Messages

 To the lovers today:
So today is Valentine's Day. I hate Valentine's Day. Even in the midst of a love affair with a rich man I would hate Valentine's Day. I rank it right up there with weddings and funerals as a waste of money that would be better spent on something important or at least useful. If you want to impress me it's going to take more than flowers that I am allergic to and a box of candy. I want a valentine that fills my car up with gas and stocks my freezer with filet mignon. You want to show me how much you love me then clean my damn house for me and throw a couple loads of laundry in. Trust me on this guys, because in a few days those flowers are going to start smelling and just be something I have to throw out. The inconvenience of that is only going to make me hate you. The candy?  I have no willpower so I am going to scarf that down the first day and then look at you wishing you would just go away so I can lay miserably on my couch and bloat in peace.

To the policeman on duty last night:
You accompanied a car accident victim  to the ER. While I understand it was a car chase and he was running from you I also understand that he is only a 21 year old kid. This kid is going to die over a chase that should never have been initiated in the first place considering his crime was writing a $65 bad check. You have him handcuffed behind the back and in leg chains,  you refused to remove them so we can work on him. He is in a coma for God's sake, just what kind of danger do you think he presents? Even if he wasn't in a coma he has a broken neck, internal bleeding,  all of his ribs are broken, two broken legs and a broken arm.  How fucking far do you think he would get running? I am pretty sure I can catch him if he makes a break for it. I'm very sorry that pan of his vomit accidentally got spilled on you, sometimes I can be a little clumsy.

To my son:
No I don't feel bad that your girlfriend didn't get to go to Birmingham in my car, on my credit card and have a nice dinner on Valentine's Day. I do, however, feel bad for myself that I had to listen to her whine and take long breaths every 5 minutes to express her deep disappointment.  Get ready for it because in approximately 15 minutes I am going to  fuck up her entire Valentine's Day by announcing I am not cooking dinner for her tonight either. This may be more than she can bear. You might want to start apologizing to her now.

To my dogs:
Seriously Lola you just had to shit in the bathroom doorway last night knowing I never turn a light on early in the morning? While I love you and can appreciate your need to protest being left alone that was a bit much, I was barefooted.

To the mailman:
Please don't ever ring my doorbell and let me open it to you cheerily singing "Happy Valentine's Day" again. You really did look like an idiot. Just put my mail in the damn box like all normal mail carriers do. I was up all night, I needed to sleep.  I would have been just fine without your holiday wishes. If you must you can write me a little note next year and put it IN THE MAILBOX.

To the Whitney Houston Facebook mourners:
I really don't want to see another tribute or music video posted on my Facebook timeline about Whitney. She is dead  and not reading your Facebook pages, I doubt her family is either. I am alive and it is irritating the shit out of me having to delete them. I would much rather see clips of the reality show her and Bobby did. Now that was Whitney at her finest! I kind of liked crazy drugged up Whitney, she was far more interesting than the saint everyone is making her out to be now that she is dead.  I will never understand why people do this when someone famous dies.

To the pit bull upstairs:
First I would like to apologize to you for the idiots that think it is OK to keep you shut up on that small patio all the time. Your a beautiful dog and it breaks my heart to see that you never get to go outside to play or exercise. That being said I have a little favor to ask of you. The next time, which actually appears to be tonight based on the sounds coming from upstairs, that your Dad decides to beat the shit out of your Mom can't you attack him or something? You have no trouble acting like your going to eat me every time I step out my front door so it really shouldn't be all that hard for you. I'm starting to look like an idiot for calling the police every time I hear your Mom scream for help. It's not that I mind helping her but she kind of blows it when the police come and she tells them she has no idea what I am talking about. I think it's your turn to protect her. Frankly, I'm getting a little tired of trying. I wouldn't mind if you chewed up the remote control to their stereo either. Just a thought.

To my son's girlfriend:
Yeah, that teary eyed sniffing doesn't work on me either. I guarantee you will give up before I do so save us both some time and just stop it now.


To the makers of Calgon:
What is with this false advertising? I have been a faithful user for years and I'm still waiting for you to "take me away". I think you might be blowing smoke up my ass to make sales.

To the makers of Klonopin:
I hold you in the highest esteem. I need you like I need the air to breath. You and you alone are my Valentine!

To Bojangles Chicken:
I love you. I'm sorry I cheated on you with Ronald McDonald last night.

Romancing the Shrew

Being romantic is just not in my genes. Romantic to me is having your mate hold your hair out of the way while you are in the throes of the flu and vomiting in, on and around the toilet bowl. I unfortunately married a man who could have written Harlequin Romance novels.  He was the perfect accomplice for my then 3 yr old sons.

In early February of 1998 we had moved into a new, what I like to call uppity, subdivision. We had not had time, or probably in my case the inclination, to meet any of our new uppity neighbors before Valentine's Day rolled around.  By the time Valentine's Day was over that year meeting any of our new neighbors was no longer a possibility. I imagine it was something they feared and I could never be sure they had not installed booby traps to prevent me from entering their yards so it wasn't worth the risk.

We live in the south, which means we rarely ever have snow or ice. We live with the constant teasing of the weather service and their dire predictions of "winter weather" that never happens, it only whips the people here into a frantic frenzy of "what ifs". But that year we woke up to ice and falling snow. I am originally from a place that gets regular snow and ice and being someone who loves that kind of winter weather I was excited. Which is probably why I went along with the Valentine's Day debacle without complaining. That and the fact that my 3 yr old's were so proud of everything they had done and I couldn't break their hearts by being grumpy. I put a smile on my face thinking "How bad can it be, I can get through this". I was so wrong, so very wrong.

Demon Seed came bouncing into my room with his gift, beautifully wrapped. My husband had excellent taste so I wasn't too worried until I heard my son say "You have to put it on right now Mommy, I picked it out all by myself!" What fairly intelligent grown man with a college degree lets a child that thinks fluorescent orange matches perfectly with fluorescent red pick out a gift on his own?  I don't even have words to tell you how bad it was but he was so proud and I wasn't going to be the one to tell him he had the taste of a future pimp.

So, I calmly dressed up in my new hooker outfit confident that no one but us would ever see it.   Red silk short, short gown that was NOT tailor made for the size of my ass.  Sheer red silk matching robe with huge white hearts on it. I smiled and put it on. My son thought I was a vision and kept repeating "You look so pretty Mommy, you have to wear it all day!"  I had his eyes examined the following week. In his defense they did find a tiny bit of vision loss in one eye which was later corrected with surgery.

Then The Devil's Advocate proudly hands me gift #2. A small box. I was thinking since it was so small if it was something else I had to wear then at least it wouldn't be so noticeable. Earrings, but earrings that came down past my shoulders, three huge red enamel hearts. At least they matched the hooker outfit.  I smiled and put them on.

He then gives me gift #3. After having been tricked into false hope with the small box I admit to a tiny bit of fear upon seeing this box was larger. Shoes. But wait...not just any shoes...nope, not my son!  Bright red slip on high heeled slippers with feathers and rhinestones across the top. I smiled and put them on. I was now ready for the street corner.

Since my husband was cooking breakfast when one of my Siberian Huskies(who was in the house while the kennels were being built) had to go outside to potty I volunteered.  I hooked his long lead on, cracked open the door and still standing inside out of the cold and snow let him out.  Normally he would have just ran down the deck, done his business and run back in.   But that day, it was a Sunday morning, he sees a squirrel and being a Husky it was on!  He took off after the squirrel, I was still attached to his lead so out the door I flew too, across the icy deck.  I fell and he drug me across the deck, down the steps and out into the middle of the yard.  Now this dog's call name was Demon (compliments of my daughter) so the whole time I was yelling "Stop Demon, your killing me"!  When we finally stopped I looked up to see my very religious, staid neighbors getting in their car to go to church, elderly mother in tow.  The shocked look on their faces was something I will never forget.  Nor will I forget the look on the paramedic's faces who had to be called because of my severely broken ankle.

I retired my lovely outfit after that day and threatened my husband if he ever let that particular child pick out anything else for me again there would be hell to pay.  The whole 3 yrs those neighbors lived in our neighborhood they never once spoke to us.  I might not have helped things by opening the back door and yelling "Demons!" every time I saw them outside, it was fun to see how fast they would run back into their house. I really don't think they ever made the connection that the dog's name was Demon and that I wasn't really being attacked by the legion of demons they were sure lived in my house.

Since my sons, who are now 17 yrs old, are such a giving children and constantly bringing me in some kind of gift,  I thank God that their tastes have improved. I think I got them away from their father just in time.