You fuckin’ with my nerves, yeah
To the curb, yeah
I know you bitches know, yeah
And it show, yeah
Momma tagged me in one of those “Seven Days of Black and White Photos – No Captions” challenges on Facebook.
Now, y’all know I’m not into doing that shit on social media. Also, not really into following rules about “no captions” and “only black and white” photos either. So, I figured, what the hay? Mom’s the only one reading this thing anymore anyhow. Why not throw tha ol’ broad a bone, ya dig?
… even if that whore quit posting her pics after Day 3.
I blame my cousin, Brandon, for this. Yeah. Fuck you, Brandon.
I never thought I would be “that” girl – the one who would want to chunk a gaming system out into the middle of I-26 and watch an 18-wheeler obliterate it – but, here I sit. Just me and this mother frackin’ Xbox One. Day in. And day out.
Is the Red Ring of Death still a thing? If so, how can this bastard catch said RRD? Does it work like crabs? Can I just rub my box up against an infected box – sans protection, of course – and that do the trick? What if I just tote my Xbox into, like, a game room and have a whole bunch of weird gamer kids touch it? You know, let them grab it with their nasty, smelly, just-licked-the-Cheeto-cheesy-goodness-off-my-fingers hands. [shivers.] Is that how it works? ‘Cause I’m gonna need me an addy, or a link, or a GD vile of anthrax, for shit’s sake!
I know all of you judgey-McJudgersons out there probably think I’m a fucking lunatic. But consider this: It would be different if there was an end. Like, if he could actually beat the games he plays. But he can’t. For the love of God! You can’t beat the fucking internet!
So, this is what I see. The side of Live-in’s precious face, big bulky headphones, and a sweet little nuggy curled up in his lap wondering if Daddy will ever go outside and play with him… ever again.
I have worked very hard on this house. I have worked very hard to make this house feel like a home for both myself, Tayler, and our resident ASPCA. Every room is a mature reflection of us. I refuse to hang something on our walls, or buy a piece of furniture, or pick up a tchotchke at TJ Maxx that I do not absolutely love. Admittedly, Tayler might not absolutely love everything I bring through the door, but he loves me so…
So, he’s sort’ve stopped saying too much.
Don’t get me wrong. We’ve had our arguments. We fight continuously about the hand towels hanging on the racks in our bathrooms. He is convinced they are free reign for dirty hands and blue-toothpaste-covered faces – when, clearly – they are decorative. Or how about the fact that he wants a bar – in every room.
Yep. That’s a thing.
About a month ago, I did this photo collage in the office corner of our formal living room. I didn’t think twice about what he would think when he saw it. Honestly, I didn’t think twice because I am the one who works from home. So, technically it is my space. But his insight – spot.fucking.on, y’all.
[laughing.] “Hey, baby! I like our wall of asshole inspirational quotes in the office!”
Touché, my friend.
Disclaimer: The photo you see below is actually sort’ve a complete lie. Yeaaaah. This pic was taken pre-Cyber Week shopping and I’ve actually bought furniture for that room since. But the wall of douche-baggery stays!
This is our twenty-third year together.
We each blow 30 candles out within the next six months.
Tay (Meredith) and Kristen are happily married. Owie, #theprincenephew, turned a year old in September. Kristen is due with Mufasa (baby R.) in March. And we are all finally back in the same timezone.
Our visits are not nearly as frequent as we would like them to be… but I’ll be damned if our group chat isn’t bumpin’!
I feel like this pic needs a little more context.
Also, please excuse how hideous I look in this photo. We stayed up until 5:00 a.m. at Bubba’s house drinking and “making a fire” in his backyard. I was still drunk.
Really, I was.
On Thanksgiving day, Tayler and I were standing on my parent’s deck. I went over and hugged him. As we stood there in a loving, warm, tender embrace, I shouted… “Omigah! YES! Yes, I will marry you!”
Stunned, and kinda disoriented, Tay immediately started to push away from me. “What the hell are you talking about?” he stammered. But before I could gain composure enough to tell him I was just joking, Bubba walked outside. This is the conversation that took place:
Bubs: “What are y’all doin’ out here?”
MC: “Tay just proposed!”
Bubs: “No shit?”
Live-in: “No. No I didn’t! She just started yelling, ‘YES! Yes I will marry you!'”
Bubs: “What? You sayin’ you don’t wanna marry my sister?”
LI: “Of course I do!”
MC: “We’re engaged! Yay!”
Bubs: “That’s fucking awesome, man! Where’s the ring?”
LI: “We’re not engaged.”
MC: “Well, we’re getting that later. I just love him so much. I don’t need a ring.”
Bubs: “Dude. You proposed to my sister and didn’t give her a ring? What the fuck?”
LI: “Hey! Shut the fuck up! Stop knockin’ my proposal!”
I thought that was hilarious. HA! What a super funny thing I did! Hahaha! This is why I need my own reality show, people. I am just a fucking riot, right?
Wellllllll, then we were in Target.
On Black Friday.
All three of us were looking at the Christmas tree decorations.
That’s when I saw it.
The huge diamond ring ornament.
I grabbed the ornament and turned around to find Tayler. He was holding an over-sized, stuffed, white tiger. Like, a 3-foot long stuffed tiger. As I walked toward him, he started stroking the tiger and gave me his best Dr. Evil impression.
The look on his face made every feeling of guilt I had flutter away.
I went in for a hug.
And then, before he knew it, “YESSSSS! OH. MY. GOSH! YES! I WILL MARRY YOU!”
He said nothing. There was no protest. No argument. No, “Sweet Jesus, woman! I.did.not.propose!” No nothing.
He just bolted.
He took off down the main aisle like a bat outta hell!
Bubba was standing at a nearby end-cap and saw Tayler run off, “What the hell is wrong with him?” Barely able to speak from laughing so hard, I said, “He proposed!” I thought my brother was going to die. “Holy shit! You did it again?! That is fucking hilarious!”
I asked Tay that evening if I truly embarrassed him with my fake Target proposal, “Because if I really did embarrass you, I’m sorry, babe.” He glanced over at me and said, “No, you didn’t embarrass me. It was pretty funny. But I do wish you would stop because you’re gonna mess up everything for when I really do propose.”
Now, due to my constant shenanigans, all of my friends and family are terrified he won’t marry me.
So that’s fun.
Tayler and I have this not-so-friendly competition on Instagram (@missclarissxoxo).
All he does is post pictures of the food he cooks.
Then he’s all, “Ohhh. That heap of rabbit food got 24 likes. Beat that!” And then, I have to be like, “Yeah, well, I just posted a pretty gross picture of us being all in love and shit – 63 likes. So, suck a dick.” Or he’ll give me updates on which hot new chef has started following him. Don’t forget the comments – he has to read the comments aloud to me too. [rolls eyes.]
I’m telling ya, it’s all the time something with these men.
So, if you follow me on the socials you most likely have seen the picture below. But what you might not have noticed? My most recent victory in the never-ending war on social media likability.
MC: “Huh. Hey, babe. Guess who just got a new follower? Me. Basset Hound Moments is now following me and you know what? They have 49,700 followers.
Live-in: “Oh, really. Wow!”
MC: “Yeah. And P.S., they liked and commented on your picture.”
MC: “See. They said, ‘Super cute.’ Now who’s more #instafamous? Yeah, sit down, toolbag.”
You should know by now that I heart music.
I love all kinds but gangster rap is my guilty pleasure.
I take that back.
Don’t feel guilty about it at all.
Just to give you an idea of how much I love rap music: On Sunday, I was listening to my ’90s Hip Hop station while driving back from Charlotte. I had literally just been suckered into purchasing Pandora Premium, and was skipping to my heart’s content, when I realized how desperately I wanted to change the channel. You know, just to skip some more on a different playlist. My Rap and Hip Hop Pre-Game Radio station, to be exact. But I couldn’t. I kept saying, “One last flip.” Or, “When the next song I don’t know comes on – SWITCH!” Then it was, “Okay, the next song I don’t like…”
I knew all the songs and very few of them were ones I didn’t like!
I fucking love ’90s Hip Hop.
I’ve talked about this before but I’ll say it again and again. Rap and Hip Hop music of today has become so disappointing. Very few artists have decent rhymes. Very few songs have an actual hook/chorus. Uhh, yeah, one that isn’t repeated for the entire duration of the song. And a lot of the beats sound exactly the same.
To be totally honest, it’s a shame that our youth has to grow up listening to this shit.
I mean, most of it doesn’t even make sense!
Take “Rockstar” by Post Malone feat. 21 Savage, for example. Twenty-one (Savage? Not totally certain on the nick-name sitch…) says:
They like, “Savage [guess that answers my question from above…] why you got a 12-car garage and you only got six cars?”
Okay, numero uno: Not a single fucking thing here rhymes. Like, nothing. Awesome, Mr. Savage. I hope you really knock this shit outta the park during year-end reviews, because really? You had one job.
And then there’s the 12-car garage/six car thing.
Umm. Not sure what the issue here is?
Pretty sure you have a 12-car garage and only six cars because – hello! Where’s a mother fucker supposed to put his Christmas tree? And ya lawn mower, tools, work bench, random shit you refuse to throw away because you will “probably need it at some point,” etc.
We have two cars and a 1-car garage. Do you know how many vehicles are parked in that son of a bitch?
Not a damn one.
Tayler and I went riding through our neighborhood looking at Christmas lights the other night.
I’ll give you a second or two to stop gagging.
Anywho, to further set the scene, we live in a terrible neighborhood. The whole place has sidewalks, and kids, and dogs, and there’s a pool, and a playground, and trees. Some of the trees have moss. It’s really hideous. We can’t wait to move.
So, we’re driving around, looking at all of the Christmas lights, listening to Christmas music, and singing. Every now and again, I will hop out of the car to take a picture of a super – ahem – special house. But honestly, I’m on the hunt for something specific.
My obsession started a few weeks back.
Right before Thanksgiving, The Live-in and I were in Lowe’s picking out our Christmas tree. It took the guy a while to find the one we were wanting, so in the meantime, we wandered around right near the trim-a-tree section (ol’ shop talk from back in my BBB days). That’s when Tay noticed the display of laser spot lights that projects LED Christmas bullshit onto your house. He was really gunning hard for one of those bastards but I wasn’t having it, “Absolutely not. Those pieces of shit are for lazy people. Plus, the blue lights fuck with my eyes.”
Was he crazy?! [said in my best Sofia Vergara accent… more like “crah-see”]
Let me stop here and say – I am absolutely not ashamed to admit, “I have turned into my mother.” We look exactly alike, act alike, think alike, and like the same stuff. Hell, I took a video of something the last time we were together, and no shit, couldn’t tell if it was me talking in the background or if it was Momma. Because we are so similar, naturally, I have also inherited her super specific – umm, vision – for Christmas decorating. And this vision right here, probably even more particular because my OCD and anxiety is more prevalent than hers (although, I am medicated… [#prayersforBob #prayersfortheBakers]).
Back to our Lowe’s trip…
Tayler and I parted ways for a bit. When we synced back up, I was on the light aisle looking for old fashioned, over-sized, Christmas lights. I could tell he was hunting for something too, “Whatcha lookin’ for babe?” “Can’t tell you. It’s a surprise.”
A couple of things: 1. I love surprises. Like, love them. But after the Christmas-trap-house strobe light fiasco? Wasn’t really feelin’ surprisey, ya know? 2. I used to work for Lowe’s. And though I never worked in a store, I’ve helped in quite a few. I’m pretty familiar with how they keep their inventory. Tayler, not so much.
I let him flail around for a bit.
“Babe, you sure you don’t want my help.”
“Ugh. Fine. I’ll just show you what I’m looking for.”
He guided me back over to the Christmas tree display. “That,” he pointed. “We’re getting those elves climbing that ladder and two penguins!”
My jaw dropped.
“We are absofuckinglutely not getting inflatables! Have you lost your damn mind?!”
“Yes. We are.”
The two of us argued in the middle of Lowe’s faux Christmas tree forest for no less than 17 minutes. I did everything I could to stop him from junking up our yard with those dammed inflatables. I FaceTimed Momma. I FaceTimed Bubba. I even tried to talk him back into getting the seizure-inducing #clubFtheXmas light. “Nah, I want the penguins. Penguins are Shane’s (his BFF4L who is deployed) favorite animal. I want them for Shane.”
He pulled the Shane card.
Unfortunately, Lowe’s was fresh out of inflatable penguins.
We left with the elves and a Santa.
The following week, I was FaceTiming Mace and we were discussing Christmas decor at #Fultonkingdom. I should have screenshotted the look of disgust on her face when I told her about our front yard. “Inflatables? You guys are that house?” “Yep,” I sighed, “we’re that house.” “Why did you let him get those?!” she laughed. “Because, what my baby wants, my baby gets.”
At first, I was talking shit right along with my sister. But then, I found myself sort’ve lightening up and really embracing my situation.
“Hey, you know what would be really fucking cool? What if we could find an inflatable nativity scene that looks just like the old plastic ones.”
That was the line.
That is what did it.
What set me off.
Y’all know how I get. How I get something in my head, and then, I’m obsessed with it until the mission is complete. Well, this is my mission.
I am obsessed with the old nativity scenes! Not necessarily inflated ones. I mean, I’ve seen some cute inflated nativities. Whatever. But the old school, plastic, faded looking set, that originally came with Jesus unattached to the manger… but then, at some point, Jesus and the manger morphed into one combo-deal piece because homeboy kept getting swiped from front yards and churches? Yeah. That’s the one that gets me goin’.
Ahhhh! Love them!
And I’m so committed to The Live-in on this Fa-la-la-la Fulton House thing now, that I was seriously gonna buy us one of those nativities off the internets a couple of weeks ago. Obviously. Because that’s what you do for the people you love. “You want a penguin inflatable, you say? I’ll be damned! You get Jesus, the Virgin Mother, and if you give me a second, I am sure there’s a rainbow shoved up my ass somewhere too!”
But when I found out they were, like, a million dollars… I figured we could wait until next year. Maybs build up our collection gradually? Grab a camel this year. A wise man next year. Do what everyone else does and use a baby doll for Jesus for a coupla years…
Improvise, ya know?
Anyhow, Tayler eggs on my infatuation.
As we drove through our neighborhood looking at lights, he would shout, “OH! Babe, look! There’s another Jesus!” And I would say, “Gah! That’s a good one!”
P.S.: I mentioned we were listening to Christmas music. We were listening to Mariah’s, “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)”, specifically. I was singing, when suddenly the song changed, “[singing]… baby please come hoo- [singing]… Wha. Wait? What the hell?! Did you turn it!” Live-in smiled at me and said, “Nope.” “What? Just because you don’t know the words to a song we can’t listen to it? Also, why would you not know this song? Do you not know all the words to Mariah Carey’s entire Christmas album?”