True Story

{March 10, 2010}   Toot

True Story:  My body fails me in public situations.

If I can split my pants, trip, laugh till I tee tee in front of large groups of people, I will.

True Story: I’m a great faller.

I fall so much, I don’t even notice. This, of course, does not stop other people from noticing.

1)  As a freshman in high school I was at a “Senior’s party”. People were out in the open garage smoking, etc… I walk across the garage headed toward the door to the house to warm up/go to the bathroom… Whatever reason to not stand there by myself not knowing what to say to people. I slipped in an oil spot on the garage floor. SPLAT.

In my head:  Oh, Lord, here we go.

Now this shouldn’t be a big deal. At most, people should try to help you up and say, “are you alright”. But this is high school and people suck… So for the rest of the evening and all the next week at school some older girls, excuse me, bitches, pretended to fall whenever they were around me… Awesome…

2) One of the many times I fell down the stairs at home growing up, I landed at my Mom’s feet.

Mom:  Now that’s just stupid. You’re grounded.

3)  Walking across campus in Montana on icy grounds with Pump (just a friend at the time) and some other schoolmates, I fell. I mean really fell, and got right back up and kept talking. They all stopped and were like, “wait… Are you okay”?

I was fine, and annoyed at their concern. You see, my story I was passionately telling was WAY more important than my fall. Everything I say is REALLY important.

More examples of this ol’ body embarrassing me:

1) I got my “monthly” in class unexpectedly in 8th grade. This is really cool. Thank God it was fall weather and I was able to wrap my jacket around my waist and go ask the teacher permission to go to the bathroom.

Sidenote:  Why do teachers make you so terrified to ask permission to leave the room. Damn it. I’m pissed now. I think they are the reason for half of my nick names through the years.

The greatest part about that day in 8th grade was that the teacher, whom subtlety was apparently non-existent, got up as I was leaving the room and Lysoled my chair.

There are many of these incidences I could bore you with. I will get to the point.

In 8th grade one evening I was hanging outside a friend’s house with some girlfriends and “older boys” (high school boys). What were our parents thinking? None of them are good. I don’t care who their parents are. They are all walking hormone- crazed, want-to-be, sex-machines.

So, I’m doing what I do best, probably trying to bum a cigarette and be funny (yes, I was that one). Someone said something hilarious and I lean back, dying laughing and you guessed it… I farted.

I said it. FART. I disagree with many southern belles. I don’t think that is a dirty word. Maybe it’s because I am the mother of a man-child.

True Story:  In some circles, still today, I am known as Toot and Fartin Martin.

{March 9, 2010}   Cyber-world

True Story:  I am not very technologically or cyber-world literate.

I did not know what a blog was FOREVER. And just recently, thanks to Mr. Cameron, realized there really is such a thing as an avatar. (Don’t tell anyone. I haven’t seen the movie yet). I did see all other 400 nominated films for 2009. Just haven’t been able to commit to avatar yet. But thanks to the old trusty pooter here, have been able to google/Wikipedia it.

So, I am still figuring all this business out. But did discover something wonderfully hilarious today. Researching my pings and hits and search engine words, I realized that someone found my blog by searching “first time to have sex with mother in law”.

Let me repeat myself:  In the last few days some nervous young man, or young lady, no judging here,  had sex with their mother-in-law, freaked out, and typed into his/her keyboard, “first time to have sex with mother in law”, in search of cyber advise. 

If nothing ever comes of this blog but for the fact that I discovered this information, I can die happy.

Hahahahahaha! That is hysterical. I realize there is a traumatic family situation brewing out there, and I am sorry for that, but when I retold the story here of my MIL asking me the first time I met her if her son tried to have sex with me, I never knew I would attract THIS kind of attention.

Oh, what a cyber-world we live in.

True Story:  I have no idea what any of this means:  ( ) 🙂 😦 (**) <> <:) )&(*

{March 8, 2010}   The Proposal

True Story:  I have been proposed to once. I said yes, I think.
I went to Maui for a writer’s conference about 6 years ago. Good Times! My mom flew out to meet me there. It’s a hell of a long way to fly from Hawaii to Alabama so we decided to stop over and visit my brother in San Fransisco for a couple of days to break up the trip.
Mom and I stayed in a hotel across the street from my brother’s loft. He lived in a great spot but very near the Tenderloin. (Shady district).
True Sidenote:  My dad is famously non-confrontational.  His ex-wife and I used to laugh and say if we were getting mauled or attacked that he would say, “Uh, excuse me, Mr. Murderer, just let me know when you’re done and I’ll take them to the hospital”.
Hence, we found it very funny when the three of us were walking from the parking garage to my brother’s place in SF one day and discovered we were trapped by some very scary looking crack heads. They were blocking our exit and we had nowhere to go.
Dad (shouting at the top of his lungs):  WATCH OUT! I’M COMING OUT MUTHAFUCKERS!
Me & Stepmom:  Hahahahahahahaa
Crack heads:  Nothing. Nada. Didn’t know we were there.
Back to the proposal.
True Story:  Hurricane Ivan made a direct hit on my little part of the world Sept 16, 2004. While I was in Hawaii/California, Pump was back at our little rental house, a block off the water packing and grabbing our important items. As Ivan was barreling down on the Alabama gulf coast Pump was still there packing when the cops came to the door and said he had 2 hours to get off the island or he had to stay and ride it out.
True Story:  I do not believe in riding out storms. Stupid!
Pump got out of there and headed to Birmingham.
While he was escaping death, my Mom, brother and I went to the wine country. There’s only one way to go about it. First thing in the morning you have to start with Champagne. So off to Korbel we were.  A little advise, don’t plan any major event the evening after travelling from winery to winery all day. You are just generally pissed off from catching a buzz then driving for a while only to catch a buzz again and be talked into spending lots of money on wine that you could buy at Wal-Mart for 300% less. And so we ended our day at In and Out Burger (Awesome). We looked like Paul Giamatti in Sideways drinking his prized bottle with a burger and fries.
The next morning around 8am I hang up the phone with Pump back in Alabama who is telling me about his packing and evacuation and I’m telling him to remember to get this, and that, and blah, blah, blah. I call my brother and tell him I’m walking over from our hotel and I want him to buzz me up so I can check my email.
I cross the street, am buzzed up and get in the elevator. When the elevator door opens, Pump is standing across the hallway up against the wall, in SAN FRANSISCO, HELLO???  I immediately start screaming, WHAT!?!? WHO DIED?!?!  WHAT?!? JUST TELL ME? WHO DIED? IS IT MY DAD? (I am pretty sure at this point that I left my mom alive back in our hotel room).
True Backstory:  My step-dad died suddenly of a heart attack on my 27th birthday, on a morning I was going to see him. He was no longer married to my mother, but was my step-dad for 18 years and is my sisters’ father. As Pump taught me on our 1st date, people died. Why else would he be there?
So I was a little confused to say the least, as to why he was here in California.
What made it worst was his response to my screaming.
Pump:  Speechless and shaking
He didn’t say 1 word. Nothing. Nada.
Advice to gentlemen:  Think about what you might say in this situation. Pump’s idea to just “wing it”, failed miserably when I started yelling who’s dead, and the emotion of the moment got the best of him.
He never said anything. But I started to figure things out as he shakily got down on one knee. When I saw what he was doing I slid my costume ring off my middle, left finger and into my pocket.
He placed a beautiful ring that he had designed on my finger. We hugged and kissed. If I recall correctly, he never “really” asked and I never “really” answered. 
Still though, we must have both assumed.
True Story:  About 10 minutes later, Pump was looking at me fondly, like a father figure proud of his girl. He rubbed my arm up and down very platonically.
Pump:  you’re getting married…
Translation:  Somebody finally decided to marry you. How cute…

{March 1, 2010}   1st time I met the MIL

True Story:  This is just one of the MANY conversations about sex that I have had with my MIL (mother in law).

The first time I met my MIL I was just a potential girlfriend at the time. I must have liked Pump cause I drove over 10 hours to see him for a long weekend.

Bleary-eyed after driving so long I stopped and bought a 6 pack and a plant for my sorta-boyfriend’s mother who was so graciously letting me stay at her home.  I’m southern after all.

I walk in and she and Pump are in the kitchen. We make our introductions. Then I’m told I am staying upstairs in Pump’s room with him. Now, even though I am a grown woman, this is not what I expected. I had not been around parents that would look at me like I was crazy for thinking I would stay in my own room. We weren’t even living in sin yet.

So, that evening, Pump, myself and some of his friends go out and get a little drunk. Back at Pump’s house that night he is taking a bath. He has been sick to his stomach and now needs a bath.

True Story:  The kid takes at least 2 baths a day. I’ve never met anybody that “needs” baths as much as he does.

Anywho, he’s in the bath, and I’m sitting on the toilet talking to him. He has long eye lashes and the water is dripping off of them. I really notice his eyes for the first time.

Me:  You have pretty eyes.

Pump (drunkenly):  I know… It’s all I’ve got.

I think this is hilarious. So, the next day I am trying to make conversation with my future MIL. This is only the second time we’ve spoken. She is ironing her nursing uniform and I say, “You won’t believe what your son did last night…

She puts her iron down and looks at me with her hands on her hips.

MIL:  He tried to have sex with you, didn’t he?

Me (shocked):  Well, yes… But that’s not what I was going to tell you.

True Story:  When she talks about the first time she met me, she likes to tell large rooms full of people, that I showed up at her house with beer, a plant and I had a little skirt on, and my belly was sticking out, and I just didn’t care. I was just so confident.

True Story: I assure you, if I had known a fat roll was sticking out I wouldn’t have been so confident.

et cetera