I HAVE A LICENSE TO CARRY A MEGAPHONE- AND I’M NOT AFRAID TO USE IT!

Oh no they didn’t! Did they really give me a megaphone as I walked into my son’s high school football game? I have the stage now! This is exactly what I need- an audience! Just in case anyone has ever had a hard time hearing me, the problem has been solved. Unfortunately- I really don’t know much about football, and the truth is, the only football team that I follow is the one that my son plays on. I don’t even know the rules, but I’m not a complete idiot- I clap when our side claps, and now, thanks to my shiny new megaphone, I shout out whatever the guy in front of me is shouting- “That’s a live ball, Ref! Are you blind? That was holding, you dumb-ass!” Or on the lighter side when he screamed something, I just grabbed my megaphone and shouted, “Yeah!” to back up what he was saying.

I do however know that once I can see one of our guys has the ball, (I mean let’s face it- it takes me half the play to see where the hell the ball is)  I can jump up and cheer for us to run, run, run! I look downright mean in this photo, but truthfully, our team was on top of it this evening and did very well. There were no real problems. I just played around with my new toy.

The real problem is going to happen when basketball season starts. I don’t know all the rules in basketball either, but I do have a lot more opinions and emotions when he plays basketball. I get mad at everyone in the room, I hate everyone who isn’t my son’s biggest fan and I find it very hard to control myself in there and I’m fairly certain that on a recent  trip with my husband and aquaintances, I called certain people involved douchbags- or something quite similar over drinks- several, many drinks. My bad 😦 The only way I’ve ever been able to keep my shit together is knowing that my son would never forgive me for causing such a scene at his game- knowing in all truth that most of the people I’m screaming at in basketball aren’t paying any attention to me and can’t hear me…UNTIL NOW. See you at the basketball games, you f*#&^ers!

Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂

NASHVILLE’S FINEST

Catching up on my ‘bethenny’ before I go watch my Barrelassin’ son play some football! By the way, can I just say first that it makes me a little crazy to type “bethenny” without a capital B. I’ve struggled with it more than once and usually go with the capital B to keep my head from exploding. That being said- I’m working on the lowercase b since that’s the way it’s written in the title of the show.

Now that I’ve got that off my chest, a lady on the show during the Frankel-y speaking segment of the show was talking about her clip on ponytail coming off in a guys hands while dancing at the club, and it reminded me of a situation I had with my Barrelassin’ sister and my Barrelassin’ bestie!

Let me set the scene for you- my sister was supposed to be driving from Tennessee to New York to visit her then boyfriend. She packed up her bags and headed down the road. An unfortunate sequence of events lead her to throw her hands up and give up on her trip before she even got out of the county. I suppose now I should be calling it fortunate, because it turned into a really good time for us.

I think my Barrelassin’ Momma was already irritated that my sister was going to drive that far away from home by herself and had already let her have a good piece of her mind before she left, I think she was irritated by leaving later than she had originally planned, and then to beat it all- she was within miles of the interstate when a dump truck drove by her and flung a rock into her windshield, cracking it in the corner. This sent my sister into a whirl. She called me at work crying, because her entire day was essentially going to hell. She was talking so fast and going off, which was completely  unlike her. She exclaimed, “To hell with this! I’m not going now! I don’t even wanna drive that far anymore, but I’m by-hell going somewhere. I have time off work and I’m getting the hell out  of this town!” I listened to her rant and then introduced a solution. “Sooooo, why not wait until me and Barrelassin’ Amy get finished working, which won’t be long, and let’s drive to Nashville, TN. It’s only a few hours from home, it’s an hour earlier there and….the bars are open until three a.m.” She was immediately in!

Somehow, Barrelassin’ Amy and me ended up throwing back a few before time to leave and now Barrelassin’ sister was driving us to Nashville. We checked into out hotel, changed clothes, grabbed a cab and hit the town wide open! On our first stop, we were sitting at a table drinking, laughing,and listening to the music. We weren’t in a place with an actual dance floor but there was a cute, older couple dancing in front of our table. He was holding her, swaying her around- we were thinking what a cute couple.

It was around that time that the man decided to give this lady a whirl and “dip” her. In my mind, this all seemed to happen in slow motion- as did the beer that sprayed out of my mouth once I saw this lady get dipped by this man, facing directly toward us and making eye contact while giving us a huge smile, have her wig fall off of her head and onto the floor. Our first reaction was laughter, but in a situation like that- you have to collect your thoughts and remind yourself that this woman has to wear a wig. We instantly felt sorry for her, after all, she probably has cancer and she and her husband are having a wonderful time twirling around the place.

It wasn’t long before we wondered where in the hell her husband went and how she ended up sitting at our table. After we helped her make sure her wig was on straight and not to worry, people probably never even noticed, one of us asked her where her why her husband was hanging out with the rest of the bar and not sitting with her. It was then that she explained to us that he wasn’t her husband, she didn’t even know that man and he had pretty much made his last appearance when her wig hit the floor. She then proceeded to inform us, without any prodding from us, that she doesn’t have cancer or anything- she just likes to get gussied up on the weekends with her wig and lipstick and hit the town. And then, and only then,were we allowed to laugh uncontrollably. Here we were feeling terrible for this woman, having cancer and her husband now ignoring her and now the joke was on us.

If you’ve never been to Nashville, Tn and saw a wig fall off a woman’s head while being slung around dancing- I strongly suggest you try it. I’m sure it happens all the time. I see something equally as funny every time I go!

Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂

ANDY COHEN SMELLS OPRAH, YOU’RE WELCOME, ANDY! LOVE,TENNESSEE


Yay! It took me a long time to find this on Youtbe. That is actually me, the caller from Tennessee, calling in to talk to Oprah. Yes- little ole Barrelassin me talking to Oprah Winfrey! I was a wreck! But I loved it. I thought I would die. And once I was on the phone with her- all of my planning backfired on me, because once Oprah speaks to you directly, all train of thought goes out the window and the tears show up.

This was definitely one of the highlights of my life. Is that bad? Either way- meeting Oprah in some way has always been on my…well, bucket-list if you’d call it that, and this is probably as close as I’ll ever get, and that’s okay. I’ll take it! It has inspired me to make a list of all the things I want to accomplish once I’m forty, which is coming right up in January! So, here’s to hoping I accomplish them all in 2014 and I’ll get to work on that list! The year of the big 4-0!
Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂

"GOD, WHY DON’T KIDS COME WITH AN INSTRUCTION MANUAL?"

Finally got around to watching ‘Bethenny’ on DVR today. I love that Jenni Pulos has a rap about poo, but that was just one of the many things the show brought to the forefront of my mind today. Watching, it seemed like I had an opinion on just about EVERYTHING!

First, go, Bethenny for calling out the doctor making comments on your usage of Botox. I don’t feel like Botox is something I could do, but that doesn’t mean I never will. Of course I will need to make a lot more money to afford such luxuries, but I’m currently on the fence about the Botox usage, so it’s okay that I’m too poor to try it out.

Next- I apparently missed the recent story in the news about the family having the police called to Applebee’s because they had rowdy children. Get the hell over it. I have seen some mean ass, rotten children, and I have been annoyed by them at times, but when I see this, I  mostly feel sorry for the parents. No doubt because I’ve been there, done that! I understand what the majority of those parents are feeling. Utter humiliation! And everyone doesn’t give birth to perfect and laid back children. There are a lot of different factors that make up a rowdy child, and most of the time, it’s not bad parenting. I can’t give you scientific numbers, but my expertise is in rotten-ass children. Three of them to be exact.

I know when my first son was two years old I thought I’d never make it out alive. Taking off through the stores, going wild, me chasing after him, crying and screaming at the top of his lungs if I made him stay in the buggy- you name it. And to be perfectly honest, I was terrified. I was humiliated, but had no idea how I was expected to react. I knew I was going to try to catch him and try to calm him, but I was also concerned about the public around me and what the hell they must be thinking. I assumed if I swatted his bottom, someone would either accuse me of abuse or at the very least make evil comments to me. When, in hindsight, most people were probably wondering why in the hell I didn’t beat his ass or at least be more stern when scolding him.

I remember thinking when someone told me there was no such thing as the terrible twos and it would get worse when he was three, this was where I knew better, because it couldn’t possibly get any worse. Boy was I ever wrong! It seemed like he reached terrible twos x ten the very day he turned three.

The second son came along and when he was two, that gave me a four year old and a two year old to chase. And the second one was way more high-strung! He was literally “Code Adam” and “Code Red” in two different stores in the same week. If you’re not familiar with the codes- those are codes for a lost child and they put the entire store on lock down, with an employee at every exit so that no one can exit the store with the child. I feel the need to mention that he was found under a clothes rack in one instance and in the second…well, let’s just say I was more than a little embarrassed when I turned a corner frantically searching for my son and saw him laughing hysterically and running, darting in and out of clothes racks, from side to side…with store employees chasing behind him. He was a fast little booger. No. That wasn’t exhausting or humiliating. No. Not at all. And let’s not forget, I still had the shopping to do after these dreadful workouts.

 The fact was that I simply could not chase two children at one time if they were going in different directions. I had to make a choice every ten seconds and usually  tried to grab whoever was closest or in the most danger of getting taken by a stranger- but at the same time, their antics pretty much made them kidnapper proof since kidnappers don’t want children who aren’t afraid of anything and would have no problem kicking them in the balls just for fun. It wasn’t quite over, either. That same week, my same loving, adorable two year old who had coded two stores that week, also ate Mothballs and had to sit at the local Fire Department for a while throwing up in a pan. Before you judge me- I didn’t leave the Mothballs where my children could easily reach them. No, I did worse. When he discovered a Mothball under a couch cushion that I had overlooked after having the furniture stored while in the process of moving and actually brought it to me and showed it to me saying,” Look, Mommy, I have a Dinosaur Egg ” I nodded my head sweetly to him responding with, “yes, very cool, sweetie!” as I talked to a visitor knowing that he did, in fact, have Dinosaur Egg candy. It wasn’t until he walked back over to us moments later with pieces of it broken up and running down his chin in his drool with a disgusted look on his face, that I could smell it and instantly knew what had happened. Visit over! The Fire Department was very close by, thank GOD! This same child that week- and when I say “that week” I mean in five days time- also took a trip to the Emergency Room to get five staples in the back of his head after taking advantage of the fact that I had stepped outside to hold the flashlight for their father who was working on the car and decided to try and turn a flip on on the clothes rod in the closet and fell and hit his head on the corner of a box. That was a really rough week, but he’s seventeen now and has shown no signs of slowing down. The difference is- I’ve grown accustomed to it and I’m much calmer when he injures himself, because I always expect it.

The point is- it truly does take a village to raise one child, so the next time you see a woman with spit up or already chewed up food on her clothes, leaving her purse in the buggy in order to chase her rotten ass kids in different directions…give her the sympathy smile and nod to let her know she’s not a horrible mother and it would be perfectly acceptable to sit down in the floor and cry if she needs to. And pray for their safe return home and that she is able to at least get hamburger meat and Macaroni in the buggy before giving up and going home.

By the way- by the time my third child came along, a beautiful daughter, I no longer gave two shits what other people in the store were thinking. I didn’t care if I looked like a crazy woman. I had to catch those damn kids no matter what other people thought and I loved their rotten asses.

Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂

NENE LEAKES- WHAT NENE WANTS- NENE GETS

NeNe: What do I do, Mr. Trump?
Trump: Does he have money?
NeNe: Well, yes.
Trump: But you have more?
NeNe: Um…yes.

Greg: I know a guy. We can get counseling and get our car washed at the same time.
NeNe: Uh-hahaha. I know a guy, too. We’re getting a pre-nup or you’re fired. BLOOP!

STEPHEN KING HAS NOTHING ON ME!

So I didn’t sleep well last night due to my itchy, watery eyes, nose, and throat. I eventually had to take the Benadryl this morning, which lead to several moments of unconsciousness and small amounts of drool on my chin. Once I came to and collected myself, realizing of course I hadn’t actually accomplished anything to brag about today, I made my way to the bathroom, splashed some water on my face and scratched my ear with a Q-Tip while my four pound Chihuahua, Little George, tried talking to me in only a way that I can understand.

“What’s that, George? You wanna go outside-side? No? You want a treat-treat? Still no?” And yes, George regularly goes outside-side, gets treat-treats (which is spelled in front of him if he’s already had one too many) and goes for ride-rides. This is the way we have been speaking to George since he was born and it seems to keep clear lines of communication open between us and George.

Anyway- George continued to speak in George talk, scratch and claw at my feet and legs. I couldn’t figure out what he wanted, but he only acts like this when he’s trying desperately to tell me something. I have learned over the years to listen to him. When I couldn’t get it right, I recalled “thinking” I heard a noise when I was digging in my ear with that Q-Tip. That’s it! I heard a noise and George is trying to tell me something! There’s clearly a serial killer hiding somewhere in the house!

Then I got a phone call, from what appeared to be a telemarketer’s number. I wasn’t ready to go get killed yet so I took the call. I still have no idea what company the man said he was calling from, even after having him repeat it twice, I only understood he wanted to know if I was interested in the program. He wasn’t foreign, he was speaking English, he just didn’t sound very professional.

Now I’m starting to put two an two together, or was it one and one? Anyhoo- it must be a fake call from the killer. Naturally he had help and was calling me from outside somewhere, and since there’s no cell service out there, he must have tapped into a phone line, made it look like an 888 number, and wanted to know if I needed an alarm system, to see if I had one.  I didn’t hear him say that, but I concluded that that must be what he had said.

After all, what else could that noise have been and what else could George be trying to tell me? I had comfort in knowing that my husband and children were on their way home, but decided I couldn’t leave the kitchen since the killer had probably hidden somewhere in the rest of the house while I was cleaning my ears in the bathroom.

So I did what any normal gal would do- I sent my husband a text and told him to hurry home, George was trying to tell me something, I heard a noise and I was certain it was a serial killer already in the house, please bring McDonalds in case I live because I don’t feel like cooking, and I kept my ass in the kitchen on the phone with my friends until my family arrived with my Big Mac.

All of this and it wasn’t even dark yet! It’s exhausting living in my head once the wheels start spinning. I’ll tell ya-Stephen King has nothing on me. Once I hear the first noise I should just start writing it all down, and let the money pour in.

Enjoy, Barrelassers 🙂