No MILF Left Behind!

If you were to ask me on a NORMAL, AVERAGE DAY to take it down low, drop it like it's hot, work it down (read: drop my ass rhythmically to the ground in some approximation of dancing) I would laugh my ass off at you and reference The Great Cement Wall Incident of 1996 as the reason why this Mommy keeps her booty high and dry off the dance floor.

HOWEVER... if you add a couple hundred drunk women (a large proportion dressed in either tutus or superhero costumes), nekkid bartenders, and $2 Titos vodka drink specials, I'm suddenly Nikki-freaking-Minaj. Shawty got low, low, low, low,low. Now Mommy's in pain, pain, pain, pain, pain.

Worth every twinge. If you weren't at the Million Milf March put on by The Hot Mess Mom I am actively feeling sorry for you. I mean, really, there's a little bit of pity going on right now. If you had the means and chose not to go, though, I may just openly mock you. Because you missed out on the best damned time in the history of badly behaved womanhood. You can atone, however. Just start planning for 2014 NOW. Yes, now. It's not a sprint, dammit, it's a marathon and you have to TRAIN for it like a marathon. If you sprint you end up passed out in your hotel room by 10pm like the poor 27 year old bachelor party boys that tried to hang. Note that I said TRY. 

Because No One Parties like a MILF.

Pictures and video to come later... until then, where the hell is the ibuprofin? 

Bottoms up, bitches!

I don't think so...

The scene: The Pirate household, post Third-Grade football game excitement. Mom is informing the Z that he smells like spoiled yak meat and needs a shower, stat, when 13 year old Ace pops out of the basement game room. 

A: Check it out, yo! GTA! (translation- Look, Mother! It's the video game Grand Theft Auto!)

Assorted squeals from the Z while Mom tries to regain the power of speech. WTF?

FLAKE: Oh... yeah, I picked it up the other day. 

Continued squeals of joy while I try to make sense of this all in my head, all the while thinking "Please God, please don't let my kid go to school and talk about picking up hookers and selling crack. We are way too suburban for that shit." 

So..... now what?

I think it's safe to say that just about EVERY retail worker, at some point, begins to think about... no, begins to outright FANTASIZE about the day they say "Adios!" and kick sales promotions and credit apps and crab-ass customers to the curb. Even though I've actually enjoyed my work (or, at least, the anecdotes. You really can't make some of that shit up) and the people I've worked with, I have DREAMED of the day I'd hand over that two week notice and kick the retail habit to the curb. 

It's just that I thought it would be more... DRAMATIC. And I was pretty sure it would involve the use of Muppets. 

I did it. In nine days I am done. No more Black Friday (which isn't really Black Friday anymore, more like Depressingly Gray Thursday Night), no more hating the holidays, no more getting stopped by random strangers asking about the new iWhatsit  when I go to the grocery store after work. Right now it's safe to say that my utter and complete GLEE over those positives are outshining the stuff I'll miss... like seeing certain people each day... the jokes that ONLY another employee can get. And the crazy... My GOD the crazy.   

People ask me, with this loaded expectation, where I'm 'going'. See... I don't really have an answer for that yet. Thus far the answer is "Home". OK, well sometimes it's "To the Bar". And if I really want to be specific, the answer is "Well, first to New Orleans. Then we'll see." But after that? I have no idea. I didn't jump from one job into the next. I sort of cannonballed off the dock without a life preserver. 

But that's okay. I tend to float.