Ten Things I Hate About You

I read a post yesterday (Hey, Barb!) where the blogger listed ten things she loves. I considered doing that. I've been extra specially bitchy lately and I could stand to impart a little gratitude. PMS is kicking my ass this month, y'all. I apologize to my male readers, but only a little. It's life. Deal.

After I read Barb's post, I tried to compile a list of things that I love. She had about three things on her list that I could have stolen, but I figured since I already hijacked her idea, I'd save any additional thievery for another day. I would like to post my list here for your enjoyment but...it doesn't exist. I gave up after about two minutes and decided to ride this extreme PMS to the end. Below you will find the list of:

Ten Things I Fucking Hate Only I Shortened It To Five Things Because My Attention Span Isn't That Long:

1. Stupid people. If you're new to this blog, you may not know of my strong dislike of the common sense-impaired. Read this and this and this to catch up. Don't worry, we'll wait. Well, I won't, but maybe my loyal readers will. Serves your ass right for getting here so late. While you're doing that, the rest of us will amuse ourselves with this hilarious video of Katt Williams.

Twenty on eleven, bitch! If I could get my hair as straight and bouncy as his, I'd have one less thing to bitch about. That would only leave 7428. Every little bit helps. One day at a time.

2. I hate when I'm trying to do something I shouldn't be doing, and a kid walks in and catches me. I quit smoking officially about five years ago. Unofficially, I still smoke the occasional cigarette or Black and Mild (the wine flavor is awesome). Mostly, I do it when some kid has catapulted me into crisis mode or when I'm out drinking with the hubs. He smokes cigars and I can't stand the smoke unless I'm smoking, too. Go figure. So the other day, I found out my sixteen year old hooked school and was "discovered" at his girlfriend's grandmother's house sleeping on the sofa in the middle of the day. Nobody was at home but those two and when they were found, the girl was on top of the boy...sleeping. Yeah, that's what I said. After comparing notes, the other mother and I concluded that they had, indeed, had sex.

I'm so not ready for this bullshit.

I ripped him a new asshole and then hightailed it to the liquor store where I purchased one Black and Mild. For those that don't know, a Black and Mild is like a small, cheap cigar that comes in various flavors for your ghetto ass enjoyment. As I was sitting in my parked car on the driveway smoking my cheap cigar and minding my own fucking business, guess who comes barreling out the front door having the nerve to look at me like he's disappointed? My late son. May his soul rest in peace 'cause there's not much left of his body.

3. I hate when I fold a load of freshly washed and dried towels and place them neatly inside the linen closet only to come back ten minutes later and discover that my once neat pile has been overturned because some kid or grown ass man needed to get his/her favorite towel from the bottom of the fucking pile. You don't understand. That shit is like nails on a chalkboard to me. No, worse. It's like leaving a teaspoon of butter pecan ice cream in an otherwise empty container. Somebody should die.

4. I hate when I want to be left alone and people don't take the hint. "Are you okay, Mrs. Hyde? Is something wrong? It sure seems like something is wrong. Are you sure nothing is wrong 'cause I'd hate to find out that something was wrong and I left it alone because you told me nothing was wrong." Let me make this clear: EVEN IF SOMETHING IS WRONG, IF I SAY THERE'S NOT, ASSUME THAT EVERYTHING IS PEACHY FUCKING KEEN.

5. I hate when people can't read my mind. If I know what's going on in my chaotic head, why the hell don't you? If you cared, you'd know what I was thinking. Okay, I'll give you one clue. When I bare my teeth like this, it means I'm considering sprinkling cat nip in your crotch and letting my cat go to town. Pop quiz: what am I thinking now? Damn shame...I thought you loved me.

This looks like a job for Jose Cuervo.

Ode To The One I Love

If you've been keeping up with my awesome life, you know what happened to me recently. In the midst of all the pain, somewhere in the nether regions of my mind, I heard my doctor say she wanted me to stop drinking. Thinking back on it for the past few days, I thought it was a drug-induced memory. But after the hydrocodone cloud dissipated, it became an actual event. I was curled up in the fetal position on the examining table, that stupid paper sticking to the side of my tear-soaked face, and she said those six dreaded words: I WANT YOU TO STOP DRINKING. 

Fat, alcoholic bitch say what? (I know, a little too Hannah Montana, but hey, if the alcoholism fits...) How cruel can one bitch be? I mean, you strip me of my patience, my confidence in your nursing staff, my dignity after having me wait so long that I was in tears from frustration and pain, and now you're saying that I, A Bitch Called Mom, Dr Jekyll and Mrs.Hyde, can't even have the one solitary pleasure in her life? Check the obits, people. There's about to be a doctor of internal medicine position open real soon.

So as I sit here semi-sober after having been dry for a whole fucking week, I think the time has come to write a poem to the one I love...Jose Cuervo.

Ahem...

Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And Summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And oft' is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd:
But thy eternal Summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

What? I said I was semi-sober. I'm sure Shakespeare won't mind.