in a blackened hole, surrounded by flashes of  former life
impressed by the lingering fantasy and substance of more concrete time
little flickers of hope snuffed out by gray billowing hands of despair
holding on tightly to an edge that seems to be slowly idling away to a natural rhythm
a beat that calls for any and all, wanting, begging and urging to have you come and dance
finally it hypnotizes, whispers secrets of calm and claims you for its own
white to gray to black and no more promises need be answered

a GIANT fish bowl!

Ok so I spent the previous week in Myrtle Beach with the fam! It was fun. You know the norm like lots of food, shopping and of course the occasional sisterly fight! Anywho, my only problem or concern, is the fact that we as people actually enjoy the ocean. Here is why I say this:
1. The sand sucks! I mean really sucks. No one likes it, its just something we all put up with in order to vacation at the beach. It ends up in your hair for days and days after you have leave the beach. It also is in every crack and crevice on your body! I dont know about you but sand in my chachee is no fun...and dont even get me started on sand in your behind and my least favorite....a fat roll! Thats the pits...on top of utterly embarrassing when you need your husband to check and see if you got it all out of your left back fat roll! The shame!

2.The actual ocean! Yes it is glorious to go in the ocean and then come back to your hometown with a beautiful sun kissed look but honestly swimming in fish filth and funk is a high price to pay! I have to ask myself how much fish crap I swallowed as I was tossed around by waves over and over again. I have never had this thought before but a putrid odor began engulfing everyone when they put on their bathing suits after we had swam in them the day before. The odor was of fish...literally....poop....probably literally and musty sweaty butt...hopefully not literally. So I thought...WOW we are swimming in a fish bowl! There is fish poo, pee and even...God forbid....fish fornicating. So long story short I have decided I have had enough of swimming in fishy waste!

With all this said I did have a good time at the beach and I love all the memories we  made and all the great photos but I could have done without the sand and smell! I shall stick to the pool...where only small kids pee in it. Well it better only be small kids because seriously if you are over 5 peeing in the pool that is gross!

Fishing Hooks

Ok, so I go to bed and I feel a tug on the bottom part of my right shin and I look down...what do I see....a damn fishing lure! Of course it was either my husband or my son because apparently you inventory your fishing gear in the bed. Thats logical! So after we cut the lure off my pants and inspect my "wounds", they argue over who's it is...like I even care. what fun! Oh yeah and I have also been shot by an unloaded pellet rifle in the leg. It happened on Aprils Fool Day so when I called my family to let them know I had to go to the hospital they all called me a liar. News flash living with a country man means fishing lure injuries, being "shot" and of course accidentally drinking from his spit patoon because it is in a Dr. Pepper bottle and it's the same color. God bless all city girls with country boys! It will be never be boring!

Bathroom time!

Ok so why in the world are situations that arise in the bathroom so precarious. It never fails. I spot an opportunity to make a break for the facilities, scope out the optimum stall and go about my business. As soon as I am ready to "drop the kids off at the pool" here comes a flock of ladies ready to either reapply lipstick, use the restroom or wash their hands. So you hold it, waiting for the right time to go about your duties. This right time could be a strategic flush of the toilet, however this can back fire if the flush wasnt at a decibel to camouflage the sound, or when everyone has left the bathroom. This leds me to the next problem...when there is another person waiting to do the same thing you are. This is also known as a bowl battle. Who will drop the bomb first or who will admit defeat, pull up their pants and exit the bathroom first? So I say unto my fellow females...cant we all just pass gas, explode the toilet and proudly exit the bathroom stall with our heads held high. Can we stop being judged so harshly when we have flatulence during our God given right to poop? I will suffer in silence no more...poop or get off the pot!

Bingo!

I thought I would start out blogging by complaining about the people that frequent bingo establishments! First off it must be a prerequisite to be a mean and spiteful troll of a woman. I say this because I sat behind the dragons liar...in the form of a mullet wearing Wal-Mart queen named Wanda. I am not sure if she is bitter from lack of sex or because no one informed her that you need not wear a belt with elastic pants, needless to say she was quite upset with the new bingo caller. Now on Wanda's behalf this bingo caller was 75 years old and extremely slow, but I am not going to grouch because the previous week the caller had a lisp and that my friend is no fun! Back to Wanda...long story short she cussed, bickered and complained for three full hours until loe and behold this polyester queen wins 1,300 on the lucky 7 game. Meanwhile I'm out 160 bucks and spilt ketchup down my shirt...but the mexican security officer winked at me and that was a great cheeseburger!