Can Open, Whoop Ass Everywhere!

Where: Samuel Adams Bar in the Birmingham Airport.


When: 5PM on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving.


Why: I am traveling with SLAPP (short for Sweet Little Angel Puddin' Pie, my 15-month-old son ). We landed an hour before the husband would be there to pick us up so we had some time to kill. I was in dire need of a glass of wine and something to eat and SLAPP's situation was even more dire. He needed sleep before his little puddin' head exploded.

What: I roll his stroller in the farthest corner of the bar behind a little partition wall. Hell is about to break loose and I am trying to reduce the collateral damage to the nearby patrons of this fine establishment.

BTW, SLAPP has been sleeping through the night since he was 9-weeks old and to this day he hits the bag every night by 7pm and slumbers for 11-12 hours. There are two things critical to his healthy sleep regime: 1) I am like the Fuhrer of the Nazi Sleep Party. I even wear an arm band with little sheep jumping over a fence. I also make the whole family salute my Second and Third in Command: Commander Turtle Night Light and General Sleep Sheep. 2) The 1pm Nap... critically important! But, he missed his nap this day on account of our travel schedule. Very few things trump the "Sleep Schedule", but since I have no suction with the Southwest Airlines Operations folks, I am at the mercy of their flight schedules. So inconvenient!

We were currently at Defcon 2... Puddin' head explosion imminent. My only line of defense, short of getting Gen. Sleep Sheep on the Red Phone was to lay a blanket over his stroller, tune my I-Phone to the soothing sounds of "The Essential Kris Kristofferson", and use my foot to rock the stroller back and forth. This tactic works every time. Unfortunately, it takes about approximately 2 minutes and 42 seconds, which may not seem like a long time, but when your baby is screaming like a high-value U.S. military target undergoing enhanced interrogation techniques, it is an eternity.

I try to muffle the noise best I can with the blanket and "Sunday Morning Coming Down" but with lungs like SLAPP has, he is going to be heard. I would apologize to those offended but... uh... no... I am not going to. Ya wanna know why? Because I am in an airport bar. Anyone who steps foot in an airport already knows that they are in for some type of annoyance; whether it be a cancelled flight, a group of 6 Muslim men praying on the floor in an Eastwardly direction right before they board your same flight, or a crying baby. So, I am traveling with a baby.... shit happens... they get over-tired, so deal... or get the FAA to ban children and Muslims from all domestic flights like they banned smoking in 1998 (good luck with that).

What (The Fuck?): I settled in with a glass of wine and the latest copy of House Beautiful and began rocking the stroller. SLAPP sounds like he is being water boarded, but I what can I do? The whole thing will last less than 3 minutes so I just relax and wait for the magic to happen. But, in less than the 3 minutes that is takes for Mr. Sand Man to visit sleepy SLAPP, the fifty-something year-old bartender leaves her post behind the bar and approaches my table. So, instead of slingin' drinks to all the weary travelers, which is her job,  she asks me in a very sassy tone, " Is your baby alright?"

I look up from my magazine and I have to stifle a laugh when I see her hair. She has one of those duck fart hair-cuts... but worse --- it is two-toned. The part that looks like the duck's farting ass was bleached blond. The top that would be the duck's back feathers was dark brown. I was able to politely reply, "No, he is fine." I look back to my magazine so that I don't start laughing at the duck fart. Then she went too far. She asked, "Are you sure nothing is wrong?" And this time she was even more sassy and she rolled her neck. No she di'int!

FHB took over and was starting to shake as she prepared a nice wad of spit ready to launch in duck fart's eyes... and she is a good shot in both distance and accuracy. But then I looked down at the copy of House Beautiful and glanced at my $12 glass of La Crema and remembered that I am a civilized Badger and spitting in this woman's face would cross a line. So, I thought about punching her face and again I saw that damn line. So, instead I raised my shaking hand that was clutching my wine glass and took a sip, looked up from my fancy magazine, and looked her square in the eyes (hard to do with out laughing at that hair) and replied in my sweetest, southern belle voice that really connotes "Go to Hell and Die Bitch, but I am too sweet and Southern to say such a thang", "He is fine. Thanks for asking." Then I went back to my magazine. Duck fart was furious because now she was shaking like someone with Parkinson's. She huffed and then stormed off.

Immediately following her departure SLAPP fell silent... totally asleep. 2 minutes and 36 seconds... a record. Damn, child!... couldn't you have been a few seconds earlier with that? It would have been the perfect proverbial middle finger that I needed to flip to this hose bag.

With SLAPP asleep I consider how to deal with that woman. I can't go up to the bar and confront her because FHB is still holding that wad of spit in the back of her throat. So, I take my credit card to my waitress and told her to cash me out. Then I give the young lady some hell that she didn't deserve, but I risked a night in the clank if I attempted to speak to Duck Fart personally. "Oh and by the way..." I said as I held my credit card just out of her reach, "You can tell your bartender that if she feels my parenting is not up to her standards she can call CPS... but while she is on the phone she should ask for Adult Protective Services, too, because if she ever speaks to me like that again regarding the care that I provide my child she is the one that will need protection from a social services agency, not my boy." And then I did it, too... the neck roll. I was totally embarrassed by my involuntary muscle reaction, but dude!, Duck Fart had awakened the Mama Honey Badger and she is lucky that all I did was roll my neck.

Turns out that the bartender doesn't even have children! Unfortunately for her, I pass through that airport a lot and I intend to be the bane of her existence. From now on I am not going to hide behind a partition and sooth SLAPP to sleep. No sir! I am going to belly up to that bar with SLAPP and just watch as he makes it snow cocktail napkins and then I will innocently apologize every time he spills someone's drink. And when I leave a tip it is going to be a big fat goose egg with a note that says, "Here is your tip --- see someone about that hair, Bitch."

I feel better now that I blogged that out. Thanks for reading.

Siri is a Dirty Girl

The husband wanted to test out Siri on my new I-Phone.

Husband: Ask Siri this question: "Will my husband have sex in the next week?"

FHB: She isn't a Magical Mystical Eight Ball, but I can answer that for you--- "Outlook not so good".

Husband: Just ask her and see what she says.

FHB (speaking into the I-Phone): Will my husband have sex in the next week?

Siri: I have found 8 escorts. 7 of them are fairly close to you. I have sorted them by rating.

FHB (still talking in the phone): I meant sex with his wife you home wrecking Bitch!

Just Like a Dogg!

I suggested to my husband that he might possibly suffer from a tiny case of low self-esteem. His response:

Husband: "Low self-esteem? My ass!"

A few seconds pass.

Husband: "Gotta go to the backyard to mark my territory."

Then he walks out the back door, so he wasn't joking. If I knew he was serious I would have directed him towards the ornamental cabbage that I just planted... they need a little nitrogen.

Drama!

I was watching Grey's Anatomy Thursday night and my husband made the following comment:

"I sure hope that Friday thru Wednesday goes a lot smoother for these people because their Thursdays really suck."

In the Ghetto

I would not have thought to use this song as the Honey Badger's anthem but whoever did is genius. Thanks King and thanks Honey Badger. You have both earned your crowns.

Oh Other Brother!

FHB has two brothers. One three years younger and one three years older. Neither are Honey Badgers. However, the older brother does get into a fair bit of trouble and he did win a hog wrestling contest once. The younger one flies under the radar. He is a real sweet kid so he gets away with everything.

Below is a text messaged conversation between the younger brother (YB) and FHB. It makes me laugh (the only point of this blog) so I decided to transcribe it below. I have added some parenthetical explanations in blue to help the reader follow the conversation):

FHB: I miss our canoe trip so much that I borrowed the husband's sleeping bag and I am sleeping in the backyard tonight. I am crazy... I know, but we need another trip soon. It resets my saccadic rhythms. (o;

YB: Nice! I know what you mean, I was just looking at Big Bend photos wondering if it's worth a weekend trip.

(Big Bend is a National Park that spans most of West Texas and is separated from Mexico by the Rio Grande river).

FHB: It is worth it but we need to travel by river.

YB: Ok, but it's upstream you know?

FHB: Well, hiking is up hill so same diff and by river we can filter water and catch fish. Right?

YB: I see your point. I got halvies on a trolling motor though... You know, so we can break for fishing.

FHB: Cool, I am in. Let's convert Diablo Verde into a cigarette boat. I bet we can even make some extra cash as a border mule with a motor on that bitch.

(Diablo Verde is the name of the green canoe that my brothers and I own.)

YB: No way... FHB aint got shit on Los Zeta!

(Los Zetas is the most dangerous drug cartel in Mexico. They are known for execution style murders, such as beheadings.)

FHB: True dat... I do like my head exactly where it is... firmly attached to my neck... We will play this one straight until we get the lay of the land. No promises for our second voyage, though.

YB: Right, once we've secured safe passage and made a few connects with the locals, we can plan our overthrow of the cartel. Let's keep the horse in front of the cart afterall.

(Connects - short for "connections". Specifically, drug connections in this context.)

FHB: Smart... That is why you are the head of this operation. So, when can we make this happen?

YB: Safe bet would be Christmas eve... Catholics take that shit serious. Family obligations be damned Sis, we need our heads. Worse case, we play the "just take my foot, it's Christmas after all" card.... Something tells me we'll find ourselves on a flight from Brazil with 4 lbs of MadMan up our cornholes before this is done!

(MadMan - a type of PCP. It is very dangerous to insert large quantities up your cornhole.)

FHB: Lol. I don't know if I can talk my way out of Christmas Eve with family and I don't know if I have enough cornhole left to hold 4lbs of MadMan but I can have a meet with da husband and see how he feel about all dis.

And who needs both feet anyway... Prosthetics have come a long way.

(In reference to my cornhole, it would help the reader to know that I have Crohn's Disease and had to have most of my colon removed. And because I know you all want to ask but are too polite to --- No, I do not wear a colostomy bag... that would slow FHB down. The surgeon resected things back together.)

YB: Right, you won't fit an eightball after that meet. Let's sleep on this, perhaps we can find a less international approach.

(I think that YB missed the reference to my colon surgery and thinks that I am referring to the husband taking out my cornhole by inserting a boot up it if I propose missing Christmas to canoe the Rio Grande river with my brothers. I totally understand the missed reference because YB doesn't want to think about his sister's colon. That is just nasty.)

YB: ... How well do you squeal like a pig? Just thinking outside the box here.

(Obvious reference to the movie "Deliverance". If you haven't seen that movie then this blog probably isn't for you. May I suggest Martha Stewart Living instead. I have hear that they publish a very nice blog.)

FHB: I ain't goin' down like that. I'll give a foot 'cus that will save me half on my pedicures but any pig squealin' is going to land on one of you boys. Better learn how to play a banjo bitch. Let's circle back tomorrow for more solid plans.

YB: Ok, let's do that. Have a good night out there... Better put some water wings on case you get ta rollin.

(FHB has a pool in her backyard/campground and YB is concerned about drowning... after all, home accidents are one of the major causes of death).

FHB: Night little man... in the mornin'. PS- I don't have water wings but I do have several inflatable Elizabethan collars that should suffice. (o:

(Let's just call the "inflatable Elizabethan collar" an inside joke. You would have to see it to understand.)

YB: Lol... Save that head, nice! I think we just solved all of our problems.

FHB: You are a funny kid. Good night. Love, Sis

YB: Good night ;)

Oh Brother!

OK, you got me. That is FHB in the picture below (and in the previous post). My older brother took this picture. Yes, he hastily retrieved his camera rather then stop and render aid to his poor, wet sister. You are probably wondering how I ended up in the ocean with all my clothes on. Funny story, actually. 

My brother and I were strolling the harbor walk after dinner when he yells, "OMG, look at that huge jellyfish! Scary." Sissy brother. 

"Dude, put your big girl panties on. It is just a jellyfish. As long as you don't touch the pink parts you are safe. Even if you do get stung it really doesn't hurt. I have been stung dozens of times and it is less painful then an eyebrow wax (remember, FHB doesn't care. She doesn't give a shit, especially about no nasty jellyfish).

So to show off, I decide to demonstrate for my sissy brother how you can pet the little, misunderstood creature. Luckily, there is what appears to be a very stable platform situated a few feet lower than the dock. FHB just thought to herself, "Well, how convenient that the wise city planners put this step here so that people can get closer to the menacing sea creatures."

Unfortunately, FHB miscalculated. The nice, little jellyfish-petting-platform was not at all stable. I hopped onto it and all of a sudden it turned into a splintery slide into the ocean. Not cool. But no harm done. I got myself out of the water because my brother was too busy peeing his pants from laughing so hard. I did have to perform a little minor surgery on my foot the next day to remove some bits of oyster shell... nothing a good pair of tweezers, some iodine and a strong course of antibiotics couldn't take care of.