipsy and dances around the house in him skibbies while the dog howls.  It's quite entertaining.  And, seeing how we're broke all the time, I have to get my entertainment any way I can!

Patsy: No alcohol.

Me/Hubber:  Yes ma'am.

Which reminds me of the very first time I had to swear off of the booze.  That time, though, Pasty wasn't there to force me. I did it on my own.

I was 17-years-old and had just broken up with my boyfriend.  And by "broken up with", I mean "dumped by".  Back then I got dumped a lot.  I'm sure they did it because they were intimidated by my intelligence and beauty.  They figured I'd be famous some day and I'd end up breaking their hearts when I ran away with Johnny Depp... so they beat me to the punch and dumped my ass early on.  Back in those days I was a real drama queen (boy, how times have changed).  Usually, REVENGE was my cure for the blues.  What better way to avenge my broken heart than by crashing a house party with a bottle of tequila in one hand and a hot dude (who drove a Camero) in the other?

Turned out, the joke was on me that night.  The last thing I remember clearly is seeing my ex with some big-boobied floozie and deciding I'd spend the rest of the night taking tequila shots and swapping spit with the Camero Boy. After that, the night is a complete blur.  At one point, my legs gave out on me and I fell on my knees and I blanked out.  When I came to, I was in a strange bed, wearing a Depeche Mode concert shirt that was too tight and Camero Boy was cleaning someone's vomit up off the floor.  I picked up the phone near the bed and called one of my girlfriends to tell her that someone at the party had stolen my shirt.  Then, I blanked out again.  I woke up the next morning in my own bed with bloody knees wearing nothing but my panties.

That was when I swore off tequila.  I was married with children the next time I ever drank nearly that much alcohol in one sitting....but I'll save that story for another time.  Suffice it to say that it also involved vomit and nudity.   And not in a good way (unless you're Hubber).

My point here (if there really is one) is the fact that I can't have booze right now isn't necessarily a bad thing.  I'm probably performing a public service.

But, y'all better watch out!  When I get to hit the bottle again, I'm gonna hog wild!

I wonder what ever became of Camero boy..

I don't wanna be an anorexic fat girl!

I've spent three days detoxing from all the crap that is [quite literally] sitting inside me.  Patsy (our dietitian, who you will grow to know and love as much as I do) broke it to us without any sugarcoating, "There are probably 20 pounds of undigested fecal matter just sitting inside you waiting to fulfill their true destiny: to be flushed down the dang toilet!"  And, yes, she used the word "dang" instead of "fucking".  Patsy is just proper that way.

Her graphic bluntness, however, makes me want to puke.

That shit won't leave my brain.  It follows me around all day making everything I eat resemble a steaming pile of shit.  Now I can finally understand why anorexics can go without eating. All they have to do is think of all the gross, undigested red meat rotting away in their stomachs.  It's enough for me to want to overdose on laxatives and spend a few days reading trashy fiction and playing SongPop on the toilet.

Instead, I'll just go with the flow and follow the advice of professionals.  I like to eat.  Crapping all day is a waste of time.  Besides, all the science behind this shit is way over my head. Like: how in the hell does what you drink come out of your pee-hole and what you eat come out of your poop-hole? how does sugar seep into your blood stream?  why does drinking a shit load of water make your blood pressure go down? why the fuck do you have to get up and pee 3 times a night even after you peed like a race horse right before bed time? why the fuck does pork have to contain so much sodium? what's wrong with sodium?!

I could read a Dr. Oz book or wrack my brain for hours wondering how it all happens. Or, I could just say "fuck it" and let the next six months go by in a self-induced ignorance coma while I hold Hubber's hand and let Patsy lead the way.

Note to self: ask Patsy not to ever use the term "fecal matter" around me again.

She said lettuce, I heard BACON

Hubber and I are buckling down (for sure this time, mofos) and getting serious (I mean it, bitches) about losing weight and getting fit.  I know you heifers are all like, "suuuuuuure you are".  But, we are.  And this time, we're investing a lot of money in this shit, which should help somewhat with accountability and whatnot.  We even have a counselor/dietitian lady we have to physically visit three times a week.  This ain't no bullshit, y'all.  I'm telling you this is serious business.

So, yesterday when Patsy (dietitian) was giving us creative ideas for preparing the shit ton of green vegetables we have to eat over the next few days (detox phase), I kept thinking she was saying "bacon" every fifth or sixth word.  I kept having to stop her to clarify that indeed she had just said "wrap your chicken in bacon".

Me: <totally dumbfounded> It's ok to eat bacon wrapped chicken?!  I thought we couldn't eat pork.  You guys don't consider bacon to be pork?  This is the best news I've gotten all day! I love bacon.  Oh, sweet, sweet bacon!

Patsy: <very confused> Wait... what?

Hubber:  How does anyone confuse the word "lettuce" for "bacon"?  Only my wife.  <rolling eyes>

Patsy:  Hahahaha!  Oh, you two are too funny!

Me: so, no bacon?

Patsy: NO bacon.

This same very pathetic conversation repeated itself a few more times during our 1-hour counseling session. I'm sorry, but the words "taking", "baking", and "spinach" all sound like bacon.  Ok, maybe spinach is a little far fetched but at that point I was only half-ass listening.  Visions of plump little piggies and bacon wrapped, cheese stuffed jalapenos kept dancing around in my head while Patsy yammered on and Hubber nodded his head like what she was saying was so interesting and reasonable.  There's nothing reasonable about not eating pork, y'all.  God invented pigs for the sole purpose of being turned into bacon and pork chops and chicharones and pozole and carnitas....!

Hubber: why are you so caught up on bacon?  It's not like we eat it a lot.

Me: when someone tells me I can't have a certain thing, I just want it more.  Remember that time you said I couldn't have that jackalope head?  Remember?!  Soon after I wanted two heads... then four... then an entire herd of them!  My jackalope dreams have multiplied like crazy. The same thing is going to happen with bacon.  I'm going to get obsessed. You'll never hear the end of it. ARE YOU PREPARED FOR THIS SHIT?!

Hubber: I've learned to tune you out.  You know... like you tune the kids out.  I can do that.

Me:  I should be offended by that, huh?

Hubber:  Huh? Did you say something?

I hate him sometimes.  He loves bacon, too.  He was just pretending to be all big shit mister tough guy around Patsy.  The second we got home, he said, "Call me crazy, but it kinda smells like bacon in here, huh?"  Lord help us.

I WISH!! 

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...

<CLICK>

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?

I ain't praying for your constipation to end

Sis:  Hey, on the radio show I was listening to, they were talking about all the stuff on Facebook that annoys people.  This one guy said he hates it when people ask for prayers but don't say what they want you to pray for.  I may be guilty of doing that.

Me: Yeah, you do it.  It's annoying as hell.  You're all like, "keep your fingers crossed for me today!"  I hate when you do that shit.

Sis: What's the big deal?  Maybe I don't want everybody to know my business.

Me: Then why say anything at all?

Sis: Because some people DO know my business... and THOSE people will keep their fingers crossed or say a little prayer for me because they KNOW what the heck I'm talking about!  And those who don't, are usually kind enough to send good vibes my way simply because I asked for them - no strings attached!

Me: Well, that's just fucked up. And, it pisses me off more because sometimes you put that shit up there and I see people commenting about how they'll pray for you or cross their fingers for you as if they ARE in on your secret, undercover bullshit... while I have NO FUCKING CLUE why you need me to cross my damn fingers. How the hell do they know what's going on and I don't?!  How?!  I feel the sudden need to punch you in the eye right now.  I wanna pull your hair, too.

Sis: Calm down!  You always know, you just forget!  I tell you shit and you listen only half-assedly!

Me: For all I know, you could be having a serious bout of constipation!  I ain't wasting my prayers on your SHIT!  I have to use my requests to God sparingly.  And, don't even get all up in my good mojo....that shit is saved up, too.... for serious requests!  I could care less about your bowel movements unless you're on your death bed. Are you dying?!

Sis: Who the hell said anything about my shitting habits?!  YOU'RE the one talking about me being constipated!  All I said was that sometimes I post statuses on Facebook asking for a prayer or two.  You don't have to comply!!

Me: When it comes to prayers and finger crosses, you get NADA unless I am privy to the REASONS.  You hear me?  You shouldn't even be posting that shit on there unless you're gonna tell us all what the heck is going on.

Sis: YOU ALWAYS KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON!

Me: Case closed.  I'm over this conversation.

Sis: Why do I even talk to you?

Me: <La la la la la la... >>

Well, thank GOD!  I thought you never would!

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!

Our Quest to Find Big Foot: The Never-ending Saga

Our search for Big Foot began in 2005.  Sightings of the mysterious creature had been reported near Pike's Peak in Colorado, so naturally, that is where our search began.  As we entered Pike's Peak National Forest, the park ranger warned us to stay on the road, lest we shalt be mauled to death by the ferocious beast!  But, I've seen Harry and the Hendersons, y'all.  I know Big Foot ain't nothing but a big ol' cuddly teddy bear who stinks to high heaven; it ain't nothing that a gallon of Suave shampoo can't handle.  So, instead of heeding his warnings, we trampled through the forest in search of a potential pet and found this:

Yes! That's exactly what you think it is! Big Foot nests!  An entire colony lived there, we were sure of it.  We poked around for awhile and peeked inside each nest, but found nothing. We even staked the place out from our own makeshift nest, but those bastards never came home.  I'm convinced they must have some super smelling powers and they sniffed us out before they got too close.  To them, we smell like shit, I think.

We finally gave up our stake-out and made our way back to the main road. The spawn and I got separated from Hubber somehow and as luck would have it, we spotted this sasquatch disguised in men's clothing: 

How awesome is that shit?!  We were ecstatic!  Finally, someone captured a clear photo of Big Foot... and that someone was ME!  It wasn't until I lowered the camera, that I realized Harry was wearing HUBBER'S clothes!  HE ATE MY HUSBAND!

The spawn and I hopped into our car and headed back to the ranger's station.  That was about the time my cell phone rang. It was Hubber.

Hubber:  Where the hell are you going?!

Me:  You're alive!!!

Hubber:  <silence>

Me: You ARE alive, right??

Hubber: I'm gonna kick your ass.

Turned out Hubber was the Big Foot wearing Hubber's clothes. That tricky a-hole.  Anyway... that excursion in '05 was a fucking bust; but that shit didn't stop us from believing... and it certainly didn't stop us from searching for Big Foot when we went back to Pike's Peak in 2009.

Again, we captured a photo of what we thought was surely a sasquatch:

Turned out, it was just the oldest spawn, searching for Big Foot nests.  It was another wasted trip to Pike's Peak.  But, just when we had given up our search, we stumbled upon this guy at the Denver Zoo:

A baby sasquatch!  They grow those little fuckers at the zoo.  They train them to survive on their own and how to hide from humans.  Then, they let them go free in the mountains to drive us all batshit crazy. It's a conspiracy and the Denver Zoo is in on it!  I'm gonna crack this case and break it all open one day, y'all!  Just wait!  You're gonna see me on the Discovery Channel and you'll be all like, "Hey! I know that girl!"

Hubber:  You sure are obsessed with this Big Foot shit.

Me:  Yeah, well... I'm gonna be rich one day when I figure this shit out.

Hubber:  I have a theory.

Me:  Tell me.

Hubber:  I think YOU have some Big Foot blood in you.  That's what triggering this unnatural need of yours to find a real Big Foot.  You're being "called" by your people!  Like a Cylon!  You're a freakin' alien!

Me:  I like it.  Maybe I have special powers that'll kick in and I'll be able to blow shit up with my eyes!

Hubber:  Yeah.  I'm sure that'll happen.

So, on our 2012 trip to Colorado, we made another stop at Pike's Peak.  Evidently, the Big Foot sightings are out of control.  They even put up a life-size Big Foot statute so we'd know what it looked like when we saw it.  Naturally, we took a picture with the big guy:

Cute, huh?  He kinda looks like a naked, hairy Paul Bunyan. And, as luck would have it, they even had foot print castings at the park.  I stuck my foot on one to see if there were any similarities:

Nada.  I have a feeling Hubber's theory is a bunch of bullshit.  He got me all hyped up thinking I'm gonna rule the world like a fucking Cylon... just to find out I probably have nothing in common with Big Foot. Well, except for maybe the bushy eyebrows and crazy hairs that grow in weird places.