Saturday, May 28, 2011

Not So Boring After All

Well, we've already established that there's nothing for me to do in Las Vegas.  I don't gamble or drink and prostitutes aren't my thing, so the only other thing to do here is get married.

So I did.

Yep, Danny and I got married Thursday night at the Excalibur.  And it was the most beautiful wedding $249 (tax and tip included) could buy. 

I wore a $20 dress that I got at Target a year ago (if my mother didn't have Alzheimer's, she would beat me for revealing that), and my wedding ring hadn't arrived at the jeweler yet, so we used my mother's that I always wear on my right hand.  Now, the ring my father gave my mother has extra-special significance.

Rather than walking down the aisle to Danny, we walked down the aisle together, symbolizing the partnership we've already created.

But the best part is that my girls, my sister and her fiance, and two of my cousins were already in Las Vegas for my sister's wedding, so I got to have them as guests at mine.

It truly was beautiful.

My sister is going to be so mad tomorrow after her $15,000 wedding when she realizes she could've had one just as gorgeous for less than two Franklins and a Grant (tax and tip included).





Friday, May 27, 2011

Hell

I came face to face with the devil.

I always believed that Satan and his minions were all around us and could take any form they wished to entice us to do evil. I always believed it, but I never thought I would be a victim.  I have a new opinion after my plane trip to Sin City.

Beelzebub and his sons of darkness were definitely on my plane with me.  No doubt about it.  They took the form of two children, their mother, and a flight attendant.  (And I'm pretty sure one was disguised as a TSA agent, but I didn't spend enough time with him to be certain.)

I had the window seat, my two daughters were next to me, and Danny was across the aisle from us.  Two innocent looking children and their mother sat in the row directly behind us. 

In all the confusion that was going on when you board a plane, I went to take my medication and accidentally took three Ambien because I didn't bother to read the bottle before I opened it.  Half a second later when I realized my mistake, I naturally assumed that I would spend the five hour plane ride in peaceful slumber.  But, ohhhhh no, the devil wasn't having any of that.

It started before we even took off.  The "kids" were screaming at each other about whose toy, game, book, and anything else you can think of was whose, and the screaming lasted the for five hours.  I "kid" you not; I endured five hours of their screaming, and heard not a single "shush" or other word of reprimand from the "mother".

Maybe I could've handled that, but they were pushing me over the edge when they started kicking the back of my seat.  That went on for three hours before I snapped.

I broke when the toys came flying over my seat and onto my lap.  I grabbed one of the toys, turned around, and whipped it as hard as I could at the "kid's" chest.

Okay, I know that sounds really bad from a forty-two year old woman, but this wasn't a child.  Remember, I was dealing with the destroyer of all humankind.

The enemies had me so frazzled that I started yelling at my own kids for no reason.  Danny, who was three seats and an aisle away from me, asked, "What is wrong with you?"

I answered as loudly as I could,  "Satan's spawn is sitting right behind me!!"  Still, no reaction from the mother.

I needed just a few minutes away from all of this to regroup, so I stood up to go to the restroom.  That's when the "flight attendant" told me that there were too many people in line and I had to sit down.  I started to tell her of my plight with the devil, but then I looked into her eyes and I knew she was another one of "them."

People, I have been to hell and back.  I have actually seen hell. 

And let me tell you, lakes of fire and brimstone will be a walk in the park for me.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Hades, Here I Come

I'm going to hell.

This is where those of you who know me laugh at the fact that I just figured that out.  First of all, very funny.  Second, I don't mean the eternal hell, although I have no doubt that pitchforks and lakes of fire and brimstone are down the pike for me.

I mean the thank-goodness-it's-less-than-a-week hell.

This weekend, I'm going to my least favorite place on the entire planet:  Las Vegas.  I am being subjected to this particular brand of hell because my sister lives there and she is getting married Sunday.

The whole fascination with Las Vegas escapes me.  It is hotter than my eternal destination, and if you don't gamble, there's nothing to do.  If I drank, I could buy a six-pack right here in Youngstown, Ohio; I certainly don't need Sin City for that.  And prostitutes just aren't my thing, thankyouverymuch.

I will admit that the casinos are beautiful and I love looking at them; however (and this is probably something I should never tell anybody), I always get trapped in a random casino and can't get out.  When I manage to find an exit door (two hours later), I take two steps outside and have to go back inside because it's 115 degrees outside!  ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN DEGREES! And then the vicious cycle starts again.

One of the last times I was in Las Vegas, I called Danny from inside the MGM.  Of course, I was stranded in there and my feet had blisters on them from the aforementioned escape attempt.  On the verge of tears, I told him, "I hate this place.  It's the most boring place on earth.  There's absolutely nothing to do here!"

Seriously, why would anyone go to that hell hole voluntarily?

If only my sister lived somewhere good, like Gettysburg.

Wear A Cup

Did you ever have one of those days where you just felt like kicking everyone in the crotch, but you don't because you just don't have enough energy to raise your leg that far?

Good.  Then you can totally relate to how I feel today.

Work was an effin nightmare.  It was worse than a nightmare, but I lack the vocabulary to adequately describe it.  I have never felt so used and abused in my life.  I feel like I should go to the hospital to get a rape kit done on my psyche.   It would definitely be positive, and I'm sure DNA would be present.

I cried all day and then came home, got in my bed, and cried some more.  Danny keeps coming in to check on me and try to talk about my day.  He quickly retreats in horror, though, when I refer to someone as a cutthroat bitch or bastard.  (Only true blue "House" fans will recognize that reference.)

Oh yeah.  I'm a real gem today.

And speaking of gems, Bejeweled Blitz isn't loading right on my computer today. WTF???  I probably could lift my leg far enough to kick the effin cutthroat bastard that won't let the game do whatever it's supposed to do to make my life better!  Doesn't he know it's all about me? 

What about you?  How was your day?  Really, I want to hear something positive.  Or negative, as long as it's funny.

Love,
Melissa


P.S.  These people are not related to me at all, although this is something everone in my family would do.  I just thought it was funny and wanted to give you all a chuckle!

Saturday, May 21, 2011

The One, The Only...



This is my cousin, the REAL Glass-Eyed Grady.

Grady was from northeastern Alabama, but he "has long since gone on home."  Even though he has been gone almost six years,  I sure do miss him. 

Grady was such an important part of our childhood.  He lived at a fishing camp when we were little, and we loved it there.  We went there several summers during the eight years when my father was gone, and despite the fact that we have traveled all over the world, that fishing camp still tops our list of favorite places on earth.

If you look closely at the picture (that is Grady's home after the trailer at the fishing camp), you can see all the junk behind us.  (Did you hear that rumble?  Grady just rolled over!)  He loved his "merchandise", a la Sanford and Son, that he bought at his flea markets.  And he didn't just confine his "merchandise"to the privacy of the inside of the house.  Lordy mercy, no, he couldn't do that! The outside of his home looked very much like the inside because his "merchandise" filled the yard as well!

Yep, Grady was the quintessential hillbilly, and I couldn't be prouder to have his hillbilly blood coursing through my veins.

Now, do you know what the inside of an eye socket looks like?  It's thanks to Grady that I do know.  He would pop out that glass eye any time he wanted a good laugh from the screaming kids.  Halloween with him was an absolute riot!

Seriously, I do miss Grady and all the love and compassion he showed everyone who knew him.  It was no surprise to anyone when Grady lost his eye because he was protecting a child.  The boy's drunken mother pulled a gun on the boy, and Grady ran and grabbed the child and caught the bullet in his own eye.  Grady never even learned the name of the child, and he never regretted his decision to save the boy's life.

That's just the kind of man Grady was.

You can read more about Grady in my first blog post EVER, here.
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Also, if you have some time on your weekend, please go over to "The Bank Burglar's Daughter" and read the new post there.

Have a great weekend!

Love,
Melissa

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Nothing

I want to grieve. I want to cry. I want to feel something.

My mother-in-law smoked from the time she was a teenager until shortly after she was diagnosed with stage one lung cancer. She had a lobectomy, but the disease progressed quite quickly to stage four, where it has remained for about three years.

When my husband called me that day in June four years ago and told me that his mother had lung cancer, I wanted to want to sob, but I couldn't. All I could do was tell him the truth: "I'm so sorry for you."

My mother-in-law despises me, and I don't know why.

We've had disagreements that might logically lead to hurt feelings, but not hatred.

When I began dating Danny, I wanted to love her and I longed for her to love me in return. I was even excited at the thought of a "second mother". Instead, I got forced conversations and obligatory Christmas gifts, which gradually led to no contact at all.

I want to be imagining all this. I want it to be all in my head. But, sadly, I cannot. She has told my husband, "I hate your wife and I can't be around her."

I have tried to apologize to my mother-in-law for whatever it is that I have done to her to cause such intense feelings about me, but my apologies have fallen on deaf ears. She wants no relationship between us, and I've finally accepted that there's nothing I can do about it.

So, when the inevitable comes, when she finally succumbs to her dreadful disease, I will not grieve. I will not cry. I will not feel anything.

I will simply tell my husband the truth: "I'm so sorry for you."
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This was written for the "Red Dress Club.".

Monday, May 16, 2011

Happy Monday

Check out the new post on "The Bank Burglar's Daughter."  And I would really appreciate it if you could muster up some anger against those who teased me as a child!

And don't forget to ooh and aah over the banner Madge created for the blog.  It is truly ooh and aah-able!

Have a great Monday!

Love,
Melissa

Friday, May 13, 2011

The Good Ol' Days...

I currently have not a single talent, but the summer after I graduated high school, I did have one. Wow, did I ever!
I could drink beer like a champ. I loved it and I was really good at it. I didn’t have to force it down, and it just came naturally to me. I could out-drink everyone I knew.  I honed my skill so much that I couldn’t even remember two entire consecutive days of that summer.

(All of my friends who joined me: you can stop holding your breath; I’m not mentioning any names!)

It’s too bad I didn’t have a talent for being drunk. That would have come in really handy.

I shudder when I think of all the times I drove drunk. I really am lucky to be alive. I was so drunk one time that I drove right through my friend’s mother’s flower beds. (By the way, she made me re-plant her flowers—good for her!)

I have so many stories that are truly hilarious that I could tell about those days, but I’ll stick to my family’s favorites because the others are just too embarrassing, even for me!

The first one I think of is every under-aged drinker’s horror. I had been drinking since heaven knows when one day, and on the way home, I got stopped by a State Trooper for erratic driving. As if that weren’t bad enough, the Trooper shined her flashlight in my backseat and found about eight million beer cans. (I vaguely remembered that everyone, including me, thought it would be really funny to dump all the cans in my car.  Yeah.  Not so funny when the po-licewoman was looking at it.)

As if THAT weren’t bad enough, guess who pulled up right behind the State Trooper. No, really, guess. It was my father! Can you believe that? That could only happen to me! It turned out to be a blessing, though, because my father talked to the Trooper and she agreed to let him take me home with only a speeding ticket. Now guess how much trouble I was in when I got home. Let’s just say that I considered moving into the local homeless teens’ shelter.

Another of my family’s favorite stories is about the morning my sister looked out the bathroom window, came downstairs, and asked about the location of my parked car. Of course, everyone went to the window, and there was my car, parked right in the middle of the front yard! Why is it that the earth never actually opens and swallows you up when you need it to?

Okay, the final story is the Queen Mother of all the favorite “Missy Drunk Stories” in my family. My mother had gone out of town and my father was out stealing something. He figured that my younger sister and I were responsible enough to stay alone at home. WRONG! My sister was definitely responsible enough, but I wasn’t even close.

I invited a couple friends over and we drank beer all night. I had so much fun--until I passed out.

Then I woke up because I had to go to the bathroom.

In my drunken stupor, I walked into my sister’s bedroom and saw her white wicker nightstand. White wicker must have equalled white porcelain in my Miller Lite fogged–up brain, because I pulled down my pants, backed up to the “porcelain” nightstand and proceeded to pee all over it! I shorted-out the controls to her electric blanket and puffs of smoke were rising up into my you-know-what. And here’s the REALLY bad part: I peed all over the Bible! The Bible!

I have a vague remembrance of my friend laughing hysterically and my sister screaming, equally hysterically. My sister made me get a bucket of soapy water to clean it up. The last thing I remember about that night is passing out in the Spic-N-Span.

Thank goodness I became an active Mormon again and don't touch alcohol.  Trust me, wicker doesn't make a good toilet.

(This was written as part of a meme for the Red Dress Club.)

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

I Haven't Laughed So Hard In A Long Time

I just wanted to let you know that I probably won't be around for awhile.  I'm pretty sure I'll be busy defending my sister for the murder of her husband.

Yesterday Danny called me at work and said that my sister's husband had been "in a bad truck accident'' and she was "too upset to go to the hospital alone."

Naturally, I flew out of work, picked up my sister, and drove her to the hospital.  The whole time she was crying.

When we got to the hospital, we found my brother-in-law walking around and standing outside smoking cigarettes.

His hand was pretty messed up, but at least he was going to live--for awhile, anyway.

He explained that he was driving a semi for work, went off the road, and the truck landed on its side in a ditch.

Of course, Debbie's first question was, "How did you go off the road?"

As long as I live, I'll never forget the completely serious look on his face as he said to my sister, "I was reaching down to get a pork rind."

A pork rind!

He almost killed himself over a pork rind!

Debbie quit crying and gave him the death stare.

That was it for me.  I busted out laughing and couldn't stop.

I laughed as he told the nurse he was reaching for a pork rind.  I laughed as my sister begged him not to tell the Trooper he was reaching for a pork rind.  I laughed as he jokingly told Debbie, "Well, I guess I could tell him I was trying to roll a joint."  Debbie was not amused, but I sure was. 

I think I laughed the hardest when he actually told the Trooper that he was reaching for a pork rind. 

Or maybe I laughed the hardest when my brother-in-law told Debbie that he can't use his right hand for anything for at least six weeks, and she has to do everything for him.

Ahhh, good times are ahead for my family, folks!

By the way, in between my uncontrollable chortles, I kept saying, "I can't wait to blog about this." 

I asked Debbie if she cared, and she disgustedly said, "I don't give a shit." 

Sounds like permission to me!

Monday, May 9, 2011

A Tribute to My Mother

I wrote my Mother's Day post on my other blog, "The Bank Burglar's Daughter".

By the way, don't you just love my new button on my sidebar for that blog?  It was designed by the amazing Madge of "I-Madge-ine the Twaddle".

If you find my other blog at all compelling, please put the button on your website.  Thank you so much!

Have a beautiful Monday!

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Prom Nightmare

My baby went to her Senior Prom last night.  She came home so excited because it was everything a prom should be.  It was enchanted and mystical, and she was with a boy she loves.

I am so happy for her because she had an amazing once-in-a-lifetime experience.

But you know me:  I didn't focus on her very long; I started thinking of my own Senior Prom.

Enchanted?  Not so much.

Mystical?  Negative.

A boy I loved?  Hardly!

I was in love, but I wasn't allowed to go to the Prom with him.  My parents hated him because they thought he would "teach me bad things".  (By the way, good call, Mom and Dad.  He taught me things that would make you cringe!)

Anyway, my mother lived for school dances and fancy dresses and everything associated with them, so I knew she would cave and let me go with my boyfriend.  I turned down all the requests of the boys who asked me, and I told my mother all about them.  She repeatedly told me,  "You shouldn't do that, or you're going to miss your Senior Prom."

I thought she really played a respectable game of "chicken" in our Prom stand-off.

Guess who won the game.

Yep, two weeks before prom I was scrambling to find a date and a gown.  It turned out to be a lot easier to find a gown.

The only person I could find to take me to my Senior prom was my fifteen year-old cousin, Ricky.

Yes, I went to my senior Prom with my cousin!!!! 

He couldn't drive, so we had to take a limo to the Prom, back in the days when limos to proms were not en vogue.

We arrived at the prom, and I certainly couldn't tell anyone he was my cousin, so I introduced my date as my friend, Ricky, because the last time I talked to him, his name WAS Ricky.  Apparently, though, he had changed his name to Rich, so that's how he introduced himself.

Fine, except that everyone was yelling at each other to be heard over the blaring music, and my friends thought he said his name was Mitch.

Yeah.  It took about 2.5 seconds for everyone in the room to find out that Missy didn't even know the name of her Prom date.

I was so humiliated.  I prayed for a Stephen King's "Carrie" ending to the prom and for me to be swallowed in the flames.

Mercifully, I thought, the Prom finally ended.  We walked out to the limo, which was parked in front of the building where everyone else had to walk, and discovered that the battery of the limo was dead!  I had to go back into the school and call my father.

He came to the school in his station wagon and jumped the limo's battery, right there in front of everyone!!

There aren't even words enough to describe how mortified I was!

Okay, now here's the best part...

We went to dinner after the Prom and I paid because, after all, he was the one doing me the favor, right?

Yeah, what a favor!  When I got home that night and opened my purse, I found out that Ricky, Rich and Mitch had robbed me blind!!!!

So, tell me about your prom.  Was it enchanted and mystical, or did it suck like mine?  (And please tell me if the word "prom" is capitalized.  I wrote it both ways in this post so that it would be correct at least some of the time!)

Friday, May 6, 2011

Senior Prom

It's the day of my baby's Senior Prom and I have to work all day, so I don't have the energy today to be witty on this blog (if I ever am)!  However, there is a new post on "The Bank Burglar's Daughter".  The experience I write about was absolutely horrifying for me as a child.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

You Mean There's Sex Involved?

"Jennifer's having a baby!"

That's what I told the entire fourth grade class about my best friend.  I wasn't being mean; I really believed she was with child.

The whole thing started with an "After School Special" called, "My Mom's Having a Baby".

Oh wow.  The entire school was waiting with baited breath for this one.  It was actually going to talk about the most taboo subject in our lives:  how a woman gets a baby inside of her.  Rumor had it that it was going to talk about sex, too!

Some unfortunate kids, Jennifer included, weren't allowed to watch the show.  Not us.  My mother, who dreaded this subject like an unwanted pregnancy, told my sister and me we had to watch it.  No problem, Mom!

So the eagerly awaited show finally aired.  Wow!  It did not disappoint!  The pregnant mom had her doctor tell her son and his friends how the baby got inside her.  My eyes and ears were glued to our console television set.

Which is what really makes it mystifying that I missed the whole sex part.

At school the next day, the kids who got to see the show were the cool kids for a day, and the ones who didn't get to see it were begging us for info.  Poor Jennifer asked me, and I told her all about kissing and getting pregnant. 

Tears welled up in Jennifer's eyes.  She told me that her father kissed her goodnight the evening before.  I told her, very calmly and quite matter-of-fact-ly,  "Oh, well, then, you got pregnant by your father."

Seriously.

She started bawling.  Everyone wanted to know what was wrong.  I protected her and told them to leave her alone because she's upset that her dad got her pregnant.  I was such a good friend to her.

Well, you can imagine the snowball effect.  In about 2.5 minutes Jennifer was in the guidance counselor's office.  In about 2.5 minutes after that, I was in there with her.  We both lived close to the school, so I would say that it only took about 4.5 minutes for both of our mothers to join us.

My mother acted mad in the guidance counselor's office, but she laughed once we got in the car together.

The next day, a Saturday, my mother handed me a four-volume set of books called, "The Life Cycle Library" and said, "Read these before you go back to school."

I obliged, eagerly.

I think I have it all figured out now.

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Please visit "The Bank Burglar's Daughter" for a new post.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Folsom Prison Blues

Danny:  "Why are you up at 4:30?"

Me:  "I just can't sleep.  I'm worried."

Danny:  "About what?"

Me:  "The bounced check."

Actually, it sounded more like:  "THE bounced check!"

I bounced a check for the second time in my life.  Sure, I've had overdrafts, but the bank always paid them.  But it didn't pay this one, no sir-ee.  Bastards.  Why would it pay this one?  It was only to the INTERNAL REVENUE SERVICE!!!!  That's right:  I bounced a check to the IRS!

And let me tell you about these people:  The IRS doesn't play.  Could they have run the check through a second time maybe?  No sir-ee.  If they had, it would have gone through.  I swear, there were only a couple days that we fell below the check's amount at the bank and as soon as we noticed it, we replenished the account.  (That's going to be my defense in court.  FAIL!)  (This is the part where I call the IRS bastards, but I'm too afraid of them!)

And guess what the NSF fee for the IRS is.  It's certainly not the $30 or $35 like it is at the local Waltrash.  Go ahead, guess.  $50, you say?  NOT EVEN CLOSE!  $75?  WRONG!  The NSF fee for the IRS is a whopping $100!!!

See, I told you these people don't play!

Oh, and the only other check I've ever bounced was in 1998...to the IRS.  Seriously.

Danny says it's no big deal.

I happen to think Danny is wrong.  That's why I'm sitting on my couch waiting for people in business suits to break down my door and take me to the Big House.
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Speaking of the "Big House", there's a new post on my other blog, "The Bank Burglar's Daughter".