Byebye, Boobielicious, Byebye

The whole weekend was huge fun.

The pork roasts and blackeyed peas were a huge success.  We did a little meals on wheels thing for a few of the older folks around here who don't get out much then hauled all the grub up to the Shingle Mill and invited any and all to dig in.  One guy enjoyed it so much he went back at least four times and came back with a heaping plate each time-the last thing I saw him eat was a blackeyed pea SANDWICH (I had also made some homemade bread to sop up all that porky goodness).  Does my heart good to see people really enjoy something I cooked.  Kinda like blogging, eh?

We did NOT win the roll a day, but there is always today.  One of our neighbors did roll four of a kind, so he won ten percent of the pot, so it needs to get built back up before I win it anyway.

The Shingle Mill is a very family oriented bar, if there is such a thing.  We have a lot of potlucks and a benefit once or twice a year, and all throughout the fall they run a turkey shoot.  The prizes for the turkey shoot vary-sometimes you win a roast, or some steaks or a cut up chicken.  One guy said he won one time and got a side of bacon that had a little whang to it, as he called it, so I'm not exactly lining up for my turn to shoot.  (Besides, they won't let me shoot my own damn gun.)  *bitch slaps self* Get back to your point, derf.  Ah yes.  The Mill is more of a community gathering place than it is a bar (and it is a beer bar-they don't serve liquor).  There is a boat launch and they sell bait and such, so children are allowed inside until about 7 in the evenings.  It has been interesting over the last few years to watch as little boys playing pool with their daddies turn into lanky young men drinking their first beers flirting with the (ohmygoddess they were just BABIES the last time I saw them and when did they get TITS???) little chicks from up the street who used to ride their bikes past the house.  There are sometimes three and four generations from the same family in there at the same time.  Yesterday was one of those days.  

I was sitting next to this little grandmotherly type we all call Mawmaw and she was talking about her little dog.  I've been jonesing for some puppy lovage for awhile now, but the Innocent Bystander has put the kibosh on that for now, so I wasn't paying that much attention to what she was saying-until she started talking about how tiny her dogs TWAT was.  THAT got my attention.  She kept sticking her pinkie in my face and showing me just how little she imagines it is.  (I sure hope she imagines it and isn't really giving her dog a finger wag!)  As I looked at the puddle of beer on the bar that had just shot out of my nose, I decided it was time to eat, so I got up to fix a plate.

When I got back to my seat, she looked at me kind of funny and said "I think you have something on your pants."  I got up so she could see and she said "Yeah, you do" and I looked down at my barstool and thought "Gross, that looks like shit."  Then I realized that it not only looked like shit, it smeared like shit, and SMELLED like shit.  OH SHIT.  It's SHIT.  So then I look around to try to figure out which of these motherfuckers put shit on my barstool and my eyes drifted down to the floor where I saw that my sandal was caked in shit.  I WAS THE MOTHERFUCKER.  I have this bad habit of sitting on my feet ( I told you ya can't take me out) and I had not only gotten shit on the chair, I had GROUND it into my shorts, so I had to make a run back to the houseboat to change clothes.  You can slave over a really great meal, but no one's going to want to eat something that Miss Shitty Britches cooked.

After I changed, I grabbed what was left of the rum from the last daiquiri batch the Purv made for me and walked back up to the bar.  I had learned earlier in the evening that it was to be Boobielicious's last night working up there.  She doesn't drink beer, so I figured she could at least have a drink or two when she got off, if nothing else.  Hah!  Nope.  This girl got game, dudes.  She opened a bottle of Gatorade, poured some out, and topped it off with the rum.  *shudder*  I can't drink Gatorade straight.  As the evening wore on, I asked her why she was quitting.  She looked at me and then she said something that got EVERYONE'S attention.  She said "Let's dance".

So we did.  And I'm going to tell you something.  The girl ain't just got game, or tits, she's also got brains.  I think I've found my third wyfe.  I mean, there's always room for more in my world of wyves, the Purv (who stands in a class all by herself), the Innocent Bystander and my bitches (of whom sadly only two really remain, the Blonde One and the Serious One with the squishy bra).  What's an extra wyfe between friends, right?  As much as I play up the boobage factor, she does not make any effort up there to 'work it' if you get my drift.  She seldom wears makeup, and other than the titty shirts (which I love as much as the next guy) she is not doing anything to get those tip jars full.  Her heart just isn't in it.  She is unhappy at home and at work and I just wish I could wave my magic wand and do something to help her.  She was married to an ortho doctor (small world, eh?) for several years and seems smart as a whip, but she seems to need someone to give her some enthusiasm or a SHOVE or something to get her to realize her potential.  She says (and yes, the ethical blogger did ask for permission to write about her this time) that she and her husband are kind of leading separate lives and she's just TIRED.  I'm wondering if she doesn't need to be checked out for depression or a vitamin deficiency or something.  In any case, we danced our dance as the guys followed with their eyes and talked and...I don't know...BONDED, I guess you'd call it.  So.  Now I have a new bfffl.  My stable is growing!

We left pretty early and came home so I could wash out my poopy drawers from earlier and because we had to get up early this morning to take El Juevo back to mom's for school this week.  We have some running around to do as it is the IB's last week home.  He has to take some staples with him to Nigeria as they don't have much in the way of 'oyibo' food and he's not particularly adventuresome in the culinary department.  He also has many "one small things" to buy, and we still haven't received his passport back from the Nigerian embassy (despite his sixty dollar flower delivery, no less-the bastards!) so we are probably going to spend Halloween week as headless chickens (get it?  running around like chickens with our heads cut off?  oh, nevermind).  Posts may run later in the afternoon this week.  Depends on his nap SCHEDULE.

Have a wonderful day.

Oh.  And guys?  I think they ARE real.