So it's been a while. I've tossed ya some bones in the form of effortless rewritten posts from my photoblog and such but t'is time to get down and dirty and make time for myself and my mindless drivel again.
I know, I know, but please...try to contain your excitement. You're only embarrassing yourself ;)
So life, as I mentioned recently, has been insaaaaaaaaaaaaane here! I know I volunteered for this mom/wife/ruler-of-the-world job but holy frick...it's kicking my every loving ass lately! Sleep is for pussies to start off with. We, and when I say we I mean me because face it, I'm the mama...finally got my Moose sleeping through the night only to be jungle fucked less than 2 weeks later by molars cutting. Not only are we not sleeping through the night, we're not sleeping more than 40 minutes at a time. He also does not seem to understand the concept of "you've already had tylenol...tough it out and go back to sleep".
I shit you not, I was at the pharmacy yesterday and the pharmacist...the pharmacist...the fucking professional drug giver outer guy...tells me to scrap the orajel, scrap the tylenol and just "rub Jack Daniels on his gums" because that's what he did. He continues to say and I fucking quote: "I have 8 kids and did it with all of them and not a single one of them turned out retarded."
I lost it. I laughed so hard I thought I was going to pee myself like we moms all did in our 3rd trimester...just a tinkle...ya know, when we sneezed...or laughed...or stood up too hard. Hrm. For starters I was not aware that Jack Daniels could cause retardation. Well...maybe it can...I, have to be honest though...I don't really have any recollection of those nights so, ya know. I guess this entire scene was one of 2 awesome quick reminders of the hillbilly area I live in.
So much for political correctness, professionalism, and uh just being appropriate at the work place in general. My 60 something pharm just said to booze up my kid and no worries he won't turn into a ritard. Awesome. You can't make this shit up!
Once I got myself together enough to pay for our very last round of Moosey reflux meds *triumphant trumpets sounding* I grabbed a small list of groceries, said hi to the freezer dept stocker guy with the jail house tats that loves my boobies so much, and hit the front to get the hellfire out of there.
If a pharmacist talking about slow mentality and alcohol wasn't good enough, I managed into the anti-pc queen's line. This little old lady is a hoot. She's always got something funny and off color to say and this was definitely no exception to that rule! I toss stuff up on the counter one thing at a time...and eventually a guy that I would say was in his 40's comes up behind me. He smiles a little, and I notice thing cuz that's what I do; notice things...like his tattoos: American flag, Eagle, Bulldog, clover, and Viking.
I get that many people would think He has tattoos...hehe...cool! But to someone with some tattoo experience those are story tellers and personality hints.
American Flag: pride in country aka good ole boy
Eagle: Pride in country and strength aka gun owner right wing
Bulldog: USMC former military aka good ole boy pride in country and self and can probably kick some serious ass
Clover: this could mean a lot of things but clover+viking=proud of being white.
I shit you not. Do your homework if you don't believe me.
So he compliments my pastey pale red headed son on his cuteness, and compliments my tattoos while I'm unloading the cart and when my Moose drops my keys on the ground he picks them up for me and definitely made note of the Ruger keychain.
Back to the cashier who has now realized that my tortillas are not ringing up.
Frustration ensues quickly because, "These tor-tilla things (yes she pronounced the L sounds) don't have a price...who the hell stocked these and forgot to scan them in?!"
She's obviously flustered by the line now forming. So I step in and say that I'm sure they were $2.09 and that I buy the same ones every 2 weeks when I shop. She said she had to have someone check it...and calls over the intercom for someone to "Come to the front to get a price from the Mexican aisle".
I'll admit it. At first I didn't see that statement as being weird.
Then the guy behind me gigglesnorted.
I looked up and said, "what?"
He says, "The Mexican aisle...don't they have one of those at Home Depot too?"
Holy shit! He just said that OUTLOUD!
The little old lady heard him and it was all over, she goes on a rant!
"Was that not right? Can't I say Mexican aisle...I mean it's full of Mexican food right? Do I need to say Hispanic aisle or Spanish aisle...We used to be able to say that stuff, its food not like I'm making fun of people who are Mexican...I mean they eat that kind of food right? That's why it's called Mexican food, cuz they eat it! It's not like we're selling Mexicans out of that aisle...."
Now I'm laughing, the guy behind me is laughing, the kid bagging for us with the crappy dagger tattoo on his arm from the local crappy tattoo joint is laughing, the guy at the back of the line who was very tall and lanky and appeared to be a scholar of some sort...was decidedly NOT laughing.
It wasn't so much her political incorrectness that had me in stitches as much as it was the fact that she realized the error of her non-pc statement and decided to lecture us all on how stupid it is to have to watch what you say and in the process of doing so, became ever increasingly more offensive with each statement she made.
Well, that combined with my recent discussion of non-medicinal ways to dose your children without resulting in them running around in a helmet and eating crayons from a lunch box.
As I booked it out to my 1994 rusted out red diesel pick up with the door latched shut with twine (no, it's not my daily driver), I realized that you don't get this sort of fun in the city or even the burbs for that matter. This sort of shit is something I don't want to miss out on if and when this impending move of doom ever actually occurs. My roots are in small town USA and I can't imagine not having the crazy cat lady's house 2 doors down with weeds that she calls "her flowers"...or the old guy 3 blocks over who claims that his Halloween display is festive when everyone else sees that the figures hanging from the trees are uh somewhat inappropriate...or the guy just outside of town who has an arsenal in his basement that rivals Ft. Hood...or the the vacant beat up unlived in properties that people respect and don't break into a steal things from because...out here we might use terms that not everyone likes and we might say retarded in a manner other than directed but damn it, there's a level of respect for things that while unique to the rural parts of the US and completely foreign to anyone else...is in our core. You can't get this stuff if you don't live out here and you can't imagine not having it if you've been here for very long.
I sent my husband out for some Jack Daniels. Don't worry, it's for me not the baby ;)