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 Beachpowerrentals.com 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?"

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

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!

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.

-Meg

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!

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.

PWU

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.

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.