The culprit? 

My small, Persian cat, named Gucci Milan, who sleeps between Dave and I every night.  And as she totters over his face in the blackness of night, she leaves a trail of cotton-like fur painting his beard like a web. 

Yeah, he had a face full of pussy last night but I am saddened to say, it wasn’t mine…

It has been a strange and tumultuous time for me.  I had lost a very dear friend of mine to a sudden and tragic illness, changed jobs, dealt with some serious health issues with my 7 y/o son, and throughout all of this, I also came to the realization that people who I believed were my friends, and I mean I really, truly, deeply essentially believed they were my FRIENDS for many years – - - actually turned out to be what I refer to as a facade.  And I’m not talking about just one individual but rather two or three.  Sad.  Very, very sad.   <sniff, sniff> 

But I don’t want to dwell on this.  So, let it be said…  Friends come and go.  This I have learned and I am still finding this to be true as I wander through each passing day. 

It is an age old question:  What is a friend? 

Is it someone who sticks by you through thick and thin?  Someone whom you have known for years, whom you have a lot in common with, share similar interests with?  Someone who likes you only because your kids happen to be great buddies?  Or is it someone who genuinely likes you for who you are?  Someone who likes YOU because of your imperfections, your flawed anatomy and, at best, your blemished personality that shines on most days but even on that rare occasion when you don’t feel like being the most “friendliest” person in the room, they understand that you are not perfect and they still like you…  Is that a friend? 

I ask this only because the other day, I learned that I may be inadvertently alienating myself from some of “my friends“ simply because of a bumper sticker that I recently slapped on my car.   From what I understand, my bumper sticker is so offensive that a few of “my friends” are now pondering whether or not they should disassociate themselves from me.  

My bumper sticker reads, “If you’re going to ride my ass, then at least PULL MY HAIR!”

Offensive to some…YES.  Funny…..HELL YES.  I think so! 

That is why I slapped it on my damn car.  And I wouldn’t have done so if it weren’t for all of the other parents who kept riding my ass during morning drop-offs in the car-pool lane at my kids’ school! 

But if that is criteria for “friendship” then I guess the bar has been raised.  I had no idea. 

A few years back, I watched as my sister lost her partner of 15 years tragically and unexpectedly due to a pulmonary embolism.  I then witnessed, firsthand, the wonder and amazement of true friendship.  My sister had friends who stuck by her and supported her through her darkest moments and then, without hesitation, they remained by her side, with continual encouragement and support and then shared in her joy as she later found a new partner.  What is her secret?   I may never know.  Hell, maybe it’s her damn bumper sticker…..she has a gay pride flag!

Anyway, I still can’t answer the age old question as it is something that I may forever ponder.  But for now, the sticker isn’t coming off as my husband now jokes that it is our “Friend Filter“.  

I laugh and wonder who else I am offending.  People I don’t even know.   In fact, just the other day, some woman in a large black Hummer sped up next to me, gave me the finger, stepped on the gas and then abruptly CUT ME OFF!   BITCH!!!! 

Have no idea why but I am starting to think that it could be a result of the new tire cover that I just bought.  I drive a Jeep Unlimited Rubicon and this is a picture of the back.  Hmmmm……?  

Take it from me, I know.  Nothing good can come out of stringing up a cardboard animal, by its neck, then taking a group of, say 20 – 25 elementary aged children, doping them up on sugar, blind folding them, one-by-hyperactive-one, handing them a large, weighty, over-sized stick and then asking them to swing it (aimlessly….mind you) in the air until they have beaten the shit out of the lifeless, paper-mache clad animal, so that its guts (the candy) can plummet to the ground and the hoard of sucrose stimulated young addicts can rush in and swoop up as much candy as possible.  Not good! 

Again, take it from me, I knooowwwww.  I know from experience in the midst of raising two young children and the numerous birthday parties we have attended year over year….. 

One birthday party, in particular, stands out.  One of which we attended just the other night.  But this one, however, frightened me more than usual.  Maybe this was because I simply hadn’t enjoyed that glass of wine that I typically partake of before heading off to a 5 year olds birthday party.  Or, maybe it was because I am getting ready to start my period in a few days and from the moment we entered the “birthday party room“, when my eyes caught sight of the dreaded Piñata, I was pissed off!  Whatever it was, the mood was set. 

The party proceeded.  The kids were having a great time.  They ate candy.  They played games.  They ate more candy.  They chomped down some pizza.  They gobbled up more candy.  They wolfed down some donuts, inhaled some birthday cake oh and…….. oh yeah, um, did I mention, they devoured more candy?!!! 

It was fucking GREAT!!!!   My kids were having an excellent time!!! 

Then it started……through the eardrum piercing screams of gleeful, spastic children, I heard the words, “Time for the Piñata!”   NOOOOO!!!!!!!!  

Somehow, my husband got recruited into helping manage the piñata line and insure that each of the thirty thousand kids who were now at the party (probably because they had sniffed out all of the sugar from miles away, damn vultures) had at least one whack at the piñata.  NOT GOOD!!!! I stood in silent aggravation on the sidelines as I watched my husband frantically line the kids up, one by one, hoping to hell one of them did not bash another while errantly swinging.  At one point, I even heard one of the children ‘mouth off’, arguing with my husband, stating that he had not yet had a turn, even though I had watched the little bastard cut in line and take a WHACK at the piñata several times earlier!  

In the meantime, apparently one of the children thought I was with the clown brigade and knew a thing or two about making balloon animals as I watched her saunter out of line and make a bee line over to me to ask if I could ”fix” her pink balloon “poodle” (that was now untwisting and losing its shape)?  I didn’t have the heart to tell her, “No” or that I was NOT hired by the birthday boys’ parents as part of the clown brigade and; therefore, shatter any dreams of pink balloon poodles she might know.  So, I grabbed the latex creature and happily told her, “YES, let’s fix that right up!”  I clumsily twisted, curled and bent that son-of-a-bitch with a sickening feeling that at any moment, Fifi, the pink balloon would POP, but thankfully she didn’t.  And as a result, I handed back a beautiful creation of a mangled, deformed, alien like creature back to the little girl.  She was thrilled.  And with a smile on her face that stretched ear to ear, the pig-tailed girl hopped back into the piñata line and grinned at me (we were now BFF’s).  

Ten minutes later, after taking her WHACK at the candy stuffed box, she bounded over to me and barked, “Before YOU leave, I will need you to ALSO make me a flower and a hat!!!!” 

What the fuck?!!!  

So much for BFF’s, that little girl turned me into her balloon bitch!  Gotta love those piñatas.  They can turn your children into monsters!  I quietly agreed to make further balloon creations for this monstrous child in hopes of sneaking out of the party undetected of which I later did….

Oh yeah, and at the conclusion of the party, as my husband, my kids and I nonchalantly said our goodbyes and snuck out, did I mention that they each received a gift bag full of sweet, delicious candy?!