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Tex Commando

I'm not angry, just outspoken

Tag Archives: beer

  • for meaningful friendships that allow me to be myself without fear of rejection or judgement regardless of my religious beliefs
  • for red wine and fancy craft beer
  • for being the ‘godless and immoral’ one who is almost always the voice of reason
  • for guiltless, dirty, awesome sex
  • for the courage to leave the church
  • for being truly happy for the first time in my life (yeah. happiness is a real thing even for apostates)
  • for having an ENTIRE EXTRA DAY to do family fun stuff/shopping/work/relaxing
  • for being able to show off my awesome shoulders in sleeveless shirts and dresses
  • for shedding the baggage that makes me feel guilty/sinful for wearing a bikini this summer
  • for Bailey’s in my coffee
  • for being the Honorable Queen Bishop to my FMWAs

Anyone else out there who needs the support of friends when you feel like you have no where else you can go to be supported in your radical/immoral/apostate ideas? Hit me up. I have just the place for you.

 

 

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There’s this thing going around on the face book. It’s this thing called a ‘family reunion’. It’s a ward family reunion. See, my old ward was pretty transient. People would come for a couple of years then move to another state or even another country. It was a military ward. Every two years or so, it would be a whole ‘nother group of people in the ward. There were a few ‘old timers’, the people who had been there for 4 or more years, but for the most part, it turned over pretty regularly. People lose touch. They want to reconnect. A group is formed. Great idea. I often wondered about some of those people I knew way back when.

I loved this ward. Until I didn’t. Lots of people loved this ward. Until they didn’t. Lots of people loved the church. You get it. The funny thing is, I personally know a few (or more) people who were in this ward who no longer consider themselves Mormon.

So, I thought it would be silly brilliant appropriate to create a group that took into account the fact that there are family members that might not be represented. The apostates. I hate that word, BTW. Can we call it something different? Suggestions? I felt like the apostates were disenfranchised.

So, Tex, being the ever-inclusive, did something about it. (Yeah, 3rd person. My ego is that big)

I created a secret group for the apostates. Have you seen it? No? OF COURSE NOT! IT’S SECRET, REMEMBER?! No one but the members of the group know who’s in the group.You might be surprised who shares your feelings. No one will say anything to anyone. It’s a safe place to be yourself.

Safe. No one will threaten to divorce you. No one will yell at you. No one will shun you or discourage you from ‘having questions’.  We ask each other questions. Thought-provoking questions that don’t have easy answers.

You mofos know how to get in touch with me. If you don’t know how to specifically, you know someone who knows someone who can get in touch with me. Let me know if you want to be counted. You’ll be counted among the family of apostates, the small (but ever growing) group of people who no longer – well, blah blah blah. If you’re an apostate and you know it, clap your hands!

…in the name of Her Honorable Queen Bishop ‘Tex’ the Benevolent, drink wine.

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When Mr. T and I went to the food & libations fair a couple of weeks ago, we had the chance to sample some pretty delicious new foods and libations. These are some of my favorite things from that day:

 

I only tried three of these beers on this display. I enjoyed the Breckenridge Vanilla porter, and the Old Chub scottish ale. I hit the jackpot when I went to the local wine/beer/liquor superstore and found those two on the shelves. Except, I had to spend all of my jackpot money on the danmed beer. That shit was expensive for a six pack. I could’ve gotten a case of Budwiser for the same price. Only, I am picky about what beer I drink so if I had a case of Budwiser, I wouldn’t drink it anyway so then I’d be wasting moneyso I’m glad I found the Vanilla Porter. Yay me!

 

If you mofos don’t already know, I really like wine. Like, really. I’m usually not the kind of person who chats people up just to get them to give me things. I also don’t usually use my sparkling charm and good looks to get stuff for free. However, since they gave out tasting tickets (only 12) and the tasting cups were only a sip (how the fuck can you tell you like something from one stupid sip?), I used some of the tools in my arsenal to be able to really ‘appreciate’ their product. Seriously, I wasn’t looking for free alcohol so I could get wasted. Cuz’ here’s the deal – they are there to promote their product. I will buy their product if they it tastes good and I get good service. I bought that shit because I knew it tasted yummy.

I bought/loved some of the foods they had at this place. These amazing chocolate covered pretzels won my heart. My favorite snacky food is The Pretzel. Add chocolate, peanut butter, or caramel to that bitch, and I’m in hevv-vven! As you can see, these things were dipped in chocolate and then rolled in all kinds of good things. My favorite one was dipped in home made caramel then double dipped in milk chocolate. It was like a Girl Scout samoa cookie without the toasted coconut. I suggested that to the owner’s sister who was there, and she agreed that was her first impression too when she tasted that pretzel. I’ll need to check back to see if ‘dem bitches got coconut next time.

Then there was the cheese. Aaaaaahhhhhh, cheese. I do love cheese. I bought some of the best goat cheese I have ever had in my life. It was the perfect mix of stinky feet and cheesy. I didn’t have to drown it in something else to mask the stinky feet-ness of it. I just ate that shit plain. Then later, as a nighttime snack, I fixed a plate of goatey cheese, crackers, sun-dried tomatoes, and kettle corn. The kettle corn felt a bit out of place on my plate of fancy snacks, but the sweetness of the popcorn went so well with the cheese. Brandi informed me that she eats stinky feet goat cheese on Oreos. Ew. Am I the only one who has a problem with this?

I’m getting hungry looking at those pretzels. I need to go make some lunch before I die. It’s a good thing I can’t see the pictures of my new favorite beer right now, or I’d be forced to drink one. But that wouldn’t be a smart move. I have to pick up a kid from school in 30 minutes. They discourage that sort of thing.

 

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Seriously. Between the broken-armed tween, the ever-performing teenager, the stupid question asking preteen, and the sassy preschooler, I really need a drink. Or a massage. Or a week away. Or something. They aren’t fighting. They are actually being good(ish). It’s just the constant noise. The prattle, the laughing, the banging, the messes, the questions, the managing, the reminders, the repeating. And that’s just within the last hour. I am afraid that with all of the time that we have all had together over the past three weeks, that they have learned a very valuable life lesson/skill:

THEY LEARNED THAT THEY GET AWAY WITH MORE IF THEY ALL GANG TEAM UP TOGETHER

I knew the day would come. They are smart kids. Eventually, they’d find out that there is strength in numbers. With one or two of them, I am strong. With three of them against me, they can push it farther. And forget it if all four of them set their minds to get something. I can’t compete. There’s only so much I can handle.

They’re not bad kids. They’re not walking all over me. Don’t think that I’m a pushover, because I’m not- usually. But they wear a bitch down. This afternoon, when I got home from work, they had already discussed how they would get lunch out. Eventually, they persuaded me to go to Costco to get some food that we needed, and we could eat a ‘cheap’ lunch out while we were there.

Only, it wasn’t really cheap. It’s not worth it to me to drive all the way to Costco just for a gigantic $2 slice of pizza and a churro. We needed some things, so I figured what the hell, we’ll go. After I spend $98.26 on the couple of things I needed, I discovered that their kitchen was closed for repairs. FML. Luckily, we bought a shitload of ramen noodle bowls and a huge-ass cherry pie. So, that’s what we ate for lunch. At home.

So, now I’m sitting here spending my precious quite time while they’re eating to blog. Great priorities I have, huh? I know they’ll be done soon. I know that they’ll be back to school on Thursday. I know Costco is true. In the name of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, ramen.

 

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I didn’t ask him. I didn’t even expect him to help.

This morning, while I was trying to de-ice my driveway, little boy T (lbT) came out ready to work. He grabbed a shovel, and did a great job scraping the ice off of our long ass driveway. That kid’s a worker. He certainly doesn’t get that from me. If I’m allowed, I’m a lazy ass. Since, there’s no other adult in my house right now, I get to be the industrious one. I can’t wait until Mr. T gets home. All this hard work is exhausting.

On a related note, have I mentioned that my kids have been out of school FOREVER, and I need them to go back to school soon? They had a three-day weekend followed by a school closing today. For the rest of the week and Monday, they have early dismissals, followed by two days off for the semester break. FU-UCK ME!

I am so tired of hearing their voices. I am tired of seeing them constantly around my house at every turn. If I have to tell one more little asshole to put his/her dish into the DISHWASHER and not leave it in the SINK! I’ll scream. Pick the couch pillows up OFF THE DAMN FLOOR!! Quit arguing!! STOP teasing your sister!! Is your room clean? Why haven’t you put away your clothes? I am so tired of the constant upkeep. They have chores. It’s not like I do all of the work around here, but with them here all the time, there’s more than just their chores that they have to keep up with.

There’s nowhere to send them outside. It’s rainy, cold, and icy. The last thing I want to do is let them get sick, and have to have them around for ONE MINUTE LONGER THAN I HAVE TO.

All I want to do is Bikram. Really. It’s like heaven in that hot motherfucking room. How so? Well, for starters, it’s not cold like my house is. And it’s quiet (unlike my house). No one is talking but the instructor. There’s nothing else to do but meditate, concentrate, and breathe. My mind goes to another place. I don’t think about who or what or why or anything else besides what my body is doing at that moment. I’m relaxed just writing about it.

I guess I just had to vent for a minute. Thanks for entertaining me. Oh yeah, and I’m super excited about Vegas. And, just in case you were wondering, there’s a Bikram yoga studio pretty close to where we are staying. Who’s going to come with me? C’mon! You know you want to! Yeah, I know I’m a freak.

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Mr. T is traveling. He will be on a plane until Sunday. Don’t be sad for him. The asshole is going to be ‘down under’. I think. Is New Zealand considered ‘down under’? Anyways, I’m a bit jealous of his trip. And equally thankful I won’t be stuck traveling on an airplane for like, a week.

We just got off the phone a ‘lil bit ago. He’s at LAX for another hour or so. I miss him already, BTW. We had a rather heated discussion about the x-ray scan that they do to people going through airport security. Let me just preface this by saying that I know ABSOLUTELY NOTHING about the actual process. I have done ZERO research into what the images look like. I am making TOTAL AND COMPLETE ASSUMPTIONS about what the entire process entails. OK?

So, now that we have that all cleared up, I’ll continue with my story.

He was telling me about the doohicky that he had to go in and how it spun around his body or something like that. I mentioned that it made me kinda sick that  just any ‘ol body can see an image of my naked body. Because look, I know I am the shit. I know that I look pretty good. I’m not bragging. It’s just a fact. But I don’t want some creepy person to be able to see me. I am in control of who sees my body, dammit. And I don’t want you (not you, but the random airport people) to be able to see it. Well, I don’t really want any of you to see it either. Except for Mr. T. He can see it. Whatever.

Anyhoo… His point was that they (who?) have this device in place to protect people from crazy lunatics that want to blow us up. The crazy people might have devices on their person (people?) that isn’t detected by the other less-invasive methods. This x-ray machine is SAVING US FROM THE TERRORISTS!!! -or so he says. He mentioned the shoe bomber, and the crotch bomber. Blah, blah, blah. I mentioned that that’s a mere TWO out of a billion. BFD. He retorted, “That’s two that we KNOW of.” HMM, good point. He IS intelligent, ya know.

But I still don’t want people seeing my body. It’s bad enough that I can’t go anywhere, really people, ANYWHERE without feeling like people are checking me out. It doesn’t matter what the fuck I am wearing. Seriously, lately, I have been Schlump Commando. But it don’t stop ’em. Those assholes still undress me with their eyes. The last thing I need is to give them the satisfaction of getting to see me naked. And Mr. T, you remember him? The great husband, my one and only true love, the guy I have been telling you all about how great he is? Yeah, he says, “Well, Tex, that’s the price you have to pay for being so beautiful.”

EXCUU-UUSE ME?!?!?

Oh, so I should just deal with it. OK. I get it. I’m beautiful, so it should just be OK with me that people want to (and some might get to) see me naked. Uh-Uh. Nope. I’m not going for that.

But then I thought about it. Out loud of course. If they ‘get’ to see me, that also means that they ‘have’ to see the other people too. (giggle giggle) I mean, let’s think about this for a minute. Pretend that 5% of the people who have to go through security are ‘beautiful’. That means the other 95% of people who go through aren’t . I guess I should just consider it my pleasure to reward those hard working men and women for doing their duty to keep our airways safe.

We ended our loud, heated conversation with a good laugh. Too bad he’s not here, he’d probably get to see me naked tonight without some fancy x-ray machine.

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I had a serious decision to make tonight. Chick-fil-a cookies and cream milkshake or Samuel Adams Cream Stout? Take a wild guess which one I chose?

Should I be offended that the dudes at the liquor store don’t ask me for my ID? Or should I be flattered that they flirt with me and remember me? BTW Mr. Tex, I am just friendly. Not flirtatious like I am with you (insert sexy duck face here).

This post is making me sound like I drink all the time or something. I don’t. If I did, this second beer wouldn’t be slowing down my blogging process as much as it is right now. Enough about my alcohol consumption. Let’s talk about something that’s actually interesting. (crickets chirping) Ummmmm…you mofos are still here? I figured that you would have left by now.

OK, well since you are still here, I guess I’ll keep writing so you have something to do while you’re still here. Yesterday, Koda gave me one of the most awesome compliments. It seriously made my day happier. The spirit must have been guiding him to recognize me on his blog and therefore allow me to see that he found mine and that he liked the post that I had up that day. It’s amazing how blessed and humble I am! But today, it got me thinking about my blogging associates. Most of you people I read are so- smart. At least you write smart. The blogs I read on a regular basis are so intelligent and articulate and analytical (most of them). I enjoy reading them. But I have to admit something to you people because you are my mofos and I know you ‘got my back’. I don’t always really understand what I read. And!!! I most of the time want to comment, but I can’t make my comment sound as smart as the other comments so I don’t comment because I feel dumbish. But then I think to myself, “Fuck that shit! I AM SMART!!”

And now, I’m thinking about a brilliant comment I wrote on Brandi’s blog about people trying to ‘out righteous’ each other. (I’m not linking you to her shit. It’s not really that good anyway. Don’t waste your time.) Do you people think that’s what is happening? Why? We all know that the ex-mormons, disaffected mormons, inactive mormons, less-active mormons, etc., are all smarter than the average person. (Just kidding, don’t get maaaad. You’re smart too. I’m being an ass. It’s my blog. Feel free to call me out on my shit because I want lots of comments about how much of an asshole I am and I want hate mail.) But why do you have to ‘out intellectual’ each other?

That shit is intimidating for a straightforward thinker like me. I write like I talk. I use smart words sometimes. I read. I have a good vocabulary. I generally speak English good (ha ha ha, well). I’m not necessarily asking you to dumb the conversation down for me. I just think that maybe you could be less smart sometimes. Or maybe you all ARE really smarter than me and I really AM just a dumb bitch with a nice ass. In that case, just tell me how pretty I am even though there aren’t any pictures of me on this blog. And if you have seen my ass, tell me how good it is. Ok?

But use big words and lots of symbolism will ya?

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