Aug 9

But with Howard away, it’s been crazy hectic for me.  So after reading my step father’s blog, I thought I’d link you to his latest post.  Boy, it really says it all.  Go on over there and enjoy.

A fresh insane post coming soon, I promise.  I think.

Aug 6

Yesterday, Dusty and I kept playing phone tag debating on whether or not we were going to go to our friend Debby’s, 50th birthday party.

We knew we’d have fun if we went, but it was the “getting up and going” part that had us stumped.

“Do you want to go tonight?” Dusty asked

“What do you want to do?” I replied
“I don’t care, we can go or not.”

“Well I knew if we went, we’d have fun.”

The conversations went like this until we made joint decision to go. Dusty, who was convinced I’d stand him up, refused to meet me there.

“We’ll meet at your house, and you can just ride with me.”

So we packed two six packs between us and headed on over. I’m so glad we did. I think the entire village showed up to celebrate Debby’s birthday. It was held at Judy’s house, in Rich’s garage. Music was blasting and everyone was in a good mood. Eventually, everyone ended up inside the garage on the bare floor dancing. And I do mean everyone. People I didn’t even think danced, danced. Dusty and I trying to show off our killer dance moves, bumped and grinded to the music, and thinking we were being so cute, shimmied all the way to the floor, but I lost my footing and so did he. We both busted our asses, but got up quickly laughing so hard, trying to play it off. No one cared. We all just let our hair down and danced into the wee hours of morning today. I think Dusty and Brian dropped me off around 3am. I haven’t been that drunk in a long time either. I haven’t actually “staggered” up the steps in probably over a year. But I did last night/this morning. I awoke today with a raging headache and a severe case of cotton mouth. But I took a hot shower, brushed my teeth, ate some breakfast and then Dusty called to check up on me. He was making his rounds, calling everyone to see how they were feeling this morning. He was feeling just as bad as I was.
But you know what? We realized it was just the medicine we needed. Especially after my exceptionally bad week. I’ve got the sore leg and tummy muscles and the hoarse voice to prove it today. It’s a good pain though.
Sometimes letting your guard down and just letting go of your inhibitions, even if just for a little while, is all you need to set yourself right again.

It’s going to be a great day.

Aug 1

Now that that’s off my chest, I think I should tell you how the rest of my day went.

Not ten minutes after “The Incident”, my mom called me. She was obviously upset.

She asked me to sit down. I sat down. My mind preparing for what she was going to tell me.

“Patrice is dead. She was killed last night by her husband.” My mom said, her voice breaking as she said it to me.

“Oh my God.” Then I cried with her.

Patrice is my cousin, who at times, stayed with us when her family life wasn’t going well. She was very close with my sister growing up. I was very close with her younger sister Kristen. We were all around the same age.

Patrice could be mouthy and had a big chip on her shoulder. She was also strikingly beautiful, with dark eyes, angular features, and jet black hair.

She grew up, got married, and had three children.

Her husband stabbed her to death then turned a gun on himself. He initially lived but died later today at the hospital. Their children were present. Their lives will never be the same.

I am sad that she is gone.

And grateful for everything I have.

Aug 1

Dear Prejudiced Mother Fucker,

I’m sure you have been waiting for your opportunity to “strike” and as soon as you heard my husband was out of town, you figured this was a good time.

I knew you were going to say something to me when you were blatantly parked in the space in front of the store where I usually park. The same space that you said everyone in town was complaining about because we keep parking there, even though I told you: “That’s funny PMF (named changed because I like this one better), you’re the only one who has EVER said anything to me.” Then again, I hear you really enjoy being the pot calling the kettle black.

Being the smartass that I am, I went around you and parked even further into the space you say that EVERYONE complains about. Apparantly this sent you over the edge.

I got out of the truck and you met me in front of yours. Then you said “I need to whine about something.”

Me. Being sick and tired of your fucking whining, smiled in spite of myself and said “What’s up PMF?”

Then you told me your grandson brought home a hatchet that he claimed he bought from the store this past weekend.

“That means you guys sold my eight year old grandson a hatchet.”

“Well PMF, I can assure you it wasn’t myself or Howard, and I doubt it was any of my staff, seeing as we’ve been out of hatchets for about a week now.”

“Well, I’m telling you because you’re the manager and you need to tell your staff to not sell hatchets to little kids.”

“I have informed my staff many many times to not sell certain things to children, but if it makes you feel better, I’ll inform them again.”

Then I walked away from you. As far as I was concerned the conversation was over. Then you followed me and told me not to walk away from you. I turned to look you in your eyes and you got two inches from my face. I let you. I didn’t back up or flinch. This surprised you.

“You know, I don’t like you or your husband, you’re always rude to me when I’m in the store.”

Feeling up to a challenge, I asked you to name a time when we’d ever been rude to you.

I could have fucking laughed until I cried when you couldn’t come up with one.

Then I informed you.

“No PMF, if anything YOU’RE the one who treats us badly.”

You actually had the gumption to tell me “YOU’RE THE ONE WHO IS SUPPOSED TO SERVE ME, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND.”

I then calmly informed you, never once breaking your gaze, that service to the community did not include taking abuse from customers.

You see PMF, I know your kind. You’re the kind of person who claims everyone else is prejudiced when you, in fact, are the prejudiced one. I heard about you. Was actually warned by the previous manager that you could be a loose cannon and especially didn’t like anyone who wasn’t native. You made these feelings abudantly clear many times. Yet we put up with your shit for the past year.

The rest of the community made your seething, rude comments seem minor. And they were. Until you decided to verbally attack me in the parking lot. When you KNEW no one else was around, including my husband.

You see? You knocked on the wrong door. I’m a pretty easy going girl with a pretty thick skin. I have to be. I’VE BEEN THE MINORITY MANY MANY TIMES. I’ve been called “white bitch” enough that it doesn’t phase me anymore. And I’ve lived in communities where most people didn’t care about the color of my skin, even if I was the only white girl living there.

Yet, there you sit with your free government money, and brag about how much hemp you smoke, thinking you’re immune to prosecution. You think you’re God. I’m here to tell you. You’re not.

See this girl knows what it feels like to be kicked in the face. I was brought up to be a tough bitch when I had to be. I will not back down from you. You didn’t intimidate me today, and you never will.

To take it a step further, I called my boss, to let him know what had transpired. I told him I didn’t want you on the premises anymore. I was fed up. He happily agreed. He also called you a bastard. I couldn’t agree with him more.

So I will take great pleasure in declining your sale when you come in jonesing for your cigarettes and coffee. And when you get mad and maybe even possibly attack me? I will take great pleasure in showing you what this little white girl can do. You big fucking coward.

Fuck off and die,
“The white bitch who runs the store”

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