He is patient, kind, smart, a good father and he puts up with me.
Putting up with me is a rather difficult job. I’m a little high maintenence. I’ll admit it…but he was fully aware of this going into the deal. My mother even warned him.
Two days before our trip to the beach, he came home on a Sunday afternoon after working on a side project.
He was tired. I was manic…as usual.
After a seductive hug and kiss, I said “I would like to paint the kitchen before Secret Agent Man’s surprise birthday party next weekend…maybe chocolate brown…wouldn’t the kitchen be DIVINE in chocolate?…it would be like a huge brownie.”
He sat there patiently, looking at me like I had just jumped off a spaceship from Uranus.
“But you know, I could never pull off chocolate in this kitchen with the green countertops…I really hate these countertops…they are so dated…and we need more cabinets…more counter space….and have you seen that antique looking metal back splash…OMG…I would give ANYTHING FOR THAT IN MY KITCHEN“
Yes, I say…”Anything.”
“Let’s go to Lowe’s!”
And my Rico, my hero and soon to be my sex slave master says to me, “You want a new countertop? I can do that…and we can get some cabinets to go over there…and move the refrigerator over here… and mount a microwave up under here…and the back splash. It’ll be done by the party.”
In 2 1/2 days, my kitchen was totally remodeled…all by Rico and his dad.
I have been paying for it in the bedroom ever since.
Fifteen months ago, I made a rash decision. Leave it to the advertising world to make me fall in love with Land Rover, leave it to the financial wizards to make leasing affordable.
Leasing the Rover was a wise tax move, as it is a “business” vehicle….BWAHAHAHA!!!!
Seriously, important bid’ness goes on in that vehicle seeing as I am not only the brains of this operation but also the beauty. Gawd, help us all.
So fifteen months ago, I went to the dealership and they schmoozed me. It was all “You are so fabulous SFM and your hawtness would only be complemented with this glorious vehicle…just think of the complimentary oil changes…your childless trips to the posh city of Brentwood…the courtesy sheik pimp mobile we will furnish you while your vehicle is here…the dining and shopping for the day trip her while we service your fabulous ride….would you like a glass of wine while you ponder that ?”
So’s today I head to the big city all deck out in my pirate flip flops, cause that’s how I roll when I go big time, and upon arrival to said dealership for my scheduled oil change I was told, “I’m sorry, Ma”am, we don’t have any courtesy vehicles.”
There was no “Your Hawtness” or “Miss Fabulous SFM How the Hell You Been?”
I politely say, “Excuse me, but I scheduled my oil change a month ago…and I was told I would have a courtesy vehicle and in the event one wasn’t available, you would rent a car (AGHAST…a rental) for me to spend my fabulous childless day and by damn, I want my car and I want it now.”
So Birkenstock Granola boy says, “Ma’am, I’m really sorry, we are out of loaners and we don’t do rentals anymore.”
Me, “Not even for sheiks?”
“Cause you know I gots like 2 quarts of oil in the back hatch there… still in the container and some left over sand in the back floor board…you put a red and white tablecloth on my head and I’m the freaking sheik of Hooterville…so’s go get my friggin sheik pimp mobile!”
Granola boy picks up the phone I’m convinced to call the police but instead the manager…
So’s I explain to the manager that “I have not had breakfast, nor lunch and my blood sugar must be low…thus the jibberish about being the redneck sheik and I need food bad ’cause I’m so hungry I think I got the rickets so could somebody give me a ride to Chili’s…oh, and I forgot to tell you I’m packing heat in the vehicle…don’t be alarmed the clip ain’t in it…all sheiks carry heat.”
When he finally picks his mouth up off the floor he says, “Ma’am, I will try to find you a ride…but it may be 20 to 30 minutes…you may want to walk…it’s not that far.”
I have literally scared the bejesus out of these people and now have to walk in tony Brentwood in my redneck pirate flip flops across 6 lanes of traffic filled with sheik pimp rides and Mercedes to get some friggin food…and since I’m by myself and driving I can’t even let off some steam with a margarita, I had to settle with the house wine of the south…sweet tea.
My head is spinning at the velocity at which I’m moving closer to 40.
It sucks, but what can you do? It’s better than the alternative.
To celebrate, Rico and I are being selfish and taking off to the beach without the heathens. (smile)
Spring break “Geritol” style.
No cutting anyone’s meat…no wiping anyone’s backporch…no interrupted sleep.
I’m so excited I’ve been packing for a month. You know the older you get, the more stuff you pack….extra glasses (in case my regular glasses break), eye drops (cause I got that weird dry eye thing going on and I’m paranoid I will run out) and my regular medicine (all 5 bottles) and extra medicine in case anyone gets sick…cause I’m always prepared anal like that.
Next thing you know, I’ll be reading Reader’s Digest, telling strangers my bowel habits, and taking care of 15 cats….I’m getting old.
It wasn’t that long ago that packing for a trip to the beach meant only a bikini, a mini skirt and a pair of flip flops.
Now, I take my own pillow.
It’s sad what I’ve become….
However, I’m still young enough to remember to pack the liquor.
I know there are strange people everywhere. Every city and state has it’s share of fruitcakes.
Here in Kentucky, we call them rednecks and they’re an abundant breed.
Case in point:
Saturday I head to the local Vietnamese nail salon to get my toes did. I sat down all prepared for a nice, quiet, relaxing pedicure knowing full well that I didn’t have to talk to anyone ’cause the only Vietnamese I can speak is ”bạn đãng trí hơn địa ngục”…which isn’t appropriate for a southern lady to use during a pedicure.
While I’m sitting there soaking my paws, in comes “Myrtle” and “Bertha”, Satan’s wife and spawn, who proceed to sit beside me and start yapping at the a loud roar.
I shut my eyes trying to connect with that quiet place you find in the fetal position. I even try to suck my thumb to conjure some peace…but it ain’t happening cause Myrtle and Bertha want to talk to the nail dude, who they’ve now given the American name, “Stone Cold Steve Austin”, about nude beaches in Florida.
No shitzs, so now I have to go there in my mind…oh, gawd…somebody pour acid on my brain.
Holy Ritz Cracker.
Bertha then proceeds to tell her mother about Playalinda beach in Florida…where you can strip down out of your flannel “God Bless Dale Jr #8″ pajama bottoms and run nekkid around the beach and let your “ta-ta’s flop in the wind.”
She even warned Momma to take her heart medicine “cause there was youngin’s and old one’s and all kinds she had never see before, even black ones. I bet we could even take Stone Cold Steve Austin there with us and he could show us his wiener.”
Poor old Stone Cold Vietnamese Nail Dude,he was clutching his Buddha necklace so tight it was digging into his neck, cutting off his oxygen and he was turning blue. I thought I was gonna have to do CPR.
Last night, Ray-Ray had her elementary school dance.
It’s not so much a dance but a bunch of whacked out kiddos running around the gym like cats on crack, boys body slamming each other and girls crying over stupid boy drama.
It’s about as much fun as spending the night with Liberace.
To make the night extra special, I purchased a special hoochie momma dress and some training stripper heels.
We did the whole “actually using a hair brush AND curling iron” and topped it all off with some body glitter and white rain…just for class.
For an added treat, I splurged with McDonald’s because I’m the “most best-est Momma EVER!!!”
On the ride to school, we laid out our ground rules:
”No bodily contact with anyone with a penis.”
“No swapping of spit with anyone with a penis.”
“No hiding out in dark corners of the gymnasium.”
“No leaving the gymnasium with anyone without telling me.”
“Do not speak to me.”
“Do not act like you know me the whole evening.”
“Do not speak to other parents.”
“Do not speak to teachers.”
“Do not dance…cause parents aren’t allowed to…I mean it…even if they play ATOMIC DOG!!!!”
“If someone ask your name, make up something.”
“I will give you a sign when I’m ready to leave and you can meet me at the car.”
“And most important… DON’T LET MY SISTER EMBARRASS ME OR ELSE!”
Upon arrival to the school, Ray-Ray disappears into the rave lights and the loud thump of T.I.’s “You Can Have What Ever You Like.”
Yeah right, home skillet, with Ray-Ray, all you gonna have is McDonald’s and three jobs supporting her high maintenance shizizzle.
Forty five minutes later, the kiddos on crack finally converge onto the dance floor in a circle to Flo-rida’s “Low” and at that very moment, the R&B gods possessed my 2 year old Irish love child, Ella.
You could just see them take over, one cell at a time, from her head to her toes. And at the elementary school dance, in the middle of the gym, in front of her older sister and ALL her friends…
“SHAWTY HAD THOSE APPLE BOTTOM JEANS…BOOTS WITH THE FUR…THE WHOLE SCHOOL WAS LOOKING AT HER…SHE HIT THE FLO..NEXT THING YA KNOW…