I live in a duplex.  There are several duplexes on our little cul-de-sac, along with some small, garden-style apartment buildings.  Most have a driveway on either side, and a parking lot in the back.  Each dwelling has its own parcel of parking lot in the back, owned exclusively by the owner of the dwelling itself.  Read carefully: these are NOT right-of-way passages. 

Once upon a time, each of these dwellings was privately owned and owner-occupied.  But then families moved out, greedy slum-lords bought a bunch of them, and they sold out quicker than MC Hammer being offered a Pepsi commercial.  Many of these tenants, God bless ‘em, have never lived anywhere but the projects, so they have little concept of private home ownership.  This became glaringly apparent one day when one particular babydaddy came to pick up his little girl for his court-mandated visit. 

My son was parked behind our house, blocking the driveway that WE own.  Us.  Not the town, not the “apartment management” (because it’s not a fucking apartment complex or a project – it’s a PRIVATELY OWNED HOME).  But I digress.  Mr. BabyDaddy pulled up behind my son’s car and began throwing himself against his horn.  (Mind you, he did NOT have to go through our driveway to get out.  He simply had to BACK. UP. about 7 feet out of the side driveway he was ALREADY. IN.)  So Mr. BD laid on his horn, and I looked at him, and looked away.  A young friend of mine was up on our patio with her head cocked sideways, wondering what Mr. BD was honking at.  I knew what his problem was, but was choosing to ignore him, hoping he’d get the picture that I was NOT going to pay attention to what must have been some BabyDaddy mating call.

Since I didn’t respond Mr. BD got his BIG, SCARY, LARGE BODY FULL OF MUSCLE SELF (did I mention he was big?  And scary?) out of his car and proceeds to YELL at me.  It went something like this:

Mr. BD: Is ‘DIS YO CAH!?? (gestures to my son’s malibu)
Me: No, it’s my son’s.
Mr. BD: SO AH CAN’T GO TRU HERE??
Me: You can when he leaves.  This is private property.  It’s not a right-of-way. (I swear, some days this is my mantra)
(scary man takes a step forward)
Mr. BD: DIS RIGHT HERE??
Me: Yes.
Mr. BD: (taking another step towards me) DIS RIGHT HERE.
Me: Yes.
Mr. BD: (calming down a little, but still scary) Aight.  Long’s ah know.

Meanwhile, I looked back at my friend standing on the porch.  She’s from the ‘burbs, so she’s not used to this sort of friendly banter.  As such, she grimaced in a way that might have been mistaken for a smile.  Apparently, Mr. BD thought exactly that, because he turned towards us again and yelled “OH YEAH!!  YOU WHITE WOMEN GO AND LAUGH!!”

This is when a normal person would’ve turned around and sought the safety of her house, BEHIND the locked door.  But instead, I turned and I swear I did that neck thing and even took on the accent o’ tude and yelled “WHY’S IT GOTTA BE ‘BOUT WHITE??”

But scary man had already gotten back in his car, where his dear daughter (who is half white, btw) was patiently waiting for him to berate the defenseless white women.

Aaaahhh, memories.

The lesson here?  I’m not sure.  But it did feel good not to be killed and raped by the angry white-woman-hating scary BabyDaddy.

 See Lilu’s awesomely funny blog for more information on TMIT!

The following is a true story, told directly from the featured woman to a very reliable source, and re-told by me, in the form of a limerick.

There once was a girl named May
She was very “full-figured,” I’d say
She went on a date
You could say it was fate
He even brought her a lovely bouquet. 

So off to dinner they went
And ate until their hearts were content
But they were both feeling frisky
After food, wine and whiskey
(in his pants he was pitching a tent!) 

Back to her place they did go
(some might say she was being a ho)
But neither a prude
They both got nude
With all of their “parts” all aglow 

He proceeded to stick it “down there”
But he seemed to be quite unaware
That, truth be told
He was fucking a fold
But she figured, “he likes it, who cares!”

Valentine’s Day oh Valentine’s Day, how do I love thee!
Yeah.  I don’t.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I have my reasons.  And there are those who think they know that reason – some would accuse me of disliking this day because I seem to lack what many women have – the “romance” gene.  I tell people our story of how my husband and I met 12 years ago, lost touch, lived practically parallel lives and got in touch through a huge coincidence, and then roll my eyes when they say “it was meant to BE!”  They’d be wrong (about the reason for disliking V-day – not about the lack of romanticism.  That part’s totally true.)  Some who don’t know me might guess that I’m bitter (well yeah, sometimes, but that has nothing to do with it) or been burned badly (here and there, but who hasn’t?) . 

So why, you ask, don’t I like Valentine’s Day? (or alternately, get to the fucking point already!)

Because it’s stupid.  That’s why. It’s fake. 

Wanna know how Valentine’s Day started?  Historians can’t even agree on THAT.  While the origins are widely disputed, they do pretty much agree on this – it wasn’t about no LOVE.  HELL no.  The stories and historical accounts I’ve read include stories of three separate martyrs named Valentine (one particularly favored by the Catholic church), one dealing with the rape of virgins by werewolf men (really), and one regarding fertilizing women through flagellation.  How is that even possible?

BUT, my biggest gripe with Valentine’s Day is the way it makes people feel.  And I’m not just talking about the single people who wish they weren’t single – I’m talking about the coupled folks, too.

If you’re single on Valentine’s Day?  Dude, it sucks.  A lot.  I swear, you NEVER know how much of American culture is geared towards couples until you aren’t a member of one.  This one needs little more explaining than that. 

For those that do have a Valentine – there’s just so much pressure! (especially if you’re male)  Think about it (and guys, you feel me here?  even though I don’t have a penis?) on Valentine’s Day, you just. can’t. win.  Seriously.  You bought flowers?  Well, why did you buy roses?  I hate roses!!  And Suzy got a necklace from her man. Why didn’t I get a necklace?  Don’t you love me enough?  Sound familiar here, guys?  And you didn’t get me chocolates.  Is that because you think I’m fat??

So basically, you can’t win for losing (although I’m not sure what that means – “can’t win for losing.”  huh?).  As long as there are women who won’t share their expectations and think “if you really loved me you’d know what to get me,” , there will be disappointment as a direct result of an erroneously made-up holiday (yep – I strongly believe that the Christian Church hijacked Valentine’s Day from the Ancient Romans, who celebrated Lupercalia on this day). 

The bottom line is this – the level of a man’s (or woman’s) love and committment should be judged by the overall state of the relationship ALL year, not just on whether or not he can be a mind-reader on Valentine’s Day. (btw, a day that didn’t include greeting cards until the mid 1800’s).

Ok, stepping down off of my soapbox now…. By the way, I had a wonderful Valentine’s Day, so this is not coming from a bitter place (THIS time). It’s coming from a very opinionated place that hurts for the men and women who see Valentine’s Day as either a reminder of their lonliness, a litmus test of love, or a stressful day of inevitable failure.

Oh yeah, Happy Valentine’s Day.

TMI Thursday — live the horror, share the shame.

See Lilu’s awesomely funny blog for more information on TMIT!

So while I don’t particularly consider this to be “too much information,” my child may! *

My son grew up as an athlete.  He’s one of those (annoying to us non-athletes) people who can be introduced to a sport, and immediately perform like he’s been playing all his life.  “What do you call this?  A tennis racket?” ::Andre Agassi impression follows here::

This was so inherent that his first word was “ball.”  No, not “mama,” not “baba,” – “BALL.”  Even at the age of 1 or 2, if he saw a sport on tv, he’d stop DEAD in his tracks and watch, mesmerized.  I, on the other hand, still struggle to understand the intricacies of football and to a lesser extent, baseball.  Infield fly rule says what??

So anyway, one day, when my dear little 2 and a half year old was done with a  bath, he was running around “nakie” for a bit, as he was wont to do.  For some reason, he bent down with his head on the floor and started “feeling around down there.”  All of a sudden, his face LIT. UP. and he gasped a huge gasp, looked at me with utter awe on his face, and exclaimed “there’s. BALLS. in. there!!”  like he’d just made the. greatest. discovery. ever.  And to him, he had.  They’d been there all along, and he never has to be bored again for the rest of his life.  Oh Glory be.  Nineteen years later and I bet he is STILL in awe of that discovery!

*I was given my son’s blessing to post the above story for the entire internet world to read.  No, I’m not THAT cruel! 

1. Have you ever been denied “friendship” on facebook from those you thought were your “friends”?  It SOOO brings me back to high school!  I mean, I thought Suzy liked me!  I mean, so what if we haven’t spoken since 8th grade chorus.  I’m cool, dammit!

2. I have this…thing…on my bottom eyelid.  It hurts and it makes me look like a Petville beast.  (OOP!  My ‘nerd’ is showing.)

3. I like watching Judge Judy.  Her litigants make me feel intellectually superior.

4. I hate school.  HATE. IT.  I’m doing it, but it’s totally a means to an end. If I could pay some sketchy person for a fake degree, I’d totally do it.  But I can’t afford it and the people in my ‘hood pretty much stick to petty theft as their areas of expertise, so a-matricilating I go.

5. I need to write the next chapter of my ’story.’ 

So yeah, these thoughts are not deep by any stretch, but I just wanted to say hi and let those who have expressed concerned that I appreciate it very much!  And that I’ll be back tomorrow with a cute TMI that is at the expense of my child, because my need for validation is greater than my need to protect my son’s reputation.  Plus it’s not really “tmi” per se, but just cute. 

See ya tomorrow!

So what are your goals, dreams and hopes for what this new year will bring?

And before I sign off for the year, I’d like to share one of my favorite essays.  It’s been a VERY important lesson for me over the past several years, especially when you take into account my relationship history.  Until I learned the lesson contained herein, I would not have been able to sustain a happy, successful relationship with my husband.  I hope it inspires you as it did me.

LET IT GO…

By T. D. Jakes

There are people who can walk away from you.

And hear me when I tell you this! When people can walk away from you: let them walk. I don’t want you to try to talk another person into staying with you, loving you, calling you, caring about you, coming to see you, staying attached to you. I mean hang up the phone.

When people can walk away from you let them walk. Your destiny is never tied to anybody that left.

The bible said that, they came out from us that it might be made manifest that they were not for us. For had they been of us, no doubt they would have continued with us. [1 John 2:19]

People leave you because they are not joined to you. And if they are not joined to you, you can’ t make them stay.

Let them go.

And it doesn’t mean that they are a bad person it just means that their part in the story is over. And you’ve got to know when people’s part in your story is over so that you don’t keep trying to raise the dead.
You’ve got to know when it’s dead.

You’ve got to know when it’s over. Let me tell you something. I’ve got the gift of good-bye. It’s the tenth spiritual gift, I believe in good-bye. It’s not that I’m hateful, it’s that I’m faithful, and I know whatever God means for me to have He’ll give it to me. And if it takes too much sweat I don’t need it. Stop begging people to stay.

Let them go!!

If you are holding on to something that doesn’t belong to you and was never intended for your life,

then you need to……

LET IT GO!!!

If you are holding on to past hurts and pains ……

LET IT GO!!!

If someone can’t treat you right, love you back, and see your worth….

LET IT G O!!!

If someone has angered you .

LET IT GO!!!

If you are holding on to some thoughts of evil and revenge……

LET IT GO!!!

If you are involved in a wrong relationship or addiction……

LET IT GO!!!

If you are holding on to a job that no longer meets your needs or talents

LET IT GO!!!

If you! u have a bad attitude…….

LET IT GO!!!

If you keep judging others to make yourself feel better……

LET IT GO!!!

If you’re stuck in the past and God is trying to take you to a new level in Him……

LET IT GO!!!

If you are struggling with the healing of a broken relationship…….

LET IT GO!!!

If you keep trying to help someone who won’t even try to help themselves……

LET IT GO!!!

If you’re feeling depressed and stressed ……..

LET IT GO!!!

If there is a particular situation that you are so used to handling yourself and God is saying ‘take your hands off of it,’ then you need to……

LET IT GO!!!

Let the past be the past. Forget the former things. GOD is doing a new thing for (2010)!!!

LET IT GO!!!

Get Right or Get Left .. think about it, and then

LET IT GO!!!

TMI Thursday — live the horror, share the shame.

 See Lilu’s awesomely funny blog for more information on TMIT!

I’m not sure if these 2 quick stories even count as “too much information,” but they’re about butts, underwear and my co-workers, and since I don’t need to know about my co-workers’ butts, nor their underwear, I’m going with it.  Plus, that stuff is funny.

Doreen, the good subservient wife

Once upon a time there was a young woman named Doreen.  Doreen was a newlywed, and Doreen and her new husband were fond of practical jokes. 

One day, when Doreen was feeling particularly feisty, her husband Ron asked her to empty the ashtray before she went to bed, and then he promptly went to bed and fell asleep.  Doreen was a bit annoyed at this request, did exactly as he’d requested.  She emptied the ashtray of all the cigarette butts – and stuffed them one-by-one into his asscrack while he slept. 
The end.

Mr. Sister

There is a gentleman who works at my company whose name is Jay.  Now, I always thought Jay was gay (not that there’s ANYthing wrong with that.  It’s just what I thought.)  But Jay is married, which doesn’t prove anything, and none of this has anything to do with the story.

Anygay, once, when Jason was in fourth grade, he was getting ready for school and discovered that he had NO clean underwear.  None.  Not even a pair that he could turn inside out.  So Jay, already running late for school, ran into his sister’s room and grabbed the first pair he saw.  Not a fan of going commando, Jay figured they were under his clothes, so who’s gonna know, right?

Later that day, during school, all the boys were called to the nurse’s office.  “Guess what kids, today’s the day for your annual school physical!”  Yep, that’s right.  All the boys were asked to strip down to their skivvies.  Jay protested.  And protested…but the doctor they’d brought in absolutely insisted that he strip down.  So Jay, already cringing, did so.  Imagine his classmates’ reaction when they saw Jay standing there in undies decorated in blue flowers with pretty pink leaves on them.  He was tortured for the rest of the year.

And although I know this happened to him in fourth grade, all I can picture when I see him now is this:

This is not fun for me.

drumroll please…

AMY! from Just a Titch!

Amy is a fellow blogger who runs a FABULOUS blog over at Just a Titch.  Amy commented with “I would like to win, please.”  Well, Amy, you got your wish!  You will soon* be the proud owner of a bag of Chicken Bones from Ganong -  St. Stephen, New Brunswick’s (only) claim to fame.  Ganong Bros. Ltd. is Canada’s oldest candy company, founded in 1873, and is the inventor

of the heart-shaped box, as well as their original Chicken Bones. 

Don’t worry, Amy – I’m not sending you some voodoo bag of bloody bones with feathers still attached – Chicken Bones are made of a hard cinnamon candy shell that “melts away to a delicious Ganong bittersweet chocolate surprise center.”  They are the BOMB!

CONGRATULATIONS Amy!  And thank you to everyone else who participated!  Check back for more giveaways and contests.

*when I say she’ll “soon” be the proud owner, I mean “when I get around to shipping them.”  So Amy, I hope you’re still hungry for candy in April! 

Anyway, if you like chocolate, cinnamon and Canada, this giveaway is for you!

So what do you need to do, you ask?  COMMENT!  Comment first on this post and include a useable e-mail address and I will enter your name in a random drawing for this semi-surprise gift.  I promise not to spam you or sell your e-mail address or publicize your e-mail address in any way.  Comment on another post (you have to show that you at least skimmed the post) and you’ll get another entry for each post on which you comment (from today, 12/9/09 until 12/16/09).

Drawing will take place next Wednesday, with the winner posted just before next week’s TMI Thursday post.  So check back next Thursday for both the next installment of TMI Thursday AND the winner of the drawing!  Winner will also be contacted via e-mail so I can get your shipping info.

The small print:
It is not necessary that you celebrate Christmas in order to participate in this giveaway.  It is also not necessary to be Canadaian.  But even if you are Canadian, you can participate.  And you can even live in Canada.  But if you live somewhere other than the US or Canada, you can’t play.  Immediate family members (parents and siblings) of Ms. Terri are, unfortunately, not eligible for the giveaway.  Shut it.  You’re getting something from me anyway.  Aunts, cousins and more distant relatives may participate, since it’s more that likely that I didn’t get you anything.  Name-calling, threats and other forms of duress will not further your chances.  Flattery will.

TMI Thursday — live the horror, share the shame.

 See Lilu’s awesomely funny blog for more information on TMIT!

During my most recent stint as a single woman, I discovered the wonderful world of internet dating.  I met lots of fun guys, who will eventually make excellent fodder for more dating disasters, but for now, just a short story to share.

On this wonderful interwebz world, I met Tom (not his real name, on accounta’ I can’t remember it) and we chatted a bit online, and since he seemed nice enough, and not at all like a psycho ax killer, or a pants-dropper, I decided to meet him at Chilis.   

We met in the bar, had a drink, and then moved on to dinner.  The conversation was ok (and by “ok” I mean “better than a sharp stick in they eye”), and then after our fair to middlin’ dinner, he walked me to my car.  I was already bored to tears by this date, so I did what any self-respecting, bored single woman would do.  Go home and watch Lifetime you say?  Nooooo.  Grab your date and shove your tongue down his throat! 

So Tom, seeming to approve of this turn of events, asks me to his house.  I went*.

*Yes, I KNOW.  I should NEVER have gone over to a virtual stranger’s house.  But I did. And lived to tell the tale.  Dude, I was BORED!  Kids: Do NOT try this at home.

ANYway, he showed me around his house, yadayadayada…he’s still boring…so we make out some more. 

So you know when you’re making out with a guy?  And he’s pressed up against you and you can kind of “tell” when he’s, [ahem] “into” you?  Oh. My. Lanta.  This was not good – he was either into me and incredibly [ahem again] incredibly “unimpressive”…orrrrr…he had a chapstick in his pocket. 

I didn’t find out for sure that night, which was the actual case and I never went out with him again.  So I seriously don’t know the answer.

For your reference: