I'm The Queen Bee Bitch

The Kid had a baseball game yesterday.  When it comes to his activities I am torn, I want to go and support him but I loathe his mother and would rather give myself a pine needle pap smear than be in her presence.  So as Bunny, Dude and I walked across the parking lot to the field my stomach turned when I saw her fat ass sitting right next to Hubby.  Usually if I am there she knows to sit far far away from me and to not even attempt anything neighboring on eye contact but as we were late she probably figured she was safe and that she could play queen bee.   Silly cow, you're life will be so much easier when you realize that I am always the queen bee and you are merely the shit in my honey.

Bad Mommy:  Ugh, I am not going to sit by that bitch!

Bunny:  Oh, which bitch Mommy?

Bad Mommy:  Her, The Kid's Mom.  She is not a good person and she's mean.  She's a total bitch but don't tell anyone that.

Bunny:  Don't you think they already know?

A proud Bad Mommy high fives Bunny

Well thank god we have a biffie outside our front door now.  We can lock the kids outside and kick it without worries.  At least the city is good for something.

I need to preface this blogity blog by saying that some of my best friends are strippers and I mean that honestly.  I have friends and they are strippers.  I don't mean it in the whole "yeah, some of my best friends are black/Jewish/gay" way that other people do, usually after they've made some horribly bigoted joke or comment.  I love them all the way down to their Lucite heels and I admire them on a daily basis (and they are hot and I get to see them purdy near naked everyday which is a good thing since I am kind of pervy, shy but pervy none the less.)  I am in awe of their ability to handle themselves and their bodies and for the sheer fact that they walk around at work in their underpanties and not just any underpanties, but t-bars as we call them 'in the biz.'  Wearing a t-bar pretty much mean that you've got a glorified piece of dental floss riding up your butt-crack all night and this is why I love these ladies.  Sometimes, on the right day, with minimal food and no pre-menstrual cycle in sight, I might feel kinda not ugly in a pair of bootie shorts, key-word MIGHT, but never have I felt anywhere near anything remotely in the neighborhood of sexy whilst walking around with my bare ass-cheeks bebopping along behind me.  Never.  And so, to my lovely strippers friends, the words that are strewn about below are in no way a reflection upon you.  You are all glorious femalian creatures and all of the others are whores.

You're pretty enough to be a dancer or

You should be a dancer or

Why aren't you dancing or

When do you go on stage or my personal favorite

wait for it, wait for it.....

Wanna come back to my place for a gang-bang? (Which bizarrely enough I have had the pleasure of hearing more than once.  Damn, I love my job!)

It never fails, every night while slinging over-priced drinks to a bunch of douche bags at the tittie bar I have to hear it.  At this point in my *cough cough* career I think that the next time I have to hear any of those asinine "complements" I am going to put someone's receding hairline thru the mahogany bar.  I don't know if every guy that comes in pays cover and then checks his brain at the door or if they are all retarded enough to think that they are going to get somewhere with me after they open their fucking mouths and that shit falls out.

As a waitress in a strip club there are certain skills you need to learn and number one on that list is the ability to put assholes in their place and to either make them feel like the dirty old men that are so they cower in fear when you walk by and hand you money so you will leave them alone or make them think you are the smartest and wittiest person they have ever met and so they will hand you money because a witty smart person like you should be rewarded for having to be in the same room with people of such normal intelligence.  It usually depends on what they are drinking.  Domestic beer and rail-pour guys make up the first category, while import beer and top-shelf guys are in the second (and guys that come to a strip club and drink wine you don't have to worry about, they're just there so their wives can see a credit card charge from a strip club and so they can look at the guys who are looking at the girls.)

Here are some of my favorite from the pool:

"Why aren't you dancing?"

-Because my daddy loved me or

-This place doesn't have enough insurance or

-I forgot to shave my vag.

"When are you going to dance?"

-I start dancing about a quarter after you've left or

-I only dance on Sundays.  (FYI we are closed on Sundays because the owner is all churchy, funny I know, but that is another story all together.  But, I did have some poor smuck who was so intent on seeing me bobble around on stage that he did come down on a Sunday.  That was kind of sweet in a weird stalker kind of way and I kind of felt sorry for him until he told me that I could make it up to him by "sucking his balls dry."  Lovely.)

"You should be a dancer"

-(Domestic guy response): Well, you should be a diaper cuz you're full of shit.

-(Import guy response): I used to be but then none of the other dancers made any money, so now they all pay me to not dance.

But my all-time favorite is the "You're pretty enough to be a dancer" comment.  This is the one that makes me want to start pissing in their drinks.  "Pretty enough" gee really?  That's a great self-esteem booster because tonight most of the girls have all of their teeth and only 3 of them are pregnant.  I think that they all put their weaves in and maybe if we turn the lights down real real low then we won't be able to see their moustaches.  These guys act as if I took a demotion to waitress.  Like being a waitress only happens after you failed miserably at your audition, or that you couldn't keep your third leg tucked into your t-bar.  Because really, the strippers are walking around naked and since I have clothes on that totally makes me the gimp that they let out of the basement for happy hour. 

But after all this bitching I do love my job, it's just the customers I can't stand.  So come check me out on Sunday down at the tittie bar, I'll be dancing all day and sucking dudes dry-you can't miss me, I'll be the one that's not there.

 

dude is actually pretty good at soccer-if he'd just stop grabbing all the other boy's bits.

bunny is not good at soccer.  she would be just as happy wearing the outfit and jacking around on the sidelines.  she's all about the outfit though.  you can pretty much get her to do anything if there is a special outfit involved.  she'll probably grow up to be a stripper, that or one of those people who stand along the streets wearing a statue of liberty costume at tax time.

I spotted the ever-elusive bunny fairy.

worship me

Although this blog is mainly for my own sanity and to get the crazy thoughts outta my head so I have room for the normalish ones, it is also because Danielle and Hubby have been telling me WRITE WRITE WRITE!  I am totally out of practice, extremely rusty and very generous with my commas right now but I am doing this in an attempt to get back at it.  If I wrote as much as I read I'd be in good shape.  I pick up these books or click on other blogs and I want to be these people, to be able to say what they say with ease with which it seems to flow.  At 32 years old I am still finding my voice.  It is a different voice than when I almost got suspended from high school for writing erotic poetry and reading it to the school board, it is a different voice than when I wrote short stories for Terry Davis' Creative Writing class in college, its a different voice than my articles in Static Magazine that caused more than a few arguments between my mother and I ("really Jordan, the whole world doesn't need to know you wanna fuck Tony Soprano. I mean Jesus Christ some things are private!")  The purpose of my writing isn't to be famous or rich, it isn't for people to pat me on the back as I walk down the street or make shrines to me on my front porch; the purpose, I think, is to make people see.  To make people see that I am far more crazy than I appear and far less serious than I let on.  So I invite you to come here while you're hiding from work, stealing time for you lunch, taking a time-out from the kids or unwinding from the day with a beer and a smoke (god bless you!) and allow me to hurtle my cacrazy notions and random thoughts at you.  All I ask from you in return is a comment here and there, to me or to other people that are reading, to let me know I'm not alone (and that Danielle and Hubby aren't the only ones reading.)

watching

tomorrow will be dude's last day of pre-school.  this didn't actually hit me until today.  after a summer of fun and sun my baby will be joining the big kids, doing school lunch and recess, gym class and bullies.  my heart is heavy with the thought.  everyday i wake up and go into his room still expecting my little round baby with a soggy diaper, cuddling his monkey, to be waiting.  instead i am greeted by a long-limbed skinny man-boy with Transformers and baseball posters on the wall.  i think it is the realization that he is the last that has been my undoing.  no more yummy baby smell.  no more rocking a sweet sweaty babe at 3 in the morning.  no more first steps or first words.  no more being the center of someones universe.  i am overjoyed at who he's become-a sensitive, silly, loving little brother.  i am proud of how he has handled the changes our family's path has taken and how he has embraced the lack of one parent in one household and the addition of one in the other.  he has inherited a big brother whom he adores and idolizes and he is still so close with his sissy that it is painful for both of them.  i can only hope that he continues to grow in such a beautiful way that 13 years from now when i am sending him off to his last day of school my feelings are just as vivid and raw.

my friend jen

i love her. i love that she can let go.  i wish that i could silence the voices in my head long enough to let someone take my picture.

i love my kids, warts and all

the other day a friend was over trying to install an air-port card into my computer.  he was sitting on the couch trying to unscrew the tiniest screw in the whole wide world, all while bunny and dude were acting as if they had never seen another human being before.  dude was obsessed with his beard, yanking on it to see if it was real and then when he failed to run off with it, asking "when are you gonna shave that yucky thing off?"  bunny decided that she needed to share her newest prized possession-the hugest most giganticest plantar wart on her toe.  "wanna see my wart?" she asked as she shoved her stanky summer-time kid foot in his unsuspecting face.  ah kids, gotta love 'em...or find a box big enough to fit them in.

living the dream but i just can't wake up from the nightmare

my job sucks.  most people say that but what they really mean is "my job sucks because i have to get up before noon and i don't get to hang out with rock stars and eat cocaine laced cupcakes all day."  my job sucks because it really really does suck.  it is painful to go to.  it is physically sickening to drag my sorry butt in every day.  every night hubby and i play the "who's job sucks more game" and no matter what atrocities he conjure up i always win.  i win because up until a week ago i was the only one there.  not like, oh everyone is at lunch or i'm the only one here who i can relate to-no it's just me.  big ole office, lots of computers, four phone lines but only one employee-moi! all day long it's me dealing with all of the glorious losers coming in and thinking that i owe them a job.  as a recruiter that is my job, to find other people jobs, but not everyone really DESERVES a job.  the other day i had a guy come in wearing dirty grey sweat pants, one of those old "big johnson" t-shirts and a copenhagen hat.  first of all, the only place sweat pants (the dirty perv kind with the elastic at the ankles) belong is in a saturday night live skit.  they just should not be done.  it looks like your smuggling a bunch o' bananas in there.  not hot.  but somehow i don't think that was what this guy was going for.  i think he was going for more of a "look i can breath and my hands kinda work so you should give me a job so i can buy bologna and kool-aid  for my 13 kids back at the trailer park and maybe i'll have a little left over to buy a case of old milwaukee to drink myself silly and limp so my old lady can't trick me into fertilizing her again" look and he nailed it. he stood in front of me, a big cloud of wrong, and wanted to know what i could do for him.  okay i realize that this is what i am supposed to do, to do something for this tard but when people just expect me to fawn all over them just because they humped their lazy ass into my office and interrupted my love affair with perez hilton, we are totally off on the wrong foot (did i mention that that foot was wearing white reebok high-tops?)  but, i had jobs to fill and i needed bodies so i forced myself to play nice.  when i asked de wayne (oh yes that was his name) what kind of work he was looking for he paused, kind of cocked his head like a dumb puppy, snapped his fingers and then reached into his pocket (yes they were the sweatpants with pockets-where else would you keep your winstons?) after digging around down there a little toooo long his filthy hand reappeared with his treasure-his hearing aid.  after he popped that puppy in i asked him again what kind of work he was looking for.  this time he snapped his fingers and reached into THE OTHER pocket!  Not to get his other hearing aid oh no that would have been too....not wrong.  no, he reached into his pocket and pulled out HIS FRICKIN' TEETH!  his teeth, those things that most people carry around in their mouths-no not de wayne.  apparently they were only for special occasions.  special occasions like harassing poor staffing girls who sit alone in their office all day and pray that no one comes in because they aren't wearing their shoes and their bra was pinching so they took it off and it's still lying on the desk next to the 4 cans of dr pepper and bag of swedish fish they had for lunch.  when de wayne finally got his face situated he told me that he would take anything but that he felt his skills lie more in the secretarial field and did i have anything with maybe a law firm?  he thought that that would be the best place for him since he had "experience" with the law and maybe if he "got in thar wit thems" he could get a few free pointers about some "upcoming events."  it is when things start going this way that i reeeeeally hate being alone with these freaks.  thankfully de wayne's one good eye didn't see me snatch my cell phone out of my purse and call myself on the office line.  when the phone rang i answered it and went into a big production about how one of my employees ran a forklift off of a loading dock (it's happened-twice) and yes yes i will be right there!  I apologized to de wayne and told him that i was going to have to close the office for the day and he would have to come back another day.  he very graciously offered to stay and keep the office open for me because again, office work is his calling and he is very good at "watchin' stuff,"  but i had to decline his offer and then gently kick him out the door as i locked up, got in my mini-van and called it a day.    

i have arrived as a parent, someone thinks i'm stupid

after staying home from work with a sick child (hallelujah-thanks kid!) all i wanted in the world was to have my pomegranate chocolate ice cream bar for lunch but when i went to grab it from the freezer-my bar had pulled a jimmy hoffa!  when hubby came home i asked him if he had eaten it, completely ready to perform a kitchen vasectomy on him it he had, but he feigned ignorance.  that left only one other suspect, a 12 year old vegetarian rock star wannabe.  but, when confronted with the loss of my glorious bar....total denial- he even went so far as to re-search the freezer for me, literally pulling every thing out probably praying the whole time that the anti-butt whooping fairies had replaced it for him.  but to his complete surprise there was no bar.  he still denied that he ate my damn bar.  he denied eating the bar later when he was in the car with hubby, getting more and more wound up in his little chocolaty lie.  a little preface to the story is that this kid is sensitive, very sensitive.  the slightest look or wrong intonation in your voice and you can send this kid into full on a big fatty fatty tears blubbering you don't love me freak out (trust me, i've done it.  i am the queen of wrong intonation.) and on that note, about an hour after the little chat in the car with dad about how lying is bad, this is a matter of trust and unless someone broke into our house and bypassed the computers, keys to the cars and the huge assed tv and went right to the fridge for a little frozen goodness you were the only one who could have done it-nothing.  an hour later the kid called hubby in total hysterics and admitted he messed up.  here is where i am torn.  two hours after the initial lie now we have to come up with how to actually deal with this cuz even though kids are cool and shit and hopefully one day they will return the favor and change my diapers, when they fuck up we gotta punish them. and even though i favor locking them in a box, again there's that whole social service thing.  i am torn because i so remember being in the same place as this kid, well not them exact same place because i didn't have a hot step-mom and i didn't steal an ice-cream bar mine was more like a litre of cheap vodka that my dad kept hidden behind his Folgers.  i can still remember the feeling that if i just kept lying that the lie would become the truth and that my baby sister would come tottling down the stairs with an empty booze bottle and a blood alcohol level higher than her age.  but, in the back of my head i knew that my friends and i had mixed the bottle with mountain dew and passed out on our holly hobbie sleeping bags the night before.  i think that the only thing that i am having trouble with, not the parenting, not the punishing but rather the fact that when i thought my parents were stupid, they weren't just stupid THEY WERE OLD AND STUPID!  goddamn kids, i'm going to have to find some big boxes.  

this is why i hate downtown.........

all i hear in my head is douche douche douche douche

neither rain nor sleet nor snow (although thankfully there was no snow) could keep me from my appointed rounds-neighbor's, mettler's, south street, the ole.  have i mentioned that mojitos are the nectar of the gods?  well, they are my new favorite thing and i am a god in my own head.....

hubby and i went to neighbor's for raspberry mojitos and  yummy food.  $100 worth of mojitos later we were thoroughly stuffed and liquored.  the day was amazing-sunny and beautiful.  we don't get a huge amount of time to hang-out together when one of us isn't sleeping , so whole days are like mini-vacations.  we had a great day, lovely tina joined us for mojitos and lobster (don't we sound fancy?) we were so bent on having a great day outside on a patio that even when it started to ran-hell just throw me an umbrella and we're good to go!  there is a picture of hubby, tina and myself all with our umbrellas, but alas we all know the deal with me and pics, so it will be filed away in my own personal "special keeping place" aka the deleted files.