Tag Archive | Preacher

Steel Magnolias No More

steel_magnoliasMy mother and aunt arrived here on a Thursday afternoon.  Fortunately for me I was at work when they arrived.  Unfortunately for my sister, she was here.  She said that they didn’t even make it into the house before they started their bitching.  First it was about all the stuff on the porch, then it was about the house being too messy, then it was about there being dishes in the sink.  (Just so you know, we cleaned before they got here, and the stuff on the porch is crap that we cleaned out to throw away.)  Once they looked in the refrigerator they started bitching about us not having any food.  (Again, we are on a budget, plus we’ve tried to eat healthier and veggies don’t keep forever you know.)  I’m sure that the lack of Little Debbie snacks and fat-filled crap made them think that they were going to starve before they could make it to the grocery store.  (Yet again, you should know that my aunt and mom are both overweight and have no idea how to eat healthy.)  So that’s how the visit started…with them bitching about every little thing and nearly causing my sister to have an aneurism.

Ok, so we had two extra people in the house so far, and we still only had my bed, my sister’s bed, and Little Bubba‘s bunk beds.  It wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but my aunt is so big that she can only sleep in certain places.  So logistically she had to take my sister’s bed, because my bed is upstairs, and neither one of them can make it up the stairs without nearly having a heart attack.  So me, my sister, and Little Bubba all had to sleep in my bed.  Talk about family togetherness.  The worst part of that was having my nephew’s knees jabbing me in the back all night.

On Friday, my dad and little brother arrived.  Thankfully I had to work again that day.  That night there was more bitching about food, the lack thereof, and how my sister was being unreasonable by trying to make sure we cooked healthy foods even while they were here.   Like they are allergic to it or something.  Shit, I am allergic to shellfish, but that never stopped them from cooking tons of shrimp and not worrying about what the fuck I was going to eat.  I always had to make do with salad or whatever I could find.  [Sigh] Sorry.  I know I’m ranting here, but I’m so stressed out by their being here.  I’m literally turning red and feel my skin heating up because I’m so angry with all of them.

That night my dad slept on his ancient camping cot thing and Little Brother slept on the couch.  Again me, sis, and Little Bubba all slept in my bed.

So we made it through Friday night, and I woke up Saturday morning and went downstairs to get my coffee.  I had my coffee and cigarette, took my shower, and got ready for work as usual.  When I came back into the kitchen my mom was going through the pantry.  She saw me and said, “Y’all don’t even have anything to make biscuits.”  I said, “Mom, [Fallen Angel] is on unemployment, and I don’t make that much, so we have run low on funds for food, but I promise I’ll get some groceries today.”  Mom sort of rolled her eyes and said “uh huh” in this disbelieving tone that really pissed me off.  Why she thinks we are living high on the hog I don’t know, but it’s really annoying considering we both moved here to help them and all they’ve done is bitch and moan about every little thing we’ve done.  If I could go back in time, I never would have paid the taxes on this damn house, and I never would have moved here.  I would have told them to shove it up their tail pipes and put a match to the damn place.

(Deep breaths.)

OK, so I’m stressed.  Not just a little stressed, but a lot stressed.  It’s not just the food issues, or the lack of understanding, or the constant bitching.  It’s also because I’m in a house with five other people, and I’m the ONLY ONE who IS employed.  And yet they feel that they have some god given right to tell me how to live my life and what to do with my money?  Oh hell NO.

(More deep breaths.)

Thankfully, Teacher had asked me to come hang out with him after I got off work on Saturday.  I had packed a bag and snuck it out with me when I left for work that morning.  I was all ready to go as soon as I closed up the store.  I had told my sister that I would not be back that night and I told her where I was going, but I didn’t mention anything to my parents about not being back that night.  I knew that there was no point.  They would just lecture me or ask a million intrusive questions or be very judgmental about it like they are with everything else I do.  So instead I just left.

I had a great time with Teacher Saturday afternoon and evening.  I got to hear him play and sing at a nice little bar/restaurant, meet some of his friends, and spend the rest of the night with him.  The next morning we went out to breakfast and then to a park for a little while before I had to head back.  I really didn’t want to leave, but I knew my family was probably already up in a tizzy because I didn’t come home the night before.  Plus it was Easter Sunday and we were supposed to have a family lunch/dinner and an egg hunt for the boys.  If it weren’t for the boys I wouldn’t have cared what the rest of them had planned, but I wanted the boys to have a good Easter.

As I was driving home I got a text from Fallen Angel.  It said, “Don’t get your hopes up on the ham.”  I wasn’t sure what that meant and she didn’t respond to my text asking her to explain.  When I was about half way home she sent me another text.  “Are you on your way home?”  I told her I was and she said, “Thank God.”  So of course my mind starts racing.  I didn’t know what to expect once I got there.  Would the ham be sitting on the front lawn, would they be screaming at one another, would I get verbally attacked when I walked in?  The wave of stress was overwhelming.  Then she sent one last text.  It said, “They saw the picture.”  (I had posted a picture of Teacher playing Saturday night on my Facebook.)

When I did get home and walk in, my mom saw me and just said, “Well, hello.”  Of course her tone is what said it all.  I knew what she really meant was, “There you are you little heathen. How dare you stay out all night while we’re here.”  So what?  It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve done something to piss them off.  They should be used to it by now.

The next few days were awful.  Usually it’s my sister and my dad who don’t get along, but this time it was my sister and my mom.  My aunt didn’t help either.  Their constant bitching about drove me crazy.  They finally left Wednesday and praise Jebus because I don’t think I could have taken much more.  I was just itching for them to say something to me so I could let the wrath of the redhead fall upon them all.

After they had all gone home I told my sister about them trying to convince me that I needed to move back there with them.  I told her that it would be a cold day in hell before I ever lived within two hours of them again, and I meant it.  Their drama is just that…theirs.  I don’t want anything to do with it.

Happy humping!
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I’m freaking out

Yes, I’m freaking out.  Completely.  I got a call from my boss this morning saying that there was a hundred bucks missing from the drawer.  Since I was the only one working Saturday that means it’s pinned on me.  I have no idea what happened to it.  I don’t remember anything weird happening Saturday, so I really don’t have a clue.

Of course I keep having flashbacks of my final days as a church secretary.  In this case, however, I am not guilty as charged.  I absolutely hate being falsely accused.  Sure, if I did it, then accuse all you want.  But if I didn’t, you’d better have a damn good reason for thinking I did.  I’m too old for this level of stress.

Of course I have issues when it comes to things like this.  I worked hard to overcome my past indiscretion and regain people’s’ trust, and I don’t want people to lose that trust in me over something like this.  If the Preacher were to find out about this, I’m certain he would believe my boss over me.  My dad loves me, but it probably wouldn’t take much to push him back into thinking I’m a common thief.  I may be a lot of things, slut, snob, sometimes dumb-ass, occasional drunk, and politically incorrect, but I’m NOT a thief.

Another reason I’m not only freaking out, but pissed off, is because why would I risk losing my job over a measly hundred bucks?  Granted, I don’t make that much, but it’s steady income and better than nothing.

I’m probably over reacting.  He hasn’t even come out and accused me of anything yet.  I could tell by his tone, though, that if it comes down to it, then it’ll most likely be my ass on the line.  I cannot afford to lose this job now.  Oh, dear baby Jesus in a manger!  Why do these things keep happening to me?!

Happy humping!

Living in the Bermuda Triangle of Dating

I think I’ve moved right into the middle of the Bermuda Triangle of the dating world.  So not only is this tiny town one of the most boring and depressing places to live, it also causes one to lose any hope of ever having a decent dating life.  Since I’ve lived here a few specific things have caused me to believe this.

  1. The quality of men is well below average, and by “men” I refer to those in an age bracket of 18 to 55 and single (not separated or “it’s complicated”, whatever the hell that means).  I’m sure that for the women who have grown up here or in a 100 mile radius, the “quality” is just fine, but for someone like myself, it’s just not plausible to have a relationship with any of them.  The men here are either extreme rednecks, religious nuts, creepy in a “what are you hiding in your basement?” kind of way, or just your average meth-heads.
  2. The other things I’ve noticed is that even when I try to bring one in from out-of-town, the only one’s willing to come here to meet me are from here originally.  That’s a problem because even though they may really like me, once they mention me to their family or friends, they are warned to stay away, and they are never to be heard from again.  Evidently my father’s reputation follows me even in his absence.
  3. As I said above, the only men willing to come here are from here originally.  The ones in nearby cities that I’ve talked to seem to disappear before even meeting me.  I’ve had several men who I’ve talked to and thought might pan out into at the very least a promising date, but then they just…disappear.  Normally I wouldn’t find this odd.  It happens a lot in the online dating world, but not to all of them.  Even the ones who were eager to go out with me seem just vanish without a trace, and without reason or explanation.

So my dating efforts have come to a complete halt.  I decided not to waste any more of my time or energy on trying to meet someone here because I doubt very much that I’ll be here for much longer.  My sister and I have decided to give up the fight and just let the house go.  We can’t afford to keep it ourselves, and as usual, the Preacher isn’t helping any.  We gave it our best, but it’s just not going to ever work.  Unless we can sell the house and land within the next sixty days or so, the bank will foreclose and we will have to move out and move on.

Personally I’ll be so happy to get out of this house and this town before it sucks the life and joy completely out of me.  I’ve never lived in a more depressing, corrupt, dismal place.  To outsiders it may look like Mayberry meets Little House on the Prairie, but in all actuality it’s just the entrance to hell guarded over by corrupt, backstabbing, gossiping, hypocritical, right-wing, white-collar drug dealers and murderers.  Sound a little over dramatic?  I’m sure it does.  The truth is usually far worse than fiction though.

Happy humping!

I didn’t see it coming

I told you a while back that my sister met a man the day of the trail ride & crawfish boil.  He’s a cowboy of course, and a good bit older than her.  He was also very funny and flirty.  Just her type.  So a few days later she asked if I would babysit Little Bubba for a while so that she could hang out with him.  It turned out that all they did was go across the road to Dolly’s Cabin and “hang out.”  Of course we all know what that means.

The next night after her “date” we were sitting at the dining room table eating dinner and I asked how her “date” went.  With a big goofy grin on her face she told me that it was “something.”  Something?  I wasn’t sure what that meant so I inquired further.  She told me that he was very large.  She wasn’t talking about his weight.  He’s an average sized guy.  Not bad-looking either.  No, she was talking about something else.  She said he was porn star big.  Therefore, furthermore, he will be called Porn Dick.

She explained that it was the biggest one she’d never seen.  Yes, that’s right.  She said never seen.  Evidently the lights were off when things started getting hot and heavy and then she said what would become a running joke for us.  “It was huge!  I just didn’t see it coming!”

At that point I started laughing and the conversation continued to go further into the gutter full of dick jokes and cum-filled innuendos.  I almost wet my panties I was laughing so hard.

God Hates No One

A few weeks later we were sitting on the front porch one evening talking about a sign that a local church had posted in their front window.  It said “We welcome everyone including HOMOSEXUALS. Come Sunday for explanation.”  Someone had taken a picture of it and posted it on Facebook.  The local gay/lesbian community was not happy with it, and I can’t say that I blame them.  The church in question isn’t known for its tolerance towards people with views that differ from their own.  The tag line on their website says, “Come as you are, but don’t expect to stay that way.”  Unfortunately that should be a positive message, but it’s actually more of a testimony to how judgmental and controlling they are.  It should say, “Come as you are, but if you want to keep coming you’ll have to conform to our views of what a Christian should be (not God’s).”

So while sis and I were sitting on the porch and talking I mentioned that we should start our own church for freaks and rejects.  She was amused and halfheartedly agreed.  I was serious though.  I’m sick of so-called Christians thinking that people have to conform to their beliefs to be saved.  What about God?  Shouldn’t He be the one who we are worried about pleasing and conforming to what He wants us to be?  God loves everyone.  How do these churches expect to get people to come worship with them when all they do is judge and demean anyone who doesn’t meet with their approval?

The worst part was when my sister sent a text to an acquaintance of hers.  He is a member of that very same church, and even teaches several classes there.  The text she sent him asked about the sign.  He said that he did know about the sign, but wasn’t sure what the pastor was going to “explain” on Sunday.  Then came the kicker.  He said, “Personally though, I hate fucking fags.”  Wow.  There’s a shining example of a small town dumb-ass fake Christian right there folks.

Oops.  I started getting a little preachy there didn’t I?  Well, that’s alright.  You know why?  Because while I was waiting on my chicken fingers to be deep-fried at the local gas station/fried food emporium last week, I became an ordained minister online.  It took about five minutes and it’s legal in most states.  So now not only can I do wedding ceremonies, funerals and the like, I can also start my own church if I so choose.  Who knows.  Maybe I will do just that.  The Preacher always did say that he thought I was called into the ministry.  Maybe my ministry will be helping the freaks and rejects, like myself and my sister, have a place to worship freely without fear of judgement from anyone other than God.

Happy humping!

P.S.  My sister drives me crazy in many ways, but I would never trade her for anything.

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!