The Importance of Proper Storage of “Adult” Entertainment Equipment.

One of my coworkers stopped by to say hello and point out that he hadn’t seen me out an about in a while. That he often saw my Jeep in the parking lot but rarely saw me. Oh and by the way he had to chuckle at some of the things he saw in my Jeep. There was a second of terror (which I’m sure showed on my face) as I tried to think of what might have been in my car that would make him chuckle. Recently everything has been in my vehicle from a beat up but lovely tiara to a dying pigeon and huge package of bulk toilet paper alongside the ever present plethora of dog appurtenances so I’m not really sure why my brain automatically went to items of the lewd persuasion but it did, of course. Now I’m no raging harlot but once in a while my virtue IS quite questionable and one or two sordid activities have indeed transpired in my poor defiled Jeep but I was fairly certain any vulgar paraphernalia had been safely stowed away from gnawing pups or taken home for cleaning depending on sanitary demands, but not absolutely sure. Any normal person would have laughed it off or made a joke out of it but as we established LONG ago I am awkward AF and not really capable of rational thought on the fly so of course I went WAY off the deep end of defensiveness and kind of screeched, “why are you monitoring my parking habits?!?”. Because that’s a completely sane reaction. I’m telling myself that he skipped away and snickered at my guileless charm but honestly it was more of a terrified skitter and nervous laughter which, ironically, is often how all those sordid activities in my Jeep usually end.

FFS: My life at the moment

In the last two weeks my trusty old microwave finally met it’s maker, my dryer went wonky, one of my tires shuffled off its mortal coil, my prescription that I’ve been taking forever and was always completely covered by insurance suddenly costs $20 and the pharmacy said when they ran my insurance it said my coverage had ended. (it hasn’t and a phone call fixed it) and I finally got around to being a grown up and switching my Jeep insurance over to the same company as my house and was supposed to get a lovely refund for switching but my gooey tub fart of a mailman (that’s a story for another post) sent it back as undeliverable even though the agent read me the address on the envelope and both my name and address were correct. (Same guy that didn’t want to deliver my 40 lbs of dog food so put a note on my box saying it was too full to deliver that package of 40 POUNDS OF DOG FOOD THAT WOULD NOT FIT IN AN EMPTY BOX TO BEGIN WITH.)(( And there’s still more of his shenanigans for another post.)) I really REALLY want to feel sorry for myself but there’s a naggy little bitch of a voice in my head (that sounds a lot like my mother) reminding of all my shady behavior, especially the frequency with which I bellow profanity at other drivers and death stare people that get in my way at the grocery store or how I always, always, always give an extended honk and flash the bird or make throat slitting gestures at my siblings when pass them in town and past affinity for married men saying this might be karma and at least it’s not cancer and maybe I should just thank my lucky stars all of these things were easily fixable. Man that voice needs a good swift kick in the meat curtains. But all this shit does give me facebook fodder so yay for silver linings. Or something.

It Really is a Miracle I’m Still Alive with this Kind of Dipfuckery

It’s been a while since I had an epic Beth day. One of those days when all of my flakey, ADD riddled, laziness inspired bad habits culminate to bite me in the ass like a giant karma tsunami. Like talking to strangers in a windowless van and thinking they were acting super shady only to realize I had powdered donut goo all over my face and caked in my cold sore. Or giving a serial killer death stare to someone for parking too close to me only to find out she had a handicapped passenger and I was parked in the handicapped spot. No, the gods of luck and benevolence had been shining down on me vaguely steadily despite my errant disregard for common sense or responsible grown up habits. Until today. I’m sitting in line at the gate on base openly mocking people for not having their ID’s ready thinking what kind of idiot doesn’t realize that armed guards aren’t there to give you a smile and a hand job. You should be ready with your ID you shifty shit bagel. All the while flopping around in my seat to make sure the gate guard noticed my impatience. He did. I pull up and go to hand him my ID and he says, “You’ve been selected for random inspection, please pull to inspection gate. OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE. So I pull forward and lean over to get my registration out of the glove box while I’m rolling to the next gate and totally fucking miss the driveway. So now they have to hold traffic for ALL the lanes while I drive backwards 10 yards, in front of all the families there for graduation day all the while the inspection guard is jumping up and down waving at me yelling, “Wrong way ma’am!” Oh really? I hadn’t noticed. I finally get back on track and he runs up laughing and says, “Did you try to get away from us?” Yes, child I really thought I could go unnoticed in a bright red clown car with personalized plates on a military installation. And because I am lazy, I never bother to print my insurance card anymore. I have the app on my phone and just tap tap it up, right? Hahahahah, no. Two weeks ago I got a new phone and guess which app I didn’t bother reloading? That’s right, my insurance. With the app I never had to log in, just tap and it was there. Never. Had. To. Remember. My. Fucking. Password.!!! So guess what I’m doing for 5 minutes. Frantically trying to remember my password and then gave up and just reset it. Then the email they send to reset didn’t come through. First the guards made me pull forward to get out of the way and then I was there long enough for a guard change and then a 12 year old comes and just leans with both hands on my door watching me fiddlefuck with my phone. I say, “I SWEAR I’m not an idiot.” And he says completely sarcastic, “Oh no ma’am, we don’t think that as ALL, it happens ALL the time.” Now, usually I love me a smart ass but come ON! Cut me a fucking break Baby Einstein. He finally says, “why don’t you go off base, take your time resetting it, then come back.” I tried to give him my best disapproving librarian stare but he TOTALLY ignored it, stepped back, pointed to the exit and said, “please have id and insurance when you come back.” all confident like he’s the mayor of asstown or something. GASP!! How dare he take that tone with my blatant incompetence!! I mean I get that it’s hard to take someone serious when their plates are an homage to an obese rapper from the 1980’s and they look like your crazy aunt with too much makeup and there’s dog hair floating out the window but still! So off I went and once I calmed down it took all of two minutes to install the app, set it up, get my card and go back. I pull up to Officer Tiny Tot and he BARELY glances at my insurance, says, “Oh look, it’s you again, thank you and be safe pulling into traffic.” Da fuq rugrat???
And while this sweet clusterfuck was unraveling I had texted work to make them aware of my situation. I expected some snarky response but was relieved that they at least had mercy on me. Or did they? Of course not. Sure enough when I get to the office Cowoker McSnarky with the photoshop skills hands me this masterpiece. Then my boss is yelling, “Too bad, this is on you!!!” and I’m yelling, “I KNOW!!” and now I’m totally feeling like a less competent version of Rodney Dangerfield. *sniffle* No respect!

Pups and Panera Pushers

After my morning walk I always go through Panera for a tea and cookie as a reward because I’m a giant, slobbering toddler that needs bribery and doesn’t understand the irony of processed sugar after walking my ass off. So I drive thru and get my usual but when I get to the window the ladies that work there are arguing. Someone pushed the Lemonade button on my order but I never get lemonade and they were confused. It was a little disturbing to know they know my order by heart and feel strongly enough to argue about it. Like it’s a certainty they can always count on, the sky is blue, the sun comes up in the east and the clown car lady with the dogs always gets tea. The only other person in the world that knows my order by heart is my brother, so I’m spending as much time with the Panera crew as I do my own family. That’s terrifying and completely pops my delusion that I’m even mildly a responsible adult with my shit together. They finally realize they can just ASK me as I’m sitting there blankly staring at them with Zeus dripping drool on my shoulder, also staring at them. Things got mildly better when they decided to just give me my order for free since they made me sit there while they figured it out and also because, “You come here all the time.” Fuck me, I’m an addict. I thanked my dealers for the free hit profusely because even though I’m an awkward disappointment of grown up I can at least pull off gratitude like a normal person. As I pulled away I heard one of them say, “She’s so sweet!” and that made everything ok, obviously they don’t know me at all.

Why Apology Pie isn’t the Amazing Idea it Sounds Like.

Learned a valuable lesson night before last about altercations with neighbors over barking dogs at 1130 at night. They were of course right to be upset but addressing the situation with profanity aimed at my dogs only sparks my inner asshole and escalates the problem. After a few exchanges (mine were wittier) she finally saw reason and asked me politely to take my dogs in the house which I did because I’m all magnanimous and shit. Of course about 5 minutes later I could hear my momma’s voice reminding me she did NOT raise a foul-mouthed, ill mannered, white trash, hooligan (she did but not for lack of trying ) so by morning I had worried myself into a tummy ache. I decided after work that a pie was a reasonable apology for late night insult exchanges and ran it by their house.
Bad idea. VERY very no good dirty rotten idea. Once I explained why I was there and handed her my peace offering she puckered up and started to cry, hugged me without permission and 30 minutes later I knew all about her baby being sick, her brothers legal problems, got introduced to said ne’er-do-well brother who impressively tried to pretend he had manners and not a meth problem, was forced into another unsolicited hug, talked about issues with another neighbor and the death of her dog. So the moral of the story boys and girls is if you go stupid in the middle of the night and insult your neighbor’s brother’s penis (he brought it up so it was fair game) among other things and then feel the need to get an apology pie do not take it in person. Either send that shit in the mail with a real pretty note or toss it from the road as you drive by and don’t look back.

Reasons Why I Need Adult Supervision

Another awesome couple of days of being me. First I was supposed to pick up some gas cards for a coworker whose husband is in the hospital far from where they live. I figured while I was as Casey’s I’d grab a pizza. Got the pizza and forgot the gift cards. You know, the REASON I was there in the first place. Then this morning I needed black dress socks to go with my black skirt. (socks and skirts, yes I really am that classy) I searched in the pile of clothes in the basket, and the pile on the table, and the one on the bench in my bedroom and the pile on the couch and in the load that’s been in the dryer for three days (I rock housekeeping skills). Finally gave up and grabbed a pair of white tube socks thinking I could stop at the Dollar Store on my way in to work and grab some. Got to the store, grabbed some cheap socks and got the bright idea to change socks standing next to car in the parking lot. In the wind. In a skirt. Dropped my shoe on the ground (light weight, sparkly Toms knockoff) and sure enough the $%^&ing wind blew my shoe under the car. There I am circling the car in a crouch trying to get my shoe, wind whipping my skirt up around my hairy man legs (god made long skirts so you wouldn’t have to bother shaving in the winter) and unflattering tube socks. Thankfully it finally blew on out the other side so I could grab it. Went back to changing my socks and in my irritation yanked off the white sock now covered in Dollar Store parking lot filth and threw it the passenger seat, of course if fell straight into the Panera bag with my breakfast in it. Granted everything was wrapped up but it was just the idea that crack whore goo from the parking lot might be sharing space with my precious Panera. Dammit some days it’s hard being me. Most days actually. Ok everyday. sniffle.