Are they having secs?

Adrian has been feeling under the weather lately. I think it's just because of our Oklahomaass weather, that changes so frequently, his poor brain/allergies can't keep up.

Late last night, almost 11, I was watching the show "Revenge" in the living room by myself. I had put husband with one T to work that evening on building the kids a contraption for stuffed animals. I figured if they were up off the floor, MAYBE they would stop having scorpions crawl all over them and ruin my smiles. So husband was tired and was sleeping and I was watching ridic shows in the living by myself and polishing off the cookies I had made before I set the oven on fire.

Good Son walks in the living room crying. All emotions he feels manifest themselves into tears.

Sad, Guilty, Disappointed, Broke =

Slightly Mad, Slightly Annoyed, Slightly Upset, Pees Pants =

Happy, Rich, Not getting kicked by mean sister, Humored =

I lost all my teeth and look like a cute little crackhead =

Last night, however, he was crying because he couldn't stop sneezing and underneath his nose was sore.

=

That's a thermometer, not a ciggy

I was feeling lonely anyways, so I got him a cookie, some triaminic, and a blanket. I let him stay up and watch "Revenge" with me as long as he was quiet and cute.

Adrian:  baba? (mama with lots of snot)

Me: yes?

Adrian: They're having sex, right?

Me: Oh god Adrian. Please do not pretend like you know what sex is.

Adrian: Hellooooo. I do.

Me: You have no teeth and you are wearing Thomas the Train pants. We can't really talk about sex, yet.

Adrian: It's when you have a girlfriend and you shut the door and kiss. Oh my gosh, they're kissing and having sex!

Me: .............

Adrian: Is it okay for me to say "Be back in a sec? Because if I say it at school and it sounds like sex people might make fun of me."

Me: That's okay. Just don't say, "Be back for some secs."

Adrian: (giggles and turns purple) oh my gosh you just said sex. Mom. Oh my gosh. Oh my word. 

Me: Yeah, I'm awesome like that. It's bedtime.

I feel like this video kind of goes with this story. I decided every Monday to let them take the mattress off their bed and bounce themselves until they're concussed. This was a video I took of the hoodlums.

Why I love weird people.

This morning I went through the Starbucks drive-through because my loan totals needed some triple espresso and a life coach.



"Thanks for driving here. What can I get you?'



"Can I have a skinny vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso, please?"



"That will be 500 pennies and 1 dime."



(I already love this guy)

(I wait at the window after paying for about 4 minutes)



"Hi, yeah. I lost your drink because your hair is so pretty. It will be just a second."



I laughed in my car for 45 seconds straight. Pretty much the best compliment I have ever had, even if it was just to keep me from going coffee deprived apeshit and throwing trash from my console at him.



"Since you got so 'angry' AND you put on lip gloss this morning, I gave you a card for a free drink and here's your skinny latte."



I tried to say something equally as awkward, hilarious,  and weird back to him so he would know we were in the same club, but he had closed his window on me. I realized there were 5 cars behind me in line so my charm would have to wait until I came back to use my free drink card. I already have a plan.



"Welcome to Starbucks, how may I help you?"

"You can help me by giving me a tall skinny latte and some beard fur off your face."



or maybe



"Welcome to Starbucks, how may I help you?"

"Yes, I'd like a large ceramic rooster and a leather moccasin-making kit, please."



I live for these kinds of games.

 I had a friend who would walk around Hobby Lobby and try to find the most obscure and random item they sold, then find a salesman and ask for this item.



"Hi, yes, do you happen to have any monster eyeball crafts made from peacock feathers?"

Me we with my free coffee card and latte, making the prettiest face I can.

Stinky McStinkMouth

Sometimes, I smell bad.

Mostly on what I like to call, "No Shower Saturdays".

Only quitters shower on days they don't have to work.

I prefer to look like this on Saturdays while I watch documentaries and fold other people's underwear.

But this is a story about the worst I have ever smelled.




Sometimes when I get down, I like to dance it out. I dance the shit outta that sadness until I am so happy that I throw up.






But this is one instance I decided to drive my sadness. It doesn't seem to have the same effect when you say, "I automobiled the shit outta that sadness". I don't even recall what I was upset about but I am sure it was something extremely horrible. Like being told I loaded the dishwasher when the dishes inside were already clean. You have to clear your mind after that kind of abuse.




I cranked up some Korn  (okay maybe it was the Bye Bye Birdie soundtrack, no matter) and took off driving. Not caring where I was going. Not caring what beings were walking the earth that night. Not caring about the souls of the divine righteousness.





I got really carried away there for a second and I'm sorry.

I was weeping and looking at myself in the mirror. I do this often because my eyes get a really pretty color of green when I cry.




Oh look! I have a picture of me crying. Don't worry, Mom. I'm happy 86% of the time.







Nevermind the sympathy...look how green my eyes are!








So I'm staring at my disastrously pretty eyes, when all off a sudden I thumpity thump over something in my car. I break a skull on the front tires and the ribs on the back tires.




I feel like killing a small animal seems appropriate for the mood at hand so I keep driving and checking myself out in my mirror.






I'm suddenly murdered in the mouth with a thick and smelly taste I had not had the pleasure of experiencing before.




I start screaming because I cannot breathe the air in my car. It's like a cartoon smell: thick and yellow and pungent and lingering.





I pull over in the middle of a scary dark road and roll down my window to take some deep breaths into my asthma-lungs. The air outside is no better. AND it's cold. So I blast my heater to warm myself up.





This is when I get murdered in my mouth again. But this time, it's like murder that got nuked in the microwave. Think about how much worse a pile of dog poo is when it's hot and melted instead of frozen and dried out. It's an entirely different entity.







It fills my hair and clothes and car. I run away from my car, swinging my hair around and yelling words my daddy shouldn't know I say.





I come upon the deliverer of the smell. It's half of a dead skunk on the road. The other half is on my tire, in my heater, and subsequently in my mouth and hair.




I go back to my car and turn it off. I turn off the heater and ask Jesus to allow me to safely turn my car on without being blasted with roadkill revenge. He obliges and I turn the car on, thankful the smell has finally escaped my vehicle and I can shower the rest of the vengeful skunk death out of my hair when I get home.






As I get home, I stop in my driveway and hose my dead friend the half-skunk off my tire before I pull it into the garage. The smell was gone but I didn't want decomposing animal on my tire.






I pulled my car into the garage and came inside the house. Husband with one T met me in the entryway to make sure I wasn't still a sad lollipop but I stopped him from embracing me.




Mary: Hey, don't hug me, I hit a sk-

Mat: ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! MARY! What the hell is wrong with you. GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!







My confusion was present because apparently my nose and the odor had decided to become buddies and get used to each other. I still smelled as bad as when my face first got murdered, but my nose hairs had been singed off and my brain adapted to my new life as the smelliest creature in the land.





I was in the garage like a wet golden retrievor, trying to figure out where I would live.




Mat: (through the door) Mary- what is going on?

Mary: I hit a skunk with my car and then I invited the dead skunk soul into my vehicle by turning on my heater. Do you smell me or the car?

Mat: YOUR CAR IS IN THE GARAGE? MARY OH MY GOSH PULL IT OUT. YOU ARE SMELLING UP THE ENTIRE HOUSE.





I pull the car out, ashamed out of my grotesqueness. When people drive by with sympathetic faces I scream at them "LOOK AWAY. I'M HIDEOUS. GO LIVE YOUR LIVES!"





I called Mat from my cell phone and convinced him I couldn't wash with the hose because it was 21 degrees and I needed soap that smelled like flowers. He said to run to the bathroom as fast as I could and to not let any air in with me. I had to take my clothes off in the garage and then sprint to the shower, which he already had running for me.





Mat: Don't turn that down.

Mary: But it's scalding my skin and burning my flesh.

Mat: Yeah, but I still think it's neccessary.




I washed my hair 4 times. Mat gets me some dish soap, we talked and thought maybe the dish soap would be more concentrated. It still smelled.



So we tried laundry detergent.




When that didn't work I just rubbed lawn fertilizer all over my now balding head. (okay, no I didn't. But everything else is true!)




I eventually told him he was going to have to accept the new me. I got out of the shower and blew my hair dry. The whole time I was blow drying my hair, Mat was staring at the ceiling and whispering to Father God.




Mary: I HAVE TO GO TO BED. IT'S 3 AM AND I HAVE TO WORK IN 4 HOURS.

Mat: I know, baby. I know. But...um....do you think you could sleep in the guest room? I'm sure it just needs more time.

Mary: I seriously cannot still smell.

Mat: I think the soap made it worse. It's like it just made it mad and more determined.




I slept in the guest room. When I went to work the next morning I smelled just as strongly. I had to tell everyone at work to disregard my stench.




The president of the bank kindly asked me to move my car. When that failed to stop the branch from stinking, he sent me home.



I had to park my car blocks away for the next 4 to 5 days. I wasn't able to use my heater for over a month. I think I asked people all the way out to 180 days "Can you smell me? Do I smell like dead skunk revenge?" because I was so paranoid. It was the gift that kept on giving.





The moral of the story is...if you ever hit an animal while in the middle of a drama/cryfest in your vehicle...immediately turn off your heater or air conditioner or else your spouse and employer will detest the very smell of you for 3 to 4 weeks.

Stop The Hate of Wonderful Things

I would like to remind everyone who is not a normal, functioning member of society and is instead a bikini picture girl, that you can drive your car into a large unstable trash can full of carcasses.



Yay. Let's dance around in bikinis, cowgirl hats,  and Ray Bans like we did 10 years ago, WHEN WE WERE 20.




Whatever, I know I am jealous. I know one day I hope to be a BPG. But I won't be. Because I love popping out them babies and eating them krispy kremes.




BUT if you BPG's continue to bash these temperatures we're having that are below 110 degrees, then I will find you. On Facebook......and probably delete you.





"I HATE this weather. I miss the pool parties and the lake!"

Translates into this:

"I'm hot. Go look at my bikini pictures and my drunk duck face white-bikini pictures"







"Go awayyyy 50 degrees. I want my summer back."

translates to:

"I have no fucking job. If I did, I would hate it to be 114 degrees because it would give me sweat creases in my work pants and make me smell like a Hungarian wrestling match"







"NOooooo! I'm not ready for Fall!"

is actually meant to be translated as:

"I hate not having a sweatstache! I love bikinis and hate ACTUAL adorable things like scarves and peppermint milkshakes from Braums."







"Was excited to go to the fair, but now it's too cold. FML"

"I wish I could wear my Sponge-Bob bikini to the fair. Since I can't, I'll wear my bikini in my living room with a hoody casually slung over my toned shoulders, and pose for pictures I take with my own arm/hand so I can post on Facebook to make everyone know...........Fall can kill the fair, but it can't kill this awesome shit that is my exposed torso."








I would love Summer exorbitantly,  too. If all that made it differ from Fall is the addition of snow-cones into my diet.



And if instead of working, I could to go a waterpark all day.




Without my kids.



And if Husband didn't make me feel  like a selfish penguin because I want the AC on a level that will cost us $450 a month instead of $390.

Non-sweaty wife = Happy life!




and if I owned a boat, jetski, koozie, trucker hat, boxer or golden retriever, OU ice chest, and a face that sucks a donkey without makeup.



I think this is hate blog and I'm sorry. I love all you SWBR.




(shirt-wearing blog-readers)

The decent guys are all in the friend zone...where we left them...

This is what a man's back should look like until he's 57. I'm not asking for a lot. Or an alot. Actually, I am a horrible artist because this TOTALLY looks like a 12 year old boy's back and I look like a pervbag. Imagine it being bigger and less pre-pubescent and creepy, mmmkay?



I had been aching for this customer to ask me out for weeks. He was attractive and funny and awesome at ordering checks and filling out his deposit slips. He was 6 years older than me but I needed a man anyways (conflicting with my little boy picture above).



When he finally asked me out he had an entire day date planned for us. Taking me to a river, hiking on a mountain, sailing and drinking on a boat, laughing at my jokes, etc.



He was great. Marryable. Loved him some Mary.



Then he said something nice and pulled me in for a hug. When I wrapped my arms around him and felt his back...it felt like this.

I immediately wanted to go home.

I made one of my friends break up with him, via text, from my phone and told her to delete any responses and not tell me what was said by either party.

I refused to go out with a guy because his back felt like a 60 year old man's.




I took a poll from some of my favorite people and these are the best reasons I have ever heard for ending contact with an otherwise dateable man.



"The pores on his nose were too big."



ew. It has nostrils, too.















"He kept saying 'Ready Freddie?' I may be a horrible person, but at least I'll be a horrible person that never has to be called Freddie again"




Am I ready?




















"He didn't tell me about his fake leg until I slept over and heard him take it off."




A fake leg is cute when it's on a fucking elephant.















"He started quoting japanimation to himself and when I asked what he was doing he started quoting them to me."





Did he use subtitles?





"Ugh. He looked at the wall too much when he was around my friends"



Agreed. So much cuter than her friends.



"His feet didn't touch my floor when he sat on my couch. He was like a hobbit."



I bet his back was cute, though.



"He was 20. His teeth should have been more shiny."



No excuse for this.



and the best.....

"Unfortunate Lucky jeans from like, 2002."

"Jeans were TOO nice and they made him look gay"

"He said "toodles". Come on. That's not hot."

"Because he ordered red wine"

"Because he was 3 years younger than me and wore too-white sneakers"

"Because he was a used-car salesman"

"Because his closet and office were too organized"

"Because his texts were like a 12 year old girl. LMFAO. No."

"Because he wore pleated pants on casual Friday and owned mandals"

Yes....that's right. Those were all said by the same person. This is her.



Except with lots of cats.


 

Because I'm sweet.

Jrose of Da Cheeseblarg spent 5 hours painting a picture of myself making my Disney villain face and wrastling with my offspring. It's wonderful and it makes me happier than a footballless evening filled with marital relations and cheese dip.

So I decided to do this "meme"blog for her and my other readers (my mom and Kendal) in hopes of earning some strenuous yet genuine attention.

This is what she nominated ol Mare for. When I say Ol Mare, I'm talking about myself. Not a trusty horse.

Procedure:



1) Blogger is nominated to take part


2) Blogger publishes his/her 7 links on his/her blog – 1 link for each category.


- Your most beautiful post


– Your most popular post


– Your most controversial post


– Your most helpful post


– A post whose success surprised you


– A post you feel didn’t got the attention it deserved


– The post that you are most proud of






3) Blogger nominates up to 5 more bloggers to take part.


4) These bloggers publish their 7 links and nominate another 5 more bloggers


5) And so it goes on (If I have nominated you, I have also plugged you. Therefore you are indebted to me. I can hold some shit over someone's head too. Belee dat.)





My most beautiful post: My vacation to Caneel Bay

Really I just think it's beautiful because it's full of pictures that I think I look cute in. It's also my longest post. Bigger = More beautifulness! Except when it comes to ugly people who are also really fat.

My most popular post: Kindergarten Tire

This got me the most followers and comments. Which equal attention and popularity. Better now than in high school. Well. Not really.

My most controversial post: My Dad wouldn't read this one.

Well sweet heaven. That one was hard. They're all pretty much extremely controversial. And phenomenal.


My most helpful post:

Sorry boutcha. This thing wasn't made for me. I've never been helpful with anything in my blog/life.

A post whose success surprised you: Westernicated.

The word "success" can be defined as "making crazy people hate you and think you're an American lesbian fascist", right?

A post I don't think got the attention it deserved:  I'd give you everything I've got

This one should have made me famous. I wrote this on 4 hours of sleep, after drugging myself into a drooling stupor. (In case anyone was wondering, the title of this blog came from one of my brother and I's favorite Beatles songs which begins "I'm so tired...I haven't slept a wink". If you didn't know that, then I hate you!)

The post I am the most proud of:   Teachers should be wearing Chanel

This one. I love it like a puppy. I look at it all the time and wish I could snuggle with it. It's mom-ish, but not lame. It's honest and probably the most genuine I could be in written form.


Well, now that I have tricked you into reading more of my blogs and giving me more comments and page hits.......I will make more of you do it. My nominees are!

1. Letters to You
2. Haley's comic!
3. Mothers of Brothers
4. Mean Maharani
5. Coherently Chaotic

This post took me about 4 hours, since my netbook at home is swamped with viruses from my being tricked into illegitimate websites. Especially the ones that pretend to be an anti virus. It's like a registered sex offender walking up to me and saying "Hey! I'm not a rapist! But that guy is! Let me hang out with your kids while you go kick that guy's ass!".


(thank you to Cheeseblarg for my wonderful painting)

Mary's jailhouse rock

I have a huge irrational fear in life, other than wasps or scorpions,

okay and tornadoes.....


(sweet Jesus's face I write about my fears a lot. I promise this will be the last one.)

I have a fear of going to prison for the rest of my life for something I didn't do.

(I have to make sure to include the "something I didn't do" so you know I would and could never do anything mean to anybody. Unless bashing them and changing their name in my blog carries a life sentence. If that's the case, hate on hatas.)

You may have remembered the mean girl from my high school reunion blog. If not, click here and scroll to number 4.

You'll notice I casually say something about getting arrested. I did not "get arrested" so much as I got "taken to county jail and peed on myself".

I was friends with the hater from the reunion blog. She was friends with people that were friends with the boy I desperately wanted to be the Sonny to my Cher.

Only instead of singing and having transsexual babies, he could just lay around and compliment me. It didn't matter if these compliments were to myself or others. I preferred a nicely blended mix of the two. Like a Mcdonalds iced coffee.

I decided I would hang out with these friends, even though they probably didn't have the same love for Mr. Jesus that I did. I could win them over and get them talking about my awesomeness to my wannabe Sonny and then ....BAM he wouldn't go breaking my heart. (Is that song even by Sonny and Cher?)

They picked me up and drove out of town to a secluded cul de sac where it was too dark for anyone to see us. We had some burritos that were awesome, and some of them had some cannabis resin; marijuana for the uneducated.

Then the police were called. Apparently we weren't out of town at all. We were in a neighborhood and that neighborhood housed lameheads that had a problem with us blasting music and throwing our taco trash too close to their cow shit.

They lined us all up on a car and I never cried. I knew I could logically explain this to my parents and that those that should get in trouble, would get in trouble.

They decide to take us to the local county jail where they will prompty scare the piss out of us and call our parents.

I asked the cop if I could sit up front with him and he kind of shrugged and said okay. I think that cop loved my 15 year old ass to such an inappropriate level, I could have asked him for 50 dollars and he would've given me a Benjamin and a back masssage and then apologized for taking up too much of my time.

We drove to the county jail. I made the best jokes I could to him. I knew I was the favorite because I was the only one who had no idea the vast amount of trouble we could be in at this moment. Everyone else was being mean to the cops and crying. I just wanted him to laugh and love me.

"What do you call a fish with no eye?"

"ummm, I don't know." sheepish cop smile

"fffsssshhhh"

Then we would high-five. My friends in the back of the car were muttering to each other and glowering at me and my cherry-limeade I had made Officer Bestfriend stop and get me at Sonic.

While we're waiting for the officers to call my parents I notice that some of the prisoners are roaming free. They have on the orange outfits but they're doing chores, eating Twix, and occassionally staring at me.

I start to lose some of my cheery edge and ask my bestfriendthecop if I am safe.

He takes this moment to ruin my world. He looks me straight in the eyes and tells me because of me and my atttude that they are letting us go. No charges. But he wants me to know what could have been.

He walks us through the jail, along the bars where there are men locked up like giant rabid moose without haircuts.

I will say, I have never felt quite so attractive as I did walking through that jail cell. I have never had so many people vocally tell me what they think about my physical attributes, and what they care to bestow upon them.

That's when I peed my jeans. I didn't even know it because I was so scared.

One of the scary murderous ponytail men asked if I was "doing okay honey?"

If I had had a shank I would have gashed him.

But I had no shank and now he was showing us the holding cell we would be staying in if they hadn't decided to let us go. I now know I never would have been stuck in a room full of these bearded puppy-killers, but at the time I believed Bestfriendthecop and hugged him with my pee-soaked clothes and begged for him to take me home.




The other officer was in a room with our parents when we came out. I felt like guilt was a box of those blueberry muffins that come with the real blueberries and I had eaten the whole damn thing without any cold milk.



Guilt and shame and sadness were pouring from my pores. My mother was surely in the room, bawling her eyes out in her nightgown, blaming herself and planning my future as a virgin nun.

The door opened and my Dad walked out. I was so happy to see him and his car and he hugged me like he meant it.

He asked if I had done anything I needed to talk about. I said no and he trusted me. He threw a huge wad of bills at me and told me with teary eyes that that had been bail money.

Through my guilt and shame I wondered where the hell all this money came from and why weren't we using it to buy me a bunch of crazy new shit?





From that day forth, I do not associate with those that do drugs. If I have smelled marijuana, I immediately think of bestfriendcop and peeing my jeans and I flee.




Bur lately I have begun to analyze this fear and it has subsided a bit.

After all, if I was in prison for a crime which I had been wrongfully accused, I would make the best of it. I would find myself a crew of heterosexual girls to hang out with. We would punch things and make our arms nice. I could see what my natural haircolor is. I could sing everyone songs and we would all find Jesus. I could get famous in prison and make everyone there happier.

Then I watch a show about women in prison and I realize none of it can happen because they all end up being homosexual and hate girls who are innocent or try to sing songs. One girl yelled at another "This aint no jailhouse rock and you ain't no Elvis"

That jab would be worse than whatever sentence I had been facing.