i want to title this “I ROCK, BITCHEZ!” but i don’t think that’s very appropriate.

I have the hardest time starting a post, especially after I’ve been MIA for a couple of weeks. Should I just dive right in there and tell my story or should I start out like I’m writing a long lost friend a letter or maybe I should catch you up on recent events or SHIT I DON’T KNOW.

And you probably don’t care.

So… {she looks around awkwardly wondering which of her most awesome pick-up lines she should use} …you come here often?

Whatever. So, we did the move. Yep. I now reside as the supreme bitch in my very own 1374 sq ft house in the middle of a hill that if the light shines just right at approximately 4:19 pm one MIGHT be able to see the glory of the Port of Tacoma. I know. Awesome.

Jimmie (the hubs) and the spawn and I packed up my sister’s Toyota Yaris one Friday around noontime and headed across the mountains to retrieve one U-Haul in which to pack all our earthly belongings. You guys, my husband is 6’2″ and… not a small individual. Seeing him pull up to the house in that Yaris (read: smart car with a back seat) was the most enjoyable sight I’ve had in quite some time. He called me on the way home with genuine fear in his voice because he felt like he was in a go-cart on the freeway and his life was in danger. We are not small (car) people. Unfortunately, our budget for this move was on a small car’s gas mileage. So we drove that puppy. And it was Hi-larious. Text messages to the sister highlighting the trip:

“Jimmie looks Supafly driving around in the Yaris!”

“Made it safely. We was passin’ bitchez like mad. The Yaris hauls balls.”

I feel I should take a moment to explain that last text. We watched a few minutes of “The Other Guysa few days before the move. You know the part where Allen finds out Sheila’s pregnant and says, “Gator’s bitchez best be wearin’ jimmy’s!?” That part must have awoken my inner gangsta pimp or something, because I swear I have been having an internal monologue of gangsta pimp conversations for WEEKS now. It’s starting to drive me insane. I also just sent my sister a text reminding her to bring the sewing machine to our parents for Jordan’s birthday dinner.


It’s like I have Tourrett’s. Again. I can’t stop myself. I honestly catch myself folding laundry and inside my mind, where I’m thinking about a conversation I’m going to have with Jim about… dinner, whatever… and suddenly I realize I’m talking in pimpverse. And I’m disturbed. I think this means I’m fluent. Because yes, now that I think about it, I do also dream in this language. And well, maybe it is time to see a professional. Probably.

Oh my God, I’m so off track here I think I have to save the story of Jimmie and I loading the U-Haul all by ourselves in less than an hour and a half for another day. Well, never mind. I guess I just told you. And basically what that means is, I ROCK BITCHEZ! (Because I’m freakishly strong!)


6 thoughts on “i want to title this “I ROCK, BITCHEZ!” but i don’t think that’s very appropriate.

  1. I think you’ve hit on something. The Bloods and Crips in LA should be doing their drivebys in a Yaris. That car is gangsta beyond belief, and probably makes it hard to hit since it’s a smaller target. In Manila we saw real gangstas. Struttin around with their pants low, their bandanas on and their wife beaters showing their muscles. They had their tricked out Hondas and Toyotas with the bass just thumping through your whole body. Best part was…they were blasting Whitney Houston. Gotta love southeast Asian gangs.

  2. Well ever since the whole crack thing, Whitney is pretty much the most bad ass gangsta ho there is. And she fucking invented Yaris drive-by’s. The only thing more deadly is the Prius drive-by. Because you can’t hear it coming. (with the whole electric motor and all.)

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