Tag Archives: Girls Gone Wild

Bar Lessons – Stone Pony Edition

Last Friday, Dear Sweet Mama and I ventured to the legendary Stone Pony to see one of her favorite bands, Black 47.  And Bar Lessons ensued.

STONE. PONY. BITCHES.

STONE. PONY. BITCHES.

1.  These kids today, they don’t dance, they don’t even sway… they just stand.

2.  Drunk white chickies don’t know from an Irish jig.

3.  When you do a jig in their general direction, they become frightened.

4.  The lead singer of Black 47 may in fact be a leprechaun (he’s SO WEE!)

5.  Whoever it was that reviewed the Pony online and raved about the food was VERY. FUCKING. DRUNK.

6.  DSM is hilarious when hammered (of course, this is not news).

7.  There are jobs out there worse than mine – one of them is Bathroom Attendant at the Pony.

8.  Even while asleep in the car on the way home, Hoody will still keep her finger on the station scan button and play DJ.

9.  3 hours of sleep looks like PLENTY from the front side.  From the back side, not so much.

10.  Last night’s eyeliner looks like hammered fuck at work the next day.

 

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Dear Sweet Mama Gets All Motherf*cker

Those of you who have been reading me for awhile have probably built up a picture in your head of my Dear Sweet Mama — sweet, Southern and smartassed, slightly dingbatty (I was gonna put “dingy” but that sounds like my Mama is a little bit grimy like a chimney sweep)  at times but overall very Zen and laid-back.  Kinda like The Dude in a dress, if she ever wore dresses.

But there is another side to DSM, a side that is just as real, though not as brightly lit… A DAAAARK SIIIIIDE….

As the people at our local DMV (ok, they call it the MVA here, but whatevs) found out today.

SCENE:  The Counter at the DMV/MVA/Place Where They Do Car Stuff

Hoody and Dear Sweet Mama are transferring the title of the car from DSM’s name to Hoody’s name (‘just wait, there’s a whole big story behind THAT, as well — later post).  DSM is also trying to get a Handicapped placard since she will no longer have Handicapped plates.

DSM:  So how do I get a placard?

Clerk (poor, poor clerk):  You just have to fill out the application and get it authorized by your doctor.

DSM:  But I just did that to get the plate.  Do I have to do it again?

Clerk (who really should have called in sick today):  Well, do you have the note from your doctor’s prescription pad?

DSM:  I had to turn that in to get the plates.

Clerk (who should have studied harder in college so as not to have to work at the DMV):  Ummm…

DSM:  That’s just not right.

In DSM’s defense, that’s NOT right, but you must recognize that DSM was getting progressively LOUDER with every sentence, to the point where the Supervisor had to weigh in:

Supervisor (who will shortly wish she’d gone on lunch):  Now now now…

Hoody:  Mama, chill… (as y’all know, there is a deputy stationed at the DMV to keep order, and Hoody tries not to get aslant of the law, ever since the Unfortunate Incident — no, I’m not talking about the DUI, I’m talking about this.)

DSM:  Okay, okay, but that’s bullshit… mutter mutter mutter.

Clerk (who clearly doesn’t know who she’s dealing with):  I don’t make the rules, ma’am, I just have to follow them.

OH NO SHE DIDN’T

So Hoody had to talk DSM off the Motherfucker Ledge AGAIN, all because Clerk couldn’t shut the fuck up.

Upshot of all this is, DSM COULD have gotten a placard, since Supervisor was able to look up her records, but actually COULD NOT because she already has one.  And in NJ, you can either have a plate and a placard or just one placard.  Because fuck you, that’s why.  And no, even this didn’t help:

DSM:  Well, in New York we could have a placard for each car…

HH:  C’mon, Mama.

And they managed to get out of the office without getting arrested.  The End.

PS:  DSM says if I’m going to tell y’all this story, I also have to share her latest harebrained scheme brilliant idea.  She wants to put an ad on Craigslist offering to share pairs of shoes with a person who only has one leg — by posing as someone who ALSO only has one leg, but on the other side.  Like:  “ISO woman with missing left leg to share shoes with woman with missing right leg, size 7 and a half.  Please see attached for picture of missing leg.”

PPS:  Yes, you read that right.  “Please see attached for picture of MISSING leg.”

PPPS:  And yes, in case you were wondering, this IS why I’m like this.

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Who’s “The Boss?”

It’s a bird!  It’s a plane!  No, it’s better!

IT’S AN ADVENTURE WITH DEAR SWEET MAMA!!!

SCENE:  A Local Restaurant Where We Are Usually the Only Customers.  You Will Soon See Why This Is a Good Thing.

PLAYERS:  Hoody Hoo and Dear Sweet Mama (With A Special Cameo by A Waitress)

(Hoody Hoo and Dear Sweet Mama are having lunch.  A strange “thwup-thwup-thwup” sound begins to resound throughout the dining area)

Hoody Hoo:  What the fuck is that?

Dear Sweet Mama:  I think it’s the heater.

HH:  Jesus, I feel like I’m in Vietnam in here.

DSM:  What?… Oh, like in “MASH?”

(Note to readers:  “MASH” was set in Korea.  DSM’s Daddy (my Dear Sweet Gramps) was IN Korea, so you’d think she’d know that…)

HH:  No, like in “Goodnight, Saigon.”  You know, (singing) “They heard the hum of our motors, they counted the rotors…”

DSM:  Oh, The Concubine saw that on Broadway.

HH: …. OHMYGAWD.  No, “Goodnight, Saigon.”  Not “MISS Saigon,” you dumbass.

Break while Hoody leans over out of her chair and puts her hands on the floor while laughing uncontrollably, all the while sputtering “I’m not laughing AT you, I’m laughing WITH you,” even though DSM isn’t laughing… but A Waitress certainly is as she passes by and pronounces that we are “so much fun.”

DSM:  Well, doesn’t it sound like it should be in it?

HH:  “Goodnight, Saigon.”  Billy Joel.  You know, Billy Joel?

DSM:  Oh, I don’t like Billy Joel.

HH:  You used to play his records all the time when I was little!

(Note again:  Yes, when Hoody was little, she and DSM listened to their music on records.  Unless we were in the car, in which case it was on 8-track.)

DSM:  I did?  I don’t think I did.  If I did, it was only because it was on my dance aerobics music.

HH:  “Allentown?”  “Allentown” was on your dance aerobics music??? (singing again) “And we’re living here in Allentown, and they’re closing all the factories down…”

DSM:  Oh, yeah, I like that.

HH:  “Tell Her About It?”  “We Didn’t Start the Fire?”  “In the River of the Night?”

DSM:  Those are some of my favorite songs!

HH:  THOSE ARE BILLY JOEL SONGS.  “Piano Man?”

DSM:  No, I don’t like that one, I get morose.

(Note yet again:  This is just one of many songs that makes Hoody and DSM morose.  See also “Downeaster Alexa”” and “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.”)

(‘Nother note:  “Downeaster Alexa!”  BILLY. FUCKIN’. JOEL.)

HH:  Okay, but I think we can safely say you like Billy Joel.  Maybe you didn’t know who he was.

DSM:  Maybe.

HH:  I think you may have thought he was Bruce Springsteen.

DSM:  Maybe.  But don’t say I don’t like Bruce Springsteen, we’re in New Jersey!

HH:  How can you not like Billy Joel, though?  He was married to Christie Brinkley!

DSM:  Not anymore, though.

HH:  No, not anymore.

DSM:  She probably figured out he wasn’t Bruce Springsteen.

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Say It with WHAAAAAT?

Hooligans, I can do nothing but present to you, this:

IMG_20130821_154238_725For those of you who, like me, are retinally-challenged, that right there is a no-shit STORE-BOUGHT card that says, no lie; “I Like Having Sex with You.”

YES.  Yes it does.

But it gets better.  Here’s the sentiment contained within this motherfucking treasure:

IMG_20130821_154510_228“Sometimes in this busy world, we forget to slow down for the special things that really matter – like having sex.  So today I’m just taking a moment to tell you how wonderful it is to have sex with you.  For even when we’re apart, I’m thinking of sex we’ve had in the past and looking forward to all the sex we’ve yet to share.  You’re a special person to me, and that’s why having sex with you is so very special, too!”

SERIOUSLY?

Do we really live in a world where such a card is necessary?  I always took it as a given:  If I’m CONTINUING to have sex with you, I must like it, right?  But the best part is the esoteric romance of it all: “For even when we’re apart, I’m thinking of sex we’ve had in the past and looking forward to all the sex we’ve yet to share.”  Back up, Shakespeare!  There’s a new sheriff in town!

So, Dear Sweet Mama and I were taken. the fuck. aback by this masterpiece of the greeting card art (which, interestingly enough, was being sold right next to the “I really fucked up and I’m sorry” section, leading one to believe these cards are often bought in a set).

So of course DSM bought one.

And gave it to the Concubine.

Who almost peed her pants.

MISSION. ACCOMPLISHED.

 

 

 

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Drunk School Digest

So, confession time:  Two Christmases ago (12/25/11), Hoody went to her Bad-Ass Cousin’s house (you know, the 0ne who always got you in trouble as a kid – that one) and got, as Hoody does tend to get, fairly fucked up.  Hoody then attempted to drive home and suddenly saw blue lights.  Now, in the words of the poets, “I ain’t tryin’ to see no highway chase wit’ Jake,” so Hoody pulled over and got her drunk ass a DUI.

Yes, she’s sorry.  

And on the plus side, she’s now in a “treatment program” (the quotes will make sense later) and can therefore present to you:

DRUNK SCHOOL DIGEST

Week 1, Day1

Got invited to sit at “the cool kids'” table by lunchtime – helps to be hotter than a smacked ass.  Today we learned how to steal things from the supermarket.  We also learned that men are bad and are the root of all violence and evil – from a MALE counselor.

Week 1, Day 2

This shit really, really drags.  I did see one girl’s boob this morning when she flopped (yes, I do mean “flopped”) it out in front of everyone, so there’s that.

Week 1, Day 3

I seem to be the only person here who’s JUST a drunk.  Everyone else is a “booze-and-” – like, heroin, coke, etc.  I feel like the slow kid in class.

Week 1, Day 4

Ditched.  No sleep, couldn’t face it.  Turns out there was a huge fight between one of the counselors and some of the “students” – I missed it!

Week 1, Day 5

Really starting to get a complex about NOT being a drug addict.  Everyone was sharing their “freak-out” stories and my drunk ass got nothin’.  Also, I may be the only person here with teeth.

Stay tuned, it can only get weirder!

 

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Evidence for the Defence, Milord

(Because if I ever have to have an actual trial I want to have it in England because 1) Wigs and 2) Hot little Adama boy on Law and Order:  Great Britain and 3) FUCKING. WIGS.)

Anyhoo…

Y’all bitches may wonder why I am the way I am… I present (milord)

THINGS DEAR SWEET MAMA ACTUALLY SAID TODAY

1.  “Everything’s better with a little weenie.”

2.  “If I have to have rubbers, I’m gonna need the tall ones.”

In her “defence,” one statement referred to those pretzel-wrapped hot dogs you get at Auntie Anne’s, the other to those stupid short rainboots that keep your feet dry but fuck your ankles.  But STILL.  IN PUBLIC she says these things!

Oh, wait, one more:

3.  “Don’t you put that on Twitter!”

So I didn’t.  YOU’RE WELCOME.

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Spacing Is Important

Okay, so it’s always struck my inner Beavis as inappropriately hilarious that “therapist” and “the rapist” are just a misplaced space away from a Monty Python sketch.  But now I’m paying the price (as usual):

I may have inadvertently hit on my counselor.

See, the time before last, she had her hair down and I complimented her on it.  I hadn’t seen it down before and I was raised to say nice things to people (to their face).  Then this LAST time, she had her hair down AGAIN… and SHE complimented ME on my shirt.

Now, I’m fairly sure one should not date one’s mental health professionals, plus I’m REALLY sure no one who’s seen into the cobwebby corners of my psyche should be even remotely interested in the enormous inevitable train wreck that is a relationship with me.  We should also probably mention that I think EVERYONE is hitting on me — self-image was never my problem!

Maybe it’s like Poor Ol’ Dad always says:  The hotter a woman is, the crazier she is.  So I suppose the reverse is also true:  the crazier a woman is, the hotter she is.  Plus this foil hat really brings out my eyes.

And by the way, when asked if the Poor Ol’ Dad Corollary of Hotness vs. Craziness applies to Dear Sweet Mama, POD had only this to say:

“Your mother has always been very hot.”

I rest my case.

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