Southerners & Ice = Oil & Vinegar.

I haven’t been able to go to work for 2 days this week. It’s cold. It’s more than cold. It’s frigid and icy and there’s still snow on the ground. Y’all know that it’s ALWAYS 800 degrees and never snows in the South. Surely you can understand why Southerners get a little upset and panicky. We just aren’t equipped with proper tools to handle it. This winter storm brought lots of ice and a bit of snow to my neck of the woods, Charleston, SC. The county where I live could not keep up and the main bridge kept icing over, thus, my 2 days off from work.  Today the bridge is open and I was able to go in. My boss is going to be out of the office so I don’t care what I wear. I throw on a long-sleeve tee and a pair of jeans that were folded on my dresser.  I rush out the door and head into work.

On the drive in, I hit small patches of black ice. That’s a little scary, I think, but no worries, it’s warming up and the black ice is melting. I drive down a beautiful piece of road that is adorned with giant oak trees on my normal route. I notice that chunks of ice are falling from the trees but dismiss it with little thought. Then I pull up to the stop light that is under an overpass to get on the highway.  A HUGE hunk of ice falls off the overpass onto the sidewalk.  “Hmm”, I thought. “It never occurred to me that ice from tall things might fall down and might hit my car. I wonder if the Dept. of Transportation has figured this out?” I continue to dodge falling pieces of ice on my entire commute.

To further complicate my ride into work, my clothes felt funny. My shirt was choking me. I kept tugging and tugging and nothing. I lean forward to adjust my shirt from the back – nope, not working. I’m fighting with my clothes so much that swerve into the lane next to me. Oh thank goodness that no one was there. I decide it’s best to suffer until I get into to work.

The moment – and I mean the moment I pull into the parking lot – I slam my car into park, jump out and start fighting with my clothes. No wonder my shirt feels funny, it’s on backwards. Oh well, can’t fix it out here, I’ll just adjust my boobs so they fit better until I get inside. Once my t-shirt ordeal is resolved, I realize that the pants I’m wearing are the ones that are way too big and were pulled out to go to Goodwill. They literally fall off my butt. Thankfully, I caught it before my thighs were exposed. [Let me back up for a second. I noticed that very few cars were in the parking lot this morning. So, when I jumped out of my car, I failed to scan if there was anyone sitting in any of the few cars near me.] It’s at the exact moment that I’m pulling up my pants and adjusting my boobs that I lock eyes with a business man sitting in his car, directly behind me. He got front row seating to The Half Monty. Just great. There’s no recovery from this. All I can do is smile, wave, and run away in embarrassment and pray he doesn’t get on the elevator with me.

I finally make into the office and turn my t-shirt the right way and staple my pants to fit. As luck would have it, I got the notice that the bridge that I barely survived 20 minutes earlier is closed, again, due to huge chunks of ice falling and causing damage to cars. Yep, the DOT finally figured it out.

Great! Now I’m stuck at work. Who knows how long I’ll be here. The only other route to get home has been traffic laden since the day before because of the bridge/road closures. Every 30 minutes, I keep checking the news to see if/ when the bridge will reopen. Finally, I stumbled upon a website that keeps track of the bridge closure. Thank goodness because that’s much easier than scrolling through the news websites.

http://isthecooperriverbridgeclosed.com/

cooper.river

I finally get home at 7:30. I’m not complaining, some people were injured due to the ice and there were many traffic accidents all week long. My friends and family were spared from any of that. I do live in the BEST place in the US. Sure, we’ll have drama in another 5-10 years when it snows. I’ll take it. The years in between are the sweet life.

I Pooped on You The Day You Were Born.

The Weez is “so not tired, Mom” and quickly whisks a book off my bedside table to read since she has no other modes of entertainment at this late hour. She takes I Just Want to Pee Alone which is a collection of stories from other AWESOME mommy bloggers. She decides to read a story from The Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva which is towards the end of the book and one I have yet to read.

Several moments pass. I continue to work on other things. Dogs amble throughout the room and finally settle down. My wine slowly dwindles in its glass. The house is quieting down. Finally.

From a distance I hear, “Mom!” Of course I ignore. That’s what you do when children yell for you. They’re younger and should get their lazy a@@es up and respectfully request your attention, not demand it.

The Weez has learned this rule and does not yell for me again. No, instead, she barges into my room and scares the BEE-GEEBUS out of me. “What’s an a-piss-a-tom-a-tee?” Oh, Lord. She means episiotomy. What is this story about, I think. You’ll have to buy the book if you wish to know. I assure you, it’s well worth it. You can buy the book on Amazon.

Now I have a choice: a) snatch (no pun intended) the book from her and fuss for her to go to bed, b) lovingly coax her to read her bible, or 3) take this moment to scare the sh*t out of her. Yes, #3 is naturally my choice.

Despite it being 11:30pm, I describe the HORRORS of childbirth. Listen up Weezy, guess what else happens?! You take a poo when you push the baby out. And yes, I pooped on you the very day you were born. Nighty-night. Sweet dreams. I love you. Yes, I do. Just to prove it, I will refrain from showing you pictures of an apissatomatee.

The Weez.

When Teenagers are Left Unsupervised. Part II

I asked for it, I know. The Weez wanted to play on my iPad again. Why do I think she won’t prank me? Every time I fall for it. No, my snots aren’t researching quantum physics. They’re researching memes and gifs of quantum idiots. That’s what they do.

So here is the evidence of my monkey monkeying-around on MY iPad despite her having her own laptop. Enjoy.

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