Birthday Wishes

We were on our way to Dairy Queen the other night to make the Chocolate Covered Strawberry Wafflebowl my bitch for the night and JC pipes up from the backseat.

“I know what you can get me for my birthday!!!”

Waiting for the request for the new Poppy Coach purse….hey, she has taste! Expensive taste, but taste nonetheless.

“I want a conceal carry permit.”

MJ pipes in, “Me too!!”

Um, what?!?!?

Now, this really shouldn’t be too out there for my family. Rambo and I keep talking about doing it ourselves.


Because we can.

A warning, we are a family with guns, both kids have had gun safety and can shoot a gun. We have a respect for them and the power they wield. But you never know…doomsday may be around the corner and we may need to boogie on out of here with our go bags. I am a prepper.

Just fucking kidding!!!!!!!!!!!!

I heard you going all…..”Shit. Damn. What the hell? How can she be a prepper?”


Scared you there for a minute didn’t I? (Really though? My BIL is…he scares me!)

I admit, her request did take me by surprise until she said, “Then, you can buy me a pink gun.”

There it was.

She just really wanted a pink handgun. A small one that would fit in her Coach purse. And because it’s cute. Pink with pearl handles. She saw it on TV.

Then we told her that she can’t get a conceal carry permit until she turns 21.

“Well, that’s dumb.”

Conversation over.

But damn, what do we get her now?


p.s. I ate the whole thing!




Before and After ~ A Hairy Tale

Rambo is my oblivious half. He does not notice a lot of things. Little things, big things. They go unnoticed.

I wish I could go through life not noticing little things. It would make my brain less cluttered with useless as shit information.

We drive by a house in 2001 and I look at its door. It’s not really a memorable door, just a plain simple door to a house. A house where plain, simple people live. We drive past again in 2008? Yeah. I am the one to notice that they painted the fucking door! True story…really it is. I am that weird.

But when I am at the grocery store, totally different story! I can’t remember what the hell I wrote on that note that is still sitting on the counter in the kitchen. Go figure.

So, I notice shit. Little shit, big shit, all kinds of shit. And it clutters my brain. Thanks to Handflapper my word of the day is shit. (Click on Handflapper to read more…funny shit!)

Rambo not so much.

Color my hair from honey blonde to medium brown? Took him a full 3 hours to notice. But only after I asked “do I look different?” Cut my hair from shoulder length to chin length bob? He thought my hair was in a ponytail.

You got it? I notice shit. He doesn’t. Period.

Most of the time.

I came home after being gone a few days. I was tired. I was cranky bitchy. I am sure I was annoyed by the airlines or something along those lines. I make dinner.

We stare into each other’s eyes while we eat. Um, no not really. I find that extremely unsettling and well…freaking weird. But if you like to do that…great. Just not for me. But we talk, and I look at him. We finish and settle in for the night.

A couple of hours pass by watching tv.

“Don’t you notice anything different about me?”

I look at him from head to toe…”Nope.”

“Look again.”

So, thinking he got a haircut or something…I look up at his receding hairline forehead and then scan his face.

Oh. My. God!

“What did you do????!?!?!?!?!?”

“I slipped while I was trimming some stray hairs with the clipper.” He looks down at the floor.

He looks down because that’s where I am; rolling on the floor like a dog in bear crap…laughing and peeing my pants. Oh and I may have pointed at him too. My memory is a bit foggy on that.

I look at him…Right there. Above his eye.


Yeah. Really. He really cut off half of his eyebrow.

And I laughed, for hours. I would look at him and giggle.  Turn away, giggle. I even giggled in my sleep. I just know I did.

So Handflapper…thank you for providing me the inspiration to tell this tale. Now go click on that link up there for her.

Forever sassy!