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You Shouldn’t Reference that Someone May be A Freak In the Sheets

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Some of my favorite bloggers are having tough times today. Some of them got their posts stolen, FOR SHAME fuck heads. For SHAME. Some of them are missing people they lost. Loss is a universal thread that binds us together to remind us that we are all the same:human. So before I go into my rant about getting wasted at a family bbq, I just wanted to say, times is tough, and bad shit happens to good people. That’s just the way it is. And the way it is fucking sucks balls. There, off my soap box.



On Saturday I went to a cousin’s BBQ. Ok let me back that up by saying it was the phubster’s cousin’s bbq for his other cousin, the first cousin’s brother, who had come to visit from Canada. (Are you with me so far?) So technically my cousin-in-laws. Or whatever the fuck they’re called. They live in (literally) Sun City. It’s hot as the flames that jump up when you pour too much lighter fluid on the grill and your eyebrows get singed off over there. I was somewhat dreading it, especially because they have a pool and my kids have gills. There was no way you could bribe me, coerce me, threaten me to show off my lumpy white body and climb in there. Not a one. I was an impasse of solid granite, nothing would temper my resolve, no one could–
oh wait– is that Moscato?
Have a Dixie Party Red Cup full of it?
Ok sure, but just one.
I nursed my cup like it was the last one on the face of the Earth. We ate carne asada and grilled chicken, my son decided to choke on a blueberry, but not to fear he swallowed it at the last minute. Buzz meter: 0 (on a scale of 1 to totally shit faced)
Hmmm…. what…. is that Disaronno? What’s that, one shot?
Ok, I suppose. Buzz meter: almost a 1
The kids stood in line and took turns swinging at a pinata, and then raced after candy. Wouldn’t you know it but the little monster sucks at this whole pinata game. She doesn’t like hitting multi-colored animals with sticks, nor does she understand that when the candy falls you run and get it. Also doesn’t help that she has baby hands, is smaller than the other kids and is a perfectionist who has to take off the dirt on each piece of candy before it goes in the bag. (I’m pretty sure now that she was switched at birth). Needless to say her bag was quite empty and her eyes were full of tears. It’s ok though because me and The CryBaby Cleaned UP. He loves to grab stuff and NO ONE, I tell you NO ONE is going to knock over a baby who’s just learning to walk to get candy he can’t technically eat. We made a stock pile. We shared with sister. I may be hoarding it. Hmm.. what’ that, back the fuck up and off my collection. (WHAT, have you ever HAD Mexican Candy. The Lead makes it taste EXTRA good. I kid, I kid. There’s no lead, and it’s delish! I’ve seen grown women fight over the last Mexican candy in the dirt, in the bushes. Yeah it’s that good)
What’s that you say, my cup does look a little empty. Some more Moscato? Sure, thank you. Buzz meter: 3
I lost the phubster at this point. For about an hour, which when you’re starting to buzz is like three hours. I don’t know where he went or what he was doing. I found myself talking too loudly in the kitchen and laughing too hysterically over nothing. I ate some chips and beans. Gotta soak up the alcohol right. Of course the kiddos wanted in the pool. Was I buzzed enough to bare my lily white ass yet? HELL NO. But thankfully their aunt and uncle took them instead. I headed back to the kitchen under the pretenses of finding the phubster. My conversation started something like this….
“So how have you been,” (nodded my head in general direction of cousin’s wife, “C”)
(eye balling me up, the nerve of that HO) “I’ve been good, you?”
“Yeah I’ve been good too. It’s hot huh.” (Me)
“Yeah it is hot.” (Her)
“Must be nice to have a pool.” (Me)
“The kids like it.” (Her)
“Oh. Hey have you seen the phubster?” (Me)
“Um no, I’ve been in here the whole time.” (Her)
“Oh.” (Me, slightly defeated)
(At this point we’re interrupted by another cousin, “L”)
“Hey, you want some more moscato? We just opened another bottle.” (L)
“Hell yeah.” (Me, enthusiastically)
Idle conversation now envelops the entire kitchen like a thick smoke that leaves me in my semi-buzzed gasping for air and fanning myself with a napkin in an attempt clear the air. At this point “C” starts goofing around dancing, and I make the ill advised joke of saying, “hey teach me, teach me how to dougie.”
Snarksters, do you know that “C” actually obliges. And these brilliant words come out of my mouth.
“Shit. Now I know why your husband loves you so much, you’re a lady in the streets huh.”

“What?” (C, eye brows arched)

“You know, [punctuate with a giggle] a lady in the streets…”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” (C, eyebrows dangerously arched now)
“Fo real?”
“Um YES.” (C, starting to get pissed)
(insert commentary from cousin L)

“Duh, a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets.” (L starts chuckling)
I may have started hysterically laughing. I may have splashed some of my drink on the nearest victim, I mean bystander. The rest of the night is kind of blurry. I did manage to find my kids, and get them dry and changed without bathing them in moscato. They even got cake and ice cream. Buzz Meter: 8
Also, the phbuster materialized out of thin air. I think I remember telling him we should eat pho. MMM… the deliciousness of pho. I think it will help sober me up slightly. I’m starting to slur/leer. The phubster suggests I should stop drinking. I don’t take suggestions.
Que paso chica, que es…. Reisling?
Si! Andale! Me likey. Fill ‘er uP!
Buzz Meter: Shit faced.
Now comes the blur of activity where we round up the kids, say our good byes and I proceed to text a lot of people that I’m totally shit faced. I only know this because the next morning when I look at my phone there’s a lot of misspelled communique from me that means nothing, that all ends in, “B, maybe you should lay off the booze” type thing. Except the one from Ms. VampireS which ended, “No Babies.” Touche. Tou fucking che.
Not to worry. Although there was some initial excitement about the state of my buzz, this was all undone by my whispering in my regular talking voice about how “lucky” the phubster was going to get in graphic detail while slurping down pho.
I then got back in the car and fell asleep. For the rest of the night. Because I am that bob damn awesome. Oh phubster, how did you get to be such a lucky, lucky man.
Here’s the lesson:
1. Stay away from the Moscato. Moscato is a gateway drink. Not enough alcohol to actually get you super buzzed, but just enough to make you want to keep drinking. Curse you moscato. Curse you (Please come back to me.)
2. Don’t infer that your cousin’s wife is a nasty freak. You may be banned from all other family functions.
3. Don’t talk graphically in your regular voice about the nasty freak things you’re going to do to your husband at dinner. Turns out that is NOT a turn on.
4. Don’t fall asleep in the car and not put out, because if you’re going to embarrass the poor guy that much the least you can do is put out.
So, imbibed too much at a family function, office party, etc? Said some inappropriate things, drunk dialed, drunk texts? I know you did. It’s ok to share. This is a safe place, where everyone gets their own colored square, cookies and milk. Please feel free to let it all go….
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About sars!

...new people with great stories to tell, anyone who will challenge my brain and not leave me feeling like I just sat through a two hour lecture on how to tie your shoe...

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