Welcome to the Mickey Mouse Halloween Event!
Hosted by Mom Blog Society
Since my trip to Florida’s Walt Disney World this past summer, I’m such a huge Mickey fan! Enter below for your chance to win this awesome prize pack!
This adorable 3′ Tall Airblown Inflatable Halloween Mickey Mouse self-inflates in seconds. It’s easy to set up and store. Stakes and tethers are included.
My day just got ten times better with a laugh that had me gasping for breath and peeing my pants. Yes, I really did pee my pants. All the cool kids pee their pants. (If you didn’t catch the Billy Madison reference, you best go watch that movie!)
I bought a Velata fondue pot today at the local festival downtown and thought I’d try it out with some milk chocolate and strawberries. I plugged ‘er in, heated the chocolate and dipped my little heart out. I had a bunch of strawberries so I thought I’d be a good daughter and take some to my parents across the driveway.
My parents both loved the strawberries and I sat on the couch to chat a bit with my Mom. If you’ve read my blog entry about my Mom from awhile back, you’ll already know she’s an nut. Today, she took that nuttiness to a whole ‘notha level.
I was telling her that the vampire at the doctor’s office said “hello” today as I was getting my blood drawn… Then the conversation went something like this:
Mom: Why were you at the doctor’s office? What for?
Me: Bloodwork. I’ve got to have my check up and pap smear done next week.
Mom: Oh, good.
Me: No, not good. It’s been eight years since I’ve had one.
Mom: Jesus, Maggie. You know better. You have to stay on top of that.
Me: Yea, I know. I just stress about it. What if there’s something wrong and they want to yank out my lady parts. You did have cancer twice, remember? I’d like to have a baby before they take all my stuff out or I get cancer or somethin’.
Mom (sits quietly and stares at me for a whole thirty seconds)….
Mom: Why don’t you ask the doctor if I can carry a baby for you?
This is where the hysterical laughter between me and my dad broke loose. In case you didn’t know, my mom has ZERO lady parts. She hasn’t for roughly nine years due to her first bout with cancer. The second bout this past year was the left over cells forming a tumor. To sum it up, she has nothing down yonder.
Me: First off… EWW. Secondly, hell fucking no. And finally, YOU DON’T HAVE A UTERUS MOM! Where’s the baby going to live?
Mom: I don’t know, it’ll find a place in there.
Me: What’s it going to do? (Laughing hysterically) Grab a kidney and hope you don’t cough it loose?
Mom: Well I don’t know. Maybe they could stick it somewhere.
Dad: Jesus Christ, Judy. You don’t have a WOMB!
Me: I’m going home. I need to call my brother. And I peed my pants.
So there you have it. My mom thinks she can carry a baby for me and that’s just something normal for a woman with ZERO lady parts. Let’s not forget she’s almost 68 and can barely walk around the house. Can you imagine her being huge and pregnant?
My brother John is always insightful and suggested we could shoot the egg and sperm into her and just duct tape her shut. Yup… that’s how we do some redneck impregnating around here!
I hope you enjoyed this installment of Judy says…
My dad is a hot freakin’ mess. He was kicked out of high school because he punched a teacher just before graduation and had to get his GED. Then he went into the U.S. Army and served his time in Korea. He’s told me way too many stories about things that happened in the army… but not near as many as he has about his truck driving days.
Dad was an over the road truck driver for almost thirty years before heart problems landed him on disability. Most of his runs were to the East Coast and he had friends there at the frequent stops. Along the way to and from Indiana, he’d see strippers, pimps, fights, guns, nekid people and everything in between. “People are nuts out there…” was mumbled more than once.
One of my favorite stories is this… Dad stopped at a truck stop on the East Coast to use the facilities. On his way into the building from the parking lot, a couple guys walked by and said, “You might want to see if you can help that guy in there”. Dad didn’t know what they were talking about but he ignored them.
Everything seemed kosher as he headed into the men’s bathroom until he saw a head peeking over the stall begging for help. The guy begged and begged and Dad ignored the man as much as he could. Finally the guy said “Look, just kick open the stall door, you’ll see why I need help. Please.”
So Dad carefully kicked open the door and immediately doubled over laughing his ass off. Apparentlyyyyy someone talked this stupid trucker into sticking his winky dink through a hole in the stall divider. Once he did, they lassoed it and tied it off across the stall to the toilet paper holder, leaving the winky dink sticker stuck. He couldn’t go up and he couldn’t go down.
By the time Dad kicked open that door his little weiner bob was purple, blue and almost black from the lack of oxygen and constant pulling from the guy to get loose. Dad couldn’t stop laughing enough to cut the poor man loose and left the bathroom in tears.
He immediately called my Mom to tell her the story and all she did was scream at him. Mom thought he’d finished his driving for the day and was completely drunk. He couldn’t explain the story or talk very well because of his still constant laughter. He gave up and headed back to his truck…
A few minutes later a few guys came out with the winky dink sticker in tow. The idiot finally found someone to cut him loose and help him out to his truck. Must have hurt… Dad said the guy could barely walk and just hung his head in shame. Great prank though!
So enough talk of weiners… more about my Dad. He’s a walking disaster. He’s got diabetes, heart disease, auto-immune liver disease, back problems, hip problems, COPD from smoking since the age of 14 and most recently, one leg.
The one-legged drama started over a year ago when he had symptoms of gout in his left foot. He swore up and down to his family doctor it didn’t feel like gout since he’d dealt with that before. He knew it was something else. And sure ’nuff, it was. Multiple surgeries later, they ended up amputating part of his left foot. The cause? Vascular disease that builds up plaque in his arteries.
More surgeries throughout the year to try to save his leg and clean those arteries out and rebuild the veins. A month ago, he was back in the hospital with more problems with those same arteries. They’d done all they could, the only option left was amputate.
The amputated on June 5, 2012 above his left knee while I was driving back from my vacation in Florida. My brother was there with my Mom and him for the surgery and snapped this picture on his iPhone just after he moved into a regular room from recovery. The text message subject was “Ren and Stumpy”. And yes, Ren is my Momma.
Also, please be thankful my dad is covering his wiener. That thing is always popping out of hospital gowns and scaring people away.
So that’s my Dad in a nutshell. He’s an honest man with simple standards. He loves his grandsons to the moon and back. It upsets him to no end that he can’t work because of his health problems but bothers him more that he can’t pick up his two grandsons. I’m working on convincing the oldest of the two Isaac that Papaw is getting a pirate leg!
My mom is a kindhearted, loving, gossipy woman. She thrives on good, juicy gossip and bragging on her kids and grandsons. It doesn’t matter that your son is the highest ranking surgeon in the world, her son is better. And your daughter may be Miss Congeniality, but her daughter is the bee’s knees. That’s just how it is, ask her.
I never knew my mom’s parents, they passed long before I came along. The only living relatives besides her brother and his family were her Aunt Opalee and Aunt Ottie. Both are long gone but I have distinct memories of them both.
Aunt Ottie was a sweet, vanilla scented old woman. She was short and plump and always smiled with her whole heart. You could just tell she was a sweetie. She never had children, so she was extra close to my Mom. The most prevalent memory I have is of going to Aunt Ottie’s house and searching for money. She’d hide dollars in different places and we’d play the “Hot and Cold” game… You know, “You’re getting warm… warmer… oh no, just got cold.” That kinda thing. She was sweet and loving and was a great Aunt. I like to think one day I’ll be old and cranky but still smell sweet like vanilla candles and hide money for my nephews when they’re all grown up. I’ll probably also be delusional and hide it in my sock drawer next to my vibrator.
Aunt Opalee was a different story… She was a vile old woman that hated children. She didn’t have any kids either, and I’m guessing it’s because God loved the world and his children and didn’t want to punish an innocent baby. She was so mean! Now, keep in mind, I was a very young child when she was around. Sesame Street young. She moved in with my parents when she started to go downhill and Mom took care of her. She had these hideous black horn-rimmed glasses that added to her ugly. Anyways, I always watched Sesame Street in the morning, I loved it. Well the cranky old bat didn’t give a damn and changed the channel. When I changed it back she hit me. SHE HIT ME! See, that’s what I’m so fucked up. I was scarred as a child because I wanted to watch Big Bird dance around and talk about numbers.
Needless to say, my Mom and Dad went off the deep end and Aunt Opalee still didn’t get it. Shortly thereafter she had to go into a nursing home. She was too mean to my brother and me and was getting to be more than my Mom could handle. She died a while later. Cranky old bitch.
She didn’t leave any money or family behind and her wishes were to be cremated, so that’s what my parents did. Mom was worried she’d haunt the house, so Dad kept her in the barn (in her urn of course). Occassionally he’d dust her off and tell the old bat to f-off and that’d be the end of it.
Until my parents had to move. All those years had past… we’re talking 20+ and no one had ever done anything with her ashes. That’s what an awful person she was, no one gave a damn. So as Dad was packing things from his barn and workshop, he came across the brass urn. He asked my husband what he should do with it? Just trash it? Or what?
My husband, being the frugal person he is, said heck no. His plan was to bring it home, spread the ashes in our woods respectively and sell the brass for cash. Because otherwise it’d just be a waste of money. Okay, fine. Keep in your mind that both myself and my mom had no idea of their conversation and plans. We assumed that it was destroyed when the barn was taken down.
Flash forward six years later… Hubby and I had been trying to get pregnant for roughly four years and hadn’t had any luck. We’d counted days, tried some annoying steroid pills and done the wild thing like drunken monkeys and still, no dice. My mom, being the nosy gossip she is, was discussing my situation with me one night at her house and insisting that I need to have more sex. Yes, she seriously said that. She’s said it more than once to be exact.
In come Dad and Randy from outside talking about Aunt Opalee’s urn. Shocked, I asked them what the hell they were talking about her for. And Dad simply said that Randy was going to spread those ashes and go recycle that brass. “Wait… what?” Then I went on about how it’d be impossible since that was all torn down and destroyed after they moved. Nope. My husband’s frugal ass brought the old bat home. Into my house. UNDER OUR BED. ON MY SIDE OF THE BED. REALLY?!?!?!
Who puts a dead old bat that hates children and life in general under someone’s bed?! Without telling them!!! Jesus, Mary and Joseph… no wonder I can’t get pregnant, that old bat down there is probably giving the spermos the wrong directions. I could have died. Right then and there… we laughed so hard we cried.
Now… I’ve gotten WAY off track. I started this post to talk about my Mom, not how an old bat drove my husband’s sperm the wrong way. My mom’s a nut. She claims she has a southern draw even though she’s from southern Indiana. Fact is, she just doesn’t talk right. She says things like:
- Chim-a-lee: Pronounced by us normal folks as chimney.
- Virgin: Nope, not what you thought. She says “virgin” when she means VERSION.
- Baby Dowel: You know, like a dowel rod… when she means to say baby doll like a Cabbage Patch Kid.
Those are just a few of the most frequent Judy-isms. She’s a wonderul person, she really is. She’d do anything for her family and spends her days taking care of my Dad. And that in itself is a full time job.
So there ya have it. My mom in a nutshell. When I tell you she’s crazy, you can believe me. She’s backhanded me in the car as a teenager more times than I can count for talking back, told me I need to have more sex because my husband is cranky and insisted that I put my hood up on my jacket for almost thirty years. She’s a nutball.
Part 2 will be published tomorrow when we’ll meet my Dad, the one-legged wonder.