Tag Archives: swine

Applications No Longer Being Accepted

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“I’m selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.”
~ Marilyn Monroe

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I LOVE that particular quote, it is very much how I feel.  I am selfish, my life is all about me and the world I move in revolves around me.  I am definitely impatient, when I want something I want it NOW.  And insecure? Sure, I think everyone is insecure.  While I am very comfortable in my own skin and with who I am, there are days I lack confidence in my own abilities.  Mistakes – oh boy do I make some doozies, left to my own devices I can chalk up some gold medal winners single handedly.  Out of control is another given, I have a temper and I have been known to throw a class ‘A’ temper tantrum though I have ceased the really bad ones (thanks Lexapro).  I still get kinda out of control when having fun and rarely stop to think or care what anyone else thinks of me in a given situation, I act for me and me alone.  SO those things make me a bit hard to handle for some (like Lord Voldemort/ex-husband).

At my best I am a very loving person.  I am very loyal to those that I love and often forgiving of their short comings to a fault.  I never trash my man to anyone and therefore often had trouble relating to other wives during ‘hen club’ sessions.  I never spoke negatively about my hubby, though believe me he has his share of faults, some glaring.  I am very protective of those I love.  I am simple and easy to please, very affectionate and I enjoy intimacy (yes I LOVE sex – there I said it). I’ve blogged in the past about why I think I’m over all a pretty cool chick to know.

BUT if you want all the good that I am, and believe me there is a lot of good in this perfectly imperfect woman, then you have to be willing to accept the bad along with it.  I no longer make any apologies for who and what I am, what you see is what you get and if you don’t like it fine, move along because you are holding up the line for those that want the total package.

I recently posted a blog about searching for friends with benefits, Qualifications For A Frog Prince With Benefits and stated that applications were being accepted.  Well that application process has now been closed, I am no longer accepting applications for this position.  The response was flattering, to say the very least, lots of interesting pigs men wanted to be considered (don’t take offense, remember, the ex is the one that told me all men are pigs, before he showed me he is their king).  I’ve seen quite a number of these swine gents and given a few a serious test drive.  I really cannot say I found fault in any of those as far as the benefits side of things is concerned. Ya’ll are rocking oinkers!  However, for now the position has been nicely filled.

Amongst the number of hogs and wild boars many fine fellas that I’ve met, one from the past emerged.  He was an online friend, and a few times in person hug and hello.  He was unaware of any application process currently taking place, I more or less sought him out.  I was on my way to the office one Saturday and spotted a guy on a motorcycle that reminded me of this one.  I had kept his number over the years, though I’ll be damned if I know why, just a ‘feeling’ I should not erase that one when I did my periodic clean up of my phone contacts.  I first did what every cyber crack addict does, and got online and tried to find him on Facebook, Myspace, Twitter and through old email addresses.  When that didn’t work I decided to just call him.  My hesitation in this was I didn’t know if he was currently involved with anyone and I did not wish to create any drama in his life.  However it was my last remaining option so I called and left a message on his voice mail. Within minutes he phoned me back, launching us into an interview process ‘get to know you’ cycle with Mr. Hot 50+ (now known as Mr. Twisted Steel And Sex Appeal – which he TOTALLY is!).

I’ve been privileged to be the fender fluff on his bike a few times of late, and recently the passenger in his really sweet and sexy Corvette.  We’ve exchanged emails, many phone calls, and spent time together both for and without the benefits.  He is all twisted steel and sex appeal, nice hard muscles, wrestles, musician, and scores tops on the benefits charts.  He expressed that he had no interest in the ‘lifestyle’ I participate in, as he is not one that likes to “share”, but he would never ask me to stop doing something I enjoy, and he didn’t feel he has the right too, he simply did not care to know anything about what I did apart from him.   I admit, when I thought about somethings he said, I am not all that keen on sharing him at this point either.  For now I want to get to know him, spend time with him, and enjoy this friendship cupcake that is so generously iced.  No, not in a commitment sort of arrangement, this friendship is far from that if it ever ends up there. We’ve both been burned badly by the fires of emotions and both overly cautious about entering that inferno again.  I’d say the best way to put it is we’re both only interested in one dessert selection off of the cart for the moment.  So for now, just really not interested in gluttony when it comes to the FWB (one great one is more than enough), I’m going to enjoy this special friendship and the fringes that go with it.  I’ll still enjoy my guy friends just not the physical side of those friendships.

So, for now, the “toad” I kissed recently turned out to be a gentleman in disguise and I think I will just hang out here in this pond for a while.  Life is short and I’m not passing up a good thing.  If we get bored with each other, I’ll hop off this lily pad and open up the application process again.

BEWARE: U.M.S. – Approach With Caution

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For those unfamiliar with the acronym, UMS = Ugly Mood Syndrome.  It is like PMS, only worse.  UMS can make PMS look like a camp fire compared to an atomic bomb going off.  This is the sort of thing for which hubby claims was his reason for bailing out, the occasional, explosive side of me, the ugly monster within.  I never did believe that, my sister-in-law has no intention of ever ditching my brother, and his temper makes mine look very tame.  Ex-hubby has quite the temper himself, though lives in denial, every member of my family has seen it at one time or another.  But this isn’t about him, it is about me, the star of my own reality show.  We stripped him of his award for best supporting actor, the has been. He will never star in my show again.

Back in January I went to the doctor after Lord Voldemort yanked my foundation out from under me.  Didn’t know if I really felt I had issues, but knew that I was not steady emotionally thanks to the great vibes (heavy on the sarcasm) he was dishing my way.  Doc put me on Lexapro to help with the ensuing depression and it also helps with my anger.  Not that I don’t get angry, I still experience a full range of emotions, but the difference is I have time to process before reacting.  My sibling put it best, it is like typing on the computer and there is a slight delay, you type a few letters, and it takes a second or two for whatever reason, for the PC to catch up at times and the letters to appear on the screen.  That is life on Lexapro, being just a key stroke or two behind.  In those nano seconds common sense is able to over ride my desires to choke the living hell out of some jackass that truly has it coming.  It enables me to stop typing or close my mouth when what I really want to do is tell someone that they are nothing short of an ugly, skank whore with a perpetual bitter beer face and have the attractiveness in personality of stagnant water.

UMS doesn’t happen often, usually I’m pretty happy over all.  Just once in a while this demon within wakes and tries to over ride my sweet, adorable disposition.  99% of the time I am able to control this apparition from hell and get her back in her crypt behind bars, even without the help of the medication.  Today would be the grand exception, the single, 1% of the time when she slips past the locks, out of her cell, past the guards and emerges, taking over my mind, heart and soul.  To make it worse, she unlocked the crypt of PMS and they’ve joined forces.  There has been a major hull breach, can you say epic fail?

There may be some contributing factors, some for  which I accept full responsibility, others beyond the realm of my control.  I believe the security began to fail yesterday, when I THINK I forgot to take my meds.   I do not recall taking them at all, but it is usually such habit that I just ‘do it’ every morning (if I could just do IT every morning I’d not need meds!).  Yesterday afternoon I had this annoying little headache, and a few times had chest pains, sure signs of stress for me on a very easy going day.  It never crossed my mind I might have forgotten something, my mood stayed even.

The first real sign of failure to sedate Cruella was last evening.  I had purchased more spray-in pink hair dye while out shopping with my daughter.  She had come to dine with the Divas and brought along her little Yorkie, Penny.  I miss that sweet little pooch.  Voldemort refers to her as numb nuts, which is just stupid as she is female, hasn’t owned a set of nads and never will, so nothing to be numb.   DUH LOSER!  (so sorry, inner voice grabbed control)  I know deep down he loves the dog and HATES the pink hair.  Waahaaahaaa….Penny went home with neon pink hair on top of her little doggie head.  The fact that I had TRIED to find a way to irritate him and say “hi asshole brains” was a sure indicator that I missed my happy pill yesterday.

Act II – I know for certain I did NOT take the medication this morning.  I had not taken my water bottle to my room so I had nothing to wash the pill down with today.  This is NOT a good thing. Today, I first noticed the evil presence growing in my mind on the way to work.  Traffic just sucked ass today, and normally being stopped on the highway doesn’t phase me in the least, I just read tweets or emails on my phone.  Not today, no this morning I felt irritated, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, not being a sweet heart and letting people merge in that knew their lane was closed because the lane has been shut down for road work for 2 weeks now.  Nope, didn’t let them in and referred to them in less than kind terms as I pretended not to see them with their little orange turn signal blinking to get over.  Fuck ‘em, I thought, they have known that lane was ending for weeks now, they can sit and wait for a break in traffic.  SO not like me, usually I let them all over.  Because traffic was so horrendous today (there was a broken down vehicle in the left lane on the highway, idiot!), I was 15 minutes late for work.  I am NEVER late, always 15-30 minutes early as my personal work ethic dictates.  30 extra minutes on the flipping interstate, oh that did wonders for my mood.  Now lunch is 15 minutes shorter, so that I can make up the time because I am too honest to lie on my time sheets.

I can feel it seeping through my veins more and more as this day progresses.  I  usually can talk an irate customer back to happy land, today I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling them to go straight to hell.  I take pride in my customer service skills, today I’d like to begin piling up the bodies against the wall, screw being the nice production manager.

The #$@%^&! printer is also out of toner, and no replacement in sight.  Bossman has to come in today so he is grabbing one, thankfully.  I’m out of diet coke in the fridge, NOT good because all that is in here is Diet Mt. Dew, which I really do not care for at all.

I decided that this called for a trip to Chipotle for comfort food.  All was good until I was in the car, ready to back out of my parking spot.  Some shit-for-brains that had obviously borrowed someone’s license to drive there herself, couldn’t pick a parking spot, it was just too big of a decision for her pea size brain  to handle.  Never mind that there were only 2 to chose from, one on the right side of me and one on the left.   She seriously sat there, finger to her mouth, looking back and forth between them like she was watching a tennis match.  ARGH!!!!!!  REALLY LADY??  Morons like her are the reason I usually back into a parking place, so that when I punch it and squeal tires heading toward them to ram the shit out of them I can see the look of terror in their eyes I should take my medication daily.

Diva Mom, I know you will read this, please hide all the alcohol before I get home.  The heinous spirit within is all the more ugly when it consumes adult beverages.  It will result in a much higher body count and we’re rapidly running out of places to dispose of the cadavers.

If the rest of the world that plays supporting roles in my reality show would just read their damned scripts this could all be avoided!

WARNING TO ALL SWINE (MEN):  This would NOT be a good day to piss me off.

PMS, Pixel Dust & Fantasy Dialog

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7 years ago I had a hysterectomy and while it released me from monthly visits from the menstrual fairy, it did not relieve the PMS symptoms that invade my otherwise pleasant self and morph me into some kind of a demon possessed freak.  If anything, I would say that the older I am the more vicious and scary that demonic aberration can be.  I have 2 distinct days when it hits, and about every 3rd month the symptoms are to the extreme.  One day being the depression day, when I have the blues and will cry at the drop of a hat over ridiculous things, the other is anger day.  I feel it push the rock from in front of its cave, oozing out to course through my veins, taking over any rational thought or irritation and turning into a nuclear melt down.  Yesterday was odd, both hit at once and I flipped back and forth between them as if someone was randomly flipping a switch.  Thankfully the Lexapro does keep things in check so rather than a full blown radioactive disaster we just had a bonfire of anger at times.   I took it out on the soon-to-be ex-husband, who better?

The dung hit the fan blades when I began thinking about the 26 year old bimbo that began sending him her photos on his cell phone within a week of him telling me he wanted a divorce.  She turned up on his Facebook friends a few months prior.  He bragged to some coworkers about this 26 year old being interested in him when the pictures started coming, a big hairy deal for a 45 year old man.  I’m supposed to believe him that she was not in the picture prior to his sudden shift in attitude toward me in those months before telling me he wanted out but that is a little tough to accept.  No man I have consulted for a guy’s opinion is buying it either, in fact all of them kept telling me this divorce likely had more to do with another woman than me.  I got upset on my way home from work thinking about how I had to give up MY husband, house, hot tub and pool and this little tart is now using all of those AND sleeping in my bed.  The embers smoldered into flames and I decided that I was not in the mood to be cooperative with him.   It was an evening of signing paper work that he had not brought the first time and providing copies of my drivers license.  I was NOT in a good place to say the least but happy to report that my prince turned loser in tin foil and I will be officially divorced on August 2nd.  A Monday because the courts don’t do divorces on Fridays.  I wanted it on our anniversary, thought it would be funny to end it on the same day it began but this year August 13th is a Friday, which would be even MORE fitting!

Fantasy dialog – those things you WANT to say or do but don’t, except to someone close to you that knows you’d never really flatten all 4 tires on the car that is parked entirely too close to yours when you come out of the store.  It is a form of venting.  Like last night after king of the swine (hey HE is the one that told me all men are pigs) stopped by.  I told the other Divas that, since the royal oinker is even more allergic to cats than I am, I’d love to take Pixel kitty over there and rub his pillow cases all over her the next time he is on duty at the fire house.  Cat dander would have his baby blues swollen shut and watering by the time he woke up sneezing all over himself.  My mom chimed in and referred to the dander as Pixel Dust.  Not to be confused with Pixie Dust, Pixel Dust isn’t going to help anyone fly no matter how many happy thoughts they can think.  Though if it was Pixie dust, it was one deliciously gleeful thought for me that would have had me soaring above the clouds!  Hmm..maybe rub his bath towel all over her too.

Today is a new day, the sun is shining, the weather is beautiful, and the evil monster is back in her cave.  Marvi me is back in her glory, wishing nothing but prosperity and happiness for the ex-hubby to be, right after a piano falls on his salt and pepper haired head. *wicked evil grin*

UPDATED 7:45PM

Seems the little ho-se bunny is MARRIED! Found her on my  son’s Facebook, along with her husband’s page, and they have a child,  looks to be about 2yo.  How precious  is that! Wonder if the hubby (who is a co-worker of one of my offspring) is aware  his  wife is spending a lot  of time in my former bed with the soon to be former hubby? Wondering is that the sudden rush to empty out the spare bedroom? Moving her and the little bundle of joy into  the house? How  delicious is that!  *wondering* will the little  girl call Pete step-daddy…or GRANDPA since he is old enough to be her momma’s daddy…..

Rosie Sow

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The Diva Den has a new member, Rosie Sow.  Rosie is a ceramic pink piggie bank, sporting a tutu and a tiara.  In the midst of the moving hoopla over the weekend my sister and Jeanne were at Target in search of needed items when Jeanne spied Rosie lounging on a shelf.  Because Rosie is decked out as a Diva they felt she was needed in the household.  We all agree she is a perfect fit. She was given the place of honor on the kitchen counter next to the coffee maker.

Now I need to be up front, Rosie is my personal name for our counter top royalty, we have not all agreed to a name for her as of yet because we’ve just been too busy getting settled.   I hope the other chicks don’t mind but she needed a name for the blog and calling her a pig just seemed rude, and we in the Diva Den are all about positive reinforcement and supportive words and all against negative energy or tearing each other down. We are  our own greatest support network and Rosie being a part of the team she needs to be treated with respect.  Besides she has a tiara which makes her a princess like the rest of us in the palace so Rosie it is.

The original purpose for Rosie was all loose change would be fed to her and over time we’d build up quite the savings to be put toward a yet to be determined goal.   We have a household emergency account set up so we will probably use the sow savings for something fun.  Either way Rosie is quickly putting weight on her ham hocks as each day we all add any left over change from our pockets and purses to her tummy.

I mentioned in an earlier blog that in the this household we say ‘fuck’ a lot.  We get it, not a lady like word but hey, we’re Divas, we do what we want when we want.  Mom noticed over these past few days that we have a lot of little kids in the neighborhood, several living on either side of us.  The houses are not on top of each other, there is good distance between, but the little tykes trek through the back yard to each others to play.  Inside the house we really cannot hear much room to room as the house is very large,  and the walls have great insulation that buffers the noise quite well.  However if you walk around the house, as mom did,  you will hear a good deal as you pass under windows.   This means those adorable children are unwillingly enrolled in Cursing 101.  We all know we need to eliminate the F-bomb from our vocabulary and now we have good reason to make it a goal.  Let these kids parents educate them in swearing, we need to set a better example.

Mom decided that every time one of us drops the big F word, we should have to deposit  50 cents in Rosie.  At the rate my sister and I let that one fly we could fatten pinkie up to her tiara in a week!  In fact just yesterday my sister walked out and fed Rosie $5 to cover her extensive use of the big bad word.  I managed to squeak by on $1.   We all agreed to come up with a more acceptable expression and now Farkle (a favorite game for many of us on Facebook) has become the substitute for “fuck” in our house.  We Divas know that if Farkle is used it is a big curly tailed deal, but the neighbor kids won’t be taking home any new words that might get them a time out on the naughty step.

To go along with her new status as the language monitor Rosie has been elevated to the top of the refrigerator.  We needed her spot on the counter for the toaster and frankly she looks more appropriate up high looking down on us all keeping watch over our phraseology and reminding us that too many trips to the contents of the fridge and we’ll start rounding out like our little pink porker.

Rosie Sow