How I Ended Up Sleeping With TWO Guys Last Night

Photographic Proof!!

Today J asked me if I've told The Bartender that I am not interested in a serious relationship.

HA!

I've told The Bartender that I am probably very, very bad for him.

"Maybe you didn't have to say quite so much." ventures J.

Well.

I guess. But I felt like I had to say something. I like The Bartender. I really like his son, Little Bartender. Oh my gosh, you guys. This kid is funny. He bites his lip and dances just like daddy... So, I had to say something.

Anyway. The Bartender keeps asking me about Scooter like somehow Scooter is the one he needs to worry about. As though one day I would wake and decide that I want to put it all back together with paranoid, infantile, pain in my ass Scooter.

So, here's what the title up there is all about. The Bartender and Little B came over last night to hang out. We were gonna watch a movie, eat ice cream, try not to laugh too loud and wake the baby (1(a)). But, there's a catch. The Bartender is deathly allergic to cats.

I have a cat.

Not just a regular cat either, but a FLUFFY cat. A friendly FLUFFY cat . She sashays around flinging certain death in the form of dander. So, The Bartender decides to prepare himself for this evening by taking benedryl. A lot of benedryl.

Here's a tip for you cost conscious kids out there. If you are ever a little low on cash and you need some benedryl but the name brand stuff is too pricy you can just pick up some generic sleep aid cause its all the same. Do you see where this goes?

The Bartender got so totally stoned on benedryl that I could not possibly let him drive. He looked at me and said "So what was that thing you said where the worst thing you could ever do was put a baby in the river?" and I knew it was all over.

And that's how I ended up sleeping with two guys. One who snored and was too zonked on antihistamine to even try to put a hand up my shirt and the other who kicked me, quite a bit, but has very small sweet feet so it's ok.

"I Will No Longer FEED Your Leader"

Number One had an emergency C-section on Martin Luther King day, giving birth to a lovely baby girl -- Who they refuse to call Martin Luther. What the hell? Isn't it fitting that she be named after this great soul who we remember on this day? Picky parents...

Speaking of picky, Number One has refused further antibiotics. She seems to think that a lack of fever and a lack of pain and a lack of any other symptom of infection sorta means she had no infection. The nurses fought with her a little about it. But she's tired of the constant blood drawing, never ending testing. She looked the nurse dead in the eye and said "I will no longer feed your leader."

I almost peed myself laughing at that.

Is it paranoid to think that they take at least half the blood to give to an elite squad of vampire hospital administrators? Well, yeah. It is. But what the heck. I wouldn't want to feed their leader either.

Memory Lanea NEW! & Improved!! Reprise Feature

I got a comment from a new Loyal Blog Monkey. You gotta know he is in the club now. He mentions reading back a bit... a bit! How many thousands of juicy words has Penny written? So, I took a stroll down memory lane... and I am reprising. Why? Because I can, kids, because I CAN.

I mentioned recently that I started this blog with a list. It was not a commercial list. It was not a list generated in response to a command to generate a list, comprised of pre-written questions and designed to reveal special things about me. It was just a list which came straight from my heart. A list of what was most on my mind. A list of things I hate.

Let me know if you like the reprise feature of the Just Bad Penny blog. As for me... it may seem like a real time saver until you factor in the time spent re-reading everything I've ever written in order to decide what to reprise. But I consider it a small price to pay for the comfort and convenience of you, my Loyal Blog Monkeys.

Read on to wallow in the first Penny Post ever...

Things I HATEa reprise of the first Penny Post EVER!

1. those flags that people roll into the windows of their cars. (i do not hate america, but i hate these freaking flags) they drive along looking like a motorcade of some sort, what the hell is that about?
2. guys that honk or whistle at me when i look like shit. trivializes the honks and whistles when i don't.
3. passive aggressiveness.
4. reality tv.
5. adkins crap.
6. people who express the opinions of other people but pretend that they are their own.
7. people who tell the same joke over and over and over but get pissed when you finish it for them.
8. puking (i hate to puke, you can if you want but leave me out of it)
9. gophers.
10. the obsessive compulsive need to make this list 10 and not just stop at 9.

Miss Girly Penny

My sink is stopped up. The one in the kitchen. It's not my fault, how this happened was a mystery.

Loyal Blog Monkeys know that Number One daughter is hugely pregnant and due at any moment. However, she has not yet cleaned anything. There is some rule that says a pregnant woman must precede labor by a mad cleaning spree. At 11 days over due, Number One has not cleaned a darn thing. She hasn't even wiped at anything.

So, in mortal fear of her remaining pregnant forever I decided that perhaps I could satisfy the rule with a little pre-labor cleaning by proxy. I looked around the house... Hmmmm. "What would I clean if I were hugely pregnant and 11 days over due??"

I'd clean out the fridge.

That fridge is a repository of so many unclaimed and unwanted and unloved-in-the-end containers of left overs. I can clean that out, wipe the shelves, wash up the tupperware (no little r in a circle but you know as well as I do that's a trade mark) and get this labor started!

First I dug it all out. It spanned the counter in a daunting way but I was not afraid. I was gonna just zip right through that. Pry off lids, dump stuff into the disposal... lather, rinse, repeat. I was cooking along, about half way finished when I dumped the Christmas gravy down and the sink mysteriously and without a damn good reason backed up with mucky, greasy water. I have no idea why. It's just contentious I think. Pissy bastard of a sink, who needs you?

The phone rings. So, I have to suppress my tears of frustration. Damn sink. Backing up with out a good reason.

"Hullo?"

"Hey." Its the Bartender. "What are you doing?"

Penny explains the sink. Penny explains the need to lie down on the kitchen floor and just cry. He says

"I'll come over and fix it for you."

That should of made me happy but it didn't. I need to fix the f'in sink by myself. I'll snake it. Or I'll get a wrench and open it up and clean whatever mystery substance clogged it... Mystery Substance. IT WAS NOT MY FAULT!

"No. I'll fix it. You need to go to work. Don't worry about it. It's my problem. I'm the mommy."

So he says this to me "I will call you when I'm off work and if it's still clogged up I'll come over and fix it."

"Just how will you fix it? You might as well just tell me what to do."

"I'm a MAN. We fix stuff. We don't know how we do it, we just do it."

So I say, very quietly, "Whatever."

"This will give you an excuse to ignore it till I call you."

VERY LONG PAUSE HERE.

"Why would I do that?"

His voice has that "well duh" tone "Cause then I'll come over and fix it for you."

And in this moment I have a crystalline second of pure clarity. That's what girls do. They cry weakness, bat their lashes and wait for a man to rescue them. In fact, I saw this idiotic ploy on that TV show, what is it? About the housewives. Some tittering woman with socks and barbies intentionally shoved down her drain and the man on the floor, wrench in hand, come 'round to save her.

Bleck.

As it stands right now the sink is still 2/3rds full of disgusting water and effluent I do not care to describe. And when the phone rings later I will cheerfully report that it is fully repaired, operational, and scrubbed with comet to a sparkling shine. No matter what condition it is actually in. Because I refuse to be that girl.

I just wish I knew what had stopped it up to begin with...

Hello Burger Bandit...

I am speaking to you small-ly. I am defeated. My last exam ate my soul... If I come out of this semester on academic probation I will consider myself lucky as probation is as near to the law as I feel likely to get just now.

Number One Daughter is still pregnant. Do you know what it is like to spend your days with a hormonal girl-woman who is 11 days over due and wants to discuss bloody mucus discharge and what it might mean? Plus today she told me this "You're right, mom. The cervix pain is different than the crampy pain."

Um.

I think she thinks that giving birth is gonna be like one bad period. Poor girl. On second thought... Poor Penny.

The LOVE Rhomboid

I was talking to Metro-Sexual Guy today --just read through everything I've ever written if you need to know who this guy is-- and he said this silly thing to me:

"Hey Penny, for a girl who is not into drama you've sure set yourself up now!"

to which I replied

"What the hell does that mean?"

and he said

"You're in a love triangle..."

We had been talking about My Boy and the Bartender and Scoot who was sitting in the very next room and will not go away no matter how many times I wiggle my nose and click my heels and offer up chickens for sacrifice. MSG was not very good at geometry I guess.

"Triangle? It's more like a love rhomboid." There are 4 sides. Mine: poor sad love sick girl who can not be with The Boy and is tired of crying in the shower. The Boy's: poor sad reality marinated boy with responsibilities beyond the fact that I cry in the shower. Scoot's: poor sad deluded man-child that refuses to open his eyes to even peek at reality or responsibility. & The Bartender: who the hell knows what his poor sadness is...

I started to think a lot about the love aspect of that. Then it occurred to me that "Love Rhomboid" would make a really great band name! Who has ADD now, J? I've been writing songs, designing the band tattoo and working on album concepts all centered around Euclidean geometry. Normally this would be an ok way to kill 7 hours. But I have tests. Starting tomorrow. Tests that will determine if I can go on and be a law school graduate... sit for the bar... be an attorney and eventually be a judge who has to recuse herself every time some yay-hoo points and says "Hey! You're that chick from the Penny Blog!"

Holy Hell loyal Blog Monkeys! I need to learn some law and stop this asinine obsessing over minutiae. The Boy likes to say this to me "It is what it is." or "It'll be what it's gonna be." or "Get your ass over here! I must have you now." Wait. I made that last part up. More ADD wishful thinkin!

My point, and I do have one, is that I need to get a grip. I need to choose my priorities. Plot my course. Set my sails... bleck.

Here's the good news, kids. Rarely do you get fired from your job at The Burger Bandit when some yay-hoo points and says "Hey, you're that chick from the Penny Blog."

You want fries with that?