A Great Man Once Said: (and I quote) "Bring On the Heat. Bring On the Babbling Bitches."

I know there's another day left in this holiday weekend, but I'm officially calling it quits today. My head is still pounding, and that's the least of my pains right now.
It was a pretty good weekend, all said and done. No children. Lots of alcohol. Funny boys. Blow-up dolls. Rosy crotches. Donkey punches. Unadulterated references to anal sex. Completely unintelligent conversation. And that was just Friday night.

Just a note of advice: Don't ever depend on Blog Jesus to take care of your hangover. He laid out a plan that sounded pretty good. I blissfully consumed alcohol at a more-than-moderate clip, knowing that I could just heed the advice of Mr. Omnipotence, himself. Now all I have is a hangover and a parrot that keeps squawking some shit about, "That's whatcha get for bein' a babbling bitch."

Friday Favorites

1. My favorite blog wherein one can ask for guidance from a clearly-higher mind and sometimes actually receive a coherent answer.

2. My favorite blog wherein one can find an obvious need for guidance from a clearly-higher mind and occasionally pretend you are that mind with random comments. (He won't always know that you're not.)

3. Beer

4. My ex-husband's misery

5. Weekends without children

6. Edie, my little baby bear, calls her oatmeal, "porridge."

7. Sausage and mushroom pizza

8. The Downy ball

9. Summer

10. Still lovin' that ladybug.

Bonus: Chapter Two AND Thought-Provoking Thursday

The spring of '91: I'm set to graduate high-school and attend a good school on scholarship. I had been dating Jeremy (ex-husband) since the start of my senior year. My parents must have been getting a little antsy wondering what else they could do to sabotage my life, considering I would be moving out in mere months. We were coming off of the winter drama that involved my 15-year-old pregnant sister (who went on to prove all the statistics wrong,) and you'd think that would be enough. But no. A tornado wreaks havoc on Smallville, demolishing the town and ending the school year a month early. You might even think that would be enough. Nope. Days before my graduation, my mother decided to bestow the ultimate motherly-love secret upon me that included a red-headed janitor and marital infidelity. Again...enough? Again, no. It all ended in a big, ugly mess on my graduation night. Bingo! Mission accomplished. So..I moved with Mom to the shitty-ass apartments on the bad sid of town, forewent my scholarship because my parents refused to speak long enough to file their taxes to allow me financial aid to cover the other $4000 of tuition, and the fun begins.

Jill and I, all grown up of course, rekindled the friendship of old and set out to conquer the world. Ok..maybe just a few square miles of Tulsa, but we had dreams, dammit. The summer was actually quite hazy, in more sense than one, but it does finally introduce "B" (or Brook, for those of you who are interested enough to follow our little drama.) I went on Jeremy-hiatus at least 15 times that summer. Jill was searching for a way out of the 3 1/2 year-wrong-boyfriend relationship. We were young and attractive and stupid. We wore skirts as short as they made. We laid out by the pool all day and smoked and drank all night. We worked, I believe, 2 days that summer at a telemarketing firm. We never had money, but always had beer, cigarettes, and gas. We were tan and thin. Mostly, we were happy. There are lots of great details, like the time we went to a party and left the beer in the trunk of Jill's parents car, only to lock the keys in the car. We chose not to drive the 6 miles to get new keys. We just had the guy with the cast bust the window. Got the beer. That's what counted. There are stories of Raising Arizona and mayflies and Cisco-induced vomiting. (I'll save all that for the book. Hope you're on that, Annie.) Most importantly, we found independence that summer. And Jill found Brook. I would love to lay before you some wonderful, whirlwind/fairytale romance that brought about the union, but I was really too high to remember most of it. I mostly remember that they were perfect for each other and we had a blast. There were countless nights of quarters and Asshole (Brook always won, the motherfucker,) and the first 2 of only 3 alcohol-related meetings with the toilet for me Again, Brook always won, the motherfucker.(In his defense: he held my hair both times.) When I think back, it seems like there was a party every night. I don't know if it really happened that way or only felt that way. I just know that it was an induction into real life and we wanted to make the most of it. And we did. In the end, this chapter gave us all someone to lean on, someone to count on. We had each other.

Time went on and we all changed. I married Jeremy and had 2 babies. Jill married Brook and had 2 of her own. Sometimes I hated Brook, sometimes Brook hated me. There were months on end, for the next few years ,that Jill and I would lose touch, only to pick up right where we left off. We had babies and fought with husbands. We told secrets and laughed and cried. In the end, we both divorced. I hate laying blame in a divorce, mine or anyone's, so I won't lay it on anyone in either. I still love all of them. In actuality, probably equally. I wouldn't trade a minute of any of it.

So there you have it...Chapter Two. Not as exciting as you'd hoped, huh?

Now more important business: Thought-Provoking Thursday!

Low-Carb Beer: beer companies' thoughtful approach to health-consious alcoholism or bullshit marketing ploy?

Oral sex preference: performer or performee?

Quarters: ingenious way to get girls really fucked up or Brook's evil monopoly?

Now, What Do We Have Here? An Outlaw and His Beer?

For all of you that have been following the drama, I'd like to introduce "B." He'll be defending himself on all past and future charges. Try to go easy on him and enjoy!

(You can link over from my links section also.)

It Started Way Back in History

My life has, seriously, been a series of events wherein my parents have tried to ruin my life. I don't usually say that out loud, but I believe it.

I was born in 1973 to 17- year-old, pot-smoking, rebellious parents. My father soon enlisted in the military and proceeded to make a mockery of marriage, service, and himself. My mother divorced him while he sat in the stockade when I was only 15 months old. You know why? Because she was pregnant with my sister and really wanted to marry the guy that allegedly got her that way. So...in 1975, 3 weeks before she delivered Shirlynn, she married the man I call Daddy. They moved back to Tulsa, resding in the poorest area not yet taken over by subsidized housing (it got that way about 4 years later) and began to raise their family. In 1977, Annie was born.

I don't remember a whole lot of life back then. You know..memories of bicycle riding and digging holes to China with a teaspoon. In 1982, they came to me to inform me that I actually had a different father. A nice, alcoholic, irresponsible one. His mother had died and they really wanted me to attend the funeral. Now...I try not to judge them for this next part, but it was possibly the biggest mistake ever. The bastards send me to the funeral with a bunch of people I only knew in passing. That wouldn't have been quite so bad, except that it was my first funeral, and worst of all...it was a Catholic funeral. (There are 2 things I try to avoid at all costs in life: Catholic weddings and Catholic funerals. Each are equally time consuming and confusing.)
In 1983, my parents decided to step up the torture that was my life and moved to Smallville. It's kind of funny how it happened. My father decided to step outside his religion and marriage for a little fling. He took his girlfriend to the mall one day. Here in Tulsa, there is a little news segment called "Waiting Child." It's one of those public service spots where they try to show everyone, in 90 seconds, why they should adopt a 9 year old. My father sat, obliviously, in the background of one of those tapings and made out with his girlfriend. I guess if you're gonna go down, you might as well go big. Where was I? Oh..Smallville. Now..I don't know how many of you know about these kinds of towns, but there's some sort of code. Namely, if you're not wealthy then your parents needed to have attended school in said town if you are going to have a chance of survival without ridicule. I had niether. I spent the next 2 years trying to figure out what the fuck a rubber was and figuring out how to make my bangs a little bigger so I wouldn't stand out so much for not knowing what a rubber was. The bulk of these years were marked by forced religion, bi-polar mothering, and excessive discipline. All of that, I consider to to be the first chapter of my life. Actually, the Prologue. Sometimes, I just don't consider it part of my life at all. It was just the foundation upon which my cycle of co-dependence, semi-alcoholism and dysfunction was built.

Chapter 1 began in 7th grade. I was 12 years old. I was ok with my position in the hierarchy. I had plenty of friends. I was a cheerleader. I was doing a great job of blending in with the herd. I had perched myself precariously between knowing what a rubber was and knowing not to be involved in the act that required one. My parents had gone and had a baby! A baby! I was twelve...we really didn't need that thing! Still yet, I was content. That was until the arrival of the new girl. She was way too cool for the rest of us. She came from a big school in the big city. Her parents had money, but not a lot by Smallville standards; and they didn't attend school at Smallville. What was this? This girl did not have the keys to success in this town and most of all: She didn't give a damn. She was loved and hated by everyone that counted. She talked about things we never knew. She had a different hair cut and wore different clothes. She didn't care about cheerleaders or song dedications. She knew all the words to the coolest songs. And that was only her first week. I knew Jill was my soulmate.

Jill and I were inseperable for the next few years. She was my solace and I was hers. We pursued boyfriends, cut each other's hair, learned to wear make-up, got our first kisses, made it to 1st base and 2nd and 3rd, drank our first sip of vodka from a Tupperware tumbler, and generally held each other up. Some wandered in and out of our 2 girl clique; some tried and were denied. They were the years of all my best memories. Sometimes the right humidity and the sun in the perfect spot in the sky still takes me back to swimming in a dirt-clouded river, giggling about Shannon Boyd's boyfriend kissing one of us last night at the East Campus dance.

Our high-school years were rough. Jill found the wrong boyfriend. I spent too much time looking for the right one. We drifted apart at 15 and it would be 2 years before things would be back on track.

Character Recap:
Holly: me
Shirlynn: sister of Holly
Annie: sister of Holly
Jill: best friend of Holly

Shannon Boyd: unfortunate victim of 2 way-too-cool 8th graders.

A Few of My Favorite Things

1. My most very favorite thing this week and possibly this year: This is a must have. Seriously..I can't think of the right words right now.

2. My favorite blog: If you aren't reading here, you should be. And you should be telling all your friends to read it too. Or your wife, at the very least.

3. My second favorite blog: This one cracks my ass up. Everyday. That MPH is seriously a genius or druggie. Either way, funny shit.

4. Cucumber-melon lotion from Bath & Body Works.

5. The end of the semester.

6. Kentucky Fried Chicken. It hates me and I can't get it in all of Northeastern Oklahoma anymore, but I still love it.

7. My ex-husband's misery.

8. A long, quiet nap.

9. Intelligent, talented daughters.

10. Did I mention that Ladybug?

Thought-Provoking Thursday Debut

I've decided to start having a couple of blog theme days. I'm too flighty to post everyday, but I really need to keep my 3 readers coming back. Also, I recognize the need to stimulate my readers with something more than cat fights and snake stories. So..Thursdays will be your chance to post your opinion on general topics that I present. Feel free to discuss these amongst your three selves. Just remember that, legally, I must report all death threats to the appropriate law enforcement division.

Topic Number One- Rob and Amber: meritous of the attention/money they're getting that has culminated in a television program called "Rob and Amber Get Married" or cheap entertainment for an increasingly mindless society?

Topic Number Two- Sex and spanking: exciting spicer-upper or kinky?

Topic Number Three- Jam: Grape or Strawberry?

Mr. Brown, Could You Please Send Holly to the Principal's Office?

Damn. Shit just got all middle-school over here at my place. Of course, it's not the first time. Hence the title of my blog, once again. I'll just go ahead and leave the previous post and comments for the entertainment of all. (And so all 3 of my other readers can feel like adults. I'm just trying to provide a service here, people.) So..how bout this..we'll just get it all said and done.

*Annie, my sister (by blood), has acquired carnal knowledge regarding my best friend's ex-husband, who is also a friend of mine.
*Annie has done some really great things with her life as of late, considering the path she was once on. Did I mention she made out with Billy Idol last week?
*My best friend (not by blood) is pregnant and married, but human. She has the same issues with the person seeking carnal knowledge regarding ex-husbands as the rest of us do.
*My best friend's current husband has created for himself a slightly checkered past, but he tries really hard to atone himself and you gotta love the little booger for that. In his defense, the sidewalk is kick-ass now. I especially appreciate the solar lighting system. Sweet.
*Men, most all of them, lie. Not just my husband, not just my best friend's. I'm sure whatever man that anyone is with is lying to them about some things. I'm sure whatever men are reading this have lied to avoid the lecture or tears or, you know, divorce.
*If not for the carnal knowledge issues, Annie (sister by blood) would have divulged all the silly details of her misgivings to Jill (best friend not by blood.) And would not be pissed at me for doing it.
*Cobblestone sidewalks are not a one day project. There's the planning, and digging, and replanning, and redigging. Then, you know, stones and sand and replanning. Really...it doesn't matter if you top it off with a solar lighting system.

So...you can see the story basically goes like this:

Jill divorces "B" (to protect his innocence...ahem.) Jill marries Jay. Holly, Jill, Annie, B, and Jay get along swimmingly for undisclosed number of years. B and Annie hook up. Jill sniffs out hook-up but B denies it. Aforementioned group of characters get along semi-swimmingly for undisclosed number of months. B, trying to protect his own innocence, comes clean about the hook up which sparks a period of the-opposite-of-swimmingly relations in aforementioned group. Annie, despite the great achievements of late, has a run in with the law and gets sent to the pokey. Holly and B swoop in to save the day. Holly and Jill make some smartass comments about sisters and pokeys. Annie is none too happy about that and makes some smartass comments herself. ONE of which was to call Jill a jackass. (She might have called me some names too, but who's keeping track?) Insert a 90 day interim involving lies, half-truths, drunkennes, Billy Idol concerts, soccer games, etc. Annie, now a known criminal, has a second but lesser run in with the law. Holly semi-subtly references run-in while trying to keep blog readers happy (like i said, trying to do a service.) Jill not-so-subtly references her own perfection, piety, and worthiness while mentioning the prior incident. Annie gets pissed. B sits in another state, laughing his ass off at all of it. Innocently, of course.

I love you all. Billy Idol rocks!

If Only

If only this blog was one that offered anonymity; if only I could safely recant the warped reality that is my life; if only I could tell you the stories of the past week, I promise you'd laugh. Maybe you'd be appalled for a minute, but you'd laugh at the absurdity of it all in the end. I would probably tell you about people going to jail and ridiculous drunken encounters. I'd probably tell you about adults that act like children and men that act like boys. I'd probably make lots of funny little jokes about it all and you'd all leave funny little comments. We'd all have funny little exchanges. Yep...if only....

Instead, I'll just tell you all that it's been an interesting week where others may have went to jail again and there my have been husbands and ex-husbands that acted like fools.

I've taken that "fuck you" attitude that I tend to take.
Oh..you guys don't want to help clean the house? I tell you what..there's 18 frozen dinners in the freezer. Hope you like enchiladas.
Oh...you don't have any clean clothes to wear? You've got 2 hours till bedtime and the washer's right there.
What's that? Too tired for sex? Oh, well....frozen dinners are in the freezer and the washer's right there.

I know you guys would have enjoyed a good story. Maybe I'll get around to something good tonight. Imagine, if you can, that I would actually post twice in a single day. I might do it. And if I don't and you don't like it.....Fuck you.

(See what I mean?)

It's My Time

I'm sitting here reveling in the near silence of my home. Not silence, really, but as close as it gets in this chaos. From three separate rooms, I hear Nightline intertwined with adrenaline-prompted, Fear Factor screams between the canned laughter of that annoying fucking PBS British comedy. And hypnotic, sleep-induced breathing. Four chests rising and falling to a rhythm in my head. Four hearts...beating because I will them to beat. It's my time.

Nobody needs milk or money or a scratch right there below their shoulder. Nobody wants me to get off the phone or on the phone or to sign right here. Nobody needs a reminder that it's not ok to throw the ball at her sister's head, even if she did kick you in the face with it. Nobody is calling to tell me about the latest theory on the cause of fibromyalgia or the stress of California sales tax. It's my time.

The windows are open and the near-summer air hints of memories to come; those to be recalled and those to be made. The song of the frogs warns that soon it will be replaced by that of the summer cicadas; that familiar lull that represents my independence. The moth that lights on my monitor teases that he found his way in and will again in the months to come. It's my time.

I can immerse myself in volleyball games I've never played, pregnancies that aren't mine, vaginas known only by the initial assigned, and hot dog buns now on aisle 10. I can shower without Baby Magic. I can go out to smoke a cigarette without explaining long division or grammar rules. I can listen to my own thoughts. It's my time.

I find myself in one of those moments when I want to believe that it IS my life. I can do what I wish with it. I can be me, in spite of what everyone else wants me to be; in spite of what I pretend to be.

It's my time.

Further Proof that Larry Freakin' Rocks:

Not only am I not deceased: I got a fuckin' A+ in Philosophy! Woooooofuckinhooooooo!

And for anyone that needs any cause for celebratory activity that includes alcohol....I just finished my last final for this semester...it was an A too.

Absolute Proof that Larry is NOT a Loser

All of the above is correct. Thankfully, these tata's are worth $205 a night as of yet (and I'm not even baring them) and the snake met its demise. He probably thought it better to take the shovel to the head than attempt to conquer these babies!

So..to catch everyone up...I'm getting ready to take the last of the finals that my asshole professors found a way to drag out over 2.5 weeks. I encountered the largest copperhead known to man on my sidewalk 10 days ago. My husband made short work of him 4 days agos. I have taken to serving beer at the sports bar across from TU 2 nights a week for about $20 per hour. (I'll take it...I can find a million ways to spend it.) A general wrap up....I think I'm having a pre-mid-life crisis. Let me just go ahead and say...I've worn my hair in pigtails 3 of the last 7 nights. It's a sure sign...right? Boys seem to love it. Soccer season is coming to a close, 90 degree+ weather is nearing....my season is here. Shit's gonna get good.

Stay tuned.

Holly?

The missing Holly might be:

-pondering what exactly art is
-taking kids to soccer practice
-caught up in 81 vaginas
-toilet training a sweet lil punkin
-figuring out how to get a 4 foot copperhead snake off of her porch
-shaking her tatas for tips in 30 minutes
-guilting her sister into training her on proper tata shaking
-all of the above

Love,
Jill