So...I know I've been MIA

It's been a long week. Pinkeye and strep. Fevers and puking.

A friend of ours was found dead yesterday. Sorry if that was a little morbid. Didn't know how else to say it.

I haven't had the time or energy to post anything new.

It's been raining, so I'm finding it hard to take pictures to blog about.

Hopefully this week will be better.

It's too quiet

Rhiannon and Colton aren't here. Blaine went offshore this morning. It's just me and the monster I often refer to as "Kennedy" sitting in this house.

There's been no tattling. There's been no whining. There's been no screaming or arguing. And still, I miss my other two kids. They will be home tomorrow afternoon.

That's when I'll be wishing for this peace and quiet that I have going on now.

She almost got me

I have to pull Kennedy's hair into a ponytail or braid each night at bedtime. If I don't, she wakes up with a mess on the back of her head. She comes out of her room looking like she did her hair with a firecracker.

So, last night as I was brushing her hair, the brush gets stuck in a segment of her hair.

Me - "Did you get something in your hair?"

K - "I was eating it."

Me - "You were eating your hair?"

Not until then did it occur to me what it could have been. I smelled the hair.

Me - "You got gum in your hair, didn't you?"

Without missing a beat, she said, "No, it's sticky tack from Rhiannon's room."

Me - "Sticky tack that smells just like Spearmint Extra....the exact same kind of gum that Daddy brought home from offshore for y'all?"

K - "Yes."

Me - "Do you think I'm stupid?"

Pause.

Me - "Nevermind, don't answer that."

I could see it in her bright little eyes...she was going to say, "Yes."

"Talk Dirty to Me"

That was the name of the Rock of Love episode I just watched. Have you seen this shit? Bret Michaels...yeah, the 80's hair band Poison's Bret Michaels...has a house full of bimbos vying for his love. Each episode, he will eliminate a given number of girls until he is left with "the one."

Gag me with a fucking spoon.

That being said, I already have my DVR set to record the series, because as stupid as it is - as much as the idiot, catty bitches on it make me cringe - I must watch this train wreck of a show. It has sucked me in.

I found myself wondering how a few of these girls actually functioned in the real world. They have to be putting on for the camera. Have to be! The rocks at the end of my driveway serve more purpose than some of them...at least I can kick those around some.

These chicks' parents must be so proud. Their daughters are fighting over a rock star, hanging from a stripper pole, bouncing their silicone tits in front of the cameras, and drinking themselves into a blubbering mess....on TV! If my daughter made a donkey out of herself on television I would kick her ass every day for the rest of my life....no matter how old she was.

And even though I threw up in my mouth a record 12 times during tonight's episode, I can't wait until next Sunday night when the new one comes on. Because as many times as I've been called "White Trash"...I will never be the garbage that these hooches are!

Yeah, he was born with it, because it ain't Maybelline!

Women pay for lashes like these! They buy high dollar mascara...none of that clumpy I-have-a spider-riding-on-my-eyelids kind of stuff. They buy fake lashes and glue them on. There's even eyelash extensions for those who really like to shit their money away.

And look! My son....my son...has lashes that women would go nuts for.

It's. Not. Fair.

My dad's wife is a moron.

My dad called me two days ago asking if I knew anyone that wanted a dog...a pit bull. His pit bull. The dog bit someone, and he decided he should get rid of him since his grandkids (my kids) are over there one weekend out of the month. Doesn't want to take any chances, you know? Anyway, I told him I knew of no one.

So, the step-mom calls today...full of pain-killers and muscle relaxers, because that's how she rolls, evidently. (Here's a mental image for you...my eyes were just about to roll right out of my head when I typed that last sentence). "Boohoohoo, we have to get rid of Rico...your dad said we should have him put down...but I just can't do that...boohoohoo." I'm thinking to myself: This dog is a product of inbreeding (yeah, his mom and dad were brother and sister)...that's not good to begin with. Then he bit a grown ass man and drew blood...who's to say he won't latch onto one of my kids? I told her, "I'd feel safer if he wasn't there." Then she proceeds to make excuses for the dog..."I think he was probably just trying to protect me," "He's only ever growled at the kids," (yeah, you read that right..."only ever," but what if he goes further than growling next time...?). "I could keep the kids away from him, blah, blah, blah." How? By keeping him locked up in a room, so his inbred mind can think of the way he's gonna maul his next victim? No, thanks, bitch. Go take another pill and shut the fuck up.

At least she knows where I stand on the dog, but I still feel like I was talking to a brick wall...covered in Lorcets.

My attempt at this whole Blogging thing...

I don't know how this will go...time will tell. I'm going to try to remember to update this place daily. Maybe I'll get a wild hair up my ass and post more than once a day. I have a lot to say...a lot of shit on my mind...some days.

Anyway, here we go...