On the Job

Minnie: Why do I have to go to this meeting? You're the one that screwed it all up.


Boss1: Because you're going to fix it, besides Daddy (Boss2) said you have to.


Minnie: I appreciate you think I can handle this, but I have nothing to contribute.


Boss1: Just handle it.


Minnie: You're a scared little bitch.


Boss1: See you this afternoon.



The next morning at a meeting Boss1 texts me from across the table:



Boss1: What did you decide on XYZ? I have to speak next.


Minnie: Handle it.


Boss1: Not playing.


Minnie: Please don't make me call you a bitch in front of the board.

In Conclusion...

Or the post I should have called, "How Many Times Must I be Forced to Hear the Word Y'all in One Day?"

As is evident from the photos on the way to the wedding, the newly-wedded couple live an a rural area. Don't be alarmed, Friends we didn't get lost.

I mean, how could you with the blow-up doll on the road going into the neighborhood. Never one to be outdone and consistently keeping with the theme, the blow up doll was wearing a grass skirt. In addition there was a realtor's sign that had been recycled (which was no doubt a nod to their green lifestyle) advertising "Party Her." (Yes the last letter of the word "here" was missing, it's not a typo.)

After waiting for a dozen or so stray dogs and a small pony to vacate the dirt road we rounded the corner to a scene that I can only describe as the South's answer to WoodSt*ck. There were campers, and tents, and babies running in dirty diapers. There were large men wearing Hawaiian shirts that they couldn't be bothered to button. Women in various states of sobriety yelling at their kids for putting too much "head" on the beer that they'd just been asked to serve up to their parents.

I locked to door, looked and BS, "I'm going to vomit."

Before he could respond BM was opening my door for me hugging me and pulling me out at the same time. My seat belt was still fastened.

"Girl, I'm so glad y'all came."

Please note, she's wearing a grass skirt with a 4 1/2" gap on the waist, underneath said skirt are a lovely pair of underwear with the words "get leid" across the cheeks. From her navel up the only coverage was a bikini top. Lest you think I'm kidding, I sware on every decent pair of shoes I own. At that point Daisy came up to say hello and never left my side the remainder of the visit.

"Come on, I want to introduce you to everyone," she cooed as she held my clammy hand. Please note, BS is still sitting in the driver's seat with his seat belt on.

I thought about wishing for death but realized that the last sight I saw as I convulsed would be chipped hot pink toe nails and truck tires and I believe that the Good Lord himself looked down and said, "Oh hell no. You're not going out like this, Baby."

As I was being drug from one plastic-covered folding table to another I did consider that any jury would let me off If I stared BS to his untimely demise if he didn't get his ass moving.

That's when I felt it. Out of nowhere there were a man's arms around me. Sweaty, gritty, hairy arms; from behind. I could tell that the man was shorter than me because I could feel him BREATHING on my neck. Is this really happening?

Just like that my hero saved the day. Only the white horse was a domestic pick up truck and he carried a bottle of water instead of roses.

"I see you've met my wife?"

"Ohhhshit yeah," said the drunk as he released me. "She pr'olly don't even member me. Do you Minnie?"

"I do. It's been a while how are you?" I asked what I know had confirmed as BM's brother.

We spent the next 10-15 minutes talking to BM's brother and his fifth wife* as well as the kids.

I reminded BS that we needed to get going, as the dogs had been home and locked up all day.

I walked over to BM to say goodbye.

"Thank you very much for inviting us. I truly apologize for how late were were." (We'd been stuck at BS's parent's house on an other issue.)

"I'm glad y'all came," she offered sincerely. "When y'all pulled up my girls was like, 'oh. hell. no. That girl is not...'"

"Truthfully when you sent the invitation I thought we were invited. Maybe your friends felt that way because of the things that you've said?"

"Oh y'all were invited. Girl I told you a'ready I want us to be friends, I think it's good for the kids."

"I think that the kids feeling loved and comfortable should be every one's primary concern."

"I know that shits right."

"Indeed... Alright," I said, shifting my attention to my hip ornament, Daisy. "Daddy and I need to head out. The dogs have been locked up since 7:30 this morning because we had to go to MawMaw and PawPaw's"

With that I gave BS the look. I'm not talking about the "hey, wrap up that conversation so we can think about leaving." I'm talking about the full-force "I will never ever speak to you, much less touch you if you don't race me to the car."

Just as we began walking BM yelled, "Hey! Check this out..."

Yes, that is a picture of part of BM's underclothes.

My apology for the quality of the photo, but it was via blackberry and I don't ordinarily get the pleasure of looking at the ass of my step-wife. who though thin, has thighs that make her look like she's been sitting in a gravel pit for three days

Unlimited Data Pays for Itself

Or communications one might have on the way to a BM's Wedding


VIA TEXT:
Minnie: Thanks for the invite, we're heading to BM's wedding. They kids are begging us to come.

P: Oh Lord, I know that's a bullet to bite.

Minnie: I just need some Pinot, a Pill, and a P visit.

P: I know that's right.

VIA PHONE:

Minnie: I'm sorry to bother you, but can you go let my dogs out?

Winnie: Yeah, is everything okay?

Minnie: Yes, we just left the in-laws and the kids really want us to come to BM's wedding.

Winnie: BWAHHHHHHHHHHHH

Minnie: The alarm is set so you'll need to.... Hello?
(This is where she hung up on me and I had to call her back)

Minnie: Why did you hang up on me?

Winnie: I can't stop laughing. Heading to your house now.




VIA E-Mail:
Jax: My phone does not get text pix. If you're so inclined please e-mail.

Minnie: Shut it.

Jax: Are you bringing a nugget basket from Chic-fil-a?

Minnie: No a slim jim assortment to round out the carving station.
(This is where my cell signal was lost.)

Jax: Rapid text would not suck. Do they allow fireworks at keg parties in the land of Sanford and Son?

Minnie: Sorry I have to walk to the dirt road to get cell signal. Bitch.

The Long Brown Mile(s)

Things one may see on the way to a BM's wedding.

A Bed of Their Own

I woke with that sinking feeling in my stomach. Before my eyes were opened, my heart felt funny. The only sounds were the wisps from the oscillating fan and the occasional "tink" of the dogs collars when they'd roll over.


"Get up Minnie, you know what you have to do today."


I shimmied out of the bed in an effort to not wake my partner and padded into the bathroom.


"Just shower, and get this over with."


I took the extra time in the shower to let the steam open my sinuses and fog my brain. As was suggested, I hadn't had anything to eat or dink past midnight the night before.


With game face on and my hair dry I walked into the kitchen to leave a note to BS and Daffy.


Good Morning Guys,

I have an early meeting in town and will work from home this afternoon.

Daffy, please don't leave for your Mom's until I get home so that you can take our gift out. Don't know if we're going to make the wedding. PawPaw called a family meeting. We'll try our best, but take our gift when you go.

Love me,

Minnie.



I grabbed my keys and my bag and headed out the door. It was early.


Pulling into the parking lot I was shocked that there was already so much activity.


"Good Morning Ma'am!" the geriatric greeter crooned, "Welcome to W*lM*rt."


The stimuli were unreal as the doors rolled back to let me in. fluorescent bulbs humming. The beeping sound of forklifts as shelves were stocked in the early morning hours.


"Can I help you?" she asked.


Laura was her name. I know that because it was on her blue vest with a large yellow smiley face. She's got 10 years of service, surely she could be of assistance, I thought.


"Yes. Can you please tell me where I can find a gift registry?"

"Dang It. We're doin' construction here so the machine in jewelry is broken. If you go to electronics Jerry-Jo can print one for you."

I wheeled on passing the strawberries, light bulbs, cribs, and furniture.

"Can I help you Ma'am?"

"Yes, please, I need a copy of a wedding registry."

"Congratulations."

"Oh, no, I need to purchase a gift from a registry, not create one."

"So you want to buy something?"

"Indeed."

As Jerry-Jo (actually spelled Gerreigh-Joe, per her name badge) locked up the 35MM film she was stocking she engaged in conversation about the weather, and what an early bird I was.

"Good Lawsie Mercy. This is 14 pages."

"Can you sort by department or what you have in stock?"

"I can do it by price."

GJ (as I've affectionately nick named her) was working the mouse like a NASC*R mechanic changing a tire*.

"Ma'am, I can only get the real expensive stuff."

"That's fine, if it's sorted most expensive to least just print me the first page."

After 30 minutes. A half hour, I called Heidi and asked her if she would pull it up on line.

After she laughed at me for 45 minutes, she agreed.

"What are you doing at W*lM*rt in the middle of the night?"

"It's not the middle of the night, you know I go to bed early, just help me, please."

That's when almost simultaneously GJ and Heidi found the information.

I quickly scanned the registry, found the gift wrap between the dog food and the garden hoses, and made my way to the cashier, but not before taking a picture.

May I present to you my gift to BM in celebration of her numptuals.















*For B

Ray the Shark

There are millions of jokes about lawyers. You know you've heard them. When I was studying for my LSATS I even made fun of some of the jokes myself. (No, I am not a lawyer.) As my career and my life changed directions, so too did my assumptions and stereotypes of attorneys. Most of those attitude changes were favorable.

I met those who practice to defend those who can't defend themselves, some who work for non profits, and a lot who take pro bono cases and causes.

And then yesterday I met the attorney that all bad jokes derive from. I'd be hard pressed to consider a time when I was more offended, shocked, insulted, or had my intelligence, ethics, and gender questioned.

A friend of mine is in the painful process of a divorce. The thing is, it's not one of those nasty, ugly deals where people fight like cats and dogs. She and her partner are lovely people and great parents.

Therefore the average ETHICAL attorney would take the case, draft up the proper documents, charge a fair but reasonable fee and part ways upon receiving final payment.

But not so, Dear Readers Yesterday afternoon I watch my friend get anally-raped screwed out of $300.00 for a consultation. The consultation consisted of the obese, coffee-stained-teeth-showing, polyester shirt wearing pig singing his accolades to us in an effort to be sure we knew he was "worth it." In addition he decided to advise my friend to pretty much not allow her hubby to see the kids unless gross sums of cash were involved.

It took every ounce of restraint to not Minnie his ass. In an effort to respect my friend I kept it in check for almost 10 minutes. At minute 17 we asked the Esquire to excuse himself from his office and decided to bail.

As we approached the reception area he turned to me and said, "I'll tell you what Lady. She's got a lot to learn."

No Sir, YOU have a lot to learn.

My apologies that you chose a profession that ordinarily has you dealing with the scum of the Earth. I apologize to all the children who were shafted out relationships and time with their Fathers because you intimidated their Mothers into letting you represent them. I apologize to every ethical attorney whom reek of shit because of garbage you spew from your noxious mouth.

Finally I apologize that you won't have the opportunity to jack open my Friend's wallet to add yet another atrocious piece of knock-off South Western art work into your already hideous office.

YOU, Fucker, have a lot to learn.

(Image www.bradfitzpatrick.com/stock.../cartoon_shark_01.htm )

Got Shade?

Consider this Free Advice

If you're interviewing for a job and happen to be standing next to me in the elevator please note the following;

1. This is a professional office building comprised of mostly professional people. Therefore YELLING on your cell phone to your friend, "Girl I got this shit wrapped up. They'd be STUPID not to hire me," is poor practice.

2. If the heels on your shoes have mirrors and a 3" clear acrylic base, you're not a "shoe" in for the conservative law firm who's floor you got off the elevator on.

3. Not a soul in this building wants to see your pink and black HelloK*tty bra strap hanging out.

Good luck to you in your future endeavors and I apologize for my chin brushing the carpet of the elevator floor as you departed on the third floor.

To Walk in Her Shoes

To say that every woman, mother, marriage, and friendship doesn't suffer through hard times is a shit sandwich that I'm not willing to serve up on this blog. I prefer to keep it above board and above the belt.

Therefore I'll share with you this; there is a woman in my life right now who is going through a shit show of her own. (You can go send some Minnie Love her way.) I think she could use a heaping helping of it.

The oddity of it is that the woman I'm speaking of I do know in real life. I've met her three times, yet I've been reading her life for a long time. The first day that I met her children I felt like I'd known them for years. It was kind of like having an unfair advantage where I knew their likes and dislikes. (Okay maybe I'm giving my charming, charismatic person a little too much credit, but you understand.)

I've watched her beat herself up over parenting decisions she's made and have to hold my eyeball in my head when I see the interaction between she and they.

Picture massive amounts of children in the pool, music, dogs, and a casted baby and there is relative calm and quiet. No fights about sharing and who's turn it is, nothing. Just a "Yes Mamma." (To which this blogger says, "what the fluck?" mine would have been standing on each other's heads to get what they wanted.)

AND THIS IS WHERE THIS POST STOPS AND THE GLOVES COME OFF...

I had a beauty of a post going here until the competitive bitch over at Bobbin' & Weavin' Through Life aforementioned blogger posted today.

So instead of sending you over to love and support her I'm asking you to go call her a dumbass. She bought a pair of sneakers. While that in and of itself doesn't make her a dumbass there is more to the story.

She mentioned that one felt smaller than the other. Again limited dumbassity there.

Did she check the label? No. Did she return the incorrect shoe and replace it with the correct size? No.

Instead the dumbass wore a pair of shoes that was an entire size too small for a YEAR before she realized it wasn't her feet, but the shoe.

Dumbass.

Birth Story

BlogHer is participating in Discovery Health Channel's BabyWeek. The birth stories have been plentiful. Some brilliant, some heart-breaking, and some hysterical.

Today I share with you my Birth Story.

Mine doesn't start with ruptured membranes in a Dairy Queen parking lot, or a cave, or the possibility of the RCMP nearly delivering my babies along the side of the road. I don't even have a tale about my ass hanging out of the back of a hospital gown.

Mine starts the day that I splashed in the pool with two babies who other then the chubby cheeks were a startling contrast to one another. One fair, red-headed with freckles dotting the bridge of her perfect nose all the way up to her cat eyes. The other dark-skinned with dark haired stared back with hazel eyes and unruly eyebrows.

I didn't have 40-ish weeks to prepare and there were no nurseries to make ready. Hell I even drank the whole time. There was no torn apart girly bits, but moments that I felt my heart was being torn from my body. (A custody battle'll do it to you, trust me.)

There was no cord cut, no squished face covered in goo looked back at me. No, mine was a game of Monkey in the Middle. My labor began the day they were delivered into my heart.

What are the best things for them? Is that the right neighborhood? Is he the right teacher? Does she have on enough sunblock? Is it his allergies or do I need to call the doctor? Was that a late hit, do I start screaming at the Ref?

I think my point to this post is that our children all come into this world and our hearts in different ways, all of which should be celebrated.

Public Speaking Class NOT Public Texting Class

Daffy: Are you at the office?


TWS: Yes Babe, what's up?


Daffy: What r those guys that get those (insert misc. speak about my job whereby at least I know he listens when I'm working from home) like what's there technal name?


TWS: Pipeline engineering assistants or Midstream pipeline operators. PS- Keep texting like that and you'll be in an extra English class next session. (Grammar please?)


Daffy: Do YOu care if I ask YOu a few questions about them? See?


TW: No, what's up?


Daffy: What are some of the educational requirements?


TWS: Provided answer.


Daffy: What are the average earnings?


TWS: Provide answer


Several more questions and answers exchange phone screens.


Now it's painfully obvious to me that I'm providing him answers to questions that he should be researching in his "study" time at class. It's also a pass I'm giving him since his average in the class is a 99 and he's working on two extra credit assignments and the last day of class is tomorrow.


Daffy: Thanks for the help. I got a 98 and I also learned a few things I didn't know.


TWS: No, actually I got a 98 for doing your homework.


Daffy: LOL! Haa Haa.


TWS: Not near as funny as you having to do mine tonight, and you're in luck, it's laundry night, AND the beds have to be stripped.


Daffy: I was only playing


TWS: I wasn't.


Daffy: I'll do it.


TWS: I know.


Daffy: Going to eat my turkey lunchable. Love you.


TWS: I love u 2. (LOL) It's so not even cool when I try it.


Daffy: Nope.


TWS: Pick up dog food on your way home.


Daffy: Now that sounds like you.

The Reason I'll Remain Sober

Moving On

I'd like to sincerely thank each and every one of you who commented or e-mailed me on the last post.

In an effort to clarify, I did NOT shut Anonymous down because she disagreed with me. He/She was shut down because she failed to show any respect in trying to make her points (and can't spell worth a lick.)

Name calling, I'm good with. Name calling because you don't agree with me and when I ask you if you'd explain why you disagree your solution is to... name call. Really?

I've e-mailed several of the Biological Mom's who have commented or e-mailed me in the past. I thanked them for stopping by and made note of the fact that I'd love their prospectives on the way that I address things. I mean that. In all honesty.

There are always three sides to every story (His, Hers and the Truth) and this blog is my side. If you'd like your side heard, I'd suggest starting a blog. I welcome healthy conversations in which someone opens my eyes to a possibility, situation, or feeling that I hadn't considered. I'm even good when a reader points out where I'm incorrect. The only thing I ask is that you deliver your point(s) with respect, and a spell check wouldn't hurt, (it's Whore, not hore- got that?)

So we're done with that nutty bitch (see, name calling...) and we'll resume regularly scheduled blogging tomorrow.

What Don't You Get?

Dear Anonymous,

I'll be honest, I admire your thinly-veiled attempts to continue to aggravate me, but I thought my last love note to you might have changed your way of thinking. (If you need a refresher, please feel free, it's right here.) Clearly I was mistaken.

I spent a fair amount of time considering my next move, and aligning all the pieces to make it happen. I hope you'll be happy with my decision.

I've contacted your place of employment and spoke to the Director of HR. Very nice lady, by the way. (Should you think I'm kidding, the last four digits of your office number are 3800 and her extension is 217.)

In our conversation, which was quite lengthy, I might add, she shared with me your Company's policy on Employee Electronic Communications. I found it to be of interest. Namely because your e-mail, though sent from a web-based e-mail account was actually transmitted from your office desktop and routed through your Company's server. That's a "no-no."

I assured the Director that I had no intention of pressing charges against the Company for the harassing e-mails addressed to me via their server, but I did encourage her to launch an IT audit. She was very receptive to my suggestions, as you might imagine.

I'd have to think that your co-workers will be tickled to death knowing they won't be able to check their bank balances at the office because you act in the manner of a 14-year old girl who has lost her boyfriend to the head cheer-leader.

To conclude, the IP address that you ordinarily visit this site from will be blocked at 12:00 PM CDT on the date of this posting. (That will give you no time to read it since your office closes at noon on Fridays. (See you thought I was kidding about my new friend, you HR director...)

Consider this the last "warning" you'll get from me. I will not play games another minute. If you visit my site or e-mail me again, we'll go to the legal gravel baby. You know why? Because the only thing that I hate more than a nasty ex-wife is a troll.

Back the fuck off.

Minnie.

Howdy Neighbor...

When we moved into our home the back of the lot was still wooded.

BS is a freak about yard cleanliness.

This is his path to success, thus far.

Get up early on a Saturday morning and begin lighting small piles of pine needles.

Wait for your Minnie to walk out the back door and ask if maybe he should have a hose near by, since, you know the flucking yard is on fire...

(As you can see in exhibit A the photo, there was smoke.)

Next have kind, albeit delusional old man at the back of the property line walk up and praise BS for his efforts.

"Nice to see some kids that aren't afraid of hard work. Good job, Son."

Now continue smoking out the neighborhood until younger, less delusional, and far more risky neighbor comes over and brings an ice chest of cocktails and a 5 gallon bucket (not approved container, a regular freaking bucket,) of something that smelled dangerously close to gasoline

Listen in horror with towel on my head and robe on my body as Daisy and risky neighbor's daughter come running into the bathroom screaming about fire.

In an effort to put this into perspective for you. The top of those flames licked the oak tree above it. The oak tree that I happen to know for a FACT is 35'. I know this because the "tree guy" came out to measure.

So what I'm telling you is that he put enough diesel fuel onto dried up pine needles to have flames 35' in the air. This is obviously after it'd had been going a while because I had enough time to throw some clothes on and grab my camera.

Oddly when I asked him to get closer to the fire so that I could take a picture to put it's size into perspective he said, "This is as close as I can get, and it's about 130 degrees here." At least I think that's what he said because he was half a freaking acre away.