Man Interests

 

          I am sure no one in my circle of friends or family takes my man interests seriously anymore.  I mean, in the past year, look at this:

 

The Cotton Farmer:  This doesn’t count as a man interest since I had an actual relationship with this guy.  I adored him actually.  Too bad we made each other psycho.

 

WTF Guy:  This guy always had me pick him up in various places around town for our dates.  It was bizarre and I could never figure it out.  He also didn’t seem to have a home because he never had me pick him up or drop him off at a house, ever.  Even if it was midnight, he wanted me to drop him off at McDonalds.  Then I realized his last name on Facebook was a fake last name.  When confronted, he said the fake last name was a nickname in high school and it’s what he went by.  I told him to get to kicking rocks because I assumed he was married or a criminal or something.

 

The Jealous Freak:  After about a month of dating I brought this yahoo along to Lubbock to meet my friends.  My friend Tracy showed me her boyfriend’s butt and I asked if I could feel it and she gave me her permission.  My friends and I are not prude dicks and tend to allow each other feeling privileges of our love interests around our third vodka spritzer.  My date walked up behind me, grabbed the back of my hair, and yanked it as hard as he could.  I was FURIOUS.  Tracy and her boyfriend, my friends Tasha and Jeff, all of us vaminosed the hell out of there and left him alone.  We went to another bar where I started making out with Jeff (every time we drink together, Jeff and I decide we are in love, make out, discuss how glorious our offspring would be, and discuss world events, while bugging our friends with our overdeveloped since of justice), vowing to leave the Freak in Lubbock all by himself and he could hitch-hike back to Abilene.  The freak tried to follow us into the bar but got kicked out BEFORE HE EVEN GOT IN, and sat in the street leaving various voicemails and sending texts proclaiming his love and begging me to forgive him. The only text I sent him was to tell him to find his own way home and then I got back to slobbering all over Jeff.  Tasha said that it was pretty shitty to just leave him in a town he’d never been to and to just get him back to Abilene and then tell him to fuck off.  Which is exactly what I did.

 

The Redhead:  This guy was actually pretty nice but I couldn’t get over the fact that my thighs were bigger than his.  He also wasn’t a good communicator and pretty much his only response to everything I said was “Hmm.”  I disliked that.

 

Ice:  I found out after three dates that he was snorting ice.  That is repulsive.  I gave him some resources for drug hotlines and told him if he came near me again I’d call the cops.

 

Sweater Guy:  This guy was an idiot.  On our second date I told him I was cold so we went back to his place since his house was closer and we went inside so he could lend me a jacket.  We were in there maybe five minutes, which was long enough for his roommate to jack my GPS from my Explorer.  I noticed as soon as we got back into the Explorer because I am LOST without my GPS, AKA Larohnda.  (Chuck Lewis died.)  Literally lost.  I was like, “Hey, where is Larohnda?” and he was like, “My roommate just got out of jail for stealing.  You should have locked your car.”  I was like, “Well, go inside and get it from him.  I need it.”  He said it would be better to just buy a new GPS.  I told him to get the shit out of my truck.

 

The Architect:  This guy was great.  It was going great.  I really, really thought there might be a future with this guy.  And then my friend texted me and let me know that my beloved was on a dating website.  Obviously we made a fake profile and contacted him with our invented girl and he said he was single and couldn’t wait to meet her. Once he found out he’d been caught, he said “Well, if you’d spend more time with me, I wouldn’t have to find other girls on the internet.”  Bitch please.  I told him, “If you feel like we don’t spend enough time together, you are supposed to bring this to my attention and we could work it out.  You’re just being a creepy cheater.  Later.”  And I never talked to him again.

 

The Pretentious Annoying Guy:  This guy was so incredibly annoying.  He had an associates degree in computer technology or something and because of this, you would have thought he had a PHD and established world peace.  He had the audacity to sit with me at lunch and tell me how he had “diagnosed” three of his exe’s with various personality disorders.  “Why do you feel like you are qualified to do that?” I asked him.  “I have a degree,” he said, “I know what I’m talking about.”

“You have an associates degree in computer technology,” I pointed out.

“I am right and you are wrong,” he said and put his hand up like a stop sign.  I was very interested in such behavior. 

“What an odd sense of entitlement,” I said to him, “Very odd.”

He loved to meditate and made sure to tell others how superior he was because of this.  He loved to point out how amazing he was because of his vegan, organic diet.  He loved to discuss how brilliant he was and typically he had no clue what he was talking about and when I’d point out something he’d said that was incorrect he would become irrational and blame others or just say he wasn’t arguing with an “inferior mind.” 

“How is my mind inferior if I’m smarter than you?” I texted, “I am actually emotionally and intellectually superior to you.  So I don’t understand why you feel like my mind is inferior to yours.”

“Your not smarter then me”

That was his response.

“You’re and than.”

That was my response.

I mean, it would never occur to me typically to point out or even care who is smarter or knows more about what.  Who cares?  When you hang out with someone it’s because you enjoy their company and want to do things together.  Normal, well adjusted, healthy people who are comfortable with themselves do not go around putting others down and telling everyone how great they are.  This guy was totally delusional because he based his brilliance with and better than though attitude on a stupid associates degree in computer technology.  Loser.  The breaking point came when I dutch ovened him.  He pouted, said “I really need to process what just happened to me,” and I got up, told him he was annoying, and left.  Deuces.

 

The Spaniard:  This guy was hilarious but totally crazy.  He picked me up on our first date, drunker than a skunk.  I had no clue he was drunk at first.  I thought he was just a freaking weirdo.  He had Spanish music on in his car, turned up loud, singing passionately along with the real singer.  It was very annoying but I had to give it to him: he was a very good singer.  Then he tried to show me he could drive with his feet.  He kept asking me if I wanted him to take me home.

“I am a very nice person,” he assured me over and over again.  He said “person” like “pair sone.”  I am a sucker for an accent.  At one point I pulled out my phone to call my sister, Amber.  She HAD to hear this guy.  When I pulled out my phone, the Spaniard yelled, "Oh no!  Are you calling the cops?"
I looked at him.  "Why on earth would I call the cops?"
"I am not a predator!" he screamed.
"OK dude, good.  Shit."
  He took me to the house of some illegal immigrants from Mexico and the lady asked me in Spanish, “You let him drive you out here drunk?”

“He’s drunk?” I asked?

“Couldn’t you smell it on him?” she asked.

I don’t have the Spanish vocabulary and didn’t have the patience to explain to her that I do not have a sense of smell so I just sat there, wondering why I was at this crappy house when I specifically told him I wanted him to take me to Abuellos the day before.  Then he tried to ram his tongue down my throat, I slapped him, grabbed my phone, and ran away into the night.  I called my friends to come get me and it took them over an hour to find me because I had no idea where I was.

 

That’s not even all of them.  I meet some of the weirdest freaks, I swear.  Anyway, this is why I am hesitant to even discuss my love interests until I’ve been dating them for a month and the time has come to introduce Chris to my blogging world.  I met him only a couple of days after he shattered his elbow in a car crash.  He’d just had surgery and the first thing he said to me on our first date was “I am so high.”  I went to turn to walk away from him then realized he was talking about pain pills because of his surgery and gave him a hug instead.  For some unknown reason, I thought a party full of strippers and illegal immigrants from various parts of Mexico would be a good place for a first date.  Naturally I ended up getting drunk and solicited him to go do naughty things in a shed.  He refused.  I propositioned him again when we were driving to his house for him to take another dose of medicine only this time I suggested a dirt road.

“My ex, this cotton farmer yahoo, we used to do that all the time,” I assured him.

He refused again.  Thank God.  The next day I felt like such a freak and was surprised when he texted, “Good morning, how are you?”  I apologized and assured him I rarely drink and thanked him for not taking advantage of the situation.  A couple of weeks later we were at the park with our kids and he kicked me right in the butt.  Naturally, I decided to retaliate and ordered the children to attack him.  I did not know he would take off in a dead sprint, the fool.  I yelled at him, “You’re going to fall!”

And as soon as I said it, he did.  Hard.  He even rolled.  I saw him fall on his elbow and knew we’d be going to the emergency room.  This was on Valentine’s Day by the way.  I was right indeed and we did need to go to the ER.  He kept complaining that his shoulder on his other arm hurt and I said, “It’s just a pulled muscle.  I’m more worried about your elbow.”

I get the bad girlfriend of the month award because he broke that shoulder and also rebroke his elbow and had to have two more surgeries.  One arm is in a cast, the other in a sling, and he is not in a chipper mood.  What a way to start off a relationship.  I'm just ready for this guy to get cured so I can figure out who he is underneath pain pills and misery.  We shall see.

Abbey is a Genius and the Humans of the House are Gross

The other day, I went into the living room to escape from my children and noticed there were plush toys scattered all over the place.  I had just cleaned the living room a mere two hours before and seeing this child paraphernalia all over the blasted place annoyed me. 

“Caleb!” I hollered.

Kayla came running in, “Yes Mommy?”

“No, CalEB,” I said.  Naming your kids Kayla and Caleb is a dumb idea.  So much confusion.

Caleb came running in, roaring and grunting because at that moment, he was The Hulk.

“Did you bring all these toys in here?” I asked him.

“I am The HUUUUULK!” he bellowed and punched the sofa.

“Yes, I am aware,” I told him, “Did you bring these toys in here?”

“NOOOO,” he said in his Hulk voice, “ABBEY DID IT.”

Ugh.  It’s like when Makayla would blame her indiscretions on Archibald and Stephon when she was little.

“Abbey did not do this,” I said, “Pick them up.”

The Hulk took off his mask and said in his Caleb voice, “Mommy, Abbey really did it.  I didn’t bring these in here.”

“Abbey really did do it,” Makayla said, “She should take them back.”

“Abbey did not bring Y’ALLS toys in here,” I said, “pick them up.”

They picked them up and Caleb glared at the dog which I thought was a little dramatic.  The next day while the kids were in school, I dusted the living room then went into the kitchen to play with my crock pot.  I went back into the living room to get my phone and yelped because there were plush toys all over the place.  I am a total tool and this is why:  for a split second I considered there might be a ghost in my apartment.  And I got spooked the shit out.  Until I saw Abbey trot in with a plush toy in her mouth, drop it on the carpet, and run back to the kids’ room for another.

“By DOG!” I yelled, “You are a genius!  It really was you!” 

Her reaction was to run to me, this time with her leash and then run to the door and howl.  Like a bonified coyote.  This is how she lets it be known she needs to pee or poop. 

I took her outside and she did her business and I told her we both owed the kids an apology.

“You can’t go around framing the kids,” I told her, “they have it hard enough already without being framed by their k-9 companion.  Uncool Abbey, very uncool.” 

Anyway, the past forty eight hours have been horrible.  A week after having some flu/cold thing, we all three came down with a stomach flu.  It started at the park.  I had already had my daily run with Abbey and went back home to get the kids and their new Husky puppy, Taylor Swift the Second.  Taylor Swift the Second is only seven weeks old and I don’t trust her to not poop in the car and she can’t run with Abbey and me, mostly because I am not athletic enough to run with two dogs on a leash at once.  Plus a seven week old pup could not keep up with Abbey and me.  Abbey and I are like seeing a blur go past you when we run; we are THAT fast.  Anyway, I went and fetched my offspring and then the pup and went back to the park.  We love the park.  We are there so much I am sure people think we are homeless and live there.  During my earlier run, I had cut it short because I kept getting these gross waves of nausea.  For a split second I panicked and wondered if I needed to pee on a stick but then I remembered I have not been penetrated by anything that could impregnate me so I wondered if I just needed to eat something.  On the way to the park, Caleb said he felt like he wanted to throw up and Makayla said her stomach hurt.  Oh no.  Sickly children.  To test them I said, “OK, we don’t need to go to the park then.”

Instant protests.  They were either faking or not too bad off.  Suckers.

We got to the park and I realized I was getting light headed and my muscles were aching.  My children weren’t running around like cracked out lunatics as is their usual manner, but instead, just sitting on the ground watching everyone else.  Oh no. 

“Mooooomy,” Caleb moaned, “I have to poop.”

We went to the bathroom and he pooped about ten gallons of runny child poo and needed assistance wiping his butt.  It was that bad.  And as I wiped his bottom he said, “Mommy…uh oh,”

“What’s uh oh?” I asked and as soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that “uh oh” was Caleb pooping all over my knees and shoos.  To wipe his rear I had him bend over and I got down to my knees to see what I was doing and his little butt was positioned over my lap.  I wasn’t fazed; I have been covered in child feces before.  Caleb used to shoot out his poo after I would unconstipate him and it really would explode onto my lap or chest or head or whatever. 

When he saw what he did, he was very upset.  Being five means you are very big and strong and good at stuff and pooping on your Mom is something a baby would do.  That’s what he said anyway.

“It’s OK,” I told him, “I’ve pooped my pants when I was bigger than five.  I did it like a year ago.  It happens.”

Yes, I lie to my children.  So what?  He felt better and I cleaned us up and off we went.  At home, we ate soup and all went to lie in my bed.  Makayla was moaning.  She doesn’t handle being sick well.  Neither do I.  I wasn’t moaning but I was cursing.  My stomach kept cramping and I’d have to run to the bathroom.  Then that started happening to the kids.  For hours, the three of us had explosive diarrhea and only two toilets.  I literally told the kids to poop in the bathroom trashcan if the toilets were occupied so they wouldn’t poop their pants.  It was horrible.  When I finally felt like maybe I could venture into the world without defecating all over the place, I ran to the store next door for water and Gatorade.  I was terrified my offspring were in danger for being horribly dehydrated and I wanted liquid in them ASAP.  They were indeed very dehydrated and drank and drank and pooped and pooped until they finally passed out in a heap on top of me.  This went on for 48 hours.  When we all woke up at three thirty pm today, we were all sweaty, with hair matted to our heads, shaking and dazed.  No one was hungry but I had them sip some soup and drink water.  They are both exhausted and already wanting to go to bed.  This stomach bug was not kidding.  The End.

This Blasted Boy Child

I really wish I knew why Caleb loves to cut his own hair.  I just feel like he's old enough to look in the mirror and SEE that when he does this to himself, it looks ridiculous.  Self inflicted hair cuts started for Caleb before kindergarten started.  He figured if he cut his own hair and made himself look insane enough, he wouldn't have to go.  But BEHOLD!  He had to go anyway.  In reality, Caleb has been cutting his own hair since his little hands were coordinated enough to manipulate a pair of scissors.  I thought I had found a solution when Grandma just started shaving his head.  But then my yahoo cotton farmer lover told me Caleb looked like he just came straight from the Holocaust and every time I looked at my son after that, I felt like I should apologize to him for his grotesque appearance.  So taking the advice from a not so fashion savvy farmer, I went ahead and stopped having Caleb's head shaved and told him, "Bubba, do NOT cut your own hair.  It looks horrible when you do that.  If you cut your own hair you're going to be in trouble."  I reminded Makayla to keep her scissors picked up but we have tons of scissors in this house because Makayla is an artist and I can't open packages by hand without injuring myself.  The other day I went into the kids' bathroom to start their baths and I saw clumps of brown hair all in the sink and on the floor...and a pair of purple handled scissors strategically hidden under a wad of toilet paper on the side of the sink.  I went in search of Caleb, hoping, HOPING he had cut the hair off of one of Makayla's dolls but I found him hiding in his sisters closet with a scarf over his head.
"Get out of there and take that scarf off," I told him.
"No," he said back.
I gave him a mother look because he isn't allowed to say no and he came out of the closet but clung to the scarf.
"You cut your hair," I told him, "I saw it in the bathroom.  Let me see."
He feigned a confused look and then his eyes lit up like he had JUST now remembered that he butchered his hair.
"Oh YEAH!" he exclaimed, "I DID cut my hair!  But it was like, forever ago that I did that.  It probably growed back by now."
"You cut your hair within the last fifteen minutes," I told him, "I don't think it's grown back by now.  And it looks like you cut a lot of it.  Let me see."
"I think I am just shy today," he said.
I yanked the scarf off his head and rolled my eyes.  He had four large bald spots on various parts of his head.  It looked like he had shaved them.
"How do you even cut your hair SO short?" I asked him, "This looks crazy.  I can't cover that up."
He went from sweet to defiant and roared, "Well I LOVE it and it's MY hair so THERE you mean mother."
"And you're MY son and you have to follow MY rules and you are in VERY serious trouble for cutting your hair," I told him.  I spanked his butt and made him clean his hair out of the sink.  Then I put him in front of the mirror and showed him just how silly his hair looked but he just grinned at his bald spots proudly and asked if he could make "just a tiny other spot" on the side where he forgot to cut his hair.  Blasted boy.  Blasted bald spots.  I'm really ready for him to outgrow this hair cutting stage.  I feel like I have to explain to people that he isn't diseased and that I don't have his hair cut like this on purpose.  After school this afternoon, as we drove home, I caught Makayla in the review mirror just looking at him, shaking her head.
"Makayla, that isn't very nice," I said, "why are you looking at your brother like that?"
She looked at me with a "duh" look and said, "Mommy.  Just LOOK at him.  Look at his HAIR.  It's embarrassing."
Before I could say anything Caleb said, "I LOVE myself so THERE."
So there.