I Can Do Tricks

Since you liked Naked Man so much, I thought I would tell you another adventure. If you didn't read Naked Man, you missed out.

I like the idea of trickery. When Becca and I would go to bars I like to tell stories, give fake names which we have already established mine was Beth and make believe I am something I am not. Once we went to this kind of hip hop bar. I am not sure why now, but it had to be for some odd reason. Boredom maybe. Anyway, as the night progressed, this guy came and sat down at our table. We used to get this alot at the Honky Tonk too. People just randomly coming up to our table for conversation. Any hoot, he sets down and starts asking us questions. Now let me tell you a little about Becca. She's great at playing along. If I ever started one of these trickery sessions, she knew exactly how to follow my lead. 

After a few minutes of prying and poking, he asked me what I did for a living. I said, that I was an undercover cop. To be clear he was either high as a giraffes ass or wasted because his eyes about popped out of his head. It took a few minutes to convince him but I did. I told him that I was off duty but that every cop was still on duty truthfully. He asked me if he got in his car if he could possibly be arrested for drinking and driving. I explained to him that I could make a citizens arrest since I was off duty. He continued to ask who I worked for and I told him that I couldn't divulge that information. I mean there wasn't any information to give him. I was an Executive Assistant at an architecture firm. The only thing I was arresting that night was a beer. He asked me of course about handcuffs; what man doesn't and I told him that I was off duty and I didn't carry my gun or handcuffs with me. I told him we were just there to have good time while off duty and he eventually went away white as a sheet.

About two weeks later, we were setting at the Honky Tonk and this guy comes by. Low and behold it was the same guy. I was singing at the top of my lungs to a Martina McBride song and he came over and said, "Don't I know you?" I said, "I don't know why?" He obviously was high as a giraffes ass or wasted again, he said, "Oh my god, you sing this song?" Uh, thank you dumbfuck, trickery number two. "I said, well maybe." The guy didn't remember he had just seen me two weeks ago and I was a cop. "I said, yes, I am an up and coming country music singer. This is my friend Becca, she's my stylist and that guy over there in the corner is Phil, he's my bus driver." Phil was some guy that used to hang out at the club, we were only acquaintances but he could have drove a Moped for all I know, but I think he played along with us that night. He was there every weekend as well, he knew our antics that's for sure. 

The guy walks off and before I know it, he's brought over friends, more stupid friends. I shook hands and then these dickdorks asked for my autograph. Well, being a up and coming country music singer who apparently copied Martina McBride, I signed their napkins and they went off into the depths of the bar. I am fairly certain we all burst into laughter. 

I am the master of trickery, which is pretty funny because I suck at lying but it was all in the name of free beer Saturday at the Honky Tonk. Thank you Martina McBride for making me famous if only for one night. 

Happy Tuesday,

Dusty

Brain Farts

I needed an ark this weekend. It rained and rained. I may or may not have only went to Wal-mart (which I loathe) and picked up a few things early Saturday morning in the pouring rain, just so I could set on my butt, watch Lifetime, scroll through Pinterest, read a magazine, play Diamond Rush and make barbecue  That could or couldn't have happened but if you were a betting fool, just lay down the hundreds. 

So here are few things swirling in my brain. You know how when we get the urge for a change and we want to redo a room in our house, we either add new furniture, new decor or paint. So, why is it that anytime we want a change to our homes, our bodies, our hair, etc we can do it but you don't see anyone going, "You know, today I want to paint my black car pink with a little white at the headlights." "I am thinking the ombre effect". Or, "I am so tired of the dull ass grey interior, I think I will hop down to the grocery, get some RIT and die my seats blood red?" 

Moving on.. does any one else think that Rachel Zoe looks like Grumpy Cat?

It's just an observation. Every single time I watch her show and her mouth is all pouted up, the first thing that comes to mind is Grumpy Cat. She has some of the sourest looks on her face for someone who is just BA-NAN-AS! Seriously, she gets on my nerves. I dig her style but her language of abbreviated words drives me nuts. I mean how much longer will it take your tongue and voice box to say "Major" instead of "Maj?" The other night I heard someone on the Real Housewives revere to opening a bottle of "Champs." I was like huh? Turns out it's Champagne. I guess that's the equivalent in the south of bring me a Lite.. a Bud Light. She wouldn't last three seconds here. Every word is  eight syllables, if she abbreviated we wouldn't know what the hell she would be talking about.

Speaking of fashion, I read a lot of fashion blogs. I love style, clothes, beauty, all that crap. There is one fashion blogger that I am not crazy about her style that much anymore, but I still follow her. I count how many times she does the flamingo pose. You know the one where they stand on one leg and then one leg hiked and is at a greater than or less than sign like in math?  I click over, scroll down and usually in photo three there it is, the lawn ornament that every Floridian has at their RV site. If this blogging thing doesn't work out I am sure a retiree living in an camper would get his thrill and hire her. I think it could be called Yard Porn. 

Well, that's all for now. I am going to go back to folding and sniffing my laundry. I somewhere had a case of ate up with the dumbass and put some clothes that I thought had went through the wash cycle. I took them out and dried them. After looking at the Kid's baseball uniform that I sprayed with Shout still had grass stains and realized that uh, something isn't right. These clothes didn't go through the wash cycle. A total brain fart. So, now I am having to sniff everything in these piles of laundry that are clean to see which ones are dirty. If you need me I will be the one in the corner high on Snuggle fabric softener. 

Happy Monday,

Dusty

Naked Man

Back a long time ago, we are talking way back like many plus years when I was single and ready to mingle, I had lets say a ton of fun. Some of the best times of my life were spent with my partner in crime Becca and we could get ourselves into some shitzle. We used to hang out at a local honky tonk. Every Friday and Saturday you could find us there. At first it was just us two, then we recruited a few more into our cult. We could call the bar and say, "We want to reserve a table" and they knew exactly who we were. We walk in to pay our cover charge and the girl would announce "The Party Girls" were here. I met some interesting people to say the least. Half of which I vaguely remember now what their names even where. And they probably don't remember my name because I called myself "Beth." 

One night we decided to venture to Downtown Nashville. We met some people there one of which his name was Will. Will was a preppy dude. He had flippy hair. An updated Elvis do with a college oxford shirt wearing twist. Will was a nice guy. He was kind of on the rebound because his girlfriend had dumped him. 

We sat down at the pool hall and Will was already fucked up worse than a dollar watch. We ordered a drink that cost a blazillion dollars and drank it. We all chatted and looked up and Will's friends had left his ass. That's right -at the bar -with us. Probably thinking he was going to get lucky. But that wasn't going to happen. I didn't go home with guys in bars.. or so I thought.

Will didn't have his cell phone. We were Downtown and we weren't going to stay long because the po po's swarmed that place on the weekends. His friends were no where to be found and he was licking the pavement. So, I said, look you can come with us and I will take you home tomorrow. 

We got back to my house with my 80 pound beast of a dog Mille waiting anxiously to go outside. We sat down, chatted and I left Will on the couch with said beast. She liked to cuddle.

Becca and I changed our clothes and went to bed with the door closed. I am pretty sure we had a convo about leaving the door open or closed but decided that if he was a mass murderer, the dog would take care of that.

We woke up. The sun was shining, the dog on the bedroom floor, look over at each other and there he was slap dab in the middle of both of us. Naked as a jay bird. We both roll out from each of our sides of the bed while Naked Man is face down with the pink thing on my sheets. Becca and I look at each other puzzled. How did he get in here? How did we not feel the bed move when he climbed in? Holy, shit, what will he think or tell everyone? My dog sucks at protecting her master. Again, his pink thing is on my sheets. Ugh! 

So I looked and her and said, "Well, you wake him up." She said, "I ain't waking him up you wake him up." This went back and forth for about 5 minutes. I finally lifted the sheet and slapped him on the ass and said, "Hey Naked Man you have to get up and I need to take you home." 

On the ride to his house, not much was said. He explained where he lived, which I can't remember to this day, said thank you and got out of my SUV.  I never saw him again until....

A few years later, this firm I worked for the copier broke. I placed a service call. A guy walks in with an updated Elvis do with a college oxford shirt twist. I immediately recognized him but didn't say anything. I called Becca and said, "You will never guess who is fixing our copier?" She said, "Who?" I said, "Naked Man!" We both laughed and he came over and said that the copier needed parts, he would have to order them and come back. I signed his service ticket. I think he recognized my name because I never saw him again. Some other guy came to put the parts on the copier. That's right run, you to twisted for color TV creeper.

To this day, we still have no clue how he got in the bed. That's the honest truth. I don't let nobody in my cookie jar unless its pure love and she didn't either. Neither of us were drunk because we couldn't afford the drinks in that place. To sum it up. My dog has been and always will be a worthless guard dog. We figured out that she probably took up too much room on the couch and her breath ran him off and he was just too wasted and climbed on in.

And that's the story of Naked Man. One of the many adventures Becca and I have had together. She still can't believe I slapped his butt with my bare hand and I still can't believe his flesh and boner was on my sheets. Where ever you are Naked Man thanks for the memory. I am sure you are a Lifetime movie maker about a drunk who crawls into bed with strange women. I washed my sheets promptly after you left, you perverted bastard. 

Happy Tuesday,

Dusty

To Infinity & Beyond

There's a feeling you get when you become a mother. I don't know that I can explain it but you automatically feel in love. It's defiantly a different kind of love that you would have with another person. You are a lioness protecting your cub at all times. 

If I never do anything else in my lifetime I would be content. Why? Because my greatest accomplishment will be my son. Will I be perfect at it? I don't think so, but I believe there is a bond between a mother and her child that is different than a father and a child. And boys attach themselves to their mothers especially. 

For years before I had The Kid, I wanted a tattoo but couldn't make up my mind. I mean its permanent. There's no rubbing it off. So when he was about four, I got his first name tattooed on the inside of my ankle. It was uncomfortable but I thought I was at the front of the titanic yelling, "I am the Queen of the World!" But here lately as he's gotten older I have wanted another one. Something that symbolizes my love for him and represents me as a mother. For the last several months, I have looked and drew them out. I pinned them on Pinterest. I went back and forth and I knew that I wanted an infinity. Infinity is forever. I found one. I actually showed it here.

I wanted something dainty and girly because it was going on my wrist. So, I said, let's do this.  I hem hawed around about it for a long long time because I hate needles and I was a big fat chicken. Same scanario as with the other tattoo. I finally made the appointment with my cousin. And here it is.

It's pretty awesome. And who better to place something so meaningful for the rest of your life than a family member. Brian is so talented. He's got his own story himself. Fought his way back, now has a beautiful wife and a daughter. He made a choice to live his life the best way he can and is doing something he loves. To say how proud I am of him is an understatement. 

He was pretty nervous doing it because my wrist is tiny and it used a very tiny needle for this particular tattoo. He had not used one before so I was his first. And let me just inform you because I know you all are wondering. Yes, it hurt like a bitch! I think he probably thought I could have been giving birth again. Holy shitballs. I gritted my teeth, no tears and did it.

I love tattoos but I want them to tell a story. A story of a journey or love that way in your heart it's there for the right reason. So here's my story in my own words...........

"Two hearts. One a mother's, one a son's bound together until infinity."

So there's the surprise I promised. Happy Monday!

Dusty

Just Me!

Thank you all for supporting this crazy ride! This has brought me so much happiness and comfort knowing I can spread my crazy bull around to those who will read it. Have a great weekend. I can't wait to show you my surprise on Monday! Now I gotcha and you wanna know don't ya? 

Quick Fix

It's Wednesday. Spring has hit Tennessee and even though it usually has to be a thousand degrees before I wear shorts if it's above 60, people rip out the flip flops. Well, not this chickie. But since everyone is showing off their bare skinned legs, today on the Tater Queens Fashion Wednesday, I wanted to share something I found that is Hot Snot. 

This stuff has been around for a while and I am sure a million posts written on it but not by me. So ha! I don't get out in the sun alot. And when I say that I mean I don't lie on a float for 6 hours and baste myself like a roasted turkey. I do get out in it, we have a swimming pool and I tan very easy. But I had a skin cancer removed a few years back and that hurt like a mother. Was it because of the sun? No. The tanning bed for which the placement of the cancer was (under my boob) and ever since then I don't take any chances. My body is prone to those types of cells and if I go out I slather on the sunscreen. I still get tan but I do it with protection. Sounds like your first lay. 

Any hoot, I bought this stuff about a month ago. I wanted to wear some capri pants so I decided I would whip this tan in a can out. I use self tanner but I needed something quick because my legs were white as a powdered donut. The Sally Hansen Airbrush Legs did the trick. 

I first shaved my legs, yes that's a miracle, and then I sprayed it on my dry skin. This stuff went on smooth. It didn't take much. I didn't have one streak. Not one and it had a great color. I used the medium glow. It does have a little shimmer to it, but I put a little lotion on after it had dried and it was awesome. I am sure you could lotion up before you spray it but be sure the lotion is absorbed into your skin. I washed my hands with soap and water and it came right off like last nights prom dress. It also actually stayed on my legs for two days. I recommend this if you are in a rush and need to get our tan on. Now, it is a little pricey at $11.99 a can, but I still have a ton left over. 

This Queen gives it 5 out of 5 taters. I actually will probably use this on my whole body if needed. So, prom girls save your money and  your skin because believe me needles in a boob hurt, get this tan in a can. You can hike that dress up and dance the night away and not look like two spaghetti noodles just out of the hot water.

This is your fashion advice on this Wednesday edition. Have you ever used this before? Whatcha think?

Queens out o' here,

Dusty

There's A Big Fat Difference

A few weeks ago there was a series going around called If I Were A Boy. I didn't get to honestly read a ton of them but it got me to thinking about raising my own male species and what its like to be in a male's shoes day to day. I know that in life we all want equality but let's get real, it's still not there yet. The statement Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus is probably the most accurate. Women by nature are nurturing and men are materialistic. Now before you go ranting let me explain. 

In some way or another we all have both traits. Whether you have a mothering instinct or not depends on your own personal level. You may not ever want to be a mother, but you have pets and that also falls into that nurturing category. Men are more masculine. The bring home the bacon type. Keep the household running. That's why when our relationships go down the tubes, the woman is always the one who suffers emotionally. We don't think about the things we have it's what we are losing. Men get all huffy when we then in turn take everything they own because they decided to not keep their peckers in their pants. I mean think about it. How many times have you heard, "I can't believe he did that. I loved him so much. We had a family. We were supposed to grow old together." And the males say, "Can you believe that bitch? She took my house, my pension, half my bank account and she's even turned the dog against me!" See the difference here? One is WE and the other is MY. Now not all men are like this. I am just speaking somewhat generally. I truthfully am so glad I have a son but it's hard sometimes raising one.

Male and females are different in many aspects. If I were to scratch my crotch and adjust myself in public, people would think I have the ickatooty. 

Guys tend to set around and talk about boobs. Ever met a man who wasn't interested in a breast of something? Not many. But if I were to set around and talk about the Tennessee Mahogany Throbber, I would a slutbunny. 

Men can grow their hair out and we flash back to every hair band in the 80's and fall madly in love with the wanna be rock star. A girl shaves her head, she's a dike. 

If we don't shave under our arms it's all gross and disgusting but they lift their arms up and it looks like an orangatang escaped from the zoo.

A man can have a hobby that cost thousands of dollars a year just to keep them occupied. A woman spends $300 dollars on a Coach purse and its a WTF moment and possibly a cause to file for bankruptcy.

Call a woman a grill master and all the buddies in the yard are going to call him the P word. I mean they have hiked their legs and peed all over the outdoor cooking stigma.

But here's the deal. I wouldn't want to be of the male persuasion. The dingalings serve their purpose but it's not model material. It just hangs there. Dangling. Just waiting to be stomped on by the cat the woman loves so much but it only wants to set in his lap. I don't care to be in charge of cooking out doors. I personally am afraid to light the thing on fire. I am partial to my eyebrows thank you very much and who wants to smell like a shish kebab all day. I don't need an expensive hobby. Books are cheap and I can entertain myself with the ID channel. If things don't work out I at least know how to Good Bye Earl his ass after 8 hours of tube time. And if I have an itch I will just set on my foot, scratch back and forth and claim my thigh was itching. 

All I can say is men are good. They are good at what they do. They are good at the things that society and nature tells them to be at and Women well, we just fucking rock!

Happy Monday,

Dusty

Proclamation of the Dusty Nation

This week has been hectic. The Kid has baseball games out the wazoo. Seriously, we have two more to go this week. Some days it's like watching turtles mate, but I love it. Here's my Proclamations of Twitter and Facebook this last week...or so..

My response to a photo shop application. My butt needs no shadowing it provides enough shade to keep the ants from being sun burnt. Boom! I declare my ass is fat.

I didn't write a blog post today because I was too busy watching human slip n slides beat the shit out of each other last night for $69 bucks. Boom! I do declare wrestlers have stock in Hawaiian Tropic.

Pondering. Do the guys from Duck Dynasty use Rogaine hair growth for men? Boom! I do declare Jesus and ZZ Top have been successfully cloned.

I feel sorry for people that don't know me. I really am that great! Boom! I do declare I really am that great.

Today I think I will brush my teeth while eating Oreos. What can I say I am bored. Boom! I do declare see comment above.

Warm weather only means that the douche thugs switch from jeans to shorts that now hang off their asses to their knees. Boom! I do declare thank you for wearing boxers so we know what your underwear collection 6 pack looks like when you bought them at Wal-mart.

And finally...Reading the Giant Panda breeding update from the Atlanta Zoo. Lun Lun has shown little interest in Yang Yang after 13 years. She's holding out for Ding Dong. I just know it. Boom! I do declare Pandettes ain't got time fo dat!

Boom! Happy Thursday,

Dusty

Where's the Beefcake?

If you noticed, I didn't blog yesterday. Why? Because I decided to make a deal. Let me explain. The Kid's birthday was back in February. With everything going on with baseball,  here and there, I haven't been able to schedule his birthday party. He's been asking everyday since to have a bowling party. So Sunday, while I was standing in line waiting for his team baseball pictures to commence, one of the mother's mentioned that it was her child's birthday and all he wanted was to watch Wrestle Mania on Pay Per View. Then the sound of the bell went off..Ding! Ding! On the way home I devised a plan. I said, "Okay, here's the deal. You can either have a bowling party this summer or I can buy the wrestling event on TV for your birthday but you have to forgo a party." After about a negative 30 seconds, he said, "Deal!" I thought I had hit the jackpot. Why? You ask again? Because a bowling party would have cost me up to $150 smacks. Humans beating the crap out of each other $60 smacks. I win! 

The Kid loves wrestling. I watch it. Or participate because that's what mothers do. I also can relate. As a kid my own father loved wrestling. He used to take us to wrestling matches in Downtown Nashville. We watched it every Saturday at noon and years later actually became friends with one of the wrestlers by the stage name Moon Dawgs. I also asked this friend at one time why in the world he wanted to be a Dawg of the Moons. It's a complicated, turkey leg eating story. 

Any hoot, this is a staple in our house. Ian loves it. Every Monday night and Friday night I know that I stay in the bedroom. I call it pure torture. Sort of. I mean these guys have more baby oil on their bodies than I did at 13 laying out by the county swimming pool trying to impress boys in a bikini. They are walking slip n slides. Then their heads look like they have been shrunk by a voodoo worshiper. Their arms can't even touch their sides, so they walk like plastic toy figurines. Don't get me wrong. The Rock is smoking hot as a mouth full of Hot Tamales, but their something weird about walking around in one piece looking bathing suites or speedos with over zealous muscles that look like pizza doughs strategically placed on their bodies.  And you really want to know the truth? The first thing I look at is their mid section. Where's the beef? The stuff? The rumble in the jungle? There's nothing that even resembles a bulge. They all have the mushy pecker syndrome. 

Then there's the issue of pouring sweat on to each other's bodies, the lifting up in the air with their hands between their legs. Is that normal? A man putting his hand between a guys legs on the little Tiffany box and picking them up only to slam them down? I don't understand the logic of picking up a 300 pound guy only to throw him down. Don't they know that shit hurts and could cause hemorrhoids? If you pick up a guy over your body weight and the blood vessels are bulging out of your head, that's a sign that you back away from the beef cake. I mean that crap would kill a normal person. And further more they are touching the marbles. You gotta be in touch with the manhood of the ball nation to do such a thing. 

I don't know that I really understand the logic of volunteering to be pile drived into a mat. Although one guy with his eyes rolled back in his head and tongue hanging out reminds me of when this Moma has a little snap session and whips life back into shape. But I do know this. I,  on my quest to come out as cheap as possible on the birthday party, made the deal of the century. No screaming kids. No invitations. No big bucks spent on slushies and pizza. I got to stay home, eat Burger King and see my kid happy as a lark. I guess it really is worth spending the money on half naked, crazy men.

Happy Tuesday,

Dusty

I Took A Dump

Sometimes you have to see the beauty 

on days when you need a little sunshine

If you open your eyes wide enough

everything around you becomes clearer

That it's the little gestures

like a cuddle

 sweet words

from a beautiful soul

or a funny face

that makes life all worth it.

Make the little things count!

Happy Friday,

Dusty

*follow me on instagram dustydalley

Hot Tamale.. Puddle of Grace

I haven't done a Hot Tamale series in a bit and with all this craziness going around about Google reader and joining Bloglovin and press here, click there, I wanted to showcase a beautiful soul. Her name is Rebecca and she blogs over at Puddle of Grace.

She's from England which in my book makes her way cool. She loves going to plays and musicals. I think there are some she has seen a few times. She also loves America. Isn't it funny how all we want to do is visit her country and all she wants to do is visit ours?

I also loved getting to know her because she is a wonderful writer. It's deep and meaningful. Life lessons and daydreams. She makes me want to set down and drink tea for hours and just talk. You know like girls do. Although, I think we would laugh alot. She's a real girl with real emotion living each day with struggles like we all have but with the biggest heart. I dig her. And if I dig her then I know you will too. 

Go over and meet my sweet friend Rebecca. Read her posts. You'll relate and say hello. She's a great blogger and a great friend. One of these days I hope our paths cross and we can wear Hunters and frolick. I love frolicking. Maybe we will look up the Queen, knock on her door and then run off or maybe Prince William and Kate will let us babysit the new arrival. Hell, we will jump on the beds at the palace, feed the kid some Skittles instead of crumpets and get a guard to smile.

Blog

Have a Hot Day y'all. 

Dusty

Pot Problems

I have been pondering. Uh, oh is right. This weekend while I was stuck in the house so the dark clouds could pour down rain on our Easter weekend, I did a little research. By research, I mean I was in my pj's on the internet looking at "stuff."

I researched chalk paint which I have fallen in love with. There is no prep time, no need for primer and you can take a darker color add a little white to it and come up with a lighter version. I will be using this paint while redoing my kitchen which to inform you I have decided on my color scheme. 

But I also have been looking into vitamins and herbal thingamajigs. Something to do a little cleansing while not setting on the pot all day and also to curb my appetite. Not that I eat alot. I don't consider eight Hershey kisses alot. 

I read about Green Tea and how it has a ton of antioxidants in it. It's good for you. Speeds up the metabolism and helps flush the system. I drank some Green Tea years ago and I ended up on the pot. I see a theme here. So, I thought I would try it again. I drank it hot this time and it was yuck. I am the girl who puts milk and 5 teaspoons of sugar in her coffee in the morning, so drinking this by itself was almost like asking someone on Survivor to eat a bug. 

I want something that is also caffeine free. I don't need to be jumping out of my skin. I found that Green Tea comes in capsule form, but these capsules also contained some caffeine. How much is the kicker. I have no clue what the equivalent is. So, I guess I should stick to drinking the bland tea unless anyone else has tried the capsule and can give me the 411. 

I bought some new vitamins as well. I get pretty exhausted by about two in the afternoon. I thought maybe I am low on some vitamin, so I bought a bottle. It said helps promote energy,  stabilize metabolism and a dietary supplement. The problem with vitamins is then I can't go to the pot when I take them. All these minerals get together and have a little gathering party in my colon and then decide to just mingle in the colon kitchen until a greaseball comes and interrupts the good time. Plus, they taste just like gummies. I hate gummies but I also don't like to take horse pills.

Dr. Oz has recommended this shitzl called Pure Garcinia Cambogia Extract. It's supposed to be a fat buster and increases your serotonin levels to enhance your mood so your less likely to binge eat. I think that means I will only eat three Hershey kisses. I read the reviews mostly all good. But then if I read one bad one I am convinced its a waste.

So I ask you. What herbal supplements do you take? I need something with energy. I need something to make me not have a sweet tooth. I need something that doesn't make me go to the pot all day yet lets me go to the pot.

Give me the scoop. 

Happy Wednesday,

Dusty

Trickery

Easter has come and gone! You know what that means? No more Peeps! That's right. They are leaving. Gone. Finito. Sianara. Exito. Bye Bye. Later Tater. I was in Target yesterday and they were already packing them up. Which got me to thinking. I can seriously understand why our country has a high obesity rate. Starting from Halloween on there's nothing but sugar filled isles. Candy! Candy! Everywhere. We get no reprieve until now. After this holiday, the sugar filled high in carb evil that in our sights for almost seven months and really means probably about eight total because the retailers get a hair up their asses to put out decorations and celebrating holidays a month before the stupid holiday arrives is over. So, we sweek (combination of sweet and week) toothed individuals succumb to the glorious Gods of Candyland goodness. No wonder my kid needs $700 dollars worth of dental work. Apparently, I let him sign up for "let's rot our teeth out" kind of life. 

Although I do not let him eat those Peeps in my sight. They scare me. The only satisfaction I get is some snot nosed kid has gobbled them up. Death by kid. I wonder if there is a special sentence in Peep death. Five years of freedom if you ask me. Eating a Peep should constitute a hall pass if your kid gets in trouble at school. "Oh, I am sorry my kid busted your kids nose, but I can't punish him. He destroyed 3 packs of Peeps at Easter." He's part of the Peep Mafia.

The Kid asked me if the Easter Bunny was real. I of course asked him why. He said, "Well, some kids are saying he's not and that its your parents." Well, my answer is this. If you believe in your heart that he's real then he is. Then he said, "Oh, mom I know he's real. You don't have any money and he brought me an Easter basket with candy and gifts." Well, if that does just put a nut in your ego. But then again this can work to my advantage. If he thinks I am poor then he won't be asking me later on in life for a car. Now this is some shit I can get on board with. 

Yes, I know eventually, he's going to find out that all these characters are make believe which if you ask me sucks the big flag pole because I still myself think Santa could be real. But it also poses the question, of well, when he finds out is he going to call me a big fat liar? Maybe I will tell him it was Duh. Duh made me lie to him from the age of believery and that his father is to blame. Oh, I am kind of loving this game now. Crap that won't work. I can't let his father take the wrap for that. Plus, I really should save that card for the later in life thing I mentioned before like the car idea. I mean if your going to blame someone for something, a teenager not being able to drive his own vehicle would be the perfect way to one up the other parent. You know that when it comes to that age we are probably going to tangle like wild cats. He's going to want freedom from the nest and I am trying to convince him that 25 seems like a great age to leave it. So, yeah, I better save my terrible, "it's your father's fault" card for later in life. 

In  the end, The Kid woke me up this morning and said, "Mom, the Easter Bunny came. He brought me a bunch of candy and I wanted to share this with you." I got up, looked on the night stand and there was the Reece's Peanut Butter Egg that was in his basket. And I realized at that very moment that my Easter gift was the fact that he had the heart to share his candy. Only because he probably knew I would steal and eat it when he wasn't looking. And if he only knew I paid for it so its really mine to eat anyway. I love this bunny believing game. I got chocolate out of the deal from myself.

I say believe forever if you want. Nobody says you can't. Now where's this money tree I keep hearing about?

Happy Monday,

Dusty

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