Remembering to Say Thank you.....

The sun can not set a single day without me remembering in some small way to think of the price that they have paid.

Those so young that have left behind their childlike dreams and toys. All the little girls turn to women and men that spring from little boys.

The ones left behind are the moms and dads, the sisters the brothers, the young wives and soon to be mothers.

The families struggle on in a world that doesn't notice each day, yet they wait for the next word from the the piece of their heart so very far away.

So while we all get carried away with our own little worlds. So easy to do, if you could please take time to just stop and say.

Thank you.

From my Family to the Family of anyone who has every served or loved someone who served this country, thank you for your sacrifice for this country and the freedom around the world.

THANK YOU

xo

PEACH OUT

The original version of this video by J.M. Studios Can be found on You-Tube

A rose by any other name....

A woman walks into an  accountant's office and tells him that she needs to file her taxes.  

The accountant says,  "Before we begin, I'll need to ask you a few questions." He gets her name,  address, social security number, etc. And then asks, "What's your  occupation?"  

"I'm a prostitute,"  she says.  

The accountant is  somewhat taken aback and says, " Let's try to rephrase that."  

The woman says, "OK,  I'm a high-end call girl".  

"No, that still won't  work. Try again."  

They both think for a  minute; then the woman says, "I'm an elite chicken farmer."

The accountant asks,  "What does chicken farming have to do with being a  prostitute?"

"Well, I raised a  thousand little peckers last year."

"Chicken Farmer it is"

So here's the moral of the story folks.   It's all about presentation and marketing...

XO

PEACH OUT

YOU WRITE HERE ! - A guest Post !

I received a submission for the "YOU WRITE HERE"  anonymous bloggers vent arena on this blog.  A place they can come, free of trolls to say what needs to be said, where their readers wont be shattered when their persona is thrown on the ground and trampled with crocs.    So today you get a break from my self deprecating humor, potty mouth, and physical threats to innocents.  I think most of us can relate to my Guest who I expect you treat with the utmost respect or I will spork your ass.
Thanks.

xo


PEACH OUT

I hate being strong

Everyone I know sees me as a "strong" person.  It has its blessings and it definitely has its curses.  I usually don't let on about what I feel sucks as far as being perceived as "strong."  That would fuck with my "bad ass" persona.

But, Peachy is kind enough to lend a spot to those of us who need to let it out - so I'm going to take advantage of her generosity.

I hate being strong because it means I am always expected to solve the damned problems, when sometimes all I want to do is fade into the background with all of the other sheep.  

I hate being strong because it means I'm the "go to" person, when sometimes I'd like to kick back and let OTHER people do the work. 

   

I hate being strong because it means having to come up with the "right" answers when all I feel like I do is "fake it till I make it."  

I hate being strong because it means people think I have no weaknesses - but they don't know how ONE sideways word can throw me into a mental tizzy for days. 

 

I hate being strong because people grow to depend on you - and it's a mother fucker being on your game 100% of the time.  

I hate being strong because of the EXPECTATIONS that come along with it - I can't fuck up.

I act like I don't give a shit about a lot of things - and to a certain extent, I am able tonot care too much about what people I barely know think about me.  But, people that I let "in" to know me - I care what they think.  I don't trust very easily.  And while my "outward" personality screams "EXTROVERT!" - few people know that I spend a lot of time inside my head and have a really hard time letting anyone get "close" to me.  I think that's probably why I have a hard time with relationships.  I come off as this "strong" personality - and I rarely let myself be vulnerable.  Because when you're vulnerable - people can (and WILL) hurt you.  Not too many people know the true extent of "hurt" I have endured in my lifetime.  I don't give that information out freely.  

My walls have cost me a lot, relationship-wise.  My mother once told me, "You're such a bitch no one is ever going to marry you!"  When you're 19 and you hear that, you don't care so much.  It's amusing.  But when you're 28 and feeling the pressure to get hitched to the dildo you've been dating for 3 years so that you don't look like a "failure" - those words your mother uttered nearly a decade prior ring in your ears like the gong show.  I got married when I knew I shouldn't have.  I remember thinking on the morning of my wedding day (at age 29), as I sat in the pool at this fancy hotel, "I wonder how many years we'll actually stay married before we get divorced."  Bad sign.  But, I got married nevertheless...just to prove a point:  someone DID marry the bitch.

I hate being strong, because from that marriage sprung this little being - who is totally dependent on me.  I didn't plan on having kids, and the truth is, I really feel like I'm a pretty selfish and self-absorbed person - so I didn't actually want kids.  Neither did my husband.  He was rather peeved when the news was delivered to him.  Not exactly jumping for joy - but my parents were - because, again, it was another source of "failure" to not deliver a grandchild after 3 years of marriage.  From that point on, I knew that I would be the parent who was most responsible for the "parenting" of this little being.  And I was right.  That husband "lasted" just about seven years (not including the four years we spent together BEFORE we got married).  Now, one child and one divorce later, I bear the full burden of making sure that the little person doesn't grow up to be a serial killer.  It's a fucking drag sometimes.  Don't get me wrong, I love my kid, but being the SOLE person responsible for ensuring that a person gets instilled with all of the shit they need to become a worthwhile human being...that pressure is immense.  And sometimes I don't want that pressure.  Sometimes I want to scream, "Why should I have to be the one to deal with all of this shit?"  Oh, because the child's father isn't terribly invested...and I am the "strong" one, after all.  Nobody questions my ability to handle all of this...but me.

I question myself all of the time.  I wonder what the hell makes people think I can handle the stress, the pressure, the challenge, blah, blah, blah.  They don't know that I pray for strength.  I pray for guidance.  I pray for luck.  I wish for help.  I wish for support.  I wish for relief.  And some days, I wish to just be left the fuck alone.  Some days, I wish to BE that wallflower that blends into the background.  They sure do seem to have it a lot easier.  No expectations.  No disappointment if they don't do something spectacular.  Some days - I'm quite sure that ignorance ain't got nothing on bliss as far as "mediocrity" is concerned.

Sometimes I find myself so envious - envious of married people, envious of divorced people whose ex-spouses play a huge part in their kids'lives, envious of people without kids, envious of people who have never been married and have no intentions of getting married, envious of people with large extended families around them, envious of people with NANNIES AND HOUSEKEEPERS!

But, when all is said and done...I do what I always do.  I let my "strong" self take over and just handle what needs to be handled.  Someone once said to me that God will only give you what you can handle.  Sometimes I wish he didn't trust me so much.  

Faking it till I make it.

A little salt with that?

When dinosaurs roamed the earth, I went to this place called school.  Yes it's true my last 2 years of High School I skipped more than I attended but that's what happens when you place a high school close enough to Dayton Beach that I can smell that salt water.

I am sure it had little to do with the fact I turned my trunk into a cooler with roll out insulation and garbage bags, and the days I did attend I was so drunk I couldn't stand up. I had understanding teachers and went to school in the days that it was ok to tie up your principal and throw desks out a window.  It was a time before no child left behind or zero tolerance.

Somewhere around the Mesozoic era I taught, yes me, shut up, I did it for 1 year and it was in exchange for my children's tuition at private school.  My oldest son was sighted as the reason that a teacher quit in her letter of resignation and moving to Iceland.  I don't blame her, I almost removed my reproductive organs with a spork after he was born.  But that was long ago and I have blocked it out with much effort and expensive vodka.

My husband the Droid has a higher advanced math Degree, Metorology and a couple Computer whatevers, and I have a couple under my belt not to mention the Prince is our 3rd go around, and literally the easiest child on the planet to raise or teach.  So when this year, Mr.  Good Citizenship.  Student of the Year,  Good Conduct, winner of the Regional Physics Science Fair,  A Honor Roll brought home his 4th C on a test in math we were how do you say..... " pissed".

After the mandatory parental lectures a conference was requested.  Then we looked through his folder and saw that 7x7=49 was wrong and 7x3=21 was wrong and   12x2=24 is wrong.

Well suck my imaginary dick and color me confused.   Clearly there was an error in the grading. No biggie we will straighten this out in a jiffy lube.

So we get there 15 minutes early and wait 30 minutes because she apparently had to tweet or what the hell ever because it was her break.  Then the cram my fat ass and my husbands 6'5 ass in the tiniest chairs you have ever seen while she and her cohort sit in normal adult chairs.

* Note- this was a power technique we used in psychology and GVT to keep the upper hand,  and control of the situation.  It didn't work since she is the same age of my daughter and I felt I didn't need control.

So we begin with how is he in the class, are there any problems?  blah blah, yackity yak, blah.  Then we say we are concerned as he has brought home 4 C's and he has never had below an A, and this is the foundation to the rest of his education and we want to make sure he understands here so that he doesn't fall behind, is he understanding in class, paying attention turning in work, what can we do to work as a team blah.

TEACHER-  your son is absolutely the sweetest child ever, I adore him, don't even worry about the grades, he is a doll baby.

ME:  well if this was the doll baby acadamy I wouldn't but it's a school so I am worried about the grades, for example I think there is an issue with the grading on this test, example 12x2=24  is marked wrong so is 7x3=21 and so on.

TEACHER ( looks at us like we are morons)=  yes, those are wrong,  a LOT of the OLDER parents have an issue understanding new math,  we don't waste time memorizing multiplication anymore, we now estimate, he didn't estimate, so they are wrong.

HUSBAND-  ( about to lose higher math mensa IQ shit)-  excuse me, did you just say "waste time learning multiplication?   are you aware they are called math FACTS?   it's because it's a fact, not a theory or opinion, they don't change, also how can they divide, if they can't multiply?  also no where do the instruction say "estimate" those "x"  symbols mean multiply in mathematics.

TEACHER- ( wont make eye contact with husband anymore and looks at me)  your son knows this we learned this in class, so he knew what to do, and knows why he got it wrong.

ME- Well with us being OLDER parents, with HIGHER DEGREES, we are probably confusing him by making him learn things like multiplication and such, so I would like him to enter your tutoring program immediately.

TEACHER- OH, well that's for kids who are failing.

ME- ok I will tell him to stop turning in homework or answering any questions, since we are old and dumb. Also do you like chair with salt?

TEACHER-   excuse me?

ME-  I am just wondering if you want salt on that chair if I make you fucking eat it if you call me old again?

TEACHER-  OH I didn't mean it like that.

ME- I did.

End result.  My kid went to that teachers tutoring for 6 weeks 3 days a week, and fell off honor roll for the first time in 5 years,  yep,  he went from 5 years of straight A's to 1 A,  3 B's an 2 C's,   can you spell A-W-E-S-O-M-E?

Probably not if you're an old parent,  because even as an old parent he was still on honor roll all A honor roll, possibly looking at a B in one subject.  But Thankfully we put him in tutoring so he was able to be fully submerged in that awesome learning system and we stepped out of the equation as to not confuse him with our old and dusty out of date thoughts that the teacher pointed out would only " mislead him". Now he has horrible grades.  How cool is that?


XO


PEACH OUT

Dry Hump Day

Happy Dry Hump Day yall

I got 2 awards yesterday.  Both from guys?  Dig that.  

1 from Oil Field Trash at  http://make-daddy-a-sammich.blogspot.com

and the other from

@Grocery_Dad  at  http://grocerydad.blogspot.com/

As usual I suck and fail and have a high rate at losing these things I will slap them up in the trophey case over at http://www.beingpeachy.com  Thanks guys, YOU ROCK.

Here's your Dry Hump Day Chuckles.

********************************

A man was sitting on the porch with his wife and he says "I love you."

She asks "Is that you or the beer talking?"

He replies,  "It's me.......talking to the beer."”

**************************************

*****************************************************************

Enjoy 

XO

PEACH OUT

Open my Ketchup or go to Jail do not collect $200

The GPS  Screamed turn around turn around as if the raven screaming never more never more,
I ended up in the place where a girl could get a dime bag or so much more so much more.
I saw the hood the projects and some kick as heels fishnets a couple weaves and long ass nails,
finally the guy turned around and I asked him how the fuck to do I get my white ass to the Ritz Carlton.

He came back at me with, " oh shit pretty woman you all lost and fuck aint you?"
No shit Nyquil, Help a speckled bitch out.

I get there and drive my crusty dusty missing a hub cap from the bumper car extravaganza french fries in the seat belts empty mt dew bottles littering the floor boards over flowing ashtray cracked windshield from a kayak  totally hoptie mini van up in the Ritz Vallet. BAM.  Suck on THAT bitchez.   They open the door and hug my ass.  Can I just say,  THAT RIGHT THERE IS THE WAY TO GET A FUCKING TIP?   yeah you roll my fat ass out of a car after playing bumper cars in the projects and breathing in a paper bag and hug me and hand me some wine?   YOU ARE GETTING TIPPED!  possibly a blow job.  just saying,  that is service.

All I can say is that NOLA was awesome as it always is,  I have the luxury of going there whenever I want. So do my children.  It's just next door.  So we are "locals".  But it was nice to see some old friends, put some faces to some names, and then meet some new people.

I also nearly stabbed a few bitches.  Just saying.  I didn't pass out 1 damn card the entire time.  I know you're shocked right?  Not. yeah.  you know me.  In fact I used my real first name half the entire time and totally avoided even telling people any of my blog names or where I write.  But I have to tell you.  I did get outed a couple of times.  But it was all good and by people I totally didn't mind getting outed by.  For example there was an opening of a Ketchup bottle with a male genitalia, and a conversation with powdered sugar on testicles. You know who you are.

Then the entire Joe and the Volcano luggage chick?  Shit,  I nearly flung myself on a friggin fork, seriously. Thank Bob for Brandy in the Club lounge.

The Highlight was a tie.   I can't decide whether it was when I out drank this guy in the French Quarter because he was being all douchey ( he wasn't a blogger and I am not naming names here).   OR   The Reading at the Eiffel Society  ( not so much the reading as what went down in the bathroom and no I can't name names or give details for like 7 years or some shit).


So there, that's how it went and I came home and I didn't get anything pierced or inked and there's nothing new on MY record,  and my husband and kid used every dish we have and my dalmatian was left outside overnight and got attacked by a chupacabra and now he is all red, white and black, so they immediatly did the entire buzz kill from my awesome 3 day New Orleans trip like  being drunk off your ass and getting the most awesome thrown against the wall lay of your life in high school and then walking in to your moms church group at the kitchen table while you have your panties in your purse and your Grandad walks up to hug you.  Yeah.  BUZZ-KILL.....

XO

PEACH OUT

*Disclaimer-  He totally could have gotten his own ass out of jail and didn't need a bondsman, it's called an OR, but Mr. Drunkfuck was too drunkied Drunkfestified Drunkfucked to even know how to sign his own fucking name on the OR bond ( Own Recognizance) .  Don't ever fucking try to go shot for shot against me douche face.