Monday, December 10, 2012

We Go Back Like Fat Crayons

Today started out like any other Monday. I overslept, thought I locked my keys in the house, and made it to work just in time for a meeting. It was a pretty normal day. Or normal for me. 

At lunch, we started talking about what we did as teens and I started telling stories of days with my crazy ass friends. And I had a lot of them. Crazy and friends. Neither seemed to be mutually exclusive. 

I have had some of the best friends over the years and I seem to be able to still find them. These friends are the type of people that are fully devoted. If I call in the middle of the night because I did something stupid, they answer. If I need them to help me trace my steps to find my phone in the freezer, they will listen to me ramble. 

My friends make fun of my vertical challenges. They mock my lack of organization, and they aren't scared to call me out if I'm being a bitch. These ate the types of friends everyone needs. And no, you cannot have mine. They only have time for one fuck up in their lives, and I filled that slot long ago. 

In honor of friends, I will tell a story of one. We will call her Trick and that name is perfect for her. She's always pulling some magic out of her lame ass purse and providing me with exactly what I need at exactly the right time. 

Trick and G picked me up from work one night and we headed out to have a night of fun. Our nights of fun consisted of driving aimlessly listening to bad hip hop and ending up in some neighboring state. They were stoned. I wasn't. Drugs are bad. I was exhausted. I worked at the hospital as a customer service rep. Which loosely translated into "call up people who won't pay and let them cuss you out" and that day had been a particularly bad one. 

Trick was driving. We stopped at this gas station so we could get some cigs and chocolate. I went in as I still had on my "I can be seen in public clothes" and I talked to the clerk who knew me. I was in there every friggin day. He fucking knew me. This is important why? Well just wait you impatient bastard. 

Now that you have distracted me, I have to regroup.............. Ok. 

Anyway, as we start to drive off, and this all happened in slow motion, Trick slowly pushed the Rubbermaid trash bin into the side of the building. It lifted up and slowly toppled over, spilling its filthy contents all over the pavement. 

The gas attendant stared in horror as if we were going to drive straight through the building. Our other friend, G, the one who always makes bad decisions yells "just fucking go! Let's get out of here." as if we had just robbed a bank. Trick stormed off. 

I was all "let's go back! We need to help him clean!" I felt horrible and I didn't want to leave that mess for that poor guy.  Besides, it was the closet gas station to my house and I didn't want to have to avoid it. 

G and I were like the devil vs. angel that you always see portrayed on TV. G was "run" while I was "stop." Trick was so fucking confused but I don't feel bad for that bitch because in the end, she sped off as I looked back in sadness at the poor guy who had to clean up that mess. 

To this day, I cannot understand why Trick listened to G. She knew she was never the reasonable one out of the three of us. Either way, Trick and G both have supported me through my ups and downs. Through marriage, through birth, through death, and even a divorce. Those are the types of friends they are. 

Ride or die, bitches

Monday, November 19, 2012


With thanksgiving coming up I like Meg have been seeing tons of fb post about daily thanks for the month of November. Usually all very generic stuff like god, family, kids, etc..  That's all find and dandy but if you're truly thankful for any of these things then why only wait till November to say it?   Suppose I'm sort of an outsider when it comes to holidays because as much as I have to be thankful for I don't need a holiday to tell me when to express my thanks. For example, this year has been one of the hardest of my life health wise, but I've tried to say how thankful I've been anytime I think of it. Same as with my friends and family, I don't wait till thanksgiving or valentines day just to say thanks or I love you. I'm even thankful for Meg even though she calls me a demented bumpkin. Which, by the way meg, in all your rant you still dint answer my question about how it's ok for all to be misleading until you get what you want?  If you want to look like a gorilla with its head split open like an ax be my guest but do it ALL the time. Don't act like something you're not! I still love ya though!!!

I can say that this thanksgiving and Christmas is a little more special to me that most just for the fact that I'm not even suppose to be here. It was almost a year ago when I was last hospitalized and told I wasn't going to make it. I had quit breathing and basically was sent home to die. I'm not well by any means but I'm still here and still have so many things I want to go see and do before my time is up. So let me just sayin thankful for all my friends who believe in me and have been there for me no matter what, especially Meg and Beard. Thankful for my mom and stepdad for making life sacrifices to make sure I am taken care of every single day. Thankful for all the little prayers, thoughts, well wishes, voodoo spells, or just any good vibes that were sent my way.

In a strange way I'm thankful for having the personality I have and thankful for the friends who made me feel this way. Not many guys in wheelchair with the condition I have can say they been through life wide open like me. Everything from wrecking face first off a curb in Nashville to buying a hooker in Vegas to late nights at the bars every weekend with friends and so much more. I just hope that I've inspired at least one person that just because we might not be perfect doesn't mean life can't go on

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

I say "fuck." A lot.

This isn't a real post. It is a series of rants. Which is pretty common for me. 

First off, Tim, why the incessant bitching about how every woman should conform to your standards? You need to learn to embrace everyone's differences. The fact that not everyone is a demented bumpkin like you is a good thing. Also, if I want to walk around like a midget Sasquatch, you don't have to look at my harry ass. I'm not living for you. I'm living along side you. 

I also have an informal comment to all the poseurs on FB and their days of thanks. You aren't thankful for God and friends and family. You are thankful that I haven't called you a crack whore in public. You are really a crack whore though. Sorry. The truth hurts, Bitch. 

I was talking to a friend about how she needs to "Jew someone down." Now, I totally get the slur in that term, but I'm horrible at being PC. On the flip side, I've seen people try so hard to be "for equality" that they stumble across words out of fear of saying something wrong. Well, that is more insulting. If you have to try so hard to not be a bigot, then you're a fucking bigot. The beauty in the fact that everyone is different means we are all the same. We are similar because we are different. Quit worrying about noticing the differences and you won't have to shield how a "different" person will perceive you. 

I think I'm done for now. At least that's all I can think of. I'm sure there will be more later. BOLO!

Your bitchy Meg

Friday, November 9, 2012

Hair today, gone tomorrow

I was told the other day that it is "no shave" November and all me were encouraged not to shave for the entire month in honor of some sort of cancer. I have no idea if this is true or not and haven't even googled it to see. Honestly I don't care either way since I've been growing my beard for over 2 months already. The problem I have is I've seen some girls post saying they were also wanting to take part and if the men were allowed to they should be able to as well. This just pisses me off more that a horny quad who can't jack off to solve the problem. Women with hair on them anywhere but their head is just nasty!  For a woman to want to say she doesn't want to shave is just a sign of either a lazy or nasty girl. Body hair is a sign of manhood. It's a sign of the male testosterone and a women should want to appear as feminine as possible. This means keeping the legs, and poon or fupa for most girls smooth. Also some women need to shave the arms. I'm sorry if you were born with more hair than others. So what, just means you have to shave more. It won't kill ya!  And as for women with facial hair, if you have it and aren't doing something to be getting rid of it then your just wrong!  I don't care if you don't wanna shave it, they got lasers now for that shit. Get if fried off so you look like a girl and not a unibrowed bearded woman with sideburns!

Now let me take it a step further. This next step really pisses me off and should any man encounter it they need to put and end ASAP!  This is the woman manipulation trick. I've seen it done several times and its one of the dirtiest plays in the woman's play book. This is when the girl is single and decides she is ready to start dating and meet a new man. So she goes and does the full body shave, I'm talking head to toe slick beaver and all. Wears some sexy thongs with even MATCHING bras. We all know this never happens in real like most of the time. So say you're a dude and you meet said girl and y'all hook up. Well based on first impression you are thinking you've scored a winner. You've got a hot girl, clean shaved, wears thongs and even matches the bra. So you call her back and start going out more and more. Suddenly once you're attached the bomb gets dropped. You come home one day and the vag looks like George W under a pair of cotton granny panties with a bra that she has been wearing for 3 weeks straight. Now this is not what you signed up for. This is not why you came back the first few times, yet now if you say something to the girl she goes off about how it's not fair that we as men can be hairy but expect them as women to shave. Well duh!!  Most of all is we don't deserve to be lied too and manipulated. If you're a nasty ass hairy poon then don't try to hide it just to fool a guy.

I'm sure I have a moral to this story some where but for now I just wanted to rant. More men need to step up and be the dictator that we are made to be (remember we have the dicks) and take control of these out of control hairy women

Saturday, November 3, 2012

The ugly side of retirement

It's been a while since I've wrote on here. Partily because nothing that funny or great has happened to me to tell about and partly because I've been really sick at times to even think of funny shit to write. Anyways, retirement can cause the ugly side of a man to come out. I mean this is a very real way!  Since I no longer work I have not trimmed my beard in 4 months, got my lip pierced, and got my arm almost fully sleeved with old school style designs. Just picture this in your head. A fat guy in a wheelchair with a scruffy nappy beard with a lip ring barely visible because of the beard and a huge tattoo of a half naked woman holding guns and more guns on the other side and a ribbon that says "momma's boy". I know what you're thinking, this guy is a hot mess right?  Well this is what happens when you have no one to impress anymore. Since I no longer work and I've decided I'm never going to find a good woman, I have no reason to worry with how I look.

Totally different topic now but I've had several people who haved asked what makes me the gimp that I am. I really wish I had some badass story such as I was a vet in war and survived a bomb blast or that I was some extreme athlete who got hurt doing what I loved but in all reality I've been disabled all my life so I don't really know what being truly able bodied is all about. I was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy when I was 4 years old. For the first few years of life it wasn't that noticeable. I could never run as fast as the other kids and was always a little weaker and slower in any sports or physical activities in school. I stilled played basketball and baseball from 2nd-6th grade, but I was WAY slower at running and very weak at swinging the bat or shooting the ball. I didn't realize it at the time but looking back now this was probably some of the most important steps in my life that my mom pushed me to do. Once I entered high school in 7th grade I joined the marching band and stayed in it till I graduated. These were some very tough years in my life. I started to show more signs of weakness and because I knew I was different I tried to fit in with all the groups in school. This led me to getting into trouble and getting arrested at just 15 years old.  By the time I graduated I had really started to develop a very noticeable limp in my walk and my posture was so bad that my rib cage stuck out and made me look like I had tits. The harassment and cruelty I received on a daily basis towards the end of high school and up to the next 2 years later had led me to hate life. I basically became a hermit and did nothing but go to work and come home and sit in my room.  I was ashamed of my life and hated everything about it. I never fit in with any of the "cool" groups in school and felt like I didn't fit into society at all after I graduated. I hated life, was ashamed of my looks and my disability, was so shy I never even dated because I never could meet one (I still struggle with the girl thing to this day). By this point you're all probably either feeling bad for me or thinking I need to just get over it. Well, with the help of one very awesome friend I got over it for sure. It wasn't all by choice but I am the person I am today thanks to this one person. I don't want to put his name on here so i will just call him Beard. Beard and I have been best friends since we were 4 years old and met in head start. We played pee wee basketball together and remained friends kind of on and off through high school. After high school beard went off to college and this is when I had become a hermit and basically hit rock bottom. I was fired from my job and had nothing to look forward to in life. I was so embarrassed about my disability that I didn't dare go out in public for fear of being made fun of or worse. Well Beard had got into some trouble while off at college so he moved back home to get away from all of that. He wanted to keep going to school though and decided that I should go with him. How he convinced me to sign up I will never know, but it was the start of a whole new life for me.

So Beard and I start attending community college in January of 2001 and man what a change it was. Beard knew I had these problems and he decided to take it upon himself to fix me. It was bad enough that I was now going out in public around thousands of people close to my age and felt like they were all looking at me but Beard though I needed more attention. From then on he tried to embarrass me in every way possible. From making fart noises and blaming me, running outside towards me calling my name like a retard, just saying off the wall shit to any girl who sat by us and so on. If he though it would bother me he would do it. It is because of all the harassment from him that I finally realized that it doesn't matter what anyone thinks of me and that I needed to be ok with who I was. A couple years later I went to a wheelchair full time and never slowed down or looked back on life. I have made some of the best friends a guy could have and got out and done anything I wanted to. The only thing that he didn't help with and even to this day I still struggle is with girls. I freeze up and just shut down inside. Eventually I'm cool with them if they talk to me,but I've never been able to pursue a girl for say dating. Usually I become the nice friend that they all don't wanna hurt.

Well I think I've went off on about three different subjects, but most of this has been typed while under the influence of lots of pain meds so you will have to forgive me

Your awesome gimp,

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Attack of the Vigilant Insects

When we went on vacation, we came back with souvenirs. Of course. But unfortunately they weren't limited to shells, taxidermied alligators, or baby sharks in formaldehyde. We also brought home some parasitic fucktards and I've been on a delousing rampage ever since. 

First off, I absolutely despise lice. But I've had to do tons of research on them simply because this is our second bout with my arch nemesis. Secondly, I've read that although they are a nuisance, they don't pose any health threats. That doesn't comfort me at all.  In fact, they still make me cry. 

I'm not sure of the source of the first round, but I'm sure that it cost me approximately 350 bucks to get rid of them. After about a month, one of Cheez's friends stayed the whole weekend with us and two days later that child was sent home due to lice. Cheez was also checked but they didn't see any. However, I knew. I knew those fuckers must be back. 

In the last week and a half, I have already spent another 100 trying to kill them. The last treatment made me think that even the insecticides aren't working anymore. I truly think these fuckers would survive a nuclear war along with the roaches. 

I've tried Nix, Rid, CVS generic, et. al. None of them seem to really kill them anymore. Or maybe it is just my imagination. However, I've used the insecticides at least eight times along with other home treatments. I've combed her hair over a dozen times. I've had friends with experience assist in the combing. I've sprayed the house, replaced pillows, vacuumed, sanitized. I've tried it all. 

And they are probably gone now, but I'm NOT going through this shit again. So, I've laid down some ground rules to prevent any future mishaps. 

1. Since they only like clean hair, all of Cheez's friends must be the smelly kids in class. 
2. They also despise hair products so she can choose friends from Toddlers in Tiaras or Jersey Shore. 
3. No more daily showers. We live in Alabama, so weekly bathing should be socially acceptable. 
4. All new friends will receive a questionnaire to take home to their parents. It will contain things such as, "do you color your daughter's hair?" and "your answering of this survey gives me permission to deny your child's entrance to my home upon a failed head inspection."
5. Ethnic or black friends are strongly encouraged because lice don't afflict them as often as white females. 
6. No brushing of hair while children are here. I don't want kids to think they can use our stuff. 
7. Sleepovers are limited to areas where there is no cloth. Sleeping on hardwood or tiled areas is permitted.
8. Kids without hair are welcome. In fact, some friend recruiting may happen at the cancer center. 

In the end, I think these rules will help my child be more diverse. It's like hardcore friend recruiting. Only the strong will survive.  I'm being a good parent. Quit judging me. 

Overall, I truly feel sorry for anyone that has to deal with this. It is time consuming, expensive, and just gross. They make me paranoid and itchy. Please do everything you can to prevent this from happening. And if your child gets lice, be a responsible parent and warn other parents that you have become infested. And don't send your child somewhere of they are infested.  Let's not spread the wealth. 

Your Lice Advice Giving,

Sunday, September 23, 2012


My daughter's birthday was this weekend and we had a big family gathering at the Music Midtown festival in Atlanta. She was hoping to get to meet Eddie Vedder but it's probably for the best that she didn't. I think we will save that for her eleventh birthday. She needs something to look forward to. 

The first night we stayed with one of my all time BFFs and her hubby and kids. It was marvelous. Nothing traumatic happened. Except that we colored my hair. That's always traumatic. Or dramatic. Probably both. 

In the time it took to drive from my friend's on Saturday to the point that we picked up my cousin, mother, and nieces, I had an epiphany. When I was talking to Yel, I came up with an ingenious, albeit disgusting, way to have men all over women. 

This is the female version of Matt Dillon's faux pas in There's Something About Mary. When a girl is going out, and she needs to relieve some stress before, she should try manual pleasure. 

After she finishes, her moisture can be used as hair gel. That part isn't original, but I swear to you that this idea makes perfect sense. You see, the "hair gel" will contain pheromones. It will be a subliminal message a chick can send. 

She will be giving out the silent message of "yeah, you know you want me." but she won't have to act all slutty or get drunk or dress like a hooker. She will just casually stand near a man she finds attractive and bam! It's like witchcraft but better because no chanting is involved. Or she could chant. Whatever works. 

Let me know if you've tried this. If it works, I'd like to get some royalties off of your pussy juice. 

Distastefully yours,

Friday, September 21, 2012

The Lawn Guy Saw My Bush

I have this history, a very long history, of having a hatred for wearing clothes. Especially when I'm at home. I feel that clothes are a hindrance to my normal function. They restrict me, they don't allow my skin to breathe, and they poke me or squeeze me or itch. Clothes just suck.

When I moved to my second house, I didn't have roommates that would get upset if I wasn't dressed. It was just me and hubby and of course he didn't care. So when I first walked through the door, I started stripping down one article at a time so that when I made it to my room, I was ready for an old baggy tee at max. At a minimum, I would skip the tee altogether and let my flap jacks hang free. 

This tradition has continued without any hint of modesty. The only reason I hesitate now is more for the people that have to endure the pain of seeing my naked ass walk around with a phone in one hand and a bottle of Clorox in another than for my pure embarrassment. 

I wasn't even embarrassed the day I got locked out of my house wearing only a tank top and undies. I wasn't embarrassed the day my neighbor was standing at my door when I was cleaning in my favorite old pair of Victoria's Secret bikini style puppy dog prints. I was never embarrassed when I told my friends to wait at the door unless they wanted to see full frontal. Even the day Tim came to the door and I was wearing absolutely nothing, I wasn't phased. 

That all changed today. Maybe. I doubt it. 

Today, in a moment of intimacy. Just me being myself and naked as usual. Gator asked, "did someone just knock on the door?" I shrugged it off and headed toward the living room to grab his phone for him. 

Mind you, the front door is open so that a breeze can come through the screen. And as I walked around the corner from the hallway some guy was standing there. I screamed and ran to the room while flailing around like an epileptic child at a rave. 

All I could think was "he just saw me naked." "Who the fuck is he?" Gator went to talk to him and apparently explained that I was naked. Which is just so wrong. Why, Gator? Why?

The guy claims to have not seen anything. He was just wondering if we were looking for someone to mow the lawn. How fucking lucky is he? He walks up to a random house seeking work, and sees a naked MILF* standing in front of him. It might have seemed sexy if I hadn't screamed, "Stranger Danger."

*My opinion, not necessarily fact

All I can think about is the irony of a lawn guy seeing my bush. And Gator won't stop laughing. Men really are assholes.

Your Needing to Trim That Shit,

Monday, September 17, 2012

Sharp Cheddar

My daughter, who says her nickname is "Cheez," has a birthday coming up. She will be ten, but she is very complex when compared to other children her age. She is also highly intelligent which makes my job only that much harder. I have to stay on my toes.

In my daughter's many hobbies and abilities lies a small passion for creative writing. She is always starting books that never get completed even though she will have several chapters that seem to pose high hopes for an awesome book.

The problem with every writer is that we start off with fiction and quickly realize that the summary of our own personal lives would be way more interesting. More of a "you couldn't make this shit up" kind of theory. This is where my dilemma arises. The memoir that my daughter writes will be one big joke about how I manage to fuck up her life.

I can see it now. I can see the chapters dedicated to her unconventional mom.

~My Mother is Always High (On Caffeine)
~Mom is Yelling at Inanimate Objects Again
~Taco Bell Again? Why Can't You Cook, Bitch?
~You're Not Allowed to Wear That in Public
~We Call You "Crazy Spice" Behind Your Back
~When She Sings and Dances, People Think She's Having a Seizure
~I Don't Care if They Are in Style, She Will Never be Able to Pull Off a Tu-Tu
~If She Spent as Much Time Cleaning as she Does Bitching About How Dirty Things Are...
~Mom Left Her Phone in the Freezer

Of course this list isn't all inclusive. I'm sure she and others could think of many more, but you get the gist. However, even through all the craziness, Cheez is still able to maintain excellent grades, have witty conversations, and make me so proud that I cry. I was never really the type of person that had patience with children. I never imagined that I would have a child of my own. However, I love her and owe her everything that I can give her. Mainly she deserves it just for surviving me.

Saturday, September 8, 2012

Ass and Titties

I was taking to my lawyer/friend the other day when he said, "you know, we really could have made him pay for your tits." Well, those might not have been his exact words, but that was what he meant. In my divorce, I got screwed. You see, he had promised to buy me a set of nice, perky tits that would rival a 20 year old sorority girl in trade for me paying for his LASIK through my FSA. I want to qualify here by just reminding you to quit judging me. What woman doesn't want fresh tits? What man doesn't want a woman to have fresh tits?

Anyway, in our discussion about my never gonna happen boobs, my lawyer, who is also friends with Tim, asked if I thought he would really testify to back up my story about this verbal arrangement. And I said, "it's like you don't even know him." And really, that was the only appropriate response to such an absurd question.  Anyone that knows Tim knows that he is all about improving anyone's boobs. In fact, he doesn't even care if they are saggy, National Geographic boobs. He just thinks that if someone gets a new pair, they will be more inclined to show him. He's selfish like that.

One of the last times I was able to treat Tim to a night of ass and titties was when we're in Vegas. It was a wild night. My friend Yel was there with us along with he who shall not buy my boobs or Ass, for short. Earlier in the day, the guys had scheduled to go to the UFC fight. Yel and I had decided to shop and go to dinner then we had tickets to a Cirque show. It was perfect. 

On our way to dinner at some fancy ass restaurant in the Bellagio, we saw some guys with VIP passes to random hotspots within Sin City. We decided to stop and see what places we could check out. One of them was touted "THE BEST strip club in Vegas." And we fell for it. Hook, line, and glitter. 

The VIP passes gave us a free limo ride to the club along with free cover and a free drink for everyone in our party. What could possibly go wrong? I mean, Tim loves titties, I love limos, and Yel loves free drinks. There was nothing that could top the surprise we had waiting for the men in our party. What other woman treats her man and BFF to a night of beautiful, mostly naked women? 

Well, our Cirque show ended right after the UFC fight and both were at MGM which was the total opposite end of the strip from our casino. We had told the guys to go back to the room after the fight and to shower and get ready for our surprise. They had absolutely no clue. Since the strip club didn't have a wheelchair accessible limo, we asked the guys to call a cab and have it there at 11 so we could all go to the club together. Mind you, they still had no idea where we were going. They just knew that we thought this plan was totally unbeatable.

Well, since the UFC fight ended just before our show, the wait for a cab was longer than the wait for a negative pregnancy test at 17. Yel and I decided to walk. Which didn't seem so far. Well, it was. It took us over an hour to walk from MGM to TI in huge crowds on the 4th of July weekend when everyone was hitting the streets of Vegas at the same time. But we made the best of it. I mean, I was dancing and singing Ice Ice Baby while Yel was acting like she didn't even know me. And who could blame her. 

Either way, we eventually made it back to our casino where the guys informed us that the taxi got tired of waiting on us. So, we called the club asking them to send their limo and called a new cab. Then an argument of epic proportions ensued. Ass wanted to ride in the limo, but someone had to ride with Tim. It would have been dirty to send him alone to a place he didn't even know he was going to until he got there. 

Yel and I thought we should be able to ride in the limo because, well, we are spoiled bitches and it was OUR IDEA DAMMIT!!!! We won that argument. And mind you, we would have all taken a taxi but according to the strip club someone had to ride in the limo to get the other perks. We just didn't see any other solution. Nor did we see the karma that would come from us demanding we get to ride in this "limo." 

The taxi came and got the guys while Yel and I were waiting on our special ride. We waited and waited and never saw one pull up. Then I got a phone call stating they were at the hotel waiting on us. We saw a limo, but thought it had already been there, not a newly arrived one. We are all "did this limo just get here? I thought it was already here." "No driver waiting with a door open?" "This limo sucks! But, eh, it is a limo, right? So we should STFU." 

We tried to open the door and it was locked so I look around and see a fucking party bus with the strip club's name on it. Oh mah fucking gawd. The driver asks, "are you Megan?" And I ask how the fuck that classified as a limo. And that man said that because it can carry 15 people, they consider it a limo. I'm sorry but I've never seen a limo with a stripper pole and a disco ball. This was just my luck. Not to mention the eight or so young, barely-legal-type-young guys that were so glad we joined their fun. 

The driver said, "here's some music so you can dance." And I shit you not, one of the boys said, "yeah! We can make it rain!" "Bitch, you can't afford me" is exactly what I was thinking. Instead, I cried. I cried for the days when your biggest fear when going to the strip club was that a lap dance would give you crabs and that they only served Budweiser.

When we finally got there, the men in our group saw us run from the party bus with the look of "if you say anything, I will stab you with the severed claw of a kitten" in our eyes and that moment was never mentioned again. It was for the best.  Either way, we went inside hoping the rest of the night would be everything we had hoped it would be. It wasn't. 

Don't get me wrong, the girls were super hot. But everything else was such a money pit, I wanted to scream. A "song dance" was 40 bucks. A bottle of water was 12. And the ATM fee was 35. It was ridiculous.

We let Tim enjoy the scenery for a few hours before we left. We each got a public lap dance at 40 bucks a pop. And I asked a chick which doctor she used for her surgery. I got a nice referral. So, it wasn't all bad. But to this day, over a year later, I still get job offers through text messages fom that place. If I ever get that surgery, I might just consider it.

Your Flap-Jack Boobs, Meg

P.S. Feel free to email pics of tits to Tim at

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Cabin living (and other tidbits)

Hi all, it's Tim. I know, I know, y'all done thought I'd been abducted by aliens by now. Well Meg is the only one who might believe that since she believes in all that weird supernatural x-files, aliens suck your brains, vampire werewolf bullshit. Most of you probably just assumed I done something stupid like drive my wheelchair into a lake or shoot myself cleaning one of my new guns. (speaking of driving into a lake, remind me to tell you a story later on about that). Anyways, I've actually just been doing nothing but cabin living. I finally got moved into my little piece of heaven a couple months ago and I love it. It's perfect for me. The down side is I've been to weak to actually enjoy it to the fullest. As meg said I've been really sick again. So my life hasn't really had a whole lot going on to talk about. Just a quick rundown, everyone knows I'm a gimp in a wheelchair from having muscular dystrophy. Well, because of my disease my lungs are not good. Actually they are so weak that I could quit breathing at anytime. *serious moment here* I was told in June of last year that I have 6-9 months left before my lungs would go out. I was admitted in December to the hospital and quit breathing on my second day there and the same doc said I probably wouldn't make it out alive. So, the fact I'm even here is special. I must admit it hasn't been an easy road though. I've delt with some of the worst depression ever. That was all new to me because I've always been so strong willed an independent. Now my life is sleeping 15 plus hours a day and waiting to see what mom is cooking for supper. I lost my drive, lost my will power, lost my mojo and really just plain lost about life. I want out of life what most anyone wants and that's to find someone to spend the rest of my life with who loves me for me and vice versa. Someone who can just go and see the sights and be there with me for what time I do have left. Anyways, enough of the sadness for now. Only other thing I'd like to say is I don't claim to be atheist. I think their must be some sort of higher power or supreme being out there. I just don't believe specifically in the Christian doctrine or any organized religion for that matter. Now saying that, I would never ask you not to pray. I welcome all the prayers, well wishes, good vibes, voodoo spells, Tom cruise Scientology vibes, spheghetti monster prayers, or what ever else.

So for now cabin life goes on for me. I have some great days and some very scary days. On my good days I try to get out and go to town and see friends or go shoot my guns. Nothing like shooting 100 rounds of ammo to make the testosterone levels stay up. Now if I could just find me the right girl to help relieve that same testosterone afterwards by shooting my other gun!!

Stay tuned for some funny stories coming up including "what happens in Vegas...."

Friday, August 17, 2012

Limps and Shrimps

We went on vacation, which consisted of many hours of beach time and precisely zero hours of true relaxation. But that's the way we like it.  Every year I take my daughter to surf camp. She loves it. She's pretty good too.  When she actually tries to get up and isn't making excuses. But that rant is for another day.

We went to Jax Beach, which is our general place to visit because I have so much family there. Plus, I never have to rent a room. Which makes it like the cheapest ten day vacation anyone could ever have. And I'm frugal if I'm anything. Or poor. Either way, cheaper is better.  Also, not the point of this post.

This year, we took several newcomers. Three to be exact.  Three people who have never been to that part of Florida.  One who had never seen the Atlantic before, but she is only 9, so I give her a tad bit of leniency.

One of the newcomers was my friend, Shelley.  One evening, after being on the beach all morning and part of the afternoon, we decided to go "downtown" to visit a few shops and spend some money.  Well,  the whole evening started out with me having to use the potty so, so very bad.

While everyone was visiting a shop, I walked across the street to a restaurant to see if they cared if I used their restroom.  Since they were so gracious, I decided to buy a drink from the bar.  From that point, I should have known it would be an interesting endeavor, but no. Why would I listen to my instinct? How dare that conscience tell me to just drink my drink, pay and walk away?

Normal people would drink their whiskey and ginger ale and leave a nice tip and go back to join the rest of their group. I am not normal.  I called them over, told them the drinks were great, the menu looked awesome, and the place wasn't crowded, so our rowdy little girls wouldn't be able to disrupt many.  This is where it went bad.

All of us, four young girls, three adult women, were enjoying our food and drinks outside on the patio when a few dumbass guys joined.  Our first thought should be, "who in the hell walks over, sits down at a table where three women are eating, and just joins in their conversation?" That wasn't our thought.  My mind was on ordering another drink.  Their minds were on, well, I'm not sure.

One guy, who was apparently flaming, was the worst one upper one could ever imagine.  I was so distracted by him saying things like "I know the owner of that store, you girls should take those shells back and we'll go get some for free off the beach." And, "when I was swimming with sharks, one came up really close and scared me so much that I actually walked on water." I was so distracted by that, I missed things like him being a crossdresser. And one of the girls saying "but I bought a blue starfish?" As if to ask if there are any blue starfish on the beach just hundreds of feet away.  She surely hadn't seen one earlier that day.

When he was talking about walking on water, I wanted to ask him if he were a carpenter.  He wouldn't have even understood, so it's probably best I didn't take a chance to be snarky. After we got home, since my gaydar is out of batteries, the children informed me of his stories of crossdressing.  Which I apparently hadn't even bothered to listen to. Yeah, this guy, not appropriate for kids. At all.

The other guy, well, he was busy hitting on Shelley.  To the point that some time during the evening, he opened his pants so that she could see his schlong.  Now, the word schlong here is rather misleading as it contains the word "long."  And I'm not usually one to bash on a man's size since it is genetic, and well, my genes made me have like the ugliest feet I've ever seen on any non-neanderthal.  Either way, it isn't the fact that this limp was a shrimp. It is the fact that he is apparently so proud of his friend that he decided to show it during "girls night out."  If you have the nerve to show off your sausage, wouldn't you rather it not be a vienna?

In the end, we all learned a few lessons.  1. I suck at knowing who is gay or straight. 2. Random guys at restaurants that are so tactless that they will interrupt your not-so-cheap dinner are probably not the type of people that should be allowed around children. 3. Feet size are definitely not an indicator of penis size. 4. Family vacations with Meg always, always have at least one night of total hilarity.

The good thing about this was that we laughed and had fun for ten whole days.  There wasn't one day where I didn't laugh my ass off about something.  Even if it was because in the back of my mind I couldn't wait to tell you guys about limps and shrimps.

Your Sun-kissed,

P.S. This post really does no justice to the awesomeness of that one evening.

P.P.S. Eat more chocolate.

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

L I B...

That is a very southern version of another probably southern term. "Well, I'll be..." is probably what you were thinking when you saw a new post. Maybe not exactly "well, I'll be" but probably some other form of it.  And I agree.  I have been gone for sooo long, and I have so much to share.  I can't put it all here, though, because most of it is unrelated and trying to put all of that into one post will just make you want to gouge out yours eyes.

However, first things first.  Please forgive me. I would say I was away doing things typical Southern Belles do, but anyone that knows me would call bullshit and I really hate liars.  I was busy, though.

I went to my great-grandfather's funeral and was stung by a bee. At his funeral. I have bad luck. My niece came and stayed for a while then I traded her for another niece. I was promoted to supervisor which is the dumbest thing any employer should ever do. I went on vacation. And the other half of this dangerous duo is sick. Again.

Whew, that wasn't so hard. Maybe congress should hire me to shorten their convoluted proposals so maybe one will get passed once in a while.  There were a lot more other insignificant activities here and there, but that is the gist of my absence.

My new job:  I was promoted to supervisor. It is possibly temporary. But everything is temporary where I work, so who knows. What I do know is that I have seven minions under me. That is seven employees who rely on me to shape their minds and do their annual appraisals. Yeah, they are doomed.

I am working in a new office where only about half of the people knew me before I came, and even less of them knew anything personal about me.  I prefer to keep it that way.  I prefer to be mysterious. Ok. I'm lying. I'm really an open book, and very very loud and talkative.  And apparently my reputation precedes me because one of the newest employees in the office is on my team and she said "I heard you speak your mind."

My response to her is a prime example of why I should never be a leader. Of any kind. I set a bad, very sarcastic example. But I said to her, "show me an auditor without an opinion, and I'll let you pet my unicorn." Now, "unicorn" was not a euphemism for anything. At all. So keep your minds out of the gutter.  However, this was supposed to teach her that as an auditor, I'm essentially paid to have an opinion. And since I've been opinionated (unrightfully so) my entire life, this job is essentially perfect for me. The second best option would have been to study law. And I hate Latin, so that was out of the question.

There have been other conversations with new hires, and other auditors, that have led me to believe that either I'm perfect for a supervisory position, or I'm so wrong for the position, they may just keep me there on a permanent basis.  Only time will tell.

Tim: We haven't spoken much of what has caused him to be a gimp, and I don't want to go into a lot of detail, because I was hoping he would write about that for himself. But, he has an infection in his lungs again, and this never turns out great.  Usually it leaves him weak, and tired, and very, very sleepy for weeks on end. It almost seems that he never recovers 100 percent either.

But this time is different.  This time, we don't have to rush to the hospital and stay there for days on end. This time, he gets to stay home and use the aide of nurses that come to his rescue any time he needs them.  This time, he gets to sleep in his own bed. In his own PJs. Watch his own TV.

What I want us all to do, what I request you to do, say a little prayer for him. For his family. For his friends.  Now, Tim will say that he is Atheist and not to pray for him.  What he doesn't understand is that you don't have to pray to God. You can pray to Gaia. Mother Earth. The Cookie Monster. You don't have to be religious to pray. You don't have to be religious to be spiritual. Just please do it. Pray and wish peace and health on not just Tim, but peace and health for anyone that you know is in turmoil. Anyone that isn't. Anyone that deserves your well wishes.

Thank you.

Your Not-So-Southern-Belle,

P.S. Next time, I will report on limps and shrimps.  You have been warned.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

I'm a PITA, Not to be Confused with PETA. Those People are Dicks...

It's true, I'm a major pain in the ass. Which is fine. Because I'm a lovely pain in the ass.  The problem is, only people who are half retard or full of patience are able to deal with pains in the ass such as me.  Those people are rare, and when we do find them, we bitch at them so much it is a wonder they don't run off faster than clients in a massage parlor during a police raid.

I love to bitch. I absolutely love it. I love it even more when I have determined that your logic behind something is stupid or it disagrees with my own. That's when I tell you, in the most bitchy way, how I think you are retarded and should look at things in a different way. My way. The. Right. Way. Some people do not like this type of behavior. Some people get so pissed at my incessant need to explain to you how wrong you really are that they start to cuss me back and the whole "debate" becomes one big clusterfuck of insults. And then it stops to make sense totally.

This is usually how things go. Even with Gator sometimes. But usually, most of the time, he seems to be pretty patient with me. What he gets so revved up about is how I can go from zero to bitch to "oh, I found some shoes today that I HAVE to buy" back to bitch back to zero in a matter of ummm, about 5 minutes. Because, lets be real, my attention span is longer than 30 seconds.  Which is why I can write more than two sentences on here before I get sidetracked with something else and have to figure out the original point. Not some fabricated one adjusted as I go. In fact, it has already happened. This shit sucks...

I would give you examples of this in action (the quickness of happy to pissed back to happy), but then I'd become the bitchee* instead of the bitcher* for telling it all wrong, or exaggerating how wonderful I am, or for not understanding what he was saying. And let me just point out, that being on the receiving end of a bitch session, is never, ever where I want to be.  I'm much better at pretending you're wrong than admitting that I may be. Which really does make life more interesting.

*If those are not words, well, they are now. And you're welcome. Feel free to use them anytime.

Anyway, Gator, he is usually pretty easy to get along with and doesn't always fall into my bait of "I just want to argue with you to argue with you." Which is great, because those people are hard to find.  For example, the events from tonight.

Let me start out by saying that I totally am an animal lover. Anyone that knows me, knows this is true. I love them, big, small, smelly, whatever. I also want to say that because dogs are so awesome, you can use them for any verbal frustrations you might have, and they just look at you all happy that you're back from that long journey you went on for the whole 30 minutes you were gone.  That's why I love them. They accept me for who I am, and they are always happy that I'm home.

Tonight, after work, at Gator's house, I walk through the hallway, then the kitchen, to the family room where I'm watching the news and philosophizing over great thoughts such as "hmmm, I wonder why Spongebob lives in a pineapple" when I decide to get up and walk through the kitchen for reasons unknown. This time, I walked through without shoes. And this is significant why? Well, because Gator's dog apparently pissed in the floor. And while I was walking, I not so gracefully slipped in this random puddle of dog urine.

But I didn't just slip. I landed in such a way that had I been mid-air and doing stunts for the Matrix, I'd have a fucking Oscar. No lie. My legs slid apart, one in front, one in back. My shin landed in the pee. My foot that slid forward sloshed it every friggin' where. My toes bent in a direction that they shouldn't have, and I sprained my damn wrist. It wasn't pretty. I got up as fast as I could, assessed the damage, thought to myself "screw it, I'll clean it later" and went straight to the shower.  Luckily I'm clean, and now so is the floor, but every time I talk to Gator, I'm all "fuck your dog."

His response? Well, it was so anticlimactic, and just plain lame. He said, "so we're out ten grand for not having a camera?" Now, even in my bitchiest of bitchy ways, there is no way that I could argue away that logic.  Really.  Had this happened to someone else, I would have laughed so hard I would have pissed right beside the dog's puddle. I'm even laughing now. But seriously, fuck that dog.

--Your Animal Loving Meg

Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Boats 'n hos

This weekend, I went to the gulf with Meg, her daughter whom we will call Cheez, and Gator which is Meg's S.O. It was a short trip, and generally uneventful as compared to past trips with and without Meg. There were no drunken episodes, no accidental fires, and only one almost wreck. Which might have been Meg's fault, but I told her that it wasn't so that she wouldn't cuss me out. I still think bitches can't drive. Maybe they should all have their licenses taken away until they prove they can do the task as good as a man. After all, she did smash my face into the dash with her shitty driving! Even though the trip had no major issues, we did have one dead car battery, two days on the beach, three of us with sunburns, and countless hot chicks. Oh, and I was able to rent a kick ass powered wheelchair for the beach. Since we decided at almost the last minute to take this trip, all of the regular beach wheelchairs were taken. For some reason, I had not searched for power chairs, but I decided to once we got there. And this woman and her husband make these power chairs and will deliver and pick them up for you. It was great. Big shout out to for providing such an awesome service! This is the first time I have been able to get on the beach in forever even though I find myself traveling to the coast pretty often. I was able to ride right up the water's edge and enjoy the scenery. And by scenery, I mean damn near naked chicks. You see, I like the beach for a completely different reason than most people. Yeah, the beach is nice, and peaceful, and all the other shit people say, but after a day of it, maybe two, I get bored. I can't just sit out in the sun on gritty sand all day for days on end and consider myself relaxed. After a few days, I want to slit my wrists for just some type of entertainment. I do, however, absolutely love people watching. And people watching when those people have on hardly any clothes makes it even that much better. I saw so many girls of all different sizes, styles, and hair colors that were so scantily clad, their mamas would have been embarrassed. I absolutely loved it. I even saw a few that should be havin' my baby. I love the summertime clothing. I love that the beach makes summertime clothing seem like nuns in habits. I love that I can sit on the beach and enjoy the scenery. Basically, the power chair gave me access to better views. It gave me the opportunity to watch the boats 'n hos. It also gained me so many stares of my own, I should have charged admission. I guess it's not enough that I'm just a fat guy in a wheelchair. Throw in the fact that I was a shirtless fat guy in a power wheelchair on the beach with a red Mohawk and all of my tattoos showing and I got stared at more than a feature dancer at a strip club. Of course as hot as most of the girls were that were staring at me made me only have one thought, "Wanna ride in my lap, Sugar?"

Thursday, May 17, 2012

Gimpin' Ain't Easy

Yesterday, I went on a field trip with my daughter and over a hundred other hoodlums and snotty nosed kids.  I had an absolute blast.  First we had lunch on a riverboat.  It would have been nice and peaceful, except there were tons of bratty children running around and basically pushing each other out of the way just to see the captain.  Personall y I felt sorry for him.  First off for being stuck on a boat and having to see the same exact scenery day after day, but also because he gets gawked at by children and their nosy parents all day, every day.  I’m sure he’d rather just do his job in peace, but of course we don’t allow that.  This really was a nice preamble to the remainder of the field trip.  Kinda warmed the kids up to staring at something they knew they were supposed to be appreciating, but didn’t exactly understand why.

  After the riverboat, we went to the aquarium.  This is the first time I’ve ever visited the aquarium in Chattanooga, and it was nice, but I really expected a little more.  At least more sea creatures.  I prefer the sea life way more than river life.  The fish are more colorful, they seem more active, and they are definitely more interesting as far as their adaptations and their quirkiness.  But enough of my review, I really do have a point.  

In part of the aquarium, they had rather large turtles in a tank with other fish.  One was seemingly normal until further inspection when you saw that he was actually gimped up.  And by gimped up, I mean he was missing a back leg.  Or foot.  Or fin.  I don’t know the exact terminology for turtle anatomy, but whatever the hell it is called, he was missing one.  He was also missing part of his shell which is actually what I noticed first before I realized his whole back appendage was gone.  My first instinct was a shark attack, but you never really know.  He could have been caught in a fisherman’s net or some other freak accident like getting caught in the middle of some mermaid love triangle.  Or losing at a terrible sea version of Frogger.

  Because of this almost normal turtle, I began to think of Tim and his own gimp issues and how we all seem to have some kind of handicap, but we learn to overcome it or at least adapt to it.  Tim’s handicap is visible to everyone, well except for blind people because of their own handicap, but whatever.  Everyone who isn’t blind can see that Tim is not able to walk.  Either that or they think he’s a very good actor just looking for all the good parking spots.  Sometimes I wonder myself…

  In the end, some handicaps are able to be seen, others, well, they are hidden.  My handicap isn’t so easy to notice.  At least not to people who don’t really know me.  To the people who first meet me, I’m a little nutty, a little unorganized, and a little rude, or harsh, or just plain outspoken.  Some initially think I’m a bitch.  While I can be all of these things, those aren’t even the things that are so bad, or things that I have to learn to overcome.  But I am overcoming, I am learning, and I think all of the gimped up people and animals in my life to help teach me.

  You wouldn’t think that a dumbass redneck in a wheelchair could teach me so many things about life, but he has.  Tim, he’s a great teacher.  He taught me about physics when he tried to ramp a curb and faceplanted on the street in Nashville.  He taught me economics when he “hired a cleaning lady” and she cleaned his man pipes and not his house, but he still had to pay her.  Like I said, he is an awesome effing teacher.  And this teacher is taking me on a field trip of our own starting tomorrow.

  We will be heading to the coast in less than 24 hours.  By the time we get there, I’m sure he will have taught me more lessons.  Who knows, I might even get a lesson on anatomy or science.  Either way, I’m sure it will be a blast.  Wish us luck, and wish us good lessons.  Wish us a safe journey that doesn’t end in things like herpes or jellyfish stings.  Wish us to have a new story to tell you even though we haven’t found the time to tell you the hilarious ones of our past.

  -Your gimp loving, Meg

Sunday, May 13, 2012

An Ode to Mothers

I have several mothers. One biological, one step, and many acquired along the way. My biological mother birthed me, but my step-mother mostly raised me. The other mothers are the mothers of friends or co-workers that have taken on the task of keeping me in line. I owe them all. Even though each one is unique in their own way, I will forever be indebted to the women who have helped structure me to become the person that I am today. And today, I am a mother as well and I hope to instill qualities of all of my "mothers" into my daughter.

My biological mother, I don't see her often, and she wasn't a huge portion of my life when I was younger, but I owe her a big thanks for bringing me into this world. Thank you Mom.  No mother is perfect. She was no exception. She has faults, we all do. I overlook these and am grateful that she gave me life and three other sisters. As I have grown older, I notice that sometimes the decisions mothers make didn't necessarily lead to the best outcomes, but they were definitely believed to be the right thing to do at the time. In the end, we have all survived, we have all grown, and we all still love.

My step-mother, she has been there, through thick, thin, and even through make believe drug deals. I gave my step-mother hell. Not necessarily being a punk, but mostly trying to be a clown. I was embarrassing, still am, and she managed to make it through the days where I almost got us kicked out of local stores. My step-mother gave me a half-sister and gave me support, strength, knowledge, and a great example on how to be there for children even if they aren't biologically yours. Through the years, when I was a challenge to my step-mother, she still demanded love from me and threw it back. Even stronger, even better than before. For her love and support and teaching, I am eternally grateful. Not to mention, she is the best grandmother my daughter could ever ask for.

The other mothers in my life have taken on the task of being friends and other guides to help me grow. With them, I have grown professionally, educationally, spiritually, and any other -ly you could imagine. These other women in my life remind me to get my keys out of the break room or loan me their carpet cleaners. These women have shown me that even though they haven't been in my life for decades, they still love me and my daughter just the same. They have given me the wisdom to help make it through daily life situations in a town not so close to the family that raised me.

In the end, even though I'm a mother, I'm still learning from my mothers, I'm still trying to live by their examples, and I'm trying to be the woman they all wish me to be. I love all of them. I thank all of them. I will always remember them.

Happy Mother's Day! Thank you all!

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Don't Judge Me - I Think I Caught The Gay!

“Don’t judge me” is something we say often. Usually it is preceded by a story similar to “I was drinking margaritas on the back patio when I locked myself out of the house and had to pee in the bushes. Don’t judge me.” But this is not at all what the Don’t Judge Me of today means.

Sean Harris, the senior pastor of Berean Baptist Church has made comments that went public and then viral about raising gay children.  His comments allegedly alluded to abusing your child to prevent them from being gay. Or at least to stop it in its tracks.  I admit that I haven’t seen the whole sermon, so I can’t comment as to whether he was serious, or if he even said something along the lines of “if your son is gay, beat him with a stick.” I do know that in one segment he used the words “butch” and “bent wrist.” I’m pretty sure he wasn’t using these terms to warn people they are derogatory. I’m pretty sure he was using them in a derogatory fashion.

Now, I admit that I say things often that I shouldn’t say. I call Tim a gimp. I say things like “that’s retarded” or “I feel like a midget.” However, I never use my words to suggest that a group of people are all the same, or shouldn’t be allowed to be what they actually are. When someone hears this man say “if your daughter is too butch,” that daughter is busy saying “don’t judge me.” When a young man hears him say “bent wrist,” he is busy saying “don’t judge me.”

One of the problems I have with this is the fact that this pastor is generalizing. He is stereotyping. If there is anything I have learned from my gay friends, is that they never fall into my pre-conceived stereotypical views. The constantly prove me wrong. That they are non-conformists even in the most non-conforming way. They do it so well, they make hipsters look like the French in a world war. Yet they still continue to need to shout “don’t judge me!”

I always assumed that my first gay guy friend would be my new shopping partner. In fact, I had it all planned out to perfection. We would wake up, go get brunch (notice I did not say “eat”), get some trendy lattes at an over-priced coffee joint, then the shopping would ensue. Then I would hear things like “the new Manolo Blahniks are sweet” or “gurl, you look like a hot mess in that’ put it back before Greenpeace comes to save you.” I never knew the first gay guy I’d ever come to truly know would be so, um, what word am I looking for? Not stereotypical for sure.

Needless to say, I was sadly mistaken. I was even more mistaken when my newly acquired lesbian friend was so “butch” that she baked cakes and did girly shit like that. What the fuck was this world coming to? It was twisted, and perverse, and you know what? I liked it. In fact, I love that now, I don’t judge. I see people as people and I respect them as so. In the end, I may not have a new shopping buddy, but I also learned that The Gay isn’t really contagious. It isn’t like the flu. (Just to clear things up, I never truly thought I would catch The Gay. It is a running joke based on how a co-worker reacted upon learning that someone else was gay.)

Some of you may be shocked by this, but I’m a Christian. Not a great one. Probably not even a good one. But I think that’s what makes God love me. Because I’m fully aware of my imperfections. I also think that God wants us to quit judging. I think he made all people, gay or straight, equally. I think it is His place to judge people. Not ours. I also think that He loves that I will let Him take that responsibility. He wants it. He doesn’t want us to have it. We are biased. We say “don’t judge me!” yet we still judge. He sees our bias, our closed-minded views, how we don’t perceive all facts. He sees that and tells us that before we make the mistake of judging, that we shouldn’t even bother. It is a waste of our time. It causes hate, it causes anger, and sometimes it even causes war. He takes on that job, and for that, I’m grateful.

In the end, I think we should all remember that no one likes to be judged. We don’t even like to be judged if we trip while checking the mail or show up late to our son’s baseball game. We definitely don’t want to be judged based on our relationship status. This world is full of too many haters already, so the next time you see me, please don’t judge me.


Saturday, May 5, 2012

Being a dating gimp

Ive been a single man now for over two years and I've had the most shitty luck with finding a girlfriend or even the dating thing at all. I admit that some of the reasons why I don't have a girlfriend are my own fault because I'm shy at first and as meg would say just an overall pussy when it comes to talking to girls. Even when I did have a girlfriend, I've only had 2 since I've been single, they were crazy. I'm talking one was certifiable. Here's the thing, I have some of the most beautiful, awesome female friends in the world and have many of them. It's like all the girls want to be friends with the cute guy in the wheelchair. They all talk about how awesome I am and how much fun it is to be around me and how I motivate them and blah, blah, blah. Yet, if I tried to make something more out of it than just these friendships I get shot down faster than Osama bin laden being raided by the SeAL theam. I'm not saying I want to date every female friend I have but there has been a few that I thought would make a great girlfriend. So ladies, why is this? Why do the girls want to be friends with the gimp but nothing more? I think it's because those women are all shallow. The thing is, I get it. I get the reason why they are like that because I'm the same way. It's all a catch 22 for me. See, I'm a shallow, narcissistic, man when it comes to what I am looking for in a date. First of all, I don't think I could be with someone who was as gimped as me. I know that sounds cruel but think about it. How the hell are two gimps gonna fuck? I'm pretty immobile and if the girl was too we would look like to beached whales flopping around trying to get back to the ocean. I also can't have a super fat girl for some of the same reasons. I know fat girls need love too but I'm fragile and can't have big Bertha squeezing the air out of me! And before you all say it, I know a relationship is more than just sex but by gosh I like getting laid and if I'm gonna commit to a girl I at least want to have a good sex life. I've already done the married thing with no sex. It sucks donkey dicks! So I'm going to end with an open ended question. What should I do? Lower my standards? Go forth with the crazies? Something else? Your dysfunctional, horny, single, gimp!

Friday, May 4, 2012

Warning: Serious Post Ahead

Ok, this is a serious post. You might want to skip to something light and airy. I swear to you, we will return to our regular programming soon.   And once again, I tried to post from my phone and I thought it was much better than this version, but my phone friggin deleted the whole thing… I will never learn.   Ten years ago today, I married a man that has and will forever continue to influence my life. While our marriage was rocky and ended tragically, it will always be the time that I look back and realize that for every bad, there were and are ten thousand greats.   I was just beginning my third year of college when he died. I remember seeing all of the excited and enthusiastic minds surrounding me. I remember not being so enthusiastic. I had gone from a total social butterfly to the quiet girl in the back of the room. And I didn’t even care. I wasn’t bothered by my lack of optimism. I was purely going through the motions of life and responsibility. I was working, going to school, raising a toddler. That was all. I had plans for the future, but they were molded around survival, not life.   Since then, I have regained some of my life. Most of it, in fact. I regained it because I look back at a person that even in death can show me that things are great and they always will be. I look at my daughter, who resembles her father a lot, and see the happiness and perkiness in her eyes. I see through her eyes that she sees a world untainted, a world filled with hope and joy.   Her father was the kind of person that showed his emotions. Happy or sad. Frightened or mad. No matter what, he wasn’t scared to admit the feelings inside himself. I am trying to get there. As vulnerable as it makes me feel, or as scared as I get, I will be like that. I will try to feel, and love, and share, and dream. Better than I did before, because thinking back on him, I’m pretty sure I was doing it wrong.   This post is my little homage to him. It is my brief memory of days that seemed so pure. Before I was tainted. Before I learned to love. Before I learned to hate. Those days, we taught each other. These days, he’s still teaching me.

Thursday, May 3, 2012


You all have to excuse my friend meg. She is still stuck with thinking having a crack berry is a cool thing while the rest of us are living with our Apple bliss! Now, for the topic at hand. She was talking about bad acting in porn. Though we often disagree on most things she is completely right on this subject. Personally, I think they should just skip any plots at all and just go straight to the fucking. After all, no man wants to be trying to jack-off with one hand while hunting the remote to fast- forward with the other! We just want raw, hard core sex. Usually it's just a way for us to squeeze one out and be done. For the sake of the women reading that want a story line though we do need a revolution. That is why I'm proposing we start porno watchers unite PWU. If there is going to be acting going on at least find someone that can act. The biggest issue of all of this is if women would be doing their damn job in the bedroom than the guy wouldn't need the porn. And if the woman is the one needing the porn then she is either super fat or super ugly because women can get a man any day. If the woman does have a man and she is still worried about the porn then her priorities are fucked up to start with. She needs to be taking care of her man in the bed and fixing his sandwiches! Right meg?

For the Birds

Well, apparently I can't post anything from my phone. Some of you may not appreciate this, but coming from someone who uses her phone for everything from reminders about ball games to making bomb threats proving people wrong through Google searches, this means damn near the end of the world or at the least a slight glitch in the matrix. My original post about how we suck was technically posted from my phone. However, it was riddled with typos and completely missing words. In essence, my Crackberry browser is not compatible with Blogger, and neither is Opera Mini. In fact, Opera Mini was way worse. Never fear, though, because I will learn to circumvent this shit. Even if I have to steal my daughter's iPhone.

This is all relevant why? Well, because I had a bomb ass topic and now I can't remember what the hell I was going to even write. Instead, I would like for you to ponder something for a few minutes. Because I know you have all the spare time in the world. This shit is almost as important as the purpose of life, so get ready... Why are there plots in porno films? These people aren't known for their acting skills. In fact, we (not necessarily me because I hate bad acting; therefore I don't watch porn) don't watch these flicks for the fake orgasms. They are so commonplace after a few minutes that we even start to turn the sound down if we weren't smart enough to mute it from the start. If it isn't for the acting skills, is it for us to justify a reason to watch more than two seconds?

Do we add the bad story line and horrible sets to justify or bring a humane reason to watching such "filth?"*

*Side Note: I really don't consider it filth, pointless, but not filth, but any holy roller or politician will pretend they've never watched it.

Does it add legitamacy to just pure sex? Does it make us feel better if they are saving the forest while getting off with a Rabbit?*

*Side Note: Not the animal kind, the kind that takes batteries. I don't even know why I'm clarifying this.

In the end, I think the acting is for a theme, for a role play, because we all like to fantasize a little. Even if our fantasies are as pure as owning ocean-front property in the Caribbean or as weird as getting a golden shower while eating a twinkie. I think we should make it our mission to improve the quality of storylines in these films. Fuck Occupy Wall Street! Let's start a new revolution.

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

My retard friend

Hi, my name is Tim and I'm the one super gimp of this duo. As meg has said, we are closer than a blind man with his seeing eye dog! I will be posting blogs somedays based on my stories from the day and other days will be telling stories of past events and things worthy of a comedy movie! For now I'm going to end with my new nickname "the program". So all you ladies need to get with the program. Stayed tuned for my next few blogs about a gimp in Vegas and wheelchair curb jumping in Nashville! Dysfunctional!

We Suck!

Ok, so I set this up a week ago, and this is the first opportunity I have had to post anything. Since we are such slackers, I figured I would do a brief intro.

My name is Meg and I am the co-author of this blog aong with Super-Gimp, Tim.  We are accountants by choice, and ninjas by birth. Not really, but that sounds much better than: I'm an uber bitch, and he is an inbred pansy.

We actually went to college together but only became friends once we started working together. We were attracted to each other's  friendship like Charlie Sheen is attracted to coke. We have a sick need for each other, and most people do not understand it. We are verbally abusive, full of love, full of emotion, and we share the desire to laugh until we piss our pants.

While we used to spend every day together, now we see each other so rarely, a reunion is as cherished as an STD-free hooker. This blog is a way for us to share our lives with each other and with you. Because this shit is hilarious, y'all.