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,

Meg

Jizzebel

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,

Meg

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,

Meg

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.

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 func.dysfunc@gmail.com

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...."