my apologies

now listen, your mother regrets... and I rarely say I am sorry first... I have neglected you kids. I have done treated you bad, I didn't pay you enough attention. It's the emotional equivalent of locking you in the parking lot at Wal-mart with the windows cracked on a hot August day. I, sincerely regret it. You see, and this is no excuse, Mama has been working like an immigrant in a nail salon, like a child in a sweat shop, like Melanie Griffin in that movie WORKING GIRL. I have been to more than 10 cities this month. I've been turning tricks like Tiger woods.

But, I will tell you what I have brought back a few pearls from all my travels...
1) People are at their absolute worst in the airports
2) It's a moral sin and character flaw to cut line while exiting a plane. Wait your damn turn, I am stuck in the damn toy poodle size seat
3) Never, ever, recline your seat in coach unless that damn flight is longer than 2 hours it's just rude
4) Rental cars are probably less clean than public toilets
5) Approach a self flushing toilet with caution
6) Flight attendants don't like to be called air mattress even in a joking manner
7) Chain restaurants are comforting, like the way they give you gas and indigestion all night but are familiar
8) Chinese buffet is never a good idea in a strip mall near the airport
9) Tip the house keeper or she might use your toothbrush in the toilet bowl
10) Does it break your jaw to say please and thank you to people?


And now a bonus: Why do so many people build houses that look like olive gardens?

sweatin' to the old me

So, it is true, I do be up in the gym working on my fitness as the great philosopher Fergie, Ferg says. Of course, she peed her pants on stage, so I feel especially kindred to her. Having been mistaken for a drag queen before, it's important I work on my girlish figure. Hey, it was the 70s, everyone wore too much eye makeup and I may have been fond of my shoulder pads which made me look even more the linebacker. All the same, i'm tryin damn it.

So, I don't get why the hell they put so damn many mirrors in the YWCA. I know you need to watch yourself curl. But I do not, repeat NOT, need to watch myself run. It's a horrible testament to gravity to watch my face as I run. I have jowls like HOOCH. and, we have previously established I may be inclined to sing while I run. I may even do a semi- dance and work in an assslap when listening to a certain Ke$ha track. Thank you for getting me through the third mile, you skanky tween.

So, I realize my willpower is low and my strength is all but gone. I think I maybe need new shoes? Am on the treadmill cresting mile 3 when I think, yes I need roller skates. That would make this enjoyable, I could dart home like a Prius with a stuck gas pedal.
Then I nearly tripped on my own boob and had to concentrate again.

My only goal in life is not to be jealous of those people- the folks whose ass moves the same direction their legs do when they walk. Is that so inconquerable?

Best of luck kiddies, talk soon

botox

so I read that they are using botox to help people who have strokes- it helps with paralysis. Well, Motherbarry the bad news is you had a stroke. The good news is, you look younger than ever. I mean, they say no pain no gain right? What if I claim it is preventative medicine? Do you think BlueCross will pay then? What about welfare? Can I put this on my Cobra insurance? Honey, at this rate it's gonna take a tow truck to pull these jowls up. The other day I looked in the mirror and I barked at my own damn self.

wanted

generou$ chubby chaser for long dinners with good wines (no box). No fatties or mooches. Wait, this isn't my craigslist acct. Damn it

one size fits most

So, I had to go this wedding chuldren. I didn't have a thing to wear - I mean no- thing. It's a summer wedding. And wouldn't you know it started to pour rain just as they walked down the aisle pronounced man and wife. Well, they tell me it's good luck. Good luck that no body got that Vera Wang dress wet. That'd been one mad lady, this much I know.

So, here I am trying to find something for this wedding. I like to call weddings: tramp'n'ho retirement parties. When you decide to trade in your diaphram for a big rock, time to hang up those disco shoes and start hitting the vino. But back to the case at hand.

Honey, I decided to go shoppin in my closet. Have you ever done this? I found that I had so many things I had forgotten. Sadly, this new store found in my own house was wonderful but, baby, they just didn't have much left in my size. And that bitch who works there was hateful. But, at the end of the day I was happy I saved my chubby ass from spending money on fat clothes. Because let's be honest, bigger clothes are the gateway to elastic pants and lonely nights.

Much love
motherbarry

all about the Daddy's day

Today, I am remembering my father who awakened us every weekend morning to the sound of a vacuum cleaner hitting my bedroom door. He sure loved those tracks in the pile carpeting.

Go see your daddy, or the man your mama told you was to be your daddy. Take him to a chain restaurant and let him order dessert. Get crazy, buy him a card or a clip-on neck tie.

I will spend my day watching Maury Povich break the news to all the new and unfortunate daddies. Congratulations- it is very most likely yours!

I am reminded of a few of my own complicated conversations about who may-or-may not be responsible for my delicate condition. But, childrun, you gotta remember it was the 1970s there was no way to be sure. Disco techs tend to lead to peeing on a stick and praying to Jesus.

But I digress....Because today is the day that makes all those awkward paternity tests worth it.

DMV- showdown

Mama done up and sold the Buick. I said to hell with it kiddies, time to get a new ride. Some nice old man bought my sled. He was about 137 by best guess but I really appreciate his generosity. Fortunately, he didn't see that dent from where I hit the ATM or the time I backed over the neighbor kid and his bike. He only saw a good deal and a lime green metallic paint job.

So, me and Father Time go walking into the DMV to get the title for him and get him on his way. Let me back track and tell you that this was the 2nd place we went. The country folks working at the County Clerk's office told me to "go on down there to the state to get that man a title and his driver's tag." Ok, I do what the middle management says to do.

So we stand in line and wait and wait. THen we get a number and wait, and wait. Then they tell me, "Sorry we can't do this. If the car is going over state lines he needs to get a temporary tag there." I scratch my wig and ask, " Can he drive on my tag?" The man whose name tag read BUBA,yes spelt wrong and all... Buba says, "Naw he can't. He needs to get one from Michigan." Ok, so this goes back and forth because Father Time lives in Michigan and bought my Buick here in Tennessee. But, he can't take my tag, and TN won't give him a temp tag- so how the hell is he supposed to get it back the Michigan?

Buba: Ma'am you need to have him get the title and get that tag.
Me: SO he can't drive it until then?
Bub: Nope
Me: How is he supposed to get it back to Michigan
Buba: Ma'am you've asked me this already.
Me: I simply don't understand.
Buba: It ain't my problem

I told the less than helpful folks at the state clerk's office:
"Sir, Mr. Bubba. I understand you think you are helping me.I UNDERSTAND you don't want to help me anymore. I understand you don't want to be professional or courteous. But PLEASE understand that I don't want to be here either. Now I understand you probably have a button where you can push for security to come in 30 seconds, but let me assure you Mr. Bubba, that this will be the longest 30 seconds of your life if you don't start being respectful to me. Now, kindly ring your manager and tell him there is a Customer here who would request his or her assistance. Because you see, it AIN'T my problem isn't an answer."

I left with no drive out tag but I did get a small applause from the folks in line.