I'm an @$$hole...also titled: Jason is the Most Patient Man on the Planet

So now, I have an audience of 6 (yes, I'm including myself & my Mom). Woohoo!!! Sooo...my dear, much appreciated fan club, I want to share with you a warning. I can be a real pain in the patootie. Almost everyone in my life thinks of me as a very loving, encouraging person; and, I do try. Really. I swear. But once I get home; not so much. :(

Last night, after getting home and writing down the thoughts of the day regarding bacon (& Jesus), my daughter plays messenger and brings me a card. A greeting card. From Jason. *sigh* It was one of those really sweet, long written out "I love every day with you...even the ones where you're a total shit" type cards. (Thank you Blue Mountain.)

It should be noted here, that I had piano lessons after work last night (lessons that Jason encouraged me to take, because I'd always wanted to) so Jason picked up the kids (proactively, without having to be reminded or asked) and took them to Blockbuster to pick out some new movies (again, he's freakin' awesome) and then home for dinner, baths & helped Elena with ALL of her math homework for the week. (YES! I KNOW HOW AMAZING HE IS. SHUT UP!!!!)

So, Saint Jason (as I'm heretoforth labeling him) was sitting on the couch when I got home (after feeding, cleaning, helping & playing with my kids so I could go play) and the first thing out of my mouth when I walk in the door is:

"Good Lord it stinks in here!"

No, not "Hi, babe!" or "Wow, you didn't kill the kids!" but an instant, unsolicited bitchfest. And it got better...oh yes. Because AFTER I got my sweet and unprompted card (no birthday or anniversary or death in the fam) I went to bed raging like Mommy Dearest in a room full of wire hangers.

Yay me! I'm now the poster child for why good men leave crazy women. (No, he didn't leave...THANK GOD!)

Today began with me praying that I'll be able to keep him long enough for the meds to kick in (mine, not his). Jason put it this way...
"I know you WANT to be happy and enjoy it when you slip it in, but it's like your brain's default position is to 'goalie' trying to block the 'happy' ball from scoring."
*sigh*
He's right, y'all. Whether it's chemical, circumstancial or sleep deprivation...something's got to give. Otherwise...I'm just gifting a Superfriend & Superpartner right back into the universe, right along with all the benefits that he brings to my life...like the "happy ball".

I mean really...what part of the pig is NOT good to eat?

There is something just thoroughly annoying about being stuck in traffic behind a piece of shit Dodge Neon (no offense to the Dodge fans out there, but it really was a piece of shit!) and being forced to read the bumper stickers.
"MEAT IS MURDER!" & "SAVE OUR CHILDREN-GO GREEN!" & "REAL WOMEN ADOPT CATS" and then, my very favorite..."I'M A WICCAN PRIESTESS"

Ok, so let me just address a few things here...first off, let me say, that I am a very open minded person and would never, ever judge a person based on their dietary choices or their choice of pet, or religious preference...but let's get real here.

1. You cannot have kids & have multiple (more than 10)cats, and believe me, this woman had more than 10.

2. You cannot be a "Wiccan priestess" and observe the equinox and other dancing naked in the woods type earthly holidays if you have kids, because that requires a babysitter or a REALLY understanding family member and eventually, someone is going to give you too much shit for you to be able to be true to your convictions and you're going to have to settle for "smudging" your friends' houses with sage from BB&B and lighting candles for fun.

3. BACON IS JUST F'ING GOOD!!!

You can deny it. You can protest it. You can even call it MURDER. Hell, make it a capital offense and I'll turn myself in!

Cheeseburgers, bacon, ham, pork chops, turkey, fried chicken, steak...dear Lord, I'm happy to be a mass murderer of the bovine, swine & yard bird.

So I'm going to keep it simple. I love Jesus & Bacon. I'm proud of those facts and have decided to design bumper stickers of my own...hell, maybe even t-shirts.

To my veggisaur friends, I say..."Good for you, but you all know that you drool when you drive past a Hardee's."

LOL...mmmmmmm...bacon. Dammit! I got myself all worked up that I now either have to send Jason to Krystal's or eat my own dog. (It's a toss...the dog is pissing me off.)

Until next time,

b~

I'm International Bitches!!!! (aka: I LOVE SPAM!)

I'm new to this blogging thing-and not ashamed to admit it. What I am ashamed to admit, is that I'm a total f'ing MORON!
If you are a blogger, you may already know that your blog hosting site offers you the opportunity to check your "stats". Meaning: you can see if people other than you and your daughter's stuffed animals & your "loyal to a fault" boyfriend are actually reading what you write. I have international readers, y'all!

Hellooooo Denmark! :)

*Now please do not take this opportunity to let me know that these "readers" are probably search engines randomly accessing my site for some spam inspired purpose or by accident. I would gladly take some spam just be reminded that I'm not alone in the blogosphere.

I know I'm not as cool as Jenny or Aunt Becky but I'm an average read...so thank you for taking some time out of your busy day, Denmark, in order to kill some brain cells with me.

It's truly appreciated!


B~

I may not have any readers--but I have my very own queen. SO THERE!

I love other bloggers. I love The Bloggess, Jenny (she's my very favorite because she tickles my nether parts). And then there's Aunt Becky @ Mommy Wants Vodka. Funny bitches y'all. There are others, lots of others and I love that they make me smile and laugh (and piss myself); but mostly I love how they inspire others to react & respond.

Sometimes...ok...a lot (I know, I'm pathetic, but you can kiss my ass anyway)of times, I wonder if there is a flea's chance on my pit bull's butt that I'm EVER going to have a fraction of the readers they have.

Probably not...*sigh*.

I guess, that until then, I'm going to have to "make my happy". And you know how we do that around here y'all??? We dragulate. What the hay-ell is dragulate you ask??? It's when you let RuPaul and his gift for the fabulous, transform you (or some unsuspecting soul of whom you just happen to have a facial photo) into a FABULOUS DRAG QUEEN!!!! What the deuce?!!! Hell yeah!

So here's my shot--funny shit y'all.

Meet Pixie Truman. I love her (except that it sort of annoys me a little bit that I know a man took the model shot for the body and it's sort of AWESOME! And why do I bother even working out at all, if my "goal body" is a man? I'm pretty sure that's gonna require surgery & drugs y'all. But I digress.)

This was sooo much fun. Even more fun??? The first damn thought that popped into my head--Ooooohhhh...Jason would make a CUTE queen!

How many crazy cows do you know that would, first of all, have the thought to turn their s.o. into a drag queen; and second, to actually spend 30 minutes on the computer while he was out driving from store to store trying to find the new Tinkerbell DVD, because it was sold out EVERYWHERE, just because he adores your child (one that he did not "donate" to) and wants her to be happy????

Well, now you know at least one, for sure. I'm going to hell y'all. First class.

This is Dainty Moline. Ain't she pretty?!

You know what makes me wonder about myself most? That I'm less disturbed by the image of Jason in drag than my own, and all because I envy my drag queen's body.

*Sigh* I need therapy.

Until next time...

B~

Break-up note to the Starbucks barista..

One of the things that Jason brought into my life is a budget. Yes, I used to manage my money just fine, but he took it to an entirely new level: my weekly budget for EVERYTHING is planned out in this really effin' cool Excel spreadsheet that includes a checkbook register and all y'all. Like for the rest of the damned year. Not even kidding.
Included in that budget is a $25 weekly "Personal" budget. *Sigh*. That was my Starbucks money y'all. *SIGH*. But I've given up Starbucks my precious angels. Aaargh!

What the deuce?!

Giving up Starbucks for me is like a bad break-up with a good man who just isn't "good for me." There were some really nice things about the relationship-but also some bad ones. You tasted soooo good Venti White Chocolate Peppermint Mocha with all of your whipped cream & sprinkly (now a word) goodness; but, what you did to my ass & my thighs...not cool. Not cool at all.

Like a sick & twisted domestic situation for me. I don't love you even though you're bad for me; I love you because you're bad for me.

I'm proud of myself for breaking it off; but I miss you. I miss your smell & your taste. I miss the way you lingered on my mouth for 30 minutes after you were gone. (Dear Lord, please forgive my pornagraphic attraction to coffee.)
But it's over now. It has to be. For the sake of all that's healthy. It's not you, it's me.

But alas, I am a wh0re for all things of the c. bean--so of course I'm in a rebound relationship until I can find something better. This little fling with my coffee pot and my store bought creamers is meeting a need, if you will, but it's not a forever kind of relationship. I'm still looking for that one perfect cup of low-fat, caffeine infused perfection. Some day I'll find it. I'm determined.

In the meantime--Starbucks--take care. And go ruin someone else's BMI. Love, Brandi

p.s. readers, do not suggest some healthy alternative to me. I swear I'll throw a heavy ass ceramic coffee mug right at your head. Not even kidding.

*Sidebar* In the midst of writing this, I promised my daughter we'd go to church tonight. My dear lord...I'm a hot mess. LOL!