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Top 5 reasons why the Preacher’s Daughters might get arrested

1.  Public intoxication

Actually this one probably happened on a regular basis a few years ago.  However, my sister rarely drinks anymore, and I only drink when I’m out with Teacher.  So we’ll reserve this one for holidays such as Halloween, St. Patty’s Day, and New Years Eve.

Sunday night (Cinco de Mayo) when I was with Teacher I did drink several beers by the fire.  He told me later that he could tell I was getting a little drunk.  I asked how he could tell and he said I “get cuter.”  Hehe.  🙂

2.  Driving while under the influence

As you all know I already had my little run in with the law over this one and I do not want a repeat of that.  Twenty-two hours with Big Bertha in a freezing cold, overly bright jail cell was plenty for me.

3.  Driving like a drunk granny

Last night as Fallen Angel, Little Bubba, and I were coming back from dinner we got pulled over.  She and I both said, “What’d we do?!”  She wasn’t speeding.  Her tag isn’t expired.  We had no idea.  To make things worse, Little Bubba was in the back seat and he said, “Mommy I’m scared.”  (Unfortunately he had acted up all night & I jokingly told him that if he didn’t behave I’d call the cops.  Bad idea.)  I had to reassure him several times after that the cop/sheriff’s deputy was the “good guy.”

Evidently, per the sheriff’s deputy, she was “driving 10 mph under the speed limit and weaving.”  Her truck has rattled lately and it sounds like a raccoon is under the hood, so she’s been trying to take it easy and not drive too fast.  She told the deputy that was why she was going so slow.  He said that was ok, but she was also weaving and he just wanted to make sure she was alright.  He also said “it’s your lane and if you want to use it all then that’s fine.”  (The funny thing is that I tell her all the time that she weaves too much, but she never believes me.  Finally I have proof!  LOL)

He let us go on our merry way after that.

4.  Failure to pay outstanding traffic tickets

This one seems to plague me and Fallen Angel.  She got a ticket last year for having an expired inspection sticker, and to my knowledge she never took care of it.  Of course I still have a couple of tickets that I’ve got to pay from when I was living in the Big Easy.  That was another reason we both sort of panicked when she got pulled over last night.

5.  Cavorting with 17-year-old boys

This one goes back to last year when I was talking to a guy from OKCupid.com.  His profile said he was 18, but he turned out to be only 17.  Once I found out, I quickly put a stop to any and all sexy talk and receiving of pictures from him.  The threat of jail time was enough to scare me straight, and it prompted me to change my search to only guys 24 years old and up.

That wasn’t my first encounter with a 17-year-old though.  Back when I was 22 I had a one-niter with my cousin’s co-worker.  I didn’t know the guy was only 17 until after the dirty deed was done.  I also didn’t know he was a virgin until it was too late.  We live and learn, as the old saying goes.

pkdividerSo there’s my list of the top 5 reasons why the Preacher’s Daughters might get arrested.  Thankfully I’ve only been arrested once, and my sister has yet to make that dreaded call to the Preacher from a jail cell at 2:00 am.  Hopefully she never will, because if she does…I’m not bailing her ass out of jail.  Not after the way she’s been treating me lately.  By the way, she’s still being a bitch from hell.

Our mother and aunt are set to arrive tomorrow.  It’s going to be a little Mother’s Day visit.  The only thing I’m looking forward to is taking them all out to dinner Saturday night.  No, I’m not looking forward to paying, but I am looking forward to having them meet Teacher and hear him perform.  His duo is playing that night at the restaurant we’re going to.  Hehe.  See, I’m still capable of being a sneaky bitch myself.  Fallen Angel hasn’t completely captured that title.

Happy humping & drive safe!

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The Age of Enlightenment – Part 2

In all the excitement I completely forgot to tell you about my new job.  I started working there a few weeks ago.  It’s a nice little family owned business, and so far everyone there seems very friendly.  Before I went to the interview my sister warned me that the owner, OS, was a little odd, which I sort of already knew because I had heard the Preacher talk about him before.  Not talk about him in a gossipy bad way, just talk about the Preacher’s dealings with OS and his company.  OS and his family are Mennonites.  I don’t really know much about what the Mennonites believe, but I always assumed they were a little like Amish-lite.

During the interview with OS and the office manager, I got a little taste of just what type of person OS really is when he asked if I was a smoker.  I told him the truth.  There’s no point in lying about it because if he were to hire me he would find out eventually anyway.  After I made my confession he went into this story about how he had a woman working there once who was a smoker and after she left he swore he’d never hire another smoker again.  Evidently she was one of those smokers who got very snippy and cranky when she couldn’t go out to smoke at least once an hour.  Now I do like having my smoke breaks, but even I think that’s a bit excessive.  I’m good as long as I can go out at lunch and smoke, and maybe have one more in the afternoon.  So after his little story I told him that I’m a “light smoker” and he had nothing to worry about.  What I was really worried about was whether he noticed the tattoo on my wrist, because I was pretty sure that he was the anti-tattoo type too.  He never said anything about it though.

While he was asking me some other questions about the work that I had done for the Preacher, whom he knew of course, I happened to look over at the office manager.  The office manager was checking me out, staring right at my chest.  He quickly averted his eyes.  I wanted to laugh, but managed to keep my composure.  It turns out he’s a very nice, very married, goody-goody Christian man.  It’s the little things that amuse me most of the time.  Can I get an “amen?”

So far the job has been less than fulfilling, and challenging, but it pays the bills, so I guess I’ll keep it, for now.

Some other things that have gone on here at the Farm:

My sister, Fallen Angel, and my nephew, Little Bubba, have been driving me crazy with their lack of concern for keeping the house clean and tidy.  I’m not a neat/clean freak, but I do like things orderly and presentable.  There’s nothing worse to me than having someone drop by the house and it look like a tornado (aka Little Bubba) just came through.  I’m working on not nagging my sister too much about this because I know she works hard, but she needs to realize that I can’t do it all on my own.

We’ve had a couple of barbeques with the downstairs neighbors, MW & AW.  I think they are really cool people, but there is something that isn’t quite right about them.  My sister says there’s definitely a story there.  We just haven’t figured out what it is yet.  We do know that they moved here from up north to help out with her mother.  We also found out that she has had five kids, none of which she has custody of now.  One of the kids is just a little baby that she had about eight months ago.  From what we gather, either the baby is in foster care or MW’s family has her.  They are supposed to get her and bring her here, but I seriously doubt that’s going to happen.  AW doesn’t seem like she’s in a big hurry to get the baby and be a full-time mommy.  Hopefully more details will surface as time goes on.

In other news…It seems that even though the Preacher has been gone for some time now, a lot of people around here still remember him and their dislike for him has trickled down to my sister and I.  My sister had to call the local police department one day to find out about something and the receptionist who answered the phone asked who was calling.  My sister told the receptionist her first name.  That wasn’t enough; she wanted her last name too.  So even though my sister knew it probably wouldn’t go well, she told the receptionist her last name.  There was dead silence on the other end of the phone for about fifteen seconds.  Then the receptionist said in a snotty tone, “Well, he’s not in now.  You could leave a message I guess.”  Wow.  People here really do hate us (my sister and I) for no reason other than what our last name is.  LOL

Living here in this small town is definitely going to be interesting.  My sister says she just wants to live a quiet life and not stir up any trouble.  I, however, only want to stir up trouble and make these backwards rednecks squirm in their holier-than-thou pews.  But that’s just me.  It’s probably just because I’m bored to death out here in the woods.

And for the grand finale!  At the beginning of May I received a message from a young man on OK Cupid.  His profile said that he lived nearby and that he was 18 years old.  Now I know that’s a bit young for me, but I figured he’s only 6 years younger than Endymion, so what the hell.  I replied to his message.  As we kept talking he started opening up and telling me a lot about himself.  He even told me that he’s still a virgin.  Awe, ain’t that sweet?  There aren’t many of those around these days.  I guess you pretty much have to catch one early to get one that’s still a virgin.  Anyway, we moved on from that topic and kept texting and messaging one another.  He seemed like a really nice kid guy.  He goes to church, plays guitar, likes a lot of the same music & movies I do, etc., etc.  Sounds good right?  I thought so.

Then one night he added me as a friend on Facebook.  I started browsing his profile and noticed his birth date, especially the year.  Then I started calculating, which I am pretty good at, but decided to use an age calculator that I found online just to be certain.  Yep!  You guessed it!  He’s only 17.  He won’t be 18 for another couple of months.  Now at that point I had to jump-start my heart because I started remembering some of the conversations he and I had.  I don’t want to go back to jail.  So I immediately send him a message asking why he didn’t tell me that he was actually 17 and not 18 like his profile had stated.  He replied, “Oh, I’m sorry.  I was going to tell you.”  When?  After I was in cuffs?  I had to explain to him that I could get into a lot of trouble just for talking to him.  He understood.  So we agreed that all future communications would have to stay G-rated and we could even think about meeting until after he turned 18.  To be perfectly honest, I really have no desire to meet him at all now.  A couple of months difference may not seem like a lot, but now every time I think about him I think of him as a kid, and I just can’t go there.

What was even funnier was when he told me one day that he was going to graduation later that night.  I congratulated him, thinking he was the one graduating.  He said, “No, I’m not graduating.  It’s my friend who’s graduating.  I’m class of 2013.”  Oh Dear Sweet Baby Jesus in a Manager.  That was my “what the fuck am I doing?” moment.  You’ll be glad to know that my communications with the kid have ended.  I really would love to find another Endymion, but he at least needs to be able to buy beer for me.

Happy humping!

Nosey Bastard

I was sitting in the living room chatting with Manwhore and Troll when my phone began ringing.  I of course looked at the number and realized who it was.  I got up to put out my cigarette and answer it and go into my bedroom.  As soon as I answered it and was heading Manwhore started talking to me.  I didn’t really catch what he was saying because I was hurrying to my bedroom.

I sat at my desk and continued talking to my friend.  Manwhore came in and asked who I was talking to.  I turned the phone away and whispered, “a friend.”  Manwhore said, “oh, ok” and walked out.

Why did he have to do that?  And I know once Troll is gone he’ll be in here asking me again who it was, was it a guy, was it a boyfriend?  It’s killing him not knowing.  OK, maybe it’s not that bad, but still…why be so nosey?

Now, to tell you about my friend who I was talking to that whole time.  The First was just that, he was my first.  He was my first kiss, my first time performing oral, my first penetration, ever.  He was the first and he was wonderful.  That was fifteen years ago.

We’ve chatted a few times since we last saw one another fourteen years ago, but not often.  Then he found me on Facebook a couple of years ago and we started talking occasionally and catching up on what was going on in each others lives.

He messaged me on Facebook tonight and we started talking again and he ended up calling me.  Talking to him was like talking to my best friend from high school.  The comfort level was still there and he was still able to put a smile on my face just like he used to.

We talked about him coming to visit me.  I hope it does work out because I really would love to see him in person again.  I’m guessing the “chemistry” will still be there, and maybe even stronger now.  We shall see!

Happy humping!

Why I call hubby #1 the Con Artist – part 2

First of all I’d like to apologize for taking so long to post part two of this story.  I’ve been without internet access for the past ten days.  Thank God it’s back on!  I missed you all so much! 🙂  If you missed part one you can find it here.

After I got back home from my disaster of a trip to NYC, I got a call from the Con Artist.  He tried to apologize for not picking me up and taking me back to the airport, but I wasn’t in a very forgiving mood.  He said that he was hung-over and sleeping that morning and just didn’t hear the phone.  Whatever, I was so over him and his bullshit.

In May 1996 I was back in my hometown living with my cousin.  I was broke and looking at a very bleak future ahead of me.  I had no reason nor desire to live a “normal” life at that point.  I had been fired from my job as church secretary, spent five months sowing my wildest oats in Atlanta, and had lost all hope of ever being that good little preacher’s daughter ever again.

When the Con Artist called me for the first time in nearly a year and asked me to come back to NYC and stay with him, I figured what the hell.  It’s not like I was doing anything else at the time.  I just really wanted out of my hometown and away from everyone I knew.  Even though I didn’t like him or trust him, his offer was convenient, and so I took him up on it.

I packed all of my clothes into a couple of big boxes and shipped them to his house.  My cousin took me to the airport and I got on a one-way flight to NYC.  The Con Artist picked me up from the airport and Continue reading

Why I call hubby #1 the Con Artist – part 1

Some stories are just too long to be put into one post.  I could probably write an entire book on my first ex-hubby, but I’m going to narrow it down to just two posts for now.  Enjoy!

It was August 1995 when we started talking on AOL.  Yep those were the good old days of AOL chat rooms.  For some reason he liked stalking the chat rooms set up for various southern states instead of the NY rooms.  I knew that he was Jewish, he lived in Brooklyn, NY and he was 32 years old.  I didn’t know a lot else about him at the time.

After a couple of weeks of talking online and on the phone he asked if I’d like to come up to NY to visit him one weekend.  I was very hesitant at first because then I was a 22-year-old virgin working as a church secretary and even though I had been to NYC once when I was in high school, the thought of going back by myself scared the crap out of me.  He was persistent though and offered to buy my plane ticket and get me a hotel room to stay in while I was there.  It made me feel a little more at ease knowing that I wouldn’t have to stay with him at his house.  Reluctantly I accepted his offer and we planned it out for the weekend coming up.

It was a Friday evening when my plane landed at JFK airport in New York City.  He met me at the airport and as soon as I saw him he said let’s go have a drink.  After having a couple of drinks in a bar there in the airport we went out and got a car service to take us to the hotel in Brooklyn.

Admittedly I wasn’t very impressed with him at first.  He was crass and not that good-looking.  He was a less attractive looking and shorter version of Jerry Seinfeld.  He had on some of those really faded or whitewashed type jeans and a polo shirt tucked in to his jeans.  He looked like he was stuck in the 80’s.  I later found out that his wardrobe wasn’t the only thing stuck in the 80’s.  For him, the 80’s were the best years of his life, full of sex, drugs, and wanna-be mafioso types.  He told me about how his father owned a club back in the 70’s and many of the local mobsters frequented it .  His father died of a heart-attack when he was five and his mother, who on her own had to raise a wild unruly son, just about went crazy with grief and stress.  Well, she didn’t raise him completely on her own.  The local mobsters that were friends with his dad offered to help keep an eye on him.  I think he would have been better off just with his crazy mother raising him.

After we went to the hotel and I changed my clothes we went out to dinner.  It was a nice restaurant in Brooklyn, but he wasn’t the best conversationalist that I had ever met.  He had few table manners and even fewer things in common with me.  When he did talk it was mostly about himself and how much money he had and how he had just gotten back from a trip to Arizona where he took a jet for a test ride.  I’m not really the gold-digging type, but he did make it all sound quite impressive.  Being that I was a poor little Southern girl working a low-paying job, this was about the most excitement that I had in a long time.

He took me to a couple of bars and clubs in Brooklyn and everyone seemed to know him.  There were lots of goodfella types that came over and talked to him.  I was so out of my element that everything was exciting and interesting to me.  I was naïve and clueless and very soon became drunk.  He was trying to drink me under the table.  He failed.  I still had a high tolerance for alcohol and by the time I was feeling tipsy, he was about on the floor.

He finally was too drunk to go anywhere else so he said we’d get a cab and he would take me back to my hotel.  As drunk as he was though, he still tried to get me to let him in my hotel room.  I refused and he got kind of upset.  I told him that I was a virgin and there was no way in hell that I was going to lose it to him.  I ended up having to push him out of the doorway so I could close the door.  Before he left he said that he would be back in the morning to take me back to the airport.

The next morning I got up and got ready to head back to the airport.  I waited and waited.  I called his house, but there was no answer.  I called & called, still no answer.  Great.  I had no idea what to do.  I had spent the last little bit of my cash to pay for the cab the night before because he said he was out of cash.  So there I was with no money and no ride back to the airport.

Before I had a meltdown I decided to just call a cab and then give the driver a check once we were at the airport.  I had no cash so what was he going to do?  Refuse to take it?  It was a plan, although not a great one.

On the ride to the airport the cabby was a talker and asked me why I had come to NYC.  I told him a little about what had happened and then decided to go ahead and tell him that I had no cash, just a check.  I swore to him that it would be good and pretty much begged for his help.  He was really nice about it all and said that would be fine.  I guess my innocent looks and demeanor at the time helped me out a lot in that situation.

I arrived back home later that night and swore that I’d never speak to that asshole again.

Stay tuned for part two of Why I call hubby #1 the Con Artist.  What?  You thought it would end there?  My life is never that simple because I’m not as smart as I look. 😉

Happy humping!