I haven’t memorized a number in years. Staring at the ceiling as if one’ll slowly, like a feather, fall into my hands I dialed the only one I knew.
Dad? I need some help.
After confessing my whereabouts, he came but would not speak. In the car, words were replaced with heavy sighs while I attempted to replay the nights events in my polluted brain.
How did I get there?
…Where are we going?
He pulled into a treatment center, the same one I’d made repetitive false promises about.
“You asked for help. Go, or I will tell your mother.”
This was written in response to: Friday Fictioneers. The objective is to challenge yourself to write a 100 word (or less) story that is influenced by a single photo. To read other submissions written for this photo, or to submit your own: click HERE.
Perhaps this is not as exciting for you, as it is for me…
Public bathrooms are scary places, yeah? Every single time I use one, regardless if there are three stalls or 32 stalls, I always seem to choose the one, then two, sometimes even three that have something wrong with them. Usually I’ll have to dip out real quick after a lack of flushing going on, or worse there is piss sprayed all over the seat.
We are ladies, right? Can we fucking act like it? I have to enter and immediately exit several times before finding one I find acceptable and that’s a problem. If you’re going to hover, clean up after your, omg-I-can’t-sit-down, prissy ass.
It drives my husband crazy, but every single time we get something new I have to open it. I don’t know if it’s an OCD thing, I’m sure it’s not medically related at all, purely selfish actually. Bags of chips, cereal, ice cream, toothpaste, dryer sheets. I do not care, at all, if the previous one is not gone. I want to use, more specifically, open the new one… it’s fresh.
Every single time I drink vodka I make terrible decisions. Every single time Hanson gets played, especially without my own doing, I jump around and make sure every knows how great they are – if you didn’t know, they have the best Christmas album. Every single time it’s pointed out that I am left handed or someone has a relative also named, Jenni, I respond with the same answer: We’re everywhere. Every single time I’m around a baby I want one, until I get home and remember how easy my life currently is with one ten-year-old… and I’m late, every single time.
I’ve reached a point in my life where I’m capable of shaking my head and giving a hard fuck that, but it took a long time. Growing up, I was the one who tried to keep the peace, no waves allowed. Other people’s happiness was more important than my own, and while that’s a lovely thought and super nice of me, it’s not something I would do over again.
I’ve realized that my own peace of mind has nothing to do with what others say, do, or think. Your actions actually have nothing to do with me personally because…wait for it…the world doesn’t revolve around Jenni Boggs. I know, it’s so weird. Come to think of it though, I became a more well-rounded, content human being after that realization. Far from innocent, I’ve dished out some deal breakers and with that, fallen victim to karma.
I mean, if someone tells you they own a house and you show up to a trailer in a trailer park…
If you live in a trailer park – by all means, enjoy that but don’t go around telling people you own a house. Exaggeration is one thing, a small level of truth stretching I can appreciate, I’m a sucker for a good story. As long as it’s harmless, by all means…entertain me.
Deception is not included.
I actually used to lie a pretty decent amount. I’m not proud of it, but I was taught that lies are never forever, they’re tiny sprinkles of instant gratification that will come back to bite ‘cha right in the ass. Before you know it, or right when you think you got away with it: Bam! I promise you, telling the truth is always 1,632,953x easier – and for most traditional folks, misleading of any kind is frowned upon.
Domestic Shitty-ness, another deal breaker. There is no way to know what goes on behind closed doors of anyone’s home. I’m sure there are women, and men, who are in crap relationships all around you who need to decide at what point it falls into their own personal deal breaker spectrum.
Don’t judge them for it, too loose of judgement is also a deal breaker.
Being rude to your waitress? Bye. I have zero time for someone who is, for no good reason, impolite to a server.
This can be extended to retail workers, customer service workers, and anyone else who is attempting to assist someone in any way, shape or form to pay their bills. I promise they don’t want any interaction to become awkward or hasty – quite the opposite actually. It’s way easier when everyone involved ends up happy. If you’re feeling bitchy, or like an asshole make a point to not take your shitty day out on someone who is at work.
We just celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary. I hope every married person feels the same when I say, my wedding day was the best. Obviously it’s who helped make everything happen, who showed up to watch me forget my vows and who danced the night away – but most of all I got to marry Brandin Boggs, and there was a chocolate fountain.
Marriage isn’t easy. You know this, because at least two of those picture-quotes zip through your newsfeed on Facebook daily. It’s not surprising that cohabiting, co-parenting, co-budgeting, co-everything is hard. Sometimes it actually sucks.
This one time, in the midst of a bickerfest, I told Brandin that he makes me more angry than anyone else, I might have thrown the word ever in there but I hope I didn’t. As soon as the words flew past my lips I knew they were hefty, not only did they actually feel like there was weight attached, I saw Brandin’s face drop. After going through the motions of justifying the mean words I actually decided that it wasn’t really all that crazy.
Please know that am not completely unreasonable and I’m aware of this thing called time and place and shouting it out while having a disagreement was probably not appropriate.
I’m terrible at math, and this isn’t even going to make any sense but let me pull some numbers out of my ass real quick. The amount of time I spend with Brandin is 98.34% more than I spend with any other human. So, in this totally illogical math/emotion problem he would also make me happier than anyone else. It all comes down to comfort. I can be a bitch and he can be an asshole, we know this.
We probably should have mentioned something about that in our vows, I could have remembered those.
I promise to always apologize after saying wild shit.
I wrote and really laid out our uncommon love story a while back if you’re interested in finding out more, if not, just know that we have history that backs much further than the eight years I’ve called Wisconsin home. We’re that couple that made a pact back in the day, when we thought 26 was so old and if we weren’t married by then well, shit, we better just marry each other.
Brandin is my personal chef and driver. An occasional babysitter… like, he babysits me after too many adult beverages. We stay up late listening to rap music while playing scrabble… because we’re confused 30-somethings. This one time, before confronting me with something potentially relationship-changing, he bought me a piece of cheesecake…just so I’d know he still loves me.
We have mastered a few looks, good and bad, that the other can read without saying a word. We grocery shop together, cook together, clean together, and want-to-go-home-as soon-as-we’re-out together. He’s logical, sometimes to the extreme and I can be quite the opposite – it’s a nice balance.
We disagree, we raise our voices, we say things that we shouldn’t. Parenting is not always eye-to-eye, and sometimes we annoy the shit out of each other… but at the end of the day, we always have each others backs and we love each other way more.
For some reason, when I attempted to come up with a topic to write about for the letter A, I could not stop singing the state song we all learned in elementary school.
Aaaaaaalabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas…
If I had to choose one thing to take away from public schooling – that’d be it. I don’t know, maybe you didn’t get the pleasure of that education and in turn probably can’t recite every state in America in alphabetical order.
Procrastination is a real problem though, I thought I’d have at least a handful of posts ready to go for this A to Z challenge and even a theme. Yep, got super ambitious for a quick second, talked real hard about not stressing out and really utilizing my time to network with other writers. I had a few ideas mapped out, one solid bit that I was sure was the one, but here we are at 11:30pm on April 1st writing out the post for the letter A. How about, A Mess? Or, Awesome, Who Was I Kidding?
Anyway, I saw a bumper sticker the other day; I love bumper stickers.
This is not the one I saw, but I do like it and it gets my story going. Sit tight.
I’ve always been a fan of folks who like to proclaim that their child can beat up my honor role student. Before I had a drivers license, I had plans to get me one of those. If someone is willing to slap a sticker donning a statement of sorts, they must feel pretty confident in what they’re driving around advertising, yeah? From political affiliations to sports teams, people who love their wiener dogs and Hello Kitty – I’ve never really been offended by someone’s stupid sticker on their car before. Seems silly, but it happened.
It was an obnoxiously large, navy blue Ford truck with more than one statement on its bumper. The first one that caught my eye was: Abort Planned Parenthood. Okay. I think that’s shitty but I’m not offended. Next, was this guys free ticket into heaven, it simply said: God is Good, with a silly little smiley face. Again, doesn’t really do much for me, but the third one made my eyes get all wide and before I knew it, I’d rapidly placed judgement on this man in the giant truck. This guy is an asshole.
“Celebrate Diversity – Marry Someone of the Opposite Gender.”
Whoa. I feel like I need to talk this out. Where did he get this? How many people have this sticker on their vehicles, displaying their obvious lack of acceptance? This guy probably had a solid two minutes while trying to get the sticker off the backside. He could have decided against it and went back to trolling the gays (probably his words, not mine) in cyberspace instead of driving around town making everyone hate him. That’s what I imagine this person does with their time, cracks open cans of Budweiser in front of his computer while bitching that Jack and John are allowed to get married.
I might be analytical to a fault but can we just acknowledge, real quick, that this guy has to have a family member (or seven) who think it’s just as wild? I can hear the whispers at family functions:
Rick is here, have you seen what’s on the back of his truck? NO? Go look.
Without thought, I sped up to pass him. Clearly I wanted to get a good look at this holier-than-thou, God fearing man. He was everything I thought he was going to be, I feel like these people have a certain look – maybe it’s just anger. They are so mad that Jack and John love each other, maybe even want to raise some kids and DAMN IT – that’s not what they teach in the great book, The Bible. God is good m’right?. We locked eyes for a solid 2.5 seconds and I don’t think I’ve ever disliked someone so quickly. In that quick glance it was like he said: Yup. I said it.
I’m not religious but I know that if you take that book word for word there are a lot of things that seem a bit off.
“And the pig, because it parts the hoof and is cloven-footed but does not chew the cud, is unclean to you. You shall not eat any of their flesh, and you shall not touch their carcasses; they are unclean to you.” Leviticus 11:7–8
I hope Rick doesn’t eat bacon or play any football – it’s against the rules. Where can I get my snarky, rotten bumper sticker about that? A is for Asshole. Rant over.