National Championship

Tits And Bits: What Month Is It?

Well, this is awkward.  It’s been a while.  You look good, like you’ve lost some weight.  How have you been?  How’s your Mama?  Your significant other?  Your demon spawn kids?  Job going well?  Weather been nice there?  I’m sorry I haven’t written or called in a while.  I’ll do better.  Let’s do lunch soon.  Give my best to your Mama.

I’m glad we got through that weirdness.  I am sorry I haven’t written in a while.  Life has happened and shit has gotten weird the last few months but in a completely good way.

I start school on March 1st, tuition is paid, and I’ve been kind of freaking out over it.  My friend Lulu, in all her wisdom, says to take it a bite at a time, to not look at the whole sandwich.  I get overwhelmed easily and get a bit panicky so this is excellent advice.  It’s just not so easy to follow through with sometimes.

I haven’t wanted to write here on my personal blog because it’s hard to put everything going on into words.  It’s an exciting time.  It’s just exciting times in unfamiliar waters.  I’d like to wade in but I’ll be unceremoniously dumped into the educational pool on March 1st.  I imagine it’ll be much like when my Daddy peeled me off of him when I was 5, fingernails dug into his back, kicking and screaming, and threw me into the pool without a life jacket on because that would trigger my survival instincts and “teach” me to swim.  For the record, that didn’t work out too well for either of us and I’m still not a very good swimmer.

I thought I’d dive back into things with an abbreviated edition of Tits and Bits.  Remember, Tits And Bits is a semi-regular series where I clean out my list of funny and maybe not so funny tidbits (your mileage may vary) one liners and happenings which may or may not deserve a whole blog post or I’m just too damned lazy to write a whole blog post about.  So, let’s get to it.


 

It’s been tough going for music fans in the last several months with the deaths of so many greats.  E took the death of Glenn Frey the hardest.  One night a couple weeks ago, I was happily doing what I do most nights.  After everyone is in bed, I love my alone time.  I either sit on the couch in complete silence and read or I have headphones on, music blaring.  This particular night, I had opted for silence but E had decided to binge listen to the Eagles on his phone in bed.  At full volume.  Without headphones.  On fucking repeat.  What does a rational woman do when she’s a mere two walls away?  Text, of course.

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R.I.P. Glenn Frey.


 

We’re going on a cruise with our good friends Gary and Laurie at the end of March.  Time is quickly winding down, so we’re trying to take care of last minute details.  E and I smuggle copious amounts of liquor onto the cruises we go on because we’re cheap bastards.  Or we also may or may not need a 12 step program.  You decide.  Anyway, we buy these flasks that look like shampoo and conditioner bottles.  They’ve worked like a charm every single time.  Out of concern for my friends, that they have a good time (and also don’t mooch our smuggled liquor), I sent this text to Laurie earlier.

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Don’t worry, my friends.  If our liquor gets confiscated by the cruise line, we’ll blame it on Gracie.


 

My dear friend Lulu was ensnared in some college football this past season.  Her beloved Dad attended Iowa so she was really excited when the Hawkeyes played Michigan State in the Big Ten championship.  The winner would also get into the 4 team playoff.  Lulu is a very smart cookie but she doesn’t usually watch football.  Here’s what happened.

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I heart you all 3 quarters, Lulu!


 

Speaking of football, my Alabama Crimson Tide won the National Championship!  I won’t name names but you cocky bastards who’ve given me shit one way or another for the last year can shove that up your asses.  16 National Championships.  That’s more National Championships than your team has won total games in the last four seasons.

I do love making wagers with my friends who are fans of lesser teams.  My buddy Gregg is a Michigan State fan and a fellow beer appreciator so we made a friendly wager before our teams played each other in the playoff.  Whoever lost would have to send the other a local brew, something we can’t get in our area.  Gregg was a really good sport, wished me congratulations after the game, and I’m happy to share that I received this in the mail a few weeks later.

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I’m a bit suspicious that he chose to send a beer called “Raggedy Ass” to me but I’ll take it.  Roll Tide, Gregg. Roll Tide.


 

I’ve kept very busy lately getting all my school admissions crap completed but I’ve also been writing a lot for the music blog I contribute to.  You can find my latest entries here. Press passes to concerts have been booming and I’ve been inspired to write about music lately.

I will try to write here more often.  I’m not sure if that’s a promise or a warning.  You decide.  But I do miss y’all.  And I mean it – say hello to your Mama for me.

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There Will Be Consequences!

My Birthday was on Saturday and if you recall, I was quite looking forward to my cake.

E did a great job of ordering my cake.  It was exactly what I like:  white with buttercream icing.  Buttercream, the way God intended, not that shitty whipped icing fuckery.  Whipped icing is the work of the devil and/or Richard Simmons, who may be one and the same now that I think about it.

My cake was red and white, which I believe E chose for therapeutic purposes.  I’m still in denial over Alabama not making it to the National Championship so instead of getting me a straight up Alabama cake with a big “A” on it, I think he started cautiously, slowly drawing me out of my football depression much like you would carefully draw a wounded animal out of its hidey hole.

Or maybe he just said “Hell, you pick the colors, bakery lady.”  I’ll go with the wounded animal theory.

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I was supposed to start my diet yesterday and I did.  I honestly did.  I ate a healthy breakfast, curtailed the full on sugar in my coffee and increased my water intake.  I was easing back into the swing of things.  But there was one piece of cake left.  A corner piece, with roses.  Buttercream roses.

The well known rule in our house (or so I thought) was that the Birthday Person gets the last piece of cake.  It’s not debated, it’s accepted as fact and the socially acceptable thing to do.  I planned on eating that last piece of cake as a reward for my first day of eating sanely since October.  I was looking so forward to eating that last piece of cake in utter silence after everyone was in bed for the night.  I fleetingly thought about wrapping that last piece up carefully and putting it away in the cabinet but I chided myself with “C’mon, your family wouldn’t do that to you, there’s the Birthday Person Gets The Last Piece Of Birthday Cake Rule.”

Apparently, rules don’t mean shit in my house.  Here’s how it went down.

E:  Thanks for eating the last piece of cake.

Me:  My Birthday, my last piece of cake.  I plan on enjoying it later tonight after y’all are in bed.

E:  No, you don’t.  It’s gone.

Me (thinking he’s fucking with me):  Yeah, right.

E:  No, I’m serious.

(I don’t say anything right away, my brain is attempting to process this new information because the last time I checked, my piece was intact, in the cake box when I arrived back home from picking the kids up from school…  picking up the kids…  from school… my little darlings have been home for almost 3 hours now…  oh dear God and for the love of all that’s holy…  MOTHER FUCKER!)

Me (yelling):  WHO ATE MY LAST PIECE OF CAKE?!

*Crickets*

Me (yelling again but shriller than last time and there may have been a little sob involved):  WHO ATE MY LAST PIECE OF CAKE?!

Landon:  I didn’t!

Gracie says nothing but her facial expression says “Oops, my bad.”

Me:  What happened to the Birthday Person Gets The Last Piece of Birthday Cake Rule?

Gracie:  What rule?

Me:  The rule we’ve always had!

Gracie:  I didn’t know there was a rule.

Me:  You sure knew the rule on your Birthday!  Landon knew there was a rule.

Landon:  Yep.  I know the rule.

Gracie shrugs, puts her headphones on and goes about her business like she didn’t just give me a lifetime of hella cake trust issues.

I can’t wait until her Birthday in November.  I have a hard-on for that last piece of cake like you’ve never seen before.  I’m thinking about making up shit just to have an excuse to buy cake for her so I can eat her last damned piece.  This Was Your Original Due Date cake, You Started Pooping On The Big Girl Potty 11.25 Years Ago Today cake, You’ve Been Wearing A Training Bra For 683 Days cake, Yay!  Your Forehead Pimple Is Finally Gone cake, Congrats On Trimming Your Toenails cake.

She has no clue about the shit storm she’s brought down upon herself.  Godspeed, Gracie.  Godspeed.

As for me, I’ve learned that nothing, and I mean NOTHING, is sacred.  Next year, I will wrap my last piece of cake up like it’s gold and hide that fucker in the washing machine.  In my house, that’s safer than Fort Knox.

*Update:  My “most wonderful husband” pointed out in the comments that I neglected to give him credit for going to Wal Mart last night after the horrific event described above to buy me more cake.  Well done, E.  Well done.  He’s taken, ladies.  Go get your own enabler.