I Didn't Quite Cry Like A Little Girl....

Well my little Snark Bugs I'm going to make it official. I think my liver is broken. Or my brain my be actually working, or I have been abducted by aliens: any one of these scenarios is highly plausible. Just when I thought I was going to be able to regale you with climactic and scintillating stories of this past weekend's complete debauchary, I have a confession to make:

I have failed you.

And you better get used to that shit now, you know the lingering garlicesque quality of bitter disappointment. No matter how many times you brush your teeth that shit still sucks.  What can I say Snarksters.... I did not drink at all this weekend.

Wait--

Let me retract that.... I drank a really watered down fruit cocktail with vodka, and by drank I mean I had two sips.

I can hear the feigned outrage and threatened lynchings now, so let's just get to the punch shall we (yes I revel in irony the way some revel in power, or you know glitter and spanx).  It's not that I didn't want to drink per se, in fact I spent most of Saturday afternoon preparing for the onslaught of moonshine I was going to force on my gullet. I drank copious amounts of water, and an Urban Detox drink/elixir.  I had everything planned out... I was going to spend the night at Ms. VampireS's place, we were going to do a little pre-party, the whole thing....... I had a free pass from the phubster to have a good time... and yet when the time came I just couldn't do it.

I know.... pick your jaw up off the floor and keep reading, if you can....

But Becca WHY............ you're asking yourself, or accusingly pointing at the screen and shouting....

Ummm.... to put it in a nutshell--> I felt homesick.

Oh God, and there goes all my hard earned street cred.

So here's the thing, the phubster and I don't see a lot of each other during the week, in fact we don't see each other at all because of our work schedules, locations, etc I actually spend the week with the kids at my parent's house and we don't see him until the weekend.  Well we do see him during the week for dinner and stuff but we don't actually stay together, and Yes, this is by choice.  The money we save on gas, and the stress that's avoided by me not having to rustle the kiddos up early and drop them off is immeasurable, and so for a while, we're traversing down this road.  Obviously it's not all roses and peaches, and for the most part it's pretty much vomit and shit, but it is what it is, so let's just move on....

I had been planning on this party for at least 6 weeks now. It was promising to be an epic night, replete with funny drunken stories, and maybe projectile vomiting. I had a crazy morning trying to get everything together for the phubster so he could take care of the kids, and it took me forever to leave the house because he was being cranky, and the Crybaby was being extra clingy. It was just about World War 3 to get out and get over to Ms. VampireS's place somewhat on time. And I was irritated too. I was really ticked off that the phubster and the kiddos had gotten me all sorts of pissy while I was trying to get into "get drunk party mode" and leave. I was in fact really happy and looking forward to all kinds of inappropriate fun just for spite. Ms. VampireS and I started off at her local nail salon, and the moment I sat down in the chair I knew it... I was screwed, because I was suddenly and desperately homesick for my cranky ass husband and insane kiddos.

But I was committed, and I was determined to push through this, I really was. So I swallowed the lump in my throat, and tried to ignore the texts with pictures of the kiddos from the phubster who really wasn't helping the cause (and I take this tactic to be part of new strategy in his game, which I'm fucking on to, now....), and I was just going to go ahead as planned. Also in part (a particularly large part) I was embarrassed to be feeling like such a sissy crybaby, and not really willing to let Ms. VampireS know about my current blues. So the festitivites continued and I tried to keep it light, and I really wanted to drink, but as we got ready, and got our eyelashes done, and put on my going out face (aka spackle, aka make-up), I just couldn't shake it. I was sure it would get better at dinner, where I would see some more of our mutual friends and for sure have a drink or too, at least to relax.

At dinner I kept meaning to order a drink, really. I did. But the service was kind of God Awful, and the phubster was still blowing up my phone (bastard), and when the food finally arrived I was only too grateful to just inhale, without thinking about drinking. After dinner, I promised myself I was going to have a drink at the bar. I was going to get drunk and dance on top of the bar and make a fool out  of myself, I swore it, but instead, the achy hollow feeling, filled up the space that was meant for my liquor, and pulsed in rhythm to the deafening music. I danced with Ms VampireS, kept the creepers off my girlfriends (and Oh LORD we're there ever some fucking wierdos at the bar), told a drunk guy's homie he better "check his boy" before I do, and made daggerous eyes at some insane fuck that sniffed one of my other friend's neck.

I was told numerous times I should have a drink, and I wanted to, I didn't have a good reason not to, other than the fact that I just couldn't. Couldn't bring myself to imbibe in some "forget the feelings juice" and let loose. I stayed until the bar closed and we all went back to Ms. VampireS's place, where I guilitly broke down and said, "I think I'm just going to go home, the phubster was blowing up my phone all night."  The look on her face could have recdued me to a puddle of toxic waste, but she gracefully aqcuiesed. I suddenly felt guilty, and knew I couldn't fight either feeling as I did the walk of shame back to my car and drove home.

Ms. VampireS I'm sorry. Really. For being such a fucking pussy. Seriously. But I know you're going to forgive me which is why we're such good friends, and I promise that at your Star Wars themed wedding bacholorette party I'm going balls to the walls........................

All the way home, the heavy feeling, like walking through a mucky pond became lighter and lighter as the miles flew under my tires, and when I finally arrived home I quietly went inside, laid down next to the phubster and went to sleep. I felt complete.

The next day I was exhausted, as though I had actually stayed up all night drinking. This is when I realized how incredibly old I'm getting, and that I really shouldn't be out at the bar dancing if I'm not drunk enough to make my muscles loosen up to handle the torture I'm putting it through.

New rule.... I have to stop being such a pussy, and I really need to start doing some yoga or something, because shit, my legs fucking hurt.

So, ever felt homesick as an adult? Please share... emabrassment loves company.....

I'm the Mistress of Alliteration, and I Remember....

The other day I was talking to a friend about being a thug, and maybe something about ho’s and pimps, and eventually we got to the subject of my blog. She said something to the effect of “I’ve been waiting for you start talking about you know, your story on your blog, are you going to?” I replied with laughter, and a quick answer, “well I think I want to keep it light. I’ve got so much blah blah blah blah going on right now, and I really like the humor. I guess I could go there when things settle down, but I don’t know how serious I can get.” But you see, I was lying, not on purpose, not to be mean, but really I was lying to myself.  If there’s one thing I’m really good at, it’s making up excuses, which is not to be confused with procrastination. I am after all the Queen Grand High Poohbah of Procrastination; but what I’m getting at here is actually finding a stupid reason for not wanting to do something. (I know, you’re saying, but Becca isn’t that really the same thing… well no, not really actually. Procrastinating is a lot more fun than actually making up flimsy excuses as to why you don’t want to do something that actually doesn’t have to be done…) 

I guess I felt that I just didn’t want to get into it, my sordid past (actually not very), and all the heavy luggage that goes with it (I don’t recommend trying to lift any of it).  In an ironic way I didn’t want to make myself vulnerable to you, the readers, because everyone loves a fun time gal, and NOT a Debbie Downer, right? Right. Or at least this is what I managed to convince myself.  But perhaps it’s worth a shot. If it doesn’t work I can go right back to slapstick and pirate curses, and we can just forget this whole thing ever happened. Deal?

It’s a motherfucking deal then.

So Snarksters, in an effort for you to get to know me, shall we start Familial Fridays? (Oh man, do I have a way with alliteration—no not illiterate, alliteration, dude: look it up) Hmmm…. Now where to start… We could always go the traditional route ie “it was a dark and stormy night…” or the non-traditional route, ie "sometimes you’re the statue and sometimes you’re the pigeon"… but all of that seems so convivial and trite at the moment and I’m in an erudite sort of mood (ok apologies my snark bugs, but I do sometimes use words that are difficult to pronounce because they’re rattling around in my head, but not because I want you to be more confused than you already are). Maybe we can try something more like this...

I remember.

I remember the first time he hit me. I thought it was a mistake. In fact I was sure it was a mistake because there was no way that this shining example of what it means to be a total shit bag of a human being would in fact actually raise his hand, pull it back and hit me. It was more shocking than hurtful.

I remember.

I remember being frozen between halfway sitting and halfway standing, my fork precariously balanced between my fingers threatening clattering on the floor, bleeding out spaghetti. The tingle like insect legs on your palm is what woke me up, as tears began to surge forward.

I remember.

I remember thinking, “why am I crying?” Why was I crying? The hot pools of shame wrestled their way down my face, leaving angry streaky comments in their wake. He had already sat down and had continued eating dinner. “Sit down, and close your mouth.” It was almost whispered, and thrown at my way as to suggest I was the one who had caused the interruption in our dinner routine. One more daggered glance sent me scrambling, limbs in every impossible and wrong angle to regain my composure and my seat, which only delayed the actual process of sitting down. “What’s wrong with you that you can’t even sit down.”  I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me, but it must be something.

I remember.

I remember we just kept eating. I did not utter one single syllable. I did not get up and leave. I did nothing. “It must be my fault” I told myself, repeatedly. I must have done something wrong. But what? I rewound the events before the conjecture of his hand against my skin, to ascertain what could have sparked such a discourse. We had been laughing over something stupid and inconsequential. He had asked me if I could go to a gallery opening, but I couldn’t. I had a final to study for, and eventually had to go back to my own place. I had told him I couldn’t. We argued. It was settled with his physical punctuation that I would indeed attend the gallery opening.

I remember.

I remember I felt like I had eaten fistfuls of garden dirt followed by a cement chaser.  Later there was whispered kindness, comforting embraces, and an insecure relief began to settle at my feet, like a dog thumping its tail, warming the edges of my being. I stayed on. I stayed silent.

 ************************************************************************

PHEW. That was HEAVY. And I’ve decidedly don’t do heavy anymore.  Such a burden. Really. But in all seriousness I dated a total douche bag of a human for about 4 ½ years. It/He was a large part of my adolescent life, shaping me, molding me in all the wrong ways. Things I’ve had to re-teach myself, re-learn what is or isn’t “normal.” In all of this I have managed to keep intact my sense of humor, somehow, and here I am on the other side. Definitely, defiantly defying (ohh there's that alliteration again) the statistics about being the product of an abusive relationship, what that means for future relationships, what that means to the future you.

Here’s a little bit of advice that has taken me YEARS to learn, and I’m still struggling with it:

You, YES YOU, are a person of immeasurable worth.

You deserve to be treated with respect.

You deserve to be loved in an appropriate manner.

You are capable of loving in an appropriate manner.

Snarksters, NO ONE has the right to lay their hands on you in a manner that is physically abusive. Don’t stay silent, and don’t think that this is “NORMAL.” I assure you, it’s not. Please seek help if you are in an abusive relationship and can’t leave.  http://www.bandbacktogether.com/abuse  Help and resources can be found here.

Now that we’re done with those un-pleasantries you will all be very happy to know that this weekend I’m attending the belated birthday party of Ms. VamipreS; so next week’s Conversational Mondays should be super AWESOME. I’ve promised to try to behave myself, but shit, who are we kidding? It’s me, after all.

“Pictures of last night ended up online, I’m screwed, Oh well…” (Katy Perry, Last Friday Night) I'm guessing that's summing up my weekend... how about yours?

Don't Drink and Tweet

It seems to be just about that time....

CONVERSATIONAL MONDAYS

(bitches!)

Imma tell you a secret.....
gimmie yer wine, and I won't
shank you, yet....

I'm not even going to begin to lie to you and say that I heard all kinds of interesting things this weekend while I was out and about.  I didn't. 

Mostly because I wasn't out and about.

Why?

It may have something to do with the entire bottle of Fetzer Riesling I thought it was appropriate to drink, by myself, on Friday night. You know, after I had my rum and coke. So instead of rounding up the latest juicy gossip, I'd thought I'd share most of what I can remember about Friday.

We went to a nice dinner with my family.  At a nice little Italian restaurant where happy hour was still going strong, and it was $3 for any "well drink" i.e. vodka tonic, gin and tonic, rum and coke, etc.  I settled on rum and coke, and somewhere between me finishing it, and thinking about ordering another, lo and behold MY FAVORITE bottle of wine of all time miraculously appeared at the table. Still not sure who ordered it, but I do know for a fact I'm the only one that drank it. 

Why?

My dad recently had gastric bypass and alcohol is on the list of "Drink this and DIE" things...

My mom doesn't drink at all (anymore) because she gets a wicked migraine (what a freaking cop out)

My husband didn't drink because someone had to drive me home, and oh yeah, watch our kids...

Which means I was left to drink the entire bottle, because if you don't finish it they won't let you take it. No use in wasting perfectly good wine right............ right. 

While standing (I think  I was standing) and washing my hands in the bathroom after dinner and wine, my mom said:

Mom: "I feel bad for the phubster tonight, hope he doesn't mind the state you're in."

Me: "You feel bad? What for, I'm just going to pass out in the car."

Mom: "Oh that'll make it easier"

Me: "You know it. This is why I don't just have two or three drinks. He's always telling me just have two or three but I'm onto his game."

Mom: "His what"

Me: "His game. I mean shit, two or three drinks means more kids. Drink a whole bottle and you're ensuring you're just going to pass out, no kids. How'd you think the other two got here."

Mom: "oh wow"

Me: "I know, I'm smart right."

Mom: "hahaha, yeah something like that."

After that and at home I drunk texted Ms. VampireS. Here is our text conversation...

Me: Rgery sucks iambic shit.faced right

Ms VS:  Wow yes you are

Me: I can't

Ms VS: You cant what hun?

Me: I can't, read it's reilly hard

Me: I meancant

Me: Shhhhh

Me: I think phubster is pottery pissed at me

Me: Oh well

Ms VS: Uh yes I bet hun lol

Ms VS: You're dunzo lol

And if that wasn't bad enough, for some reason I decided to take it a step further and send out the following tweets:

Officially shit faced and loving it
LET the drink Skpung begin
Ur can't read. Us toys bag?
Finished a ngihtly of ey're hi nearly is thIrd bag
Looking drynk svary is thIrd bad?


At this point I think I did actually pass out, in the middle of the bed, fully clothed, with the lights on.  And since the phubster is such a loving and caring man he did wake me up at about 3 am to make me drink about 5 gallons of water because as he put it, "I'm not cleaning up your puke, and I'm not dealing with your headache tomorrow. Drink the water." Ahhh, such a loving man, how did I get so lucky.

In all actuality, I did feel really good the next morning. No hang over whatsoever.  I was a little tired, and a bit light sensitive, but other than that I was feeling pretty chipper which may be due to the fact that it was the first uninterrupted night's sleep I've had in about ohhhh 4 years. In fact I was feeling so dandy that I got up, made breakfast, bathed the children, and started the laundry.  I even had an in depth conversation with the phubster about the rest of the night that I couldn't remember.  It's apparent that when I get really, really, really trashed, I get very---> apologetic. According to the phubster I spent the majority of the night apologizing for the following things, breathing, sitting down, opening the door, lying down on the floor, brushing my teeth, flushing the toilet, talking, walking, moving, scratching my arm, having children, making him buy me dogs, etc. In fact snarksters, I apologized so much, that I am banned from saying the phrase "I'm sorry," for at least the next six months......... later that afternoon I crashed hard, on the couch for four hours or so....what, I'm old....

The final score:
Me: Winning!
Phubster: NOT   (<-- I am so on to your game you bastard!)

Soooooo, what'd you do over the weekend? Drink entire bottles of vodka, make it rain up in the club, hear anything scintillating worth sharing? Do tell..... Can anyone figure out what the hell I meant to tweet up there? If so, send your interpretations and I'll give you a prize, or a virtual hug and pat on the back, whichever is cheaper....

Under Pressure I Apparently Don't Become a Diamond....

I was linked to today by an awesome blogger who always makes me laugh, or at least say What.The.Fuck man.... That's right Shane, big shout out to you over at http://www.wagthedad.com/.  If you haven't checked him out yet you better, or prepare for knee cap destruction by pencils.

However, this put a lot of pressure on me to write something epic-- something hilarious wherein you the reader, would spit your beverage out all over the screen or chortle devilishly to yourself while people point and stare.

Alas,

I have choked.

Under the pressure.

And the best I could come up with is sharing my two favorite jokes of all time. But hey it's better than nothing.

Joke 1

Q: What's brown and sticky
 (no it's not poop)
A: A stick! (hahahahahahahaha you know you're laughing)


Joke 2

Two peanuts were walking down the street.
One was a salted.
 (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, oh my God that's funny)


Check back in with me on Monday, for more Conversational Mondays, and I promise to shape up a little for next week..........

I'm Going to Have to Spank You....

I’m going to go out on a limb here and institute something new, something that I think is going to be pretty fucking awesome (and no, I will not take your comments if you think otherwise, in fact all negative comments can be placed in the black rectangular receptacle under my desk, and for those that are challenged it’s called the fucking trash can.).

Forthwith I bring to you….

Conversational Mondays

Just a little roundup of the tom foolery I heard snippets of this weekend. Things I thought were funny or stupid or both.

Without further ado…

At La Salsa waiting in line for lunch there was a guy and a gal standing in front of me chit chatting, and I practically wanted to barf all over them.

Guy: So, wow hey, that’s a sparkler

Lady: Oh this, (holds up ring finger), it’s nothing really (I’m interjecting here to say this thing was a big as my FREAKING eyeball)

Guy: No, that’s pretty substantial

Lady: Yeah I know, right (giggles) 7.5 carats. I had it appraised.

Guy: How much do you think he (which I’m assuming is the fiancé) spent?

Lady: At the appraisal they said it was worth $27,000.00. But I doubt he spent that much, probably only $17,500.00 or something, he does have that connection.

Guy: Oh yeah, wow, I mean that’s a lot of money (said with a bit of disdain)

Lady: I know right, I mean it’s just like over the top (said all breathy and giggly)

Guy: Well how’d he propose? (trying to sound genuinely interested, but he’s really not)

At this point I just stopped listening because I don’t do vapid well. And I was hungry and cranky, and therefore fighting  the urge to shank the ho with my car keys since valley girl on an empty stomach is really hard to take. Plus I was feeling bad for the poor shmuck with her because it was clear he had a thing for the bimbo. You’re better off buddy, TRUST ME.

In the produce section of Albertson’s, again a guy and lady dressed in scrubs scrounging around the pre-made sandwiches…

Lady: So what you’re saying is the Jerry is filing for bankruptcy?

Guy: And I’m going to fire him.

Lady: But why?

Guy: Because he also hasn’t filed any personal taxes and the IRS already sent me several letters about something else they want to look into regarding him.

Lady: Really?

Guy: Yeah, but I you can’t say anything.

Lady: Oh I won’t. But I mean he has all those properties and the boat, and then he flashes that watch around…

Guy: That doesn’t mean anything.

Lady: But what about Vegas?

Guy: What about it?

Lady: His penthouse in Vegas? (Mother fucker has a penthouse?!)

Guy: You mean the one he embezzeled funds for? (OMG OMG OMG, this is what I was thinking, followed by, he embezzled company funds, the IRS is in on it, FUCK...)
Lady:You’re kidding.

Guy: I wish I was.

Lady: Oh my God.

Guy: That’s what I said.

At this point they started walking away from me and shooting me dirty looks because I suppose when you’re literally two feet behind someone and run and trying not to do the creepy stalker thing of breathing down their backs it’s pretty obvious you’re eavesdropping. But I REALLY am DYING to know more about Jerry and his money problems now….

And my snarksters I have saved the best for last, a gift from me to you…. This is a conversation I had with my 4 year old daughter, the Little Monster…

LM: Shit.

Me: What did you say?!

LM: (without missing a beat) that’s a bad word though. I just wanted you to know, so don’t say it.

Me: (sputtering, wheels spinning thinking of an appropriate disciplinary action) well, umm you’re right. Ok.

LM: (smiles) I love you mommy when you don’t say bad words.

Me: But I didn’t say any bad words.

LM: But sometimes you do.

Me: Yes I do, but I’m a mommy, and you’re a little girl.

LM: Yeah but daddy’s going to spank your butt.

Me: Uhhh… no he’s not.

LM: Yeah he is. You’re going to be in trouble. And then when you say bad words you get your butt spanked.

Me: That’s true, that’s why we don’t say bad words right.

LM: Yeah, but that’s why you’re going to be spank-ted.

Me: Well no, mommies don’t get spanked.

LM: No?

Me: Well… (and at this point if I don’t concede the implied fear of being spanked without actually being spanked will stop being an effective tool, I realize I just have to bite the bullet here). You’re right, I’m going to get spanked.

LM: See I told you. Silly mommy.

Me: Yeah, silly me.

LM: I’m going to tell daddy you said lots of bad words today (evil giggle)

Me: Oh yeah…

LM: Yeah because you do, say a lot…………..

Shit and fuck. She’s right. God Dammit.

And there you are, the greatest conversation snippets of the weekend. Hear anything more interesting… please do tell… and if you’re going to say any bad words, you best prepare for the spanking that comes with it.

I'm Getting Pretty Fucking Old.....

Well shit and fuck. I got old and it ain't pretty.

I remember a time when I could drink like it was the fucking prohibition all over again, and wake up with a smile, sans hangover, and go about my day....

Those days are gone. And I miss them.

I'm not really sure why I decided I should drink margaritas last night.  Maybe it's because everyone else was doing it.  Maybe it's because my closet alcoholic cousin came over, and she always bring booze. It's totally rude if we don't open it and try some. I mean Martha would beat the impolite out of me, right? Right.  Maybe it's because the phubster walks around shaking his head by the time I get to the fourth drink.... I'm not really sure of the why... but snarksters can I just say.... I AM FUCKING OLD.

I remember doing a lot of laughing and animated talking last night. I think I also helped my other cousin's daughter write a speech on the importance of history. She read it back to me and it sounded like shit. I tried to read it, but it looked like shit. So I think I'm banned from offering my unsolicited advice.  SIGH. I'm usually so helpful.  I was in Speech and Debate in High School, so that totally qualifies me. I think I also walked into a wall.  I mean generally speaking it's typically the door jams and knobs that like to jump out in front of me for no reason other than to scoff behind my back; but I guess the walls want in on it too now, bastards.  After a lot of talking, and me referring to my sister in law as "that cow," and telling a couple of cousins to "shut [their] whore mouths," and my mother in law cutting me off (embarrassing, YES, necessary, PROBABLY) I decided it was time for beddy bye.  I was convinced that I would be fine this morning.

I was EPICALLY (a new word) wrong.

This morning I had a headache, and my eyes would literally not.open.  My back also hurt for no explainable reason, and I had three bruises on my arm that I have no idea where they or from or how they got there. My entire mouth tasted like tequila, and my legs were stiff, and my joints creaky. As I hobbled out of bed, and stumbled to the bathroom I realized that I am old. I also found a gray hair, which was immediately removed. Add this to the list of I am getting old and it sucks ass.....

GAH.

I remember when I could go on two hours of sleep too.... insomnia how I miss thee.

Things that have gone with age:

1. My memory
2. My body
3. My ability to hold my liquor
4. My tolerance for stupid people
5. My ability to just have one drink.....
6. My tolerance for people who just have one drink....

oh the list goes on................. but why bore you. It's Monday, and I'm hung over, like a Bob Damned teenager who's been sneaking the devil's water out of daddy's liquor cabinet. I think my eyes are blood shot too.

That's it. I gotta keep my boozing to Friday and Saturday....

Lessons Learned:

1. When your cousin shows up with a gallon of Jose Cuervo, that does not mean you should help her drink the gallon.
2. When your MIL cuts you off--> you should cut her back, with a spork.
3. Telling someone to shut their whore mouth is most likely going to end in a fist fight
4. You should never look up quotes about history, and read them when impaired
5. Calling your sister in law a cow might get you booted out of the family.....
6. Learning to hold your liquor and your tongue would be fanfuckingtastic

Soooo... call anyone a cow lately? Find some gray hairs, got creaky joints?  Share, because I don't want to be old and alone.................

You Shouldn't Reference that Someone May be A Freak In the Sheets

Some of my favorite bloggers are having tough times today. Some of them got their posts stolen, FOR SHAME fuck heads. For SHAME. Some of them are missing people they lost. Loss is a universal thread that binds us together to remind us that we are all the same:human. So before I go into my rant about getting wasted at a family bbq, I just wanted to say, times is tough, and bad shit happens to good people. That's just the way it is. And the way it is fucking sucks balls. There, off my soap box.

On Saturday I went to a cousin's BBQ. Ok let me back that up by saying it was the phubster's cousin's bbq for his other cousin, the first cousin's brother, who had come to visit from Canada. (Are you with me so far?) So technically my cousin-in-laws. Or whatever the fuck they're called. They live in (literally) Sun City. It's hot as the flames that jump up when you pour too much lighter fluid on the grill and your eyebrows get singed off over there. I was somewhat dreading it, especially because they have a pool and my kids have gills. There was no way you could bribe me, coerce me, threaten me to show off my lumpy white body and climb in there. Not a one. I was an impasse of solid granite, nothing would temper my resolve, no one could--

oh wait-- is that Moscato?

Have a Dixie Party Red Cup full of it?

Ok sure, but just one.

I nursed my cup like it was the last one on the face of the Earth. We ate carne asada and grilled chicken, my son decided to choke on a blueberry, but not to fear he swallowed it at the last minute. Buzz meter: 0 (on a scale of 1 to totally shit faced)

Hmmm.... what.... is that Disaronno? What's that, one shot?

Ok, I suppose. Buzz meter: almost a 1

The kids stood in line and took turns swinging at a pinata, and then raced after candy. Wouldn't you know it but the little monster sucks at this whole pinata game. She doesn't like hitting multi-colored animals with sticks, nor does she understand that when the candy falls you run and get it. Also doesn't help that she has baby hands, is smaller than the other kids and is a perfectionist who has to take off the dirt on each piece of candy before it goes in the bag. (I'm pretty sure now that she was switched at birth). Needless to say her bag was quite empty and her eyes were full of tears. It's ok though because me and The CryBaby Cleaned UP. He loves to grab stuff and NO ONE, I tell you NO ONE is going to knock over a baby who's just learning to walk to get candy he can't technically eat. We made a stock pile. We shared with sister. I may be hoarding it. Hmm.. what' that, back the fuck up and off my collection. (WHAT, have you ever HAD Mexican Candy. The Lead makes it taste EXTRA good. I kid, I kid. There's no lead, and it's delish! I've seen grown women fight over the last Mexican candy in the dirt, in the bushes. Yeah it's that good)

What's that you say, my cup does look a little empty. Some more Moscato? Sure, thank you. Buzz meter: 3

I lost the phubster at this point. For about an hour, which when you're starting to buzz is like three hours. I don't know where he went or what he was doing. I found myself talking too loudly in the kitchen and laughing too hysterically over nothing. I ate some chips and beans. Gotta soak up the alcohol right. Of course the kiddos wanted in the pool. Was I buzzed enough to bare my lily white ass yet? HELL NO. But thankfully their aunt and uncle took them instead. I headed back to the kitchen under the pretenses of finding the phubster. My conversation started something like this....

"So how have you been," (nodded my head in general direction of cousin's wife, "C")

(eye balling me up, the nerve of that HO) "I've been good, you?"

"Yeah I've been good too. It's hot huh." (Me)

"Yeah it is hot." (Her)

"Must be nice to have a pool." (Me)

"The kids like it." (Her)

"Oh. Hey have you seen the phubster?" (Me)

"Um no, I've been in here the whole time." (Her)

"Oh." (Me, slightly defeated)

(At this point we're interrupted by another cousin, "L")

"Hey, you want some more moscato? We just opened another bottle." (L)

"Hell yeah." (Me, enthusiastically)

Idle conversation now envelops the entire kitchen like a thick smoke that leaves me in my semi-buzzed gasping for air and fanning myself with a napkin in an attempt clear the air. At this point "C" starts goofing around dancing, and I make the ill advised joke of saying, "hey teach me, teach me how to dougie."

Snarksters, do you know that "C" actually obliges. And these brilliant words come out of my mouth.

"Shit. Now I know why your husband loves you so much, you're a lady in the streets huh."
"What?" (C, eye brows arched)
"You know, [punctuate with a giggle] a lady in the streets..."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." (C, eyebrows dangerously arched now)

"Fo real?"

"Um YES." (C, starting to get pissed)

(insert commentary from cousin L)
"Duh, a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets." (L starts chuckling)

I may have started hysterically laughing. I may have splashed some of my drink on the nearest victim, I mean bystander. The rest of the night is kind of blurry. I did manage to find my kids, and get them dry and changed without bathing them in moscato. They even got cake and ice cream. Buzz Meter: 8

Also, the phbuster materialized out of thin air. I think I remember telling him we should eat pho. MMM... the deliciousness of pho. I think it will help sober me up slightly. I'm starting to slur/leer. The phubster suggests I should stop drinking. I don't take suggestions.

Que paso chica, que es.... Reisling?

Si! Andale! Me likey. Fill 'er uP!

Buzz Meter: Shit faced.

Now comes the blur of activity where we round up the kids, say our good byes and I proceed to text a lot of people that I'm totally shit faced. I only know this because the next morning when I look at my phone there's a lot of misspelled communique from me that means nothing, that all ends in, "B, maybe you should lay off the booze" type thing. Except the one from Ms. VampireS which ended, "No Babies." Touche. Tou fucking che.

Not to worry. Although there was some initial excitement about the state of my buzz, this was all undone by my whispering in my regular talking voice about how "lucky" the phubster was going to get in graphic detail while slurping down pho.

I then got back in the car and fell asleep. For the rest of the night. Because I am that bob damn awesome. Oh phubster, how did you get to be such a lucky, lucky man.

Here's the lesson:

1. Stay away from the Moscato. Moscato is a gateway drink. Not enough alcohol to actually get you super buzzed, but just enough to make you want to keep drinking. Curse you moscato. Curse you (Please come back to me.)

2. Don't infer that your cousin's wife is a nasty freak. You may be banned from all other family functions.

3. Don't talk graphically in your regular voice about the nasty freak things you're going to do to your husband at dinner. Turns out that is NOT a turn on.

4. Don't fall asleep in the car and not put out, because if you're going to embarrass the poor guy that much the least you can do is put out.

So, imbibed too much at a family function, office party, etc? Said some inappropriate things, drunk dialed, drunk texts? I know you did. It's ok to share. This is a safe place, where everyone gets their own colored square, cookies and milk. Please feel free to let it all go....

The Kid Needs A Damn Cat Bell

Oh readers, friends, comrades, followers and those of you who have been forcibly made to read this blog upon pain of death. You my funny snarksters (add that to my ever growing lexicon of words that I invented) are going to be sorely disappointed today.

My bees knees snarkster friend = EPIC BLOG FAILURE. Due to conflicting schedules she did not write her post as promised and therefore I had to break off our friendship and break her mother fucking knees, with pencils. It was bloody, there was screaming, and she'll never walk again.

Ok, ok I kid. I would never break her knees with pencils, I'd have to use a couple of three ring binders and industrial staplers instead because it's totally more humane to do it that way. But can I just say for the record that I was LOOKING forward to a great POST about Desserts, Vampires and Brownies. Now I must subject my loyal snarksters to more inane ramblings.... I Blame you Ms.VampireS. And thus I have dubbed you forever more in my posts to be referred to as Ms.VampireS. Don't like, don't not do your damn homework for me. (Hmph!)

Actually I'm willing to cut Ms. VampireS a break. She was a bit busy last night, and she did mention she fell asleep while texting me, therefore let it be known that you have earned yourself a stay of execution. And before you feign outrage, did you really think I wouldn't blog about you not getting your post ready for my blog? Think again, just about anything is game for posts...

Along the same lines: how are you, dear snarkster lEfty (and you know who are) going to leave a comment that says "Don't blog about me" and then seriously expect me to not post about you. You walked right into it my dear. I promise to post a good one about the good old days pretty soon. It would probably start something like, "One day in eighth grade...." Please note you've be fore fucking warned.

On an unrelated note, my little monster is sleepwalking.

(Pause for dramatic effect)

Yup that's right snarksters, sleepwalking. The other night the phubster (after a frantic search) found her downstairs on the couch sleeping. No lights were on, and the door to our bedroom was closed (I should mention she sleeps in a toddler bed in our room). She has no recollection of how she got downstairs.

SHIT!

Then last night the little monster got up and paced in front of the bed with her eyes wide open, not blinking and incoherently mumbling. My first thought when I woke up to this sight was, "Oh my Fucking BOB, the Bob Damn RING come to life, and now my soul is going to go straight to hell while this she ghost demon infects me with her evil spawn and I shrivel up with lesions and convulse to death. FUCK ME."

And then after blinking a few times, protected from my see no evil blankets, I peeped my head out again and realized it was just the little monster sleep walking. I got out of bed and gently guided her back to her bed. She didn't get up again, and I did not have one finger or toe sticking out from beneath the sheets just in case there really were demon spawn out to steal my soul.

This morning I relayed the sleep walking story to the phubster.

His one comment, "the kid needs a damn cat bell."

Well played phubby, well fucking played.

Be that as it may, I don't know how appropriate a cat bell is to put on a small child. I think it'll be better to just put up the safety gates and sleep with one eye open. Oh sleep how I miss thee.

In other unrelated news my home girl (I'm in her gang yo) Elizabeth stopped on by and left me a comment to which I secretly (ok not so secretly) swooned to, and then giggled about like a damn school girl. Check out her awesomeness here: http://www.flourishinprogress.com.

I may have also had a post of mine re-posted (and edited, sigh) here http://www.mushroomprinting.com/

What can I say snarksters... I am one talented bitch. It's like I was telling Ms. VampireS, I should be writing for SNL or something. I'm pretty sure that my comedic talent is being totally fucking squandered and that my nuggets of wisdom will never get the warm the cockles of main stream America.

SIGH

And on that note, I'm out yo.

After all it's the fucking weekend and I plan to be sippin on gin and juice, laid back.....

More Snark on Monday...........