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Tex Commando

I'm not angry, just outspoken

Tag Archives: stupid

For some reason, I started reading old blog posts from The Other blog. Then Brandi read more and told me about it. Then I read more this morning. And more and more and more. So, here are a few that I thought were particularly excellent. They are in no particular order. Read the comments too. Most of the fun happens in the comments.

The Definition of Marianne

This never got a chance to happen. (read the comments) I need to do this. I need to kick the shit talker’s ass in June. Maybe I’ll give her a week to get settled before I crush her.

Guess what we did today. It’s a many-times-a-year thing. I can’t wait to take Brandi and her kids.

I used to cook like a motherfucker. I even posted RECIPES. I need banana cake now. And ohmyfuckinggod spaghetti and meatballs , I forgot about this one!!!

This is about the time in the life of Cookies 4 Breakfast when I start to really crack myself up. It’s also when I am in the process of losing a dear friendship. It’s also when another better friendship starts to REALLY take shape. It’s about a month into TexCommando. Only a couple more links, and I’ll be done. I promise.

When Jesus Attacks, that asshole Jesus is always fucking my shit up.

The last line STILL cracks me up (you must read this one)

Brandi is at least 13 out of the 18 that I listed. She was before she became the love of my life, and she still is (plus more that I won’t torture you all with).

What do you think? Did I miss anything?

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I am not.

I try to be.

Time and place? I usually can handle it. It’s easier if I am not completely comfortable. Watch out if I am comfortable though. The more outspoken and silly I get, the more I like you. Do we hug regularly?If so, it means that I like you enough to not be afraid of smelling you (I’m weird about smelling people). And if I banter with you, that means I love you.

Sensible? Some people think so. I usually am. I usually can control my impulses and think things through. I try to hold my tongue and be respectful. I DO talk shit sometimes, but doesn’t everyone?

That graceful thing? It’s not always easy when you have something super important and life-altering to talk about. Sometimes you have to just lay it all out there and work backward. That’s what I have been doing for the past two months. That’s what I want to do, and it’s taking all of my good sense and self control to NOT do that. Right now. UGH!!!

I know I am being super vague. I mostly am writing this for myself. You all just get to read my thoughts. Lucky you.

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I just realized that I’m ovulating. OUCH! My left ovary is hurting. Its a weird feeling.

Know what’s also weird? I’m falling apart. Like, I have piles of undone shit all over my room. Other shit needs to get done, but I can’t get it together enough to do ANYTHING.

Why? I was on top of the world in January. I had my shit together in January, and now, I’m all fucked up. It’s actually quite overwhelming. The suck thing is that there are 8 million things to do and I sit here, looking around, trying to figure out which one to do first. But, instead of actually doing something, I pace from pile to pile or task to task accomplishing nothing because all of them are important and I can’t figure out which one to just DO. Then I feel like a loser because- goddamn! Why can’t I just be productive? And THIS is the source of my lack of motivation and blah. So now what?

It’s annoying. And the minutes are ticking by. And in a couple more hours, my kids will be home and then I can forget about everything else because they need food and rides and directions. I’d better go.

 

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I have been composing a self loathing, body image hating blog post for the past two days. It’s icky. I’m not even sure I will post it because it’s that icky and uncomfortable.

Instead, I’ll post something else that’s worse.

Someone you don’t want to know: Helen just asked for “some of those delicious brown pussies” for snack.

Me: Wow! The Smiths really do love the colored folks, don’t they? Lolololololol

Someone: We do. I don’t know why people always say I’m racist. I drive all the way to (somewhere an hour away) for brown pussies.

Me: This is going on my blog.

Someone: Good. One of us should post a blog. Lord knows I haven’t lately.

Me: Haha. As soon as I get home I will. This is better than the one that I’m writing now. It’s depressing and self loathing. I’d rather picture you and your daughter eating brown pussies.

Someone: You’re a sick woman. (And it was my daughter and my SON eating brown pussies. Brown pussies are too sweet for me.)

Me: Oh. My bad. Your son and daughter eating pussy together is way better.

Someone: Exactly.

the brown pussies

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I like tradition. I also like change. I’m not the kind of person who has to have the same things in the same order in the same way with the same people on the same dishes using the same recipes cooked the same way every year for the holidays. I like a big meal for TG. It just doesn’t have to be a ‘traditional’ meal. Get it?

For ten years, I had the ‘traditional’ meal. There were a few things added in over the years as I discovered new recipes, but nothing was EVER taken out. Everyone had their favorite thing, and no one could be disappointed. The food was good, of course, but it was always the same. I always lobbied for something different, something out of the ordinary, something interesting. I almost always got shot the fuck down. So, it was a bittersweet victory when I stopped going to West Virginia for TG and didn’t have to cook what everyone else insisted on.

I love the idea of eating Mexican or Chinese for TG dinner. Shit! Pizza would be a fun idea too. My family always rebels at this idea. I practically get tied up and beaten whenever I mention this. So, this year, I tucked my tail between my legs, put my head down, and cooked a delicious traditional meal using my usual delicious recipes. I left two of my least favorite things out of the equation- sweet potato balls, and banana pudding. Read the recipe and use your brain to figure out why I didn’t want to make those damned things AGAIN. And the banana pudding, well, it’s just been done over and over and over again. It’s so overdone, that it isn’t even appealing anymore.

So this afternoon, while I was in my fourth hour of cooking, everyone had something to say about having Chinese food for dinner. As in- they all wanted that instead of turkey and stuffing. Whaaaat!? They all looked at me like it was my fault that we had turkey for TG. Really? Because every time I mention doing something different, everyone screams bloody murder. And now they want something different? Fuck that!

BUT!!!!! They gave me shit because I didn’t make the sweet potato shit balls and the banana pudding. So, not only did they not want turkey and wanted Chinese, but since they had turkey, they felt cheated out of the full thing because they didn’t have those other two disgusting dishes. It was all I could do to tell them to go to West Virginia next year and eat that shit there. I didn’t have to, because Patricia read my mind and suggested to Trystan that they save their money and go there next year. Asshole.

Those little fuckers have some nerve. They really have no idea. Maybe it’s my ego. I will concede that perhaps my ego has a part in the reason I have not tried to make amends. But, relationships go both ways, and no effort has been made on the other side either.

The kids think they’re being funny by saying that “It’s just not Thanksgiving without Them.” It’s not funny. It’s hurtful. I’ll talk to them about it later when they are done acting like assholes long enough to actually have a serious conversation. For now, I’m going to drown my feelings in pecan pie, apple pie, and pumpkin tarts.

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I don’t care if you don’t like it, I’m watching the Real Housewives. No matter how fake they are.

Not only am I WATCHING it, I’m watching ALL OF THEM!!!! EVERY NIGHT!!!! Orange County, New York, and New Jersey.

Also? I’m watching Andy Cohen afterwards.

It’s heaven.

Well, almost heaven. Like, if I actually believed in heaven. Which I don’t. But, if I did THIS is what it would look like:

  • fake tans
  • fake boobs
  • big lips
  • blonde hair
  • lots of drunk ladies
  • big houses
  • bankruptcy (well, maybe not this one)
Don’t worry, I’ll get it all out of my system before you come back home. I will. Probably. Well, maybe not. You know how I am.

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So, today was one of the most beautiful days so far this year. It was perfect bicycle riding weather. Not too hot, perfectly sunny, cool breeze. After I dropped my 5 year old off at school, I hopped on my bike and rode 7 miles to the gym. It was fantastic! I didn’t even fear for my life once during the ride. Usually, there’s some jackass car-driving bully who tries to run a bitch off the road. But none today.

I did a quick wardrobe change at the gym and attended my favorite class EVER. Step. I sweated and stepped and squatted and stepped and sweated and sweated and stepped and jumped and squatted for an hour. IT WAS GREAT!!!!

Except for the part where we had to run in place.

That part was fucking annoying and stupid and I hated it. Why? I’ll fucking tell you why: everything from my belly to my ass shook. Like goddamn jello. My ass jiggled, my thighs jiggled, my belly jiggled, even my back jiggled. MY BACK?!?!? Yes, my back jiggled. Maybe it was my love handles.

I don’t like to jiggle. I’m too soft. I hate it. I don’t want to jiggle.

Maybe you jiggle. I don’t judge you. I don’t care if YOU jiggle. Your body can do whatever the fuck it wants to do. It’s MY body that I care about. It’s MY body that I have to stuff into my clothes. And it doesn’t even matter what size they are- I’D STILL JIGGLE!!!

So, after I jiggled stepped, I hoisted myself onto  got on my bike, and rode the 7 or so miles back home.

It was pretty awesome. I felt like I accomplished something towards getting my jiggles to go away. It’ll take some time. Perhaps less beer and wine. And my sick, twisted brain is secretly wishing for a little stress to fuck with my digestive system so I can’t eat. Just a week. Or two. Just enough to lose a couple of pounds.

Awwww, shit. Exercising is better. I know. Don’t preach.

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