Tan lines, Totem Poles and Douche Bags

Well, I've been on my "vacation" for approximately 10 days. Actually, it's been 11 days and all I can say is Florida is not my favorite state in the summer months. It is hot, wet and sticky. My face has maintained the shine of a new car and I think may have caused several accidents on I-95. Or I-10. Because I've been on both highways, for extended amounts of time. 8 hours of time to be exact.

Oh, but you've only been on vacation for 10 days? You've driven that much?

Oh, honey. I've driven that much. We drove 8 hours to Alabama the second day I arrived in Florida. Then three days later we drove another 8 hours back. And then (no and then!) we drove 8 more hours south to the Florida Keys. So yes, I've done that much driving! Ugh.

But all that isn't what I'm going to write about. I'm first going to apologize. I complained a little too much about my mother-in-law. She made suggestions to me that, at the time, I thought were ridiculous. But now that I'm here, I get it. Ok, I didn't need my make-up. Putting on make-up is not something I want to do after stepping out of the shower and immediately sweating again. It takes everything in me to break out the mascara. And the earrings. Ok. So what, I didn't need all the earrings I brought. I brought 6 pairs which I widdled down from the 10 I wanted to bring. I've worn 2 pairs the whole 11 days I've been here.

That brings the score to MIL 2 - Me 0.

But I did bring my body wash. And my lotion. That I was not budging on. I dug my heels in and refused to give in to her tyrannical (and completely rational) demands. And what does she say when I tell her?

"Oh, that smells amazing! Nice choice."

*Sigh* MIL 3 - Me a total zero.

So she was right. As always. I don't know why I have to fight her all the time. She's almost always right. (Like how i slid that almost in there? Because I refuse to give in 100%!)

And here's another reason why my mother-in-law is amazing. She handles my kids like they are perfect little angels. Because with Grammie, they are. They listen to her. They do as their told. When they want something, it's "Grammie, can I have..." They look at me like I'm no one special now. I am knocked down the totem pole not just one notch, but it feels like I've been tossed to the bottom.  And after all the complaining that I do about them, you'd think I'd love losing out on the responsibility. But no, it hurts. Not much. But I imagine it feels like a lifer from prison who is finally let out. What do I do with all this freedom? I don't know. The only thing I want is to have my clingy, needy life suckers back on me.

And speaking of those needy little life suckers, have you tried to put sunscreen on wiggly kids who refuse to sit still? It takes about 30 minutes to do both of them. And collectively they aren't that big but fighting them to stand still long enough so I can cover their delicate skin is torture. This is the one job Grammie hasn't done. Maybe there's a reason for that. Hmm...  Anyway, after 30 minutes of fighting with them, I have about 2 minutes to cover myself before we are out the door in the boat or on the beach. Which I do a pretty good job of doing. But my friends please, remember to put the lotion UNDER your bathing suit strap and not just up to. Because the thin line of sunburn skin right at the bra strap is EXTREMELY uncomfortable. That aside, because of my mixed and questionable heritage (am I Spanish or Mexican? Is it really a difference? Why is this an ongoing argument in my family? I don't know...) I am able to tan pretty easily.

This was me before I left for Florida:

By the way, I do have arms, legs, hands etc. I was just being lazy with the drawing. No, the truth is I just can't draw and the thought of drawing the extremities scared the crap out of me.

Here is me after 11 days in Florida:

So, what ever my genetic makeup, needless to say I tan very easily. John has made fun of me repeatedly because he's red as a lobster and he used the kid's SPF coverage. I look like a local, he said. People will treat me differently here in Key West, he said. I laughed at him. But he was right. I no longer look like a tourist so the locals are nicer to me. Maybe I should rent a scooter while down here so I could fit in better, ride around in a bikini top and cut off jean shorts, swerving in and out of traffic like an asshole all because I'm a local and I have special rights to drive like a jackass.

And speaking of jackasses, I met a winner a few days ago. I'm talking the biggest jackass of all jackass asshole douche bags. And I should feel bad for saying this about the guy because he used to be a high school friend of John's but this guy is a douche bag. The instant I met him, I didn't like him. The way he looked at me made me want to kick him in his steriod strunken penis. He gave me that look that meant "I'm better then you because you do not reach my weight requirements." When I first met him, ok, fine. I let it go. He was in amazing shape. (I think I threw up a little in my mouth even typing that) He was a lawyer. He had owned a big house. He owned a big fancy boat to go fishing on the weekends. Maybe he was better then me. But I was ok with that. He got what's important to him. I've got what's important to me. If he wanted to think he's better, let him, no skin off my back. But then his wife joined him. And his wife had the same attitude and she started dismissing me and everything I said, I wanted to rip her hair out. I'm sure that would have put off an amazing impression with my in-laws. Wifey would sit down and purposely put her back to me. Barely said two words to me--and I'm not exaggerating. Ok, fine. Whatever. I don't know her, but the bitchy side of me started taking over. If her husband was so concerned with fitness and weight, he should take a good hard look at his wife because her gut was twice the size of mine. I wear clothes that fit me. She was wearing clothes that would fit a 12 year old.

But the one part of the whole thing that pissed me off the most was that this guy, who made these plans to meet with John because they were such good friends in high school, barely said words to John. Practically ignored him too. John--who is a big guy, but really no bigger then he was in high school--had his feelings hurt. And understandably so. And the bullshit kicker of it all was that we were going to have to spend the whole next day with these douche bags. Grrr...

I'm not going to give you a run down of what happened the next day. I'll give you the trunkated version. Mr. Douche Bag was an even bigger douche bag. Made a comment to me "At least your kids are skinny" then looked me up and down and walked away. Mrs. Douche Bag still didn't talk to me. She probably still believe she was better then me because she had a job and worked long hours and let someone else raise her hellion child, while I was just a lowly stay at home mom who sits on her ass all day and watches television. Well, Mrs. Douche Bag, fuck you. Instead of letting your mother and mother-in-law raise your son, why don't you put in some of the work and realize for two seconds how difficult it is being a mom. Because you obviously have no idea. And maybe when your child is screaming his head off at the beach or at the pool and jumps into the water or splashes after you asked him several times not to, he'll actually listen to you. And maybe, just maybe, Mr. Douche Bag can help you with the parenting instead of telling everyone around him that his child his the worst behaved child in the world yet refuses to do anything about it.

Oh yea... Mr. Douche Bag? You are better then me. You are so much better at being a pompous ego-stricken douche bag then I, or my husband will ever be. You win in that department.

Oh, and for the record: Mr. Douche Bag is NOT a lawyer--never even got accepted into law school because of his felony record but just lets people believe that he is a lawyer (lesson learned--don't trust everything you read on Facebook). Mr. Douche Bag does own a big house, but I guess only because big houses go for pretty cheap in the Orlando area. As for the boat? Nope. Not even close. He mooches off other people so he could spend his weekends away from his family. Something else Mr. Douche Bag doesn't do... take care of his wife. Maybe if he did, she wouldn't have spilled the beans on all his bullshit to my mother-in-law. Mrs. Douche Bag loved my mother-in-law, followed her around like a puppy dog. John said that Mrs. Douche Bag was threaten by me. I have the well-behaved kids. I have the husband who listens to, talks to and takes care of me. And of course John said I'm hotter then her, which I'm going to take as stone cold fact as to the real reason why she was threatened.  I mean, come on, who wouldn't be threatened by this?:

That was my first real brush with weight discrimination. John and I are not obese, we are just holding onto some extra pounds that we've both become very comfortable with. Someday those pounds will be gone but I refuse to lose weight for assholes like this. If you refuse to get to know me because of my weight then I say, fuck you. I have met and loved so many people who weren't the "ideal" weight. Why go through life ignoring all those amazing people? *shakes head in sadness and disgust*

Here's a parting picture I'd like to leave you all with. If you have traveled to or are from Florida, maybe you know what conch fritters are. They are the most delicious things in the world. I told everyone all I wanted for my birthday was conch fritters and I got them much to my happiness (with the most amazing yellowtail in the world but that's beside the point).  I was having a discussion about what exactly conch fritters were made out of since all I knew about conchs were the shells. And I imagined the fritters aren't made with the shells... right? Well, yesterday I found out exactly what a real, live conch looks like:

The nice lady who gave us the tour told us it was a "queen" conch because of the healthy pink color inside. *cough cough* And then the fleshy conch slithered out. How did she say it, "The long fleshy muscle". *cough cough cough* Can I tell you how difficult it was for me to stay clean and appropriate with my children around. It looks like...well.... do I really need to say what it looks like?  And I ate that. I ate that long fleshy muscle. And it was good. So, so good.