My Dad, A Snake & A Burning Bush

My parents are here for a week long visit. I am beyond thrilled. We live in different states and so I usually only see them once or twice a year. Plus my dad is super handy and hates to sit still, which means I'm totally getting a bunch of little projects done for me while they are here.

My approach when my dad visits goes something like this:

You know, I've always wanted to have a screen door on the back of the house. How much do you think that would cost, dad? Is it hard to install? I suppose we could try it sometime this summer. Thinking about that makes me remember how badly I need to sand and paint the front door. It looks terrible. *sigh* I guess I'll just add it to the list of things we need to get done.

I know I should feel ashamed of myself on account of my dad being 75 years old and all, but I totally don't. My mom says he likes to feel needed, so I'm helping HIM out. Or something.

So this visit, I casually mentioned that the four pampas grass plants we have in the backyard are super overgrown and need to be chopped down but holy cow, it is hard work. The very next day, my dad got at it.

I came home from work that day and was all "What did you guys do today?" and my mom was all "Tell her, Donald" to my dad. And so my dad proceeds to tell me this story...

I went outside to look at your fence that is falling down (I forgot to mention the fence I told him really needed fixing) and when I lifted up one of the panels, there was a huge snake under it. I mean, that sucker was about 8 feet long (!!!!). So I went inside and Captain Carl grabbed his shot gun (WTF with the guns, Texas????) and we went looking for it but couldn't find it. So a few hours later I decided to chop down that pampas grass and when I started, that damn snake was slithering around in it. So I grabbed the matches out of my pocket and threw a match into the grass and that sucker went up in a huge fireball.

This was the point in the story where I questioned my dad why he had matches in his pocket. He never did give me a straight answer, but I suspect he intended to burn the grass from the beginning and didn't want to tell me ON ACCOUNT OF THE BURN BAN WE ARE UNDER.

For reference, this is a fully grown pampas grass.



That is what my dad set on fire. Apparently it threw a fireball high enough into the sky that a passing motorist saw it and called 911.

Fast forward 5 minutes. My dad, who has put out the fire quickly (it only burned for a minute apparently), has now retreated upstairs to work on a different project. He neglected to inform my mom and the Captain about what happened. So imagine their surprise when eight firemen storm into the backyard while the ARSON INVESTIGATOR knocked on the front door and asked them if they knew about a fire.

My mom, knowing my dad so well, had her suspicions about who was to blame and yelled upstairs to my dad "Get your ass down here, the fire dept. is here!" to which my dad replied "Oh shit."

Luckily, the arson investigator did not give him a citation. They found a shedded snake skin (OMG I hate this state sometimes) and figured he was telling the truth about the snake and asked him to maybe not light anything else on fire. My mom is still pissed though. As for me, it gave me a good story to tell and the only thing left of the plant is a about a foot of blackened grass. The snake is nowhere to be seen. I call that a successful project.

Jesus Fail

I really do believe in God. I do. Believe it or not, I was raised by extremely spiritual and religious parents. I went to church every. single. sunday. I played the Virgin Mary in the Christmas play (stop snickering, asshole). I taught Bible School, Sunday School, and accompanied the children's choir on the piano.

Fast forward 20 years and there I was...not going to church on Easter, the most important Christian holiday ever. Sleeping in on Easter. HAVING SEX ON EASTER. I'm pretty sure that's some kind of sin somewhere in the bible. So Jesus is all "Dudes, I'm rising. Check out my tomb. What? It's empty? Holla!" and I'm all *snore*.

Of course, I totally lied to my parents and told them we went to church. Because I totally was going to and intention is like, almost as good as actually doing something. So Saturday night I was all "I don't want to go to church" and Captain Carl was all "Fine by me" because Captain Carl is a heathen who doesn't believe in Jesus. Oh, he does believe in a higher power of some kind but he can't wrap his brain around the Jesus thing, I guess. Whatever. I'll wave at him down there in hell when I go to heaven. *pious face* My point is that I had no one to talk me out of talking myself out of going to church. So basically it was totally not my fault that I didn't go.

And then my parents called and were all "Happy Easter!" and I was all "Yeah, happy Easblah..." and then I was all "What did you do today?" and they were all "Oh we went to church with your older, better sister and she sang in the choir for THREE services so she got saved like, 3x more than you did probably. What did you do?" and I was all "Oh you know, stuff and eating and easter stuff mumble mumble."

Oh well. The Easter Bunny still managed to find our house, despite our being fresh out of moral compasses.



No, he did not wear the ears in bed.

Yes, I kind of wish he had.

Turns Out The Best Motel Room Forty Bucks Can Buy Doesn't Include A Working Toilet

Today's post was inspired by this week's writing prompt, hotel stories, over at Studio30+. Not a member? Well get your ass over there and join. Go ahead, I'll wait here...

_____________________

*phone rings*

Me: Hello?
Mom: Hi honey, just calling to let you know your dad and I got home from Arizona safely.
Me: Oh good! How was your drive?
Mom: It was fine. We were going to drive straight through, but decided to stop just over the Iowa border because we were tired.
Me: Mom, did you let dad pick the hotel this time?
Mom: Well, I would have but you know I can get a better deal than he can.
Me: Uh huh...
Mom: I spotted this motel from the highway...
Me: A motel mom? Not a hotel. A motel?
Mom: They had a sign that said rooms were $29.99!
Me: And?
Mom: Well, I went in and asked about a room and there was this Middle Eastern couple running it and you know how they talk. I could barely understand them. And the woman told me it would be $50, so I asked her what about the sign and she said that was for one person and it went up from there and I said, well how did you get from $29.99 to $50 for two people?
Me: Highway robbery!
Mom: Exactly! She said it was because of extra fees and what not. Well, I just waved my hand at her and said forget it and started walking out but then she said she could give it to us for $40. So I took it.
Me: How was the room?
Mom: It looked very clean.
Me: But?
Mom: Well, it's my own fault really. I should have listened to your dad and gone to the Super 8 instead. But I just don't see a reason to pay $75 for something I can get for $40.
Me: Mom, what was wrong with the room?
Mom: Well, the heater didn't work so we called the front desk and they sent their daughter up and thank goodness she spoke better English. She got it working, but it quit again so she brought us a space heater.
Me: A space heater.
Mom: Yes, and the shower didn't have any hot water. But the water in the sink was burning hot. So I took a whore's bath and you know how much I like my evening showers, so you know I'm not lying about the cold water.
Me: Well that sucks.
Mom: Oh, and the toilet didn't flush.
Me: At all?
Mom: No.
Me: Ohmygod mom, why didn't you ask for a different room?
Mom: Well, it did flush, but only if your dad reached into the tank and fiddled with it. Your dad said if he had a nickel for every motel room toilet he's had to fix, he'd be a millionaire.
Me: So you didn't switch rooms?
Mom: Well no, it was after 10pm and I wasn't going to bother with it.
Me: Wow.
Mom: But the next morning I was so mad about it, I marched right in that office and gave the man a piece of my mind.
Me: Was he sorry?
Mom: No! He kept yelling "We give you good room! We give you good room!" and finally I yelled back "Yeah, you give me good room! In Iraq!"
Me: You didn't.
Mom: Well, I was angry. He had it coming.
Me: Did you get a refund then?
Mom: No, he wouldn't give me one. So I told him I was going to contact their local chamber of commerce and let them know what kind of business they were running there.
Me: That'll teach him.
Mom: I've been working on my letter all day.
Me: Make sure you include the part about Iraq. That's good stuff right there.
Mom: I forgot to tell you the hangers in the closet were dusty.
Me: Well, at least you saved $10.
Mom: That's exactly what I told your dad! That man thinks money grows on trees. Honestly.

I'm So Deep Undercover, Even I Didn't Know I Was An Agent.

I'm in my office with my partner, DZ. We're doing paperwork. Just another boring day as an FBI agent. So boring, in fact, that I can't help but stare blindly out my window at the lovely field of trees and what is that, wheat maybe? waving softly in the breeze. No, wait. It's sweet corn. Apparently the FBI headquarters are in the middle of rural Minnesota. Weird.

Anyway, so there I am, staring out the window, when I see a little child running up the dirt path to the building's front door. I guess budget cuts have hit so hard, the FBI can't afford concrete these days. The boy is holding a paper airplane over his head and pretending to fly it. He is smiling and laughing.

"Hey, look at that kid", I say to DZ.

"How did he get way out here?", she asks.

Suddenly, I see a dark shadow pass quickly over the field and the little boy. He stops running and freezes in place, staring at the sky. And then he disappears. Just disappears into thin air.

"What the hell?", I yell.

"Where did he go?", DZ asks.

"Did you see that shadow?", I reply.

"What shadow?", DZ asks.

Damn that girl asks a lot of questions.

And so begins another FBI: Fringe Division case. Children are disappearing all over the country. First three, then five, then dozens are missing.

And every time one disappears, I see a shadow fly across the sky. Huge and dark.

No one else can see it. So I am put in charge of the case.

"We are connecting you to this brain reading machine thingy", says my boss.

"Every time you see that shadow, you tell me. Our computer program thingy will read your brain waves or whatever and pinpoint the location of the next disappearance before it happens."

"Wow, that's pretty fucking cool. I love technology", I reply. "Also, you're kind of hot in a weirdly intense and bald way."

And so we begin. And then something something I forget some of the details but the trail leads to some big mansion for some reason and then we're all inside it and I'm all talking to my partner, DZ, and then the shadow goes by and DZ disappears and I'm all "DZ!!! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!" all dramatically.

And then this shit gets really intense, y'all. I look up at the ceiling and all the children that disappeared are floating down from the sky and into the house. But it's only their bodies...I can see that their minds are gone. And then I hear a noise behind me and I turn around and standing there is an alien!

"ALIENS!! IT WAS ALIENS!!! I FUCKING KNEW IT!!!"

And then I'm sitting on an air mattress. It is dark, but I can tell I'm in my parent's family room in Arizona. Captain Carl is sleeping next to me. I look around wildingly and see a red light flashing through the window in the door leading into the hallway.

I run through the door and into the hallway, where my dad is just coming out of the bathroom dressed only in his boxers.

Dad: What's wrong?

Me: What?

Dad: What?

Me: Huh?

Dad: What?

Me: Do you have your hearing aid in, Dad?

Dad: What?

Me: *yelling* Did you see the alien?

Dad: Alien?

Me: Yes, did you see it?

Dad: *blink*

Me: Where is that flashing red light coming from?

Dad: Flashing light?

Me: *grabbing his shoulder* Dad! There is a flashing red light in here!

Dad: Are you sleep walking?

Me: What? No! I saw a flashing red light!

Dad: Oh, it's probably the smoke detector. It does that sometimes.

Me: Smoke detector? I feel dizzy. Maybe it's carbon dioxide!

Dad: What?

Me: *yelling into his good ear* Carbon! Dioxide!

Dad: You mean carbon monoxide poisoning?

Me: No! Yes! Whatever! We have to get Mom and The Captain out!

Dad: *laughing* That must have been some dream.

Me: What? Dream? *looking around* Right. I was dreaming. Okay, that explains it.

Dad: Go back to bed.

Me: Damn. I was such a kick ass FBI agent too.

And that is exactly why you should never drink margaritas 5 days in a row on vacation.

I'm In Arizona. And I'm Watching The Bachelor. I'm Not Sure How That Happened.

Guess who's on vacation, bitches?

So I'm in Arizona visiting my parents. This has become an annual thing for me. I came out here last year and it was awesome and super cool and very drunky. But Captain Carl could not come with me because we couldn't afford it. I didn't want to come back without him this year, so we made it happen. Even though we are about 10 seconds away from being in the poor house at all times.

And so we are here and we're all driving around in the mountains and going on hikes and hanging out in the hot tub and playing tennis and things are going great and then bam! my mom turns on The Bachelor and I'm all "I hate this show!" and she's all "I love this show!" and I'm all "Blech, gross! Wait, why didn't he keep the mortician lady?" and then my high school boyfriend's mother (who is also my mother's good friend) showed up and now I'm drunk on vodka sprites.

It's been a weird day.

God, I love vacations.

I’m Either The Best Sister Ever Or Really Stupid. Probably Both.

I’m going home for Thanksgiving. Home to Minnesota to my parents house. I haven’t been home for the holidays (Yes, I really just typed that. I'll just go ahead and punch myself in the face now.) in 11 years. That was my first Christmas after moving to Texas and no way was I staying down here where it was 75 degrees and sunny when I could be back home where there was snow. I mean, what’s Christmas without the snow? And as it turned out, the temperatures never got above zero degrees. Yeah, I was really happy to come back to the warm weather after that last visit.

But the last couple of years I’ve been longing to be up north for Christmas again. Last year, the Dallas area got a huge (by southern standards) winter storm on Christmas Eve. It would have been perfect, except that we went to New Orleans for Christmas and missed it. Not that I’m complaining. I was drinking hurricanes and eating gumbo, who the hell cares about snow? But still, my northern roots are calling to me.

My parents are usually in Arizona by this time of year. They are retired snowbirds and can hardly wait to get to Mesa by the end of October. But my dad has been sick this year. He has leukemia and needed to stay close to his doctor in MN for chemo, so they aren’t heading to AZ until after Thanksgiving (he's doing great, by the way. This post isn't about that, but I didn't want to leave you hanging). So I was all “This year is my chance! I should totally go home for Thanksgiving so my parents won’t be alone on the holiday! I’m booking a flight right now!” to Captain Carl. And all three of my sisters agreed with me and booked tickets too.

So I’m flying up on Thursday morning. Because we are poor white trash, we could only afford one ticket so the Captain is staying home to host his side of the family’s Thanksgiving at our house. Which is weird, but whatever because there is already snow on the ground up there! Hooray! It’ll be almost like Christmas! I’m totally building a snowman and making snow angels!

And then I checked the weather channel. The high temp on Thursday up there is going to be 15 degrees. 15 DEGREES. My sister that still lives up there emailed to tell me it’s going to be the coldest Thanksgiving in 20 years.

Awesome.

I mean, I want snow. Snow. Not freezing nostrils. Not temps too cold for my wimpy southern version of a winter jacket to handle. And certainly not so cold that, holy hell, my whole family has to stay inside for 4 days straight. My whole two parent, four sisters and two nieces in a 3 bedroom house family. We’ll kill each other. You may think I’m exaggerating. Rest assured, I am not. Not even a little bit. This is how it will go down:

Me: Hey, let’s go outside!
Sister #1: It’s too cold.
Me: Oh come on! It’ll be fun! We can build a snow fort!
Sister #2: No way.
Sister #3: Let’s play a game.
Sisters #1 and #2: Yeah, let’s!
Me: Oh shit.

Because that is how the murders always start in my family. With a game.

Pictionary?
A massacre.
Trivial Pursuit?
Crime scene.
Dominoes?
Total slaughter.

It always starts out with optimism. This time will be different. This time we’ll have fun. This time we’ll all get along. This time no one will accuse anyone else of cheating. This time no one will overturn the table in a fit of rage over coming in second place. But the conclusion is almost always the same. Everyone not talking to everyone. At least one sister crying. At least one other sister calling their husband/boyfriend to tell them she is coming home early. My mom shutting herself up in her room for the rest of the day. And my dad reading the paper, pretending he can’t hear what is happening.

But I’ve decided to be optimistic. This will be a good visit. Only 3.5 days. Just long enough for everyone to stop missing each other and just short enough to keep everyone from getting on each other’s nerves.

Unfortunately, I’ve been recruited by one of my sisters. To go Black Friday shopping. At 4am. In 15 degree weather. I mean, I just….I don’t even……

The thing is, I could have just said no, as the Captain pointed out last night. I could have said no and slept until 10am on my air mattress on the living room floor and pretended not to notice my sister's hurt feelings. But I said yes. Because I know how much it will mean to her. And I’ll play every game anyone wants to play. Because it’s family. And it’s going to be awesome and it’s going to be a blood bath and it’s going to be exhausting and I’m going to love every minute of it.

Because there’s no place like home.

My Family Went To Minnesota And All I Got Was Bieber Fever

So I'm back from vacation. I didn't tell y'all about it (again) because Captain Carl is convinced that somehow one of you crazies figured out my real name and where I live and are just waiting for me to announce an extended time away so you can break into my house, eat my food, molest my cats and sniff my panties. But ha! Jokes on you because I never leave dirty panties when I go on vacation.

We spent a week with my parents in Minnesota. I was inebriated approximately 75% of the time, courtesy of my mom's brandy slush. Ever had a brandy slush? No? Get me up to 500 followers and I'll give you the recipe. You gotta work for it, bitch.

My dad has leukemia and was on a week long break from chemo while we were there. My mom is diabetic and found out the day before we left that she has to start on insulin shots. Sounds like a non-stop party, right?

Okay, so it wasn't exactly the most relaxing of vacations. But I adore my parents and miss them terribly when we are apart. So I did my best to savor every moment and then sobbed myself to sleep on our last night there. I do it every time we go and all Captain Carl can do is lay there and pat my back until I'm done.

And then we drove 18 hours straight to get home the next day. Awesome. I slept until noon today and have the worst travel/brandy slush hangover known to mankind. And tomorrow I get to go back to my job.

Well, fuck.

I had what was probably the most meaningful conversation I've ever had with my 13 year old niece, let's call her Red, while I was up there.

Me: How's school, Red?
Red: It's okay. We have, like, only 4 minutes of passing time between classes this year.
Me: Is that bad?
Red: Yes, we had 5 minutes last year.
Me: Well that sucks.
Red: I know! We have to, like, run to our classes.
Me: You should run for student council and then you could change that.
Red: We voted for student council last week and the teacher told us we should tell whoever gets voted on about what we don't like and they can, like, say something to, like, the principal or something.
Me: You better track down your councilman and bitch about the 4 minutes.
Red: And also they play really stupid music during passing time.
Me: Like what?
Red: Like some kind of old stuff.
Me: They should play Justin Bieber.
Red: Ohmygod yeah!
Me: I heard you love him.
Red: Ohmygod yeah! I am, like, his biggest fan.
Me: Maybe you should suggest that your school have a Justin Bieber class.
Red: I could totally teach that class.
Me: Hmmm..I don't know if you know enough about him.
Red: He's 16 years old, his favorite color is purple, his favorite meal is spaghetti and his favorite type of food is Italian...
Me: What's his favorite breakfast?
Red: I don't know.
Me: You better find out or they'll never let you teach that class.
Red: He won't let anyone touch his hair...
Me: Well I can see why. It's so, ummmm, Bieber-y?
Red: Only his hairstylist can touch it.
Me: Probably because he'd lose his powers if it got cut too short.
Red: Maybe...
Me: He's like the modern Samson.
Red: What?
Me: Except instead of strength, his power is his beautiful girlish voice.
Red: He's not girlish!
Me: Listen, don't waste your time on Justin Bieber. He'll only break your heart when he comes out in a few years...
Red: What are you talking about?
Me: Two words. George. Michael.
Red: You are so weird.

I Never Did Find Where They Were Having The Kegger

So my parents have a pretty sweet deal living at this retirement village in Arizona. It's like college for old people. Seriously. Walk down the street anytime of the day and you'll find at least one drunk geezer. And if there's one, there are at least three more not too far from him. Because they travel in packs there. And if you walk by during happy hour, you will be invited to sit down and have a cocktail and maybe some snacks and maybe someone accidentally spills a drink on you and maybe someone else accidentally drops their napkin and could you pick that up for me sugar? it's just so hard to bend over that far.

Also? Bicycles everywhere. The clubhouse has about ten bike racks and during peak tennis/shuffleboard hours, they are filled to capacity. And holy fuck, the golf carts. And they're all driven by dirty old men chewing on cigars with a can of Miller in one hand and the other on their little golf cart horns that they beep at all the women they pass. And when they see a woman under the age of 50? Holy hell. You haven't lived until you've been hit on by a guy with a walker wearing black knee socks with sandals.

I think my favorite part of this place is the spy cameras. Only they don't call them spy cameras, they call them "surveillance cameras" but whatever because everyone has three channels on their tv that show the cameras at the entrance to the village and at the tennis and shuffleboard courts and at the swimming pool. I found out about them after the first night I went swimming. I came back home and my mom was all "I saw you doing laps!" and I was all "How? You weren't there" and she was all "I saw you on tv" and she showed me the channels and I was all "Holy shit, how could I have been here two days already and not know about this!". Because hello? awesome!

And I know the gossipy old ladies totally use the spy cameras to see what's what. One of them is all "Let's go down and play shuffleboard, Betty" and the other one is all "Let's see who's there first" and then they turn on channel 4 and they're all "Oh hell no, that bitch Doris is playing. I am not playing with her, she makes terrible deviled eggs and she wore a shirt last week to bingo night that showed way too much cleavage".

Yeah, so every night I would sit and watch the spy cameras and my mom was all "You don't even know who those people are!" and I was all "Ssshhhh, I'm busy spying". I kept hoping I'd catch someone having sex in the hot tub. The closest I got was some guy who looked like he was masturbating for a minute but it turned out he was just having a seizure. Meh.

Retirement: Just An Excuse To Be Drunk At 2pm On A Tuesday

So I went on vacation a couple weeks ago to visit my parents in Arizona. My parents are 71 years old and retired and spend their summers in Minnesota at the lake and their winters in Arizona in the desert in a retirement village.

Retirement village = Depends and yawning

Right?

Dudes. This place was the happiest place on earth. Disney World has fucking nothing on this retirement village. This was my daily activities calendar for eight straight days:

8am: Wake up. Sit around in pajamas for an hour. Eat breakfast consisting of bagel with cream cheese and an orange picked from the tree outside the patio door.

9am: Play tennis. Partner with 73 year old lady who used to babysit you when you were three. Get asses whooped by 71 year old dad and his 80 year old tennis partner.

11am: First swim of the day in heated outdoor pool.

12pm: Eat lunch consisting of sandwich and fresh squeezed lemonade from the other tree outside the patio door.

1pm: Nap.

2pm: Shuffleboard with 71 year old mom. Get ass whooped by three old ladies wearing plastic glittery sun visors and bermuda shorts.

4pm: Home to watch a half hour of Judge Judy.

4:30pm: Happy hour with parents and ten of their closest friends. Sit on the patio and drink freshly squeezed lemonade liberally laced with vodka. Get sloshed and listen to old people tell sex jokes.

6pm: Dinner at the clubhouse, followed by casino night/bingo night/billiards night.

8pm: Home for a glass of freshly squeezed lemonade liberally laced with more vodka.

9pm: Walk to the clubhouse with mom's two best friends to go swimming again.

9:30pm: Hit the hot tub. Share a six pack of canned Bud Light with old ladies.

10:00pm: Stagger home.

10:30pm: Sleep.

Okay, so maybe this might not sound like a ton of fun to some of you. But seriously, I had the best time. With three older sisters, I rarely get my parents to myself. And when I do, I remember how wickedly cool my dad is and how my mom and I can giggle like teenage girls for hours when we're together. And I'm sorry, but a place that lets you drink booze in the hot tub? Awesome.

And ladies? If you ever want to feel good about yourself, just go hang out at a swimming pool full of old men. I guess not having nipples that sway near my crotch and a swimsuit without a skirt down to my knees really does it for the retirement set. Rawrrrr, grandpa.

I'm Totally Blowing This Popcicle Stand. That's What She Said.

I'm leaving tomorrow for a week in Arizona with my parents. I'm super excited and clappy about it, since I only see them once or twice a year. However, I am very frowny about being away from Captain Carl and the Kiddo for a whole week. The Captain and I are going to be apart on Valentine's Day, which sucks but not as much as your mom does.

And I'll miss y'all too, since my mom decided not to get an internet connection at their house this year because they live in a retirement village and there are computers with internet at the clubhouse that are perfectly good and also free, so don't roll your eyes at me little missy. Did I mention that my parents are 70 years old? Cute as the dickens, but have no use for technology. So yeah, I won't be around blog land much for a few days.

However, I've compiled a list of "to whom it may concern" letters that will be automatically posting while I'm on my trip. Because I'm an internet genius and figured out how to blog from the past. I know...I'm amazing. Go ahead and say it.

And now I'm off to play tennis and bridge and shuffleboard with my parents. For reals. It's like the Love Boat except there's no boat and instead of Captain Stubing shaking your hand, there's an old guy named Frank looking down your shirt.



P.S. Somebody please check on my house on Tuesday or Wednesday next week, okay? My rugs will need to be vacuumed by then and I won't be able to sleep on my parent's pull out couch unless I know the Captain really did it like he says he will.

I have issues. I know this.

In Your Face. Or My Face. Or Your Mom's Face. Whichever.

So here's the deal. I'm flying out to Arizona in a few days to see my parents. I wanted to lose about 10 pounds before I get there because ever since I told my mom and dad in November that the Captain and I were on a weight loss program they've been all "So how's the diet coming?" and I'm all "It's not a diet, it's a lifestyle change" and they're all "Are you less fat yet?" and I'm all "No not yet" and they're all "That's okay we still love you". Which basically means they kind of love me a little less but they can't say that because that would be bad parenting.

Yeah, I haven't lost a damn pound. I went to the doctor and whined about it and she's all "Are you exercising?" and I'm all "Fuck yeah I am!" and she's all *stare* and I'm all "I so totally am!" and she's all "How many days per week?" and I'm all "Ummm...five?" and she's all *blink* and I'm all "Four?" and she's all *foot tap* and I'm all "Maybe three times? A lady? Hahahaaa, get it?" and she's all "You need to exercise every day" and I'm all "For reals?" and she's all "Yes" and I'm all "Isn't there a pill I can take instead?" and she's all "Only if you want a heart murmur and kidney failure" and I'm all "Hmmm..." and she's all "I'm serious." and then I jumped out the window because I'm sorry but life isn't worth living if I have to spend 30 minutes of each day walking around and shit.

So then she was all "It will be very difficult for you to lose weight because of your asshat thyroid". Except maybe she didn't say "asshat" but whatevs. That's totally what she meant. So then I basically begged her to up my medication dosage and she totally wouldn't because according to her, my levels are normal. So I decided to get back at her by not exercising at all and eating everything within my reach for two weeks straight. Take that, sucka!

And now I have to get on an airplane and go see my parents and listen to my mom talk about how maybe I should speak with my oldest sister because she lost a bunch of weight and doesn't she look amazing and blah blah blah stomach stapling. Awesome.

Also? My face has decided to explode into an angry collection of red, itchy patches. Captain Carl thinks it's eczema, but I'm pretty sure it's from breaking down and finally buying a new bra that cost me $60 (fuckkk!) and now my face is protesting because my boobs are totally gonna get even more attention now. Well fuck that shit, face. You aren't the boss of me, face! I'm going to the dermatologist next week because I'll be damned if I'm giving my mom another thing to criticize about me. Oh honey, it never used to bother me that you were chubby because you had such a cute face...but now....oh dear.

omg hotttt!

I took this picture of myself in the car the other day because my hair was totally cooperating and being super cute and my face didn't look too fucked up because I totally punched those red itchy spots in the nards with five pounds of antibiotic cream and six pounds of cover up . I should be a doctor....of awesome! Ya feel me? Yeah you do! Up top!

*sigh*

Meh....I got nothin' today. I'm too busy scratching my forehead.

Oh Right, Mother's Day

Captain Carl and I were sitting on the couch watching tv last night when he suddenly says "Oh shit, my Mom!" to which I replied "Oh my God, MY Mom!" and then we both scrambled for our cell phones. As I'm running to the bedroom to call my Mom, I hear the Captain say "We're awesome children" and I yelled back "We should totally get an award for being so thoughtful".

So I'm pretty sure my Mom was punishing me for waiting so long to call her on Mother's Day, because she took every opportunity during our conversation to kick me while I was down.

Me: Happy End of Mother's Day!!
Mom: Thank you, I wondered if you were going to call.
Me: I wanted to keep you on the edge of your seat.
Mom: Oh you and your jokes.
Me: Yeah, you know me.
Mom: How are things going with the Captain's job hunt?
Me: Not so good, he hasn't found anything yet.
Mom: Hmmmm....well he just needs to get out there and find something.
Me: Really Mom? We hadn't thought of that yet, that's a great idea!
Mom: Well I'm just trying to help.
Me: I know Mom, I'm sorry.
Mom: Well that's a depressing subject, let's talk about something else.
Me: Okay. What have you and Dad been up to?
Mom: Oh you know, the usual. So how are things going with your renters?
Me: Fine, they are moving out at the end of this month. We've put up an ad for new renters and have a few people interested.
Mom: That's good. Be sure to have them clean their rooms really well before they leave.
Me: We will. Bambi has a cat, so I'm sure we'll have to deep clean that room after she moves out.
Mom: You let someone bring a cat into your house???
Me: Yes Mom, I told you that when she moved in.
Mom: That room is going to be destroyed.
Me: *sigh*
Mom: Absolutely destroyed.
Me: Well there's nothing I can do it about it now.
Mom: You are right about that. You'll probably have to rip out the carpet.
Me: Well, we can't afford to do that so we'll just make the best of it.
Dad: (who's been listening silently this whole time) Just remember sweetie, God never gives you more than you can handle. Everything happens for a reason. Whenever He closes a door, He opens a window.
Me: Thanks Dad.
Mom: Hmph. Well, your Dad is right. We love you very much, honey!
Me: Me too, Mom. I miss you.

And that's when I started crying.....because I really do miss my Mom. There's no one else on the planet that can make me feel so bad about myself and yet so loved at the same time.

No wonder I'm so fucked up.