Weenit's quote of the day...

As we were all sitting about the table with a few beers and discussing previous drunken mishaps, the topic of my sister's ability to always fall down the stairs when she is drunk came up.

And let me emphasize this special ability she has by saying that, if you are married and tend to often walk around with bruises covering your body, people do not believe you when you say you fell down the stairs.

But in my sister's case, it's the truth.

And somehow in the midst of our discussion my sister's husband said something that lit her fire and she proceeded to drunkenly threaten his physical well being.

His response to her threats of physical abuse was, "What are you going to do? Fall down the stairs at me?"


Single parents date too...

There is something that has been festering inside of me like one of those little alien babies waiting to burst out of my belly.

When we broke up, Mack pulled the kid card on me...
(Seriously dude, fuck you.)

Anyways, I am a firm believer that if you enter a dating scenario with someone who is open and honest with you, with someone who tells you they have a kid before you even agree to the first date, that if you do agree on that first date, you forever loose your right to use that kid card.

So here is the thing. I always tell anyone I intend to get involved with that I have a kid, but I ease it into our inital conversation. First I charm them with my wit and my pearly white teeth, then I drop the bomb on them.

It's a true and tried process that never fails.

Except I think it does fail, because once I get to the part where I tell them, well, I'm not one hundred percent sure what goes on in a guys mind, but I assume they have to that point decided I'm a pretty awesome chick, so me having a kid isn't so bad.

Except it is, and later on in the relationship they pull out the kid card and shove it in my face and say shit like, "If we become more serious down the road then I'll have a lot more responsibilities with your son."

And to that I once again say, fuck you.

And mostly because it's untrue. I need no help with my son, and he still has a father who takes great care of him. The only responsibility any man in my life would ever have towards my son would to be a good role model. But, then again, I know that can be asking too much for a man who likes to spend all his free time at a bar drinking beer and playing pool with his buddy.

But the thing that really gets me steaming about the fact that he illegally pulled the kid card on me is that I don't really think my kid was his problem.

He had other problems, but not enough balls to lay it all out on the table. What a man.

I think from now on when I meet someone the first thing I will say to him is "Hi, my name is Tamy, and I have a kid." Before I charm them with my devilish good looks and whit.

That way I get to see their first reaction, which we all know is the truest reaction. Because really, the next time a boyfriend pulls the kid card on me, I'm likely to punch him right in the face.

P.S. Fake teeth? I mean, really? How could anyone not laugh at that. Pick the fucking wedgie and get over it.


5am, too early for doctors and nurses...

Ya know how whenever shit hits the fan, it really hits the fan? Like, one thing can't go wrong without taking everything else with it.

My last stride was when my son woke up at 5am and wasn't breathihng. That warranted us a trip to the ER, where it took four hours to stop the massive asthma attack he was suffering.

The only good thing about the whole event was that my son was here with me, a chronic asthmatic, and not at his dad's house where his cough could have been mistaken.

I wish I could lay down and sleep for the next century, but I can't get my sick kid to stop chasing the dog about the house. For christ sake, what do parents have to do to get their kids to understand their limits?

Couldn't the doctor give me some sedatives or something? I mean for me, not the kid...


Retard baby...

The best way to get your spirits up when your feeling a bit down is to go through the old photo boxes. And at this very moment that is what my entire family is doing, so I thought I would join in. I need a little cheer.

And let me tell you, we found some great stuff, I mean great for blackmail, great to blowup poster size and hang on your wall, just great.

I even found pictures of my sisters picking wedggies, so great.

However, I did eventually have to leave the room from embarrassment, as my mother found a good handful of photographs of me as a baby making these awful faces. And when I say awful, I don't mean screaming and crying awful, I mean awful like when someone catches you making a bad face, your body contorted in between motions. I've been dubbed the retard baby. Great.


I't's harder on me than most have considered...

In less than two weeks my sister and her husband are moving to Canada! Yes, Canada! And the truth is, it hadn't sunk in until today when they began to pack their trailer full of all their great stuff, stuff I often use. It made the move real for me when Dan told me they were taking an early trip up to Canada so he could secure a job, and so they could drop off a load of their stuff. Wow, this is really happening.

It's just so weird, and a little scary, because both my sisters and I have always lived so close to each other we could throw a cat and hit one another. But really, I've never been more than a thirty minute drive away from one of them, and now I'll have to cross an international boarder and travel miles just to see one of them, the one that will soon have babies.

I mean, why couldn't the crazy, fertiless one go? I mean, she won't be giving me any nieces or nephews to hug and spoil and teach dirty jokes to. Why couldn't she be the one to go?

But more importantly, how will I cope with the fact that the strongest bond I have, the one I share with my sisters, breaking?

I want to go back to the days when my sister and her husband would think about moving, but never make any real plans.Those were the days...



I was sitting by the fire tonight, mesmerized by the flame, my mouth salivating with the thought of roasted marsh and mallow goodness, but my mind was salivating at the thought of my trip to St. Louis next week.

It will be the first trip I intend to take with my flight benefits at my new job. Why St. Louis? Because my good friend Rosie Posie is in St. Louis.

Hey, speaking of fire, and speaking of Rose... Let me tell you a story...

Rose and fire make a dangerous combination, especially if you happen to be standing below a window when Rose and fire decide to tango. Mostly, because Rose likes to throw things that have caught aflame out windows. I know for a fact she's done it with at least one toaster. One time she almost burnt a McDonald's down. Ok, that might me getting a bit drastic, she simply caught the change machine on fire and then threw it out of a window, at least I think she threw it out the window as it was on fire and she was next to a window. So what else would she have done with it?

Anyways, one time she took her long criminal career of fire starting to a whole new level when she tried to burn down my mother's house. Keep in mind that I said tried, because she has never successfully managed to burn something down, just start the fire. It's kind of like a hit man who only injures his targets, never takes them out. That is Rose. And how do I love her so...

Anyways, Rose, being the newly discovered woman she was, decided a nice hot oil treatment would do her beautiful locks a bit of good. So what did she do? First, like any good analytical person, she read the directions on the box of V05 hot oil treatment (Don't tell her I said this, but I think that was where she first went wrong, with the selection of oil, not the directions). Although, I fear she may have also read those directions terribly wrong, as they called for a hot towel to wrap around your head after the oil treatment is applied. Naturally, someone would assume that meant a moist wet towel, maybe one soaked in hot water. But not Rose. She took the directions as literally as they were written. So, she found one of my favorite purple towels and tossed it high and dry in the microwave for way too fucking long. When she pulled it out of the microwave it was so hot it was smoking. Apparently, smoke does not warrant a toss out of the window, but mearly walking it outside and setting upon a wooden chair on our wooden deck.

Now, I was never a girl scout, but I do happen to know the effect wind has on something smoking. Hmmmm...

Do you see where this is going? Yeah, that towel caught fire, burnt a hole right through the wooden bench and the deck, and then the ash ran havoc on my neighbors AC unit which then ran havoc throughout his house.

And when we came home and found no remnants of the towel, but a hole burnt through the deck, we didn't know what to make of it. Rose latter figured it out, though she was slow to the conclusion, teenagers...

I can't wait to see Rose next week, so we can't set the town on fire, figuratively of course.