I need an attitude adjustment or bikers don’t ski.
Ok, So I am seriously mourning the loss of summer. It is not just that I hate cold weather, because I do, I don’t enjoy raking leaves, I don’t care to shovel snow, I loathe icy streets and sidewalks, and I do not like to wear hats or winter coats. I have never found pleasure in sledding, all of that uphill walking really distracts from the 3.2 seconds of racing downhill, snowmobiling is best left to the professionals, and I am nowhere near coordinated enough to manage skiing, my feet are big enough without adding 6 feet of wooden appendage to them, I have never broken a bone in my life and the ripe old of age of 44 is not an ideal time to start.
I hate winter for all of the usual reasons, and I have a seasonal affective disorder that wrecks havoc with me, fall and winter make me want to crawl in a cave and hibernate and the people that have to be around me wish that is exactly what I would do. I am grouchy, mean, lazy, and depressed; I survive solely on sugar, grease, alcohol and nicotine. It is NOT pretty.
But the biggest obstacle to winter is… the HARLEY IS PARKED.
I know right….
Don’t get me wrong, I love love love, the wind in my face, speeding down the highway watching the miles get eaten up, it is the clearest my head ever gets, and spending time alone with Kendall, with no particular place to go is about as good as it gets for me. But my ass has logged enough saddle time for a while; the real problem with winter is, I lose my whole sense of self image.
I discovered about 12 years ago that I was a biker bitch, oh sure you see me as a mom, daughter, friend, dedicated and hard working employee. That was all true until I threw a leg over a bike, and found my true calling as an old lady.
Oh sure I was little awkward at first, and clung to Kendall like a Koala, but after a few rides, I got the hang of it, I could let go of my death grip, throw my head back, wave my arms in the air and howl like a banshee.
And another biker bitch was born. This particular creature comes with a built in attitude, I defy you to throw on a pair of ripped jeans, black boots, sunglasses and a leather jacket and not get a little cocky.
You learn quickly that perfectly coiffed hair is out of the question, and hairspray is an absolute NO. Makeup is optional and minimal at best, with the exception of some good black eyeliner, mascara and the much needed Chap Stick, you learn to pack light, one bag, small, or else face the eye rolling and scoffing of your partner. If it doesn’t fit on the back of the bike or in the saddle bag “You don’t really need that now do you”. Priorities get straight. You get tan without a lot of work, and have that healthy glow that says you exercise when you really don’t. You develop really strong inner thighs from gripping your honey’s ass when he thinks 100 miles is an acceptable speed to take a curve. Best of all you get to hang out with a ton of people who are all together for the same reasons, and of course there is always some girl way fatter than you with a lot less clothes on, so you look like quite the catch.
The best part of biker bitch attitude, the ability to alarm people without even trying, back before my transformation I was afraid of these chicks, and god only knows who they were and what they were capable of, riding around on motorcycles with some hairy beast. I had always heard that they would beat the shit out of you for looking at them or their man, they slept on the ground and were passed around to all the men for blowjobs and who knows what else. Now we pull up to a red light beside some soccer mom and her husband in a minivan, with the kids waving at us from the back seat, and I raise my sunglasses and wave back at the kids while I can see Susie homemaker screaming at them and I give her my best death glare, while her husband is admiring the bike and wishing for just a minute he would have bought that bike instead of the van, when mama bear snaps him back into reality, at this point I usually drop my glasses put my hands on the inside of Kendall’s thighs and give them both a dirty little smile. The light turns green and Kendall hits the throttle and we roar through the intersection.
Attitude.
5 days a week I am that chick in the van (well not a van) my life is boring and mundane, I mediate kid’s fights, pay the bills and go to the grocery store. I have a job that I hate and a family that I love, and the biker girl stays at bay for the most part, but I know that she is there; just waiting to throw on some leather, tire her hair up in a bandanna, cake on some eyeliner and leave her shitty boring life out there on the pavement. She has balls and Attitude.
I can’t get that in the winter, I have a drawer full of Harley shirts, a killer leather jacket, and pair of boots that will make you want to cry, they are so gorgeous, but without the bike it just doesn’t work. I am wearing sweatpants, eating candy corn, and drinking beer.
Spring can’t get here soon enough.
I am wearing fat pants and it is all my boss’s fault.
It has not been a good week for me appearance wise.
I am not a girly girl, I don’t like to clean my house, do my dishes, wear anything that is not lined in fleece,or even be an attentive mom, but I like to look good while I am surfing the net, writing blog posts, downloading music for my iPod and drinking beer in my underwear.
Following a 3 day motorcycle trip in Wisconsin, while wearing a bandanna, my face has that tanned shoe leather look, except for the reverse raccoon tan from my glasses and the 2 inch white stripe on my forehead, oh yeah I am sexy. I also had to wear a sweatshirt most of the time so I did not get that much needed color my arms, which are now milky white, from a cool summer and lack of spray tan. My head looks like one of those old indian men made out of wood (that you see in front of bars in Minn.) that someone stuck on the body of Casper the ghost.
You cannot cover this with makeup, I tried, and ended up looking like Oprah without makeup.
I also developed a cold sore of magnificent proportion, this happens when I spend too much time in the sun and drink too much. It is above my upper lip and is scabby, looks like a fucking face tumor and screams, “I have herpes you should see my genitals”.
No I DO NOT HAVE genital herpes. (yet)
On Wednesday my boss, gotta love her, made me handwash the outside of a house with Clorox, straight Clorox. Bleach and skin do not mix, (huh) so I am now the proud owner of a chemical burn from my wrist to my elbow, that burns like fire, is red brown, and oozy, and is preventing me from showering, water burns, it burns. I now have it wrapped in gauze ala Michael Jackson, or can you say freak.
It seems that sniffing undiluted chlorine bleach for 4 hours, will make you bloated, not a diet of Beer and Reese’s peanut butter cups like I previously thought. In fact I am pretty sure I gained 10 lbs. in fumes. My clothes do not fit, any of them, except for one pair of 10-year-old dirty cut off sweatpants, and a sleeveless T-shirt size XXL from a wellness center, where the fuck did I get that. I am so bloated I don’t want to wear socks, and my flip flops look horrible because my pedi is long overdue, by the way don’t try that new grey nail polish trend, I look like I have been wandering around a hog farm.
My hair also needs colored, I have those cool black, I am a stripper roots, showing through, but hair dye involves chemicals (bleach) and water, and I am afraid.
Friday, yeah, the weekend. Kendall’s house and sex.
Shit, how in the hell am I going to leave the house? I have to put on my favorite go to fat jeans, and yippee my gut hangs over, I wear a button up shirt untucked, and too big for me, and my boobs don’t want to stay in my bra, where did all THAT cleavage come from. I somehow though a series of grunts and sweating manage to get socks and shoes on. Lots of black eye liner and mascara, hey black is slimming, and my scary coal eyes distract from the tumor on my lip, and match my hair. Good Lord it is fucking hot in this bathroom, perfect time for a hot flash, that takes care of the hoodie I wanted to wear to cover up my obscene waistline. Wrap clean gauze, mummy style, around my arm. Don’t look in the full length mirror …don’t do it…. did it anyway, Oh GOD. Who in the hell is that? It’s Courtney Love after eating Lindsey Lohan staring back at me. WTF.
Yeah, i’m pretty sure I am not getting laid tonight.
I think my boss wants me to commit her…
Over the years, it has been pretty obvious that my boss is controlling, obsessive and annoying, and I respected those traits as a necessary evil for a person running their own business and having to deal with slackers and morons for the better part of your day. The checking and rechecking of someones work was just what had to be done, in order to keep the cleaning machine running smoothly.
Lately this bullshit has escalated to the point of being up my ass so far as to make me feel stabby, as in, with a knife in your eye kind of stabby. My coworker and I must go out of our way thinking up lies elaborate reasons to keep her out our of hair and out of our buildings, even our clients get that look of dread when she shows up on the job site, and give us that pleading look that a dog has when it’s being beaten, the unspoken get me the hell away from here, it burns, it burns.
She says at least 14 times a day that she will never be able to retire, and even if she could she has so many health problems that none of her family will want to take care of her, and if you think I am kidding about that number, I AM NOT. It may not be in those exact words but it is the mantra of every single day, which leads me to believe that she wants me to have her declared clinically insane andto commit her.
I would do that, being the kind and caring person that I am.
And I am pretty sure I have grounds for doing it.
She asks me the same question 6 times, claims she can’t hear very well because she is old and can’t afford to retire, but can hear my eyes roll from 50 yards and NO, she IS NOT my mother.
She is a hypochondriac, and has a new ailment everyday that prevents her from working, at present she suffers from fibromyalgia, arthritis, ulcers, sore thumbs, bone density loss, colitis, and jackassisness, none of which have been confirmed by a doctor because she is poor and can’t go to the doctor, and can’t even retire.
She is obsessed with other drivers on the road, and is somehow able to tell exactly what they are thinking as in ” that woman on the phone in front of us, is talking to her husband because her curling iron wouldn’t work, that guy up there wanted to turn but changed his mind because he slowed down 1 mile an hour, that guy who just passed me, we will see him in the ditch in 2 more miles, that semi is going slow because he is loaded down with dead gophers and on and on and on.” For every single car on the road. These statements are followed by “I hope that they don’t hit me, you know I am old and can’t afford a new truck, I can’t even afford to retire. “
Lately most of these statements have also been followed by an Mmhmm, EXACTLY like that crazy fucker from Slingblade.
This morning while at work she wasted 1 and 1/2 hours sticking a penny in every single tread in all four tires of her truck, something about seeing Lincoln’s head, because the mechanic told her she might have a (one) bad tire, and they only have 78,000 fucking miles on them and she can’t afford new tires, she can’t even afford to retire.
Yesterday she cracked herself up for 10 minutes thinking about killing her boyfriend for his money, because she is poor and can’t afford to retire. First of all they aren’t married, he is not old, he is a cop, and she hasn’t given up the pussy yet, therefore no honey, no money, when I tried to explain this to her, she didn’t get it.
Recently she asked if we could stop at Wal-Mart, (again) when I asked for what for she said “I need to pick up some FDS.” ( do they even make this shit anymore?) For those of you not in the know that is feminine deodorant spray, and the answer is NO NO NO.
Throughout the course of my day, she asks me every half hour periodically if I have seen her water bottle. She carries this thing with her like a rosary, and constantly misplaces it, which is ridiculous, it is huge, the aforementioned coworker and I call it her baby bottle. It is a clear plastic bottle approx. the size of a 2 liter pop bottle with a BRIGHT yellow screw top, and a 2 inch straw sticking out it, it is basically a sippy cup for retards and she sucks out of it like a baby to a breast. But she can’t ever find the damn thing, today she left it on the bumper of the truck and it fell off, I prayed she would run over it but no, the sun hit that yellow lid, casting an SOS sign, and we had to stop and pick the damn thing up and then I got bitched out for not reminding her it was on the bumper.( because apparantly this is part of my job to keep track of her shit) And it was expensive and you know she can’t even afford to retire.
And don’t even get me started on that damn dog.
I think that I am finally getting the message, loud and clear, she needs a final resting place and maybe just maybe I can help her out with that… did I hear someone say 2 east?
I Need A Gun
So I was looking at guns on the Internet, you know just browsing, I especially liked a tiny little black revolver that would have fit perfectly in my leather Harley bag.
And Kendall is all what the hell? “You cannot have a gun.”
I look at him all wide eyed and innocent and tell him that it is a very scary world we live in and it is my goddamn right as an American to own a fire arm, HA.
No YOU cannot have a gun, you would kill someone, well thank you Alex fucking Trebeck isn’t that the whole idea of a having a gun. I wouldn’t kill anyone, I would use it more as a motivation device. You know like when I don’t get my way. I would just wave it around a little and snap, everyone agrees with me.
He just closes his eyes and shakes his head back and forth in that snarky little way that he has that says god you are so stupid…
I see now how concerned he is about my safety.. Hmmmph!
Well how about a taser. You know how much I love to watch Cops and shout “TAZE HIM TAZE HIM”, and then get all giggly when they are squirming around on the ground and peeing themselves. That is a persuasive little weapon, not as cute as a handgun, but capable of getting the point across and I wouldn’t KILL anyone, just maybe make them lose control of their bowels and maybe and that is a big MAYBE, send them to the ER, and who doesn’t love getting a handsome ER doc. ( Think Clooney, Noah Wylie, Jon Stamos, or the REAL live Dr. Travis Stork). Now that doesn’t sound so bad does it.
When have you ever been in real danger he asks, God I hate it when he is so literal, I am in danger of being offended and pissed off all of the damn time, you are always accusing me of blowing my mouth off and getting my ass in trouble, i tell him. A taser would stop all of that entirely, I would never have to say anything again, you always tell me I talk too damn much anyway, this way when I felt the least bit nervous or annoyed I could just whip out the taser and slam, situation solved. What about all of those HOT guys who are always hitting on me ( did I just hear him snort) well no more confrontation, just hit the button and down they go, you wouldn’t have to defend my honor anymore ( jeez with the snorting already, do you need a fucking tissue.)
The more I think about this taser thing the more I am loving it, my list of tasees has gotten longer by the minute, first my boss, she gets it twice, the girl I work with that doesn’t shower and uses 6 day old OLD SPICE deodorant and cat piss for perfume, the douchebag at the bar who thinks he is smarter than I am and always tells the same joke about not being able to read and signing my name with crayons… so tazed, and what about the idiot check out girl at the grocery store today who gave me $77.00 change in fives and ones today, Tazed. We can’t forget, my dentist, my gyno, and that bitch mammographer, You might feel a little discomfort, my ass, I gotta little discomfort for you. Tazed.
It would be great for the girls too, you can’t be too careful when you have teenagers. Think of all of those boys sniffing around, with their underwear hanging out, and those ridiculous beard things who call me Dude, fucking tazed, no questions asked. Homework not done, curfew broken, eye rolling, tazed. Parenting just got so much easier.
Kendall with the head shaking again, I can feel my trigger finger getting itchy, Hey, I tell him after an extensive Google search, you can pick up a good one for about $30 bucks way cheaper than the gun. I would even let you borrow it, think how easy it would be to get the kid out of bed in the morning, or to remember to flush the toilet. Did I just see his index finger twitch…..
Not in my job description
I do not have a very glamorous job, I wash windows, and clean toilets. It pays the bills and the hours are flexible… that being said, over the years I have been asked to do many things that are not in my job description. My boss is fucking strange unusual, needy and thinks I am her best friend. This unfortunately leads to tasks that are seriously outside my of my personal comfort zone, and I do them because she signs my paychecks, and she is my friend , my boss, and confidant.
Earlier this week she asked me if WAL-MART had a liquor store, (like I would know,)( she has seen me buy several cases of beer and uncountable bottles of Captain Morgan there) piquing my curiosity, I say “Yeah why? ” I need some blackberry brandy for medicinal purposes”. What kind of medicine is brandy I ask, she says to me totally straight faced, ” I am having trouble keeping food in my system and I have heard that this can help” and I say so ” you want it for diarrhea” and she says “yes.” (silent guffaw)
I wonder out loud what is wrong with Imodium or some other over the counter drizzling shit meds available to the general public, and she tells me she does not like to take medicine. Hmmm…
Since I have known this woman she has told me that she cannot drink because she is allergic to alcohol, many years ago she drank alot one night threw up and was sick the whole next day, and developed a deadly ( yes she said deadly) allergy to liquor, I thought this was called a hangover. ( I have these symptoms often, especially on Sat. mornings)
Apparently this does not apply to the brandy for the shits, because her church approves of this remedy… (OMG) I have no idea how this turned out, because I can’t ask without swallowing my own tongue.
Two days later she asked me if I would please go with her when it was time to put her dog down, because she wasn’t going to be able to handle that kind of thing. ( are you fucking kidding me?)
I agreed (heavy sigh) only because I have been waiting for that damn dog to die for 5 or 6 years. Every single morning it has some weird obscure ailment that should have done it in a long time ago.
I am a dog lover, don’t get me wrong, but when you hear everyday of your life that the dog will be dead by the time we get home, you start to get the Peter crying wolf syndrome. 2 weeks ago she called to ask me how a neutered 12 year old beagle could have puppies, only to find out that the stupid dog had drug dead kittens into it’s kennel. But I guess kittens sort of look like puppies if you are an idiot inexperienced in dead animals.
That was this week.
I have also taken her gravely ill father to the doctor, visited her severely handicapped daughter in a nursing home, visited her other daughter in the psych ward, set her up with blind dates, and countless other assaults on my soul, because she signs my check and I am really too fucking nice despite what everyone says…
LOVE MY JOB AND CAN’T WAIT FOR MONDAY
Alone not a good thing
Kendall has left me in his apartment, ALONE, with unrestricted Internet, a whole pan of fresh brownies, and beer in the fridge.
How in the hell does he expect ME to resist such temptations, I have only eaten 2 of the brownies, although they are screaming to me from the kitchen which is only 5 steps away. Thank god there is a scale on the floor in direct sight so I at least feel guilty while eating them, although the guilt does not make them taste any different.
I have stayed away from the beer, so far, although just typing the letters has me salivating like Homer Simpson.
Do not get me started on the number of fat girl porn videos that I have watched while trying to delete all the porn sights from his history.
What the fuck was he thinking, leaving me here alone for such a long stretch of time (1 hour at best), when he knows what little self control I have,
Uh oh, here he comes, better check that history quick…..
A picture worth 252 words
Someone and we will not mention names posted a very unflattering picture of me on a Facebook album.
And by unflattering I mean ugly and fat… not the way I perceive myself at all.
First of all it doesn’t even look like me, the picture is in color and a whole body shot, at this age I appear only in black and white and from the chin up.
Obviously this was a random shot of me, and NOT picked from several 100 proofs and then chosen by the best profile and hair shot.
In my mind I appear only Photoshopped to the hilt and sitting or standing at an angle that makes me seem 20 lbs thinner. This is my version of reality and I would rather not have it distorted in any way.
To see a picture of what they Say is me, was shocking and yes even a little bit repulsive
I would prefer that all photos published of me show me as my true self, from the proper angle, without my dork glasses and with plenty of sleep, and please do not draw attention to my horrible posture and unattended brown roots, and never ever eating anything (a can of Bud Light does not qualify as eating) I cannot afford to have my ego destroyed or my self esteem diminished in any way. Thank you all in advance for your unending cooperation.
Thank God the picture is not tagged with my real name, and no I will NOT be posting it ever.
Loving Pre Menopause
Here I am, only on the cusp of 44 and experiencing the joys of pre no more babies for me, it was almost easier just to have the damn kids. The insomnia is a big one, obviously or I wouldn’t be up writing this and almost midnight on a Tues. I am truly loving the night sweats as well, waking up alone in a pool of wet has been a longtime dream of mine. I have no idea if I am moody or not, I think that lack of consciousness is also a symptom. The constant trips to the bathroom every 1 and 1/2 hours is starting to interfere with my schedule, and I thought that I wouldn’t have to wear diapers unless I made it to at least 70, WRONG. I could possibly change my diet from Bud light and Marlboros as there have been studies that this could help, but that surely would make me temperamental, and we wouldn’t want that, forget patches or drug therapy unless we are talking Valium or Xanex because going to a doctor to discuss my hormones would probably send me right over the edge, at this rate I am almost looking forward to my 50’s.
welcome, enter at your own risk
Decided to change blog servers because I kept losing the other one on the we shall not say his name (Google) site. I am chock full of interesting to me ramblings that are probably offensive to some and funny to others. I also tend to drink to much and post, finding myself both insightful and hilarious, the follow up reading usually proves that i am neither. This is the place that i use to ramble about my life and my thoughts as random and unintelligible as they may be. Enjoy
