What The Future Holds

Yesterday would have been my eight year anniversary to my husband (had the punk ass not left). I figured there was no sense in letting the occasion go by uncelebrated so I took some of the money I had made selling Dick's shit and purchased a nice dress, I dolled myself up, and took myself out.

I ended up at my favorite steakhouse where I enjoyed steak and coconut shrimp, had one too many pina coladas, flirted tirelessly with the waiter, met a man named Philipe, plotted out my husband's death, paid Philipe his deposit for carrying out my death request, enjoyed a Mississippi mud pie, gave the waiter my number, and called a cab to take me back home.

Okay, so I was kidding about the whole Dick death plot (or was I)?

I spent the rest of the night thinking of the eight years I wasted on Dick's ass -- the things I could have done, should have done, and could have done without. Trying to find a silver lining in all that bullshit began to give me a headache (although it could have come from the pina coladas). I decided it was time to start fresh.

I will be enrolling myself into E.C.P.I. (evil & corrupt people institute) to sharpen my skills. Once I've completed the necessary courses, I shall have the proper ability to make Dick's life a living hell after which, the kids and I will be relocating to an undisclosed location.

Oh, the future looks so bright.

Decorated Dick

Dick picked the kids up for the weekend last night. All was fine until I put their bags in his truck. I noticed all his clothes and even his suitcase were in there as well. He had told me that he was staying at his parent's house on the river (which he claims to have done when he left before). I asked why were all his things still in the truck and he just laughed. I asked where he was taking the kids and he told me not to worry about it.

Oh no he didn't.

Needless to say, I wasn't going to let him leave without knowing where my kids were going. Dick ended up calling the cops and saying I was imprisoning him (he's such a pussy). The cops show up, get both sides of the story, tell me they believe his story of taking them to the river, and tell me how to conduct a welfare check on my kids if something didn't seem right. I kissed my children and off they went.

After Dick's truck was out of sight, the cop asked if I wanted to talk. Not knowing what to say, I just shrugged my shoulders. He motioned me to my porch steps where I took a seat. He asked how long I had been married, how long we've been having problems, among other bullshit. Still not realizing what was going on, I answered his questions. He goes on to state that good men are hard to find these days. He puts his hand on my thigh and tells me it's even harder for a woman with kids to find a decent man and as he inches his hand up, he states that there are some out there.

At this point, the cop is smiling like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. I push his hand away and asked him what the hell was his problem? I told him it took me forever to get rid of one dick, what makes him think I want another? I then politely asked him to get the hell off my property before I have to shove his badge so far up his ass that he wouldn't be able to sit for a week. I then went inside, locked the door, grabbed a beer, and began my chick-flick-athon.

Moral of the story: A man with a badge is just a dick with decorations.

Neighborhood Crime Bitch

My neighborhood is usually quiet (with the exception of the bitch brigade a.k.a. the other mothers) so I was disturbed to learn we've been having some crime lately. Cars have been broken into and mailboxes have been vandalized. After having my own mailbox smashed twice, I figured it was time to do something. I've never been one to sit back and just take it.

I took a nice long nap yesterday, preparing for my all-nighter. I put the kids to bed, donned my neighborhood crime bitch attire (all black obviously), and hid myself behind some bushes and waited. My plan was flawed as I had absolutely nothing to do but sit and watch, so I was bored as hell. About 12:30 in the morning, I spotted three teenage punks sneaking down the streets. Sure enough, they were pushing over mailboxes again. I dialed 911 and waited. Just as they were about to approach my box, I jumped out of the bushes and said if you value your balls, I'd rethink touching that mailbox.

Stunned, they turned to look at me and just as they were about to run, the police car was pulling in. Being as they were underage, I'm sure they were just taken back to their parents. Hopefully this will end the crime spree and if not, I'll be armed with a paintball gun next time. What is it with kids these days?