Politically incorrect thoughts from a tree hugging gas guzzler

I have a confession. I drive an Excursion. It gets 9 miles to the gallon. The Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia sends me a birthday card every year. Small children in his country sing my praises.
In these times of high gas prices, a tree hugger such as myself should forgo the Land Beast and embrace the forward thinking, environmentally correct, save-the-planet, God bless the Queen, 80 miles to the gallon modernized scooter.
I mean have you seen them lately? They're hip, innovative, sleek, and down right adorable.

Then I realized, the people I've seen riding these scooters make me want to vomit.

Case in point #1:
Just the other day, I saw a piece of scooter trash in his khaki cargo shorts, environmentally green recycled hemp t-shirt, Birkenstock sandals and of course the all-important helmet made of recycled Styrofoam cups sporting his bad ass tattoo.
Not a Don't-want-to-meet-you-in-a-dark-alley Harley bad ass tattoo. But a triple venti, non-fat, half caf, I-just-spent-$18-on-a-foo foo-latte tattoo. It was the size of a postage stamp placed just above his ankle. I think he was still crying from the shame, I mean pain.
As if to justify my lowly judgemental thoughts, Girl Child phoned me from the rear seat of the Excursion (I hate it when they make long distance phone calls without permission) to ask me if I saw the weird man on the little bike with a bug on his ankle down there by our running board?

Case in point #2:
Female moron with cracker jack driver's license trying to prove she was better than me because she was on her gas sipping scoo-ter instead of belly-up to the bar, drink-as-fast-and-hard-as-you-can-then-wake-up-to-coyote-ugly-the-next-morning, gas guzzlin' Land Beast.
She cut she cut me off.
Let me say it again so you get the whole picture.
She. cut. me. off.
Think it through honey. I've had gnats bigger than you on my windshield.

I've decided scooters are the lowest form of vehicular life. They look up to European mopeds. When they weave in and out of traffic they are like an annoying swarm of flies swarming around a big pile of poo.

Help me spread the word. Friends don't let friends drive scooters.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: It's time to fill the Land Beast darlin'. Do you have any extra body parts we can sell? Your diseased kidney only fetched me a 1/4 tank.

Confession of an addict

I have a public confession.

I am seriously addicted to crack.

It has gotten to the point where it affects my family.

In fact, it's become such a problem Big Shooter has exhausted all leads to keep me supplied.

When ever we come across a supplier, we buy him/her out completely.

If anyone near Plainsville knows of where I can get hooked up...

Please, please my family begs you to let us know so peace may reign again in our house.

Crack.

Get it?

Farm fresh eggs.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: (Big, deep sigh) I am the luckiest girl in the world. Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll.

Full Disclosure...or another Confession

I'm so not a politically correct PETA lover, Green Peacer, or Hippie Doobie Smokin' Flower Power believer either. (Although, I really am a Tree Hugger if that helps.)

Just thought you should know all this before the Political Drums start vibrating in my ears. I'm liable to put my foot in my mouth a time or two, cause a ruckus in the comment section, have to apologize a few times for my behavior or attitude, or God Forbid vow my undying love of this great country we are blessed to call home.

Just thought you should know this about me beforehand.

That. And FIL sent this picture to me today to remind me of my past...Yes, that's me 20 years ago. Nature Killer. Which of course led my brain down the whole PETA, Green Peace lane.

And made me miss Idaho.

How do you like my Coors Light hat? I wasn't even legal yet. 20ish if I recall correctly. Big Shooter was away at college. I'd just had all four wisdom teeth pulled and it was Opening Weekend of Hunting Season. I told my future FIL, "No. So sorry. I have dry sockets. I can't go this year." That was back before cell phones. So thirteen minutes later when I called back and couldn't reach him or Big Shooter's momma (Who should be there. She didn't partake in the bloodletting.) to tell them I'd been taking pain meds and didn't know what I was saying because, "Oh course I was going! Miss out on getting up at 4am, drinking coffee with a bunch of Good Ole Boys while they made our game plan, hiking up and down mountains, always riding in middle b/c my legs were shortest so there was room for the gear shifting required when gunning up a steep, treacherous path on the side of a sheer cliff? No way am I missing out!" I freaked. Had they really left without me? I packed for a hunting weekend in under 14 seconds and arrived at their house approximately 4 minutes later than that. Therefore, I cannot accept responsibility for the hat, hair, giant shirt or anything else really. I think the only thing I put in my little Chevy Chevette (yes, really) was my rifle, ammunition and my boots. Seriously. What else could a girl possibly need?

To my girl readers: Yes, it's real. Yes, I shot it. No, I did not gut it. There were always too many Good Ole Boys who worried I'd knick the wrong thing. And, trust me, you don't want to knick the wrong thing. Eeewww.

To my guy readers: Yes, I know it's not a real buck. I found those antlers while hiking up over yet another ridge. And why yes, she is as big or bigger than your average white tail down here. Thankyouverymuch.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Wow. Your family still welcomed me after all my silly antics...I'm not sure if that's meant as a compliment for them or sympathy.

Politically Uncorrect Confession

Incorrect?...uncorrect? ...doesn't matter. What ever it is rubs the left wrong.

I came to the conclusion I must be somewhat homophobic. Here is the evidence that convinced me of the fact:

Every single time I refer to my JBF partner Saucy Sashi I always say, "My business partner....blah, blah, blah." Now, when I am making PBJs, throwing in a load of laundry, grading a phonics assignment and talking on the phone all at the same time I might slip and sometimes refer to her as just "my partner". As soon as it leaves my mouth I follow up with some comment about her and her husband or mine or her house being in another town...anything to make it clear she is not my partner-partner, but just my partner...

Confused?

My point exactly. Who wouldn't be?

Offended? Sue me.

I've had a bad day. I am grouchy. Can you tell? Sorry.

Or sue me.

Love Note to Big Shooter: #3 I love you because you told me I was beautiful today even though I had not one stitch of make-up on (I am not a vain person about make-up mind you. Except lipstick. I never leave the house w/o the lipstick on!), had on my ole momma uniform (denim and... denim) and had barely run a comb through my hair. I am trying to ignore the fact that as soon as "You're beautiful" left your lips, our son quipped, "You are?" and about fell out of his chair with laughter. Nine year old boy humor - you gotta just shake your head...or you may commit offspringicide and end up in jail where you are locked up by yourself...in the silence...with nothing to do...and have 3 squares cooked by someone else...and that would be bad. Right.....?

Confession of Miss Pee-Pee Pants

Disclaimer: I am apologizing up front Grandma. (Wow. I am having to do that an awful lot lately, aren't I? That should tell me something. Shouldn't it...?)

If you know me...you know my little problem. I am an admitted pant wetter. For as long as I can remember I don't know I have to go...until I have to go. Like now. Right now. Like, "Get out of my way or I'm gonna pee my pants" now. A very embarrassing number of you have been with me when I come to a dead stop for no apparent reason. Those of you who know my little secret just casually stop and keep the conversation going as if I didn't just stop in the middle of a crosswalk. After a few long seconds for some reason I am granted a short reprieve and can start walking again. It's a handicap I've learned to live with and apparently so have many of my friends and family. It's embarrassing to say the least. So I find this little saying from Saucy Sashi to be very telling and a perfect fit. What do you think?

"A great friendship is like wetting your pants. Everyone can see it, but you're the only one who can feel it's warmth."