The Way Things Are






Cocks, cockiness, cock, etc.
2006-03-01, 10:35 a.m.

Do you ever feel like you must have a sign on your forehead, for all the world to see, inviting people to dump their insanity on you? I do. I don’t understand it, though. Why me? Why do people feel so free to reveal their crazy selves to me?

O why must the crazy people vex me so?

I’m going to dedicate an entire entry to the following topics, not in this order, as inspired in yesterday’s comments:

1. Cocks, cockiness, cock, etc.
2. Wine and consumption thereof.

In fact, by the time you read this, he could well already be home, in the welcoming ample-yet-perky bosom of my sister, EB.

I remember talking to her a month or so ago, and she had driven onto the base for something, and noticed that the main street was lined with flags, and she realized that that meant some folks were getting home that day. We talked about the fact that in a month, she would be driving down that street, and it would be lined with flags, and they would be for her sweet lil husband, TB, AND THAT’S TODAY.

Shit, I love it when I make myself cry, so I’ll stop now. WELCOME HOME, CAP’N!

Onto cockiness: I am, a bit.

Cocks: I’m all fer ‘em, but I don’t necessarily want to see them.

Cock: had some just last night.

And wine consumption: I do, a bit.

My internet girlfriend stalker date is tomorrow, and I’m so excited! I hear she’s a looker AND a drinker, so hopefully she’ll be easy, too.

The talk of “cock” makes me giggle, because I dated a guy some years ago who was supposably divorcing his wife, but that’s a whole nuther story, but anyway, he said that she was “chuggin’ cock all over town”. Not cockS, just “cock” in its pure unadultered singular form.

I give Lil Guy a call each afternoon when he’s home from school at Granny’s house, to make sure he has everything he needs to do all the homework and study for all the tests he has, even for the tests that he thinks will be easy and he doesn’t think he needs to study for. So we don’t get home and realize his science book is in his locker, and all hope is lost.

He admitted in the phone call yesterday that he has a life skills test today in PE, and I asked him if that means things like looking both ways before you cross the street, proper tooth brushing, using the microwave, i.e things that will help keep you alive.

He rolled his eyes so hard that I heard it over the phone, and started reading to me from the table of contents in his life skills book, “…drug abuse prevention, decision-making, peer pressure, oh here’s one for you: you should really learn about anger management, mom.” I laughed like a hyena, and told him THAT is why I love him so much, his snarktastic sense of humor.

This morning, getting into the car, he said or did something cute, and I told him, “You’re cute. I like you.” He replied that duh, I HAVE to like him, and set him straight on that. No, I don’t HAVE to LIKE him; I have to LOVE him. Liking someone is sometimes the hardest part of loving somebody, especially somebody you clean up after.

Yeah, I gotcher life skills hanging, RIGHT HERE. Every day is a life skills lecture when I’m your mother.

OK, internet, weigh in on this: do I need a 9-week-old Blue Heeler puppy? So I can love him and pet him and feed him and call him George? By the way, I’ve already named him George, whether I take him or not. Do I need him? Does he need me? Y’all tell me.

Don’t you want me, baby?

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