Once an Asshole, Always an Asshole... and other fun stories.

Let’s be honest, you opened this blog because there was a dirty word in the title. Am I right? I don’t blame you. This is a phrase coined by the greatest man who ever lived on this Earth, my grandpa, AKA "Papa". He’s been gone 20 years but I still hear that phrase run through my head and I say it all the time, “Once an asshole, always an asshole.” Nothing said has ever been so true in my opinion. This might be our family motto.

I have so many memories of my papa; I decided to write about them. I used to go to his house on any given day and just sit in the living room watching The Bear on TV and we wouldn’t even talk. Just being there was enough for me. Sometimes he’d be watching the news and he always made fun of the news lady’s hair. “She needs to fire her hairdresser.” he would say. Or, “She must have just rolled out of bed drunk.” I don’t remember what channel or what news anchor it was but let’s hope that in the last 20 years, she learned how to fix her hair.

A lot of the things my papa taught me have shaped the person I am and the mother I have become. I know that shit happens, and that kids need to be hands on to really learn and to make memories. When I was about twelve years old, Papa built an A-frame target out of plywood and nailed some paint can lids to it. He handed me a shotgun, showed me how to load it and fire, then said “Have fun” and went in the house. He showed me how to use a band saw and a lathe to make cool stuff. He could build or fix anything and he would always let me help.

He was a tow truck driver for 25 years and some of my fondest memories were from hanging out at E&H Garage buying Orange Crush soda in glass bottles out of the vending machine. Orange soda to this day, reminds me of my grandpa and I suddenly smell the grease and dust of the garage. I loved riding in the tow truck too. If papa would get a call in the middle of the night sometimes he would wake me up and ask if I wanted to go. Of course I wanted to go. Are you kidding me? Going to check out a crash in the middle of the night with my papa? Yes! I had seen him flip cars over, talking to the police officers, helping clean up accidents. He even let me hook the cars up and run the gears and levers to pull the cars with. I’ve told my husband several times that we should go see if E&H Garage would sell that red and white truck with my papa’s name carved into the door, but he never takes me seriously. “What in the heck are you going to do with a tow truck?” he would ask. “I don’t know move assholes’ cars two blocks away from where they left them.” That sounded like a good answer to me.

I know that he gave my mom and I our morbid sense of humor. I used to come into the house to find my Cabbage Patch Doll had been hung by the neck with an extension cord in the living room. Papa would tell me that she was so lonely because I left her alone in the house so she killed herself. He used to tell me gruesome stories of some of the accidents he had seen. Once he had to pull a dead body off a steering wheel in order to hook the car to the tow truck. He said the guy’s ribs were hooked to the steering wheel. Ew papa!

Papa is also responsible for my infatuation with some of my favorite foods. He had a junk food drawer that was always filled with Oreos, Mounds, and Almond Joy for his midnight snacks. If I didn’t have kids that would steal all of my snacks, I would have a stocked junk drawer too. Love my Oreos dipped in milk and I always steal the Almond Joy out of my kids’ Halloween candy. It’s my fee for taking them trick or treating. Don’t judge me. Then there is my love for Starbucks which didn’t even exist when my papa was alive. He used to tuck me into his bed in the morning and then go make coffee. He’d make a cup of coffee for me with about half a cup of cream and sugar and bring it to me when it was cold. He invented iced coffee people! Ok, maybe he didn’t invent it, but he did it before Starbucks. That’s all I’m saying. Another snack that I’ve carried with me into momhood is the snack tray. Almost every time I came over, papa made me a plate with sweet gherkins, olives, cheese, crackers and rolled up lunch meat. It’s still my favorite thing to make for my own kids and guests.

Some other fun sayings my papa taught me:

It's better to be pissed off than pissed on.
Here I sit all broken hearted, paid a nickel to shit and only farted.

My papa used to call all us grandkids "Creep" one day he started calling me "Cricket" and I was like "Mom, I've upgraded. I'm not a creep anymore." lol

My papa Jake died of lung cancer in January of 1998, two months before my first child was born. My kids never got to meet him. I make sure they get to experience his personality through me. I take the kids to same coffee shop my papa use to take me to, and buy them a hot cocoa with whipped cream, trick them into eating the decorative parsley on the plate, feed them spoonfulls of sugar and ice cubes, and share a slice of lemon merengue pie. We dunk our Oreos in milk together, garden, build stuff, and love our pets.

How I became a writer

Many moons ago I thought up a bedtime story for my daughter. I thought it was cute, so wrote it down. Sometimes I would wake up in the middle of the night because I had thought of more of the story, so I wrote that down. Then I thought I could possibly turn it into a children’s magazine as a short story. I never did though. Every now and then I would add to the story and revise it. It was just something to pass the time. Then time starting passing me by and next thing I know, I’ve been working on and off on this book for nine years.

I sat myself down and said, “Self, you need to start taking this thing seriously or you’ve just wasted your time.” I didn’t know where to begin. I talked to friends who pointed me in the right direction, gave me support, beta read for me, and gave me a push here and there. In December of 2017, I went to a self-publishing website, and couldn’t make heads or tails of it. I may as well have just Xeroxed my word doc if I was going to do it that way. I called and asked for help. Several dollars later, I had an editor, marketing rep, and a project coordinator. The editing process was both enlightening and excruciating. Enlightening because they gave constructive criticism in a really positive way that I could understand and make corrections. Excruciating because of the anticipation of having to wait for results. I am the most impatient person ever. If I have to wait for something, I won’t. Like I will just walk away or come pounding on your door. Don’t make me wait for things. Just don’t.

Editing done and now we are on our way to the design phase. It’s surreal. It’s starting to hit me now that I am a writer and soon I will officially be a published author. Pretty cool right? Well my kids think so.

I am so excited and proud of myself. I knew it wasn’t going to be the easiest thing I ever done. Maybe I’ll become a famous writer and Hollywood will make movies out of my books. Or maybe, I’ll make zero dollars and have to use my books as kindling in the zombie apocalypse . Either way, I gave it a shot. You only 100% fail at the things you never attempt to do.

Now for the next phase of playing the sit and wait game. I should be getting a proof of the cover and interior design soon. Then off to the printer, marketing, and distribution. So if anyone wants to know what I want for Christmas this year, “buy my book” is at the top of the list. Thanks in advance y’all.

Mom in Zombieland

So miss Ruby woke up screaming about an hour ago, and then my brain woke up. That silly fickle thing. Thoughts and words have been running through my head at lightning speeds. Oh the things I have sacrificed in the process of raising good little humans like sleep, sanity, my whole freaking pay check.


I hope that all my hard work and sacrifices pay off. That all three of my kids grow up with knowledge, a passion for something that makes them happy, a strong work ethic, exhibit acts of kindness, and try to see the world through the eyes of others around them.


And all the better if they are successful and make enough money to take their mother to all those places around the world that I couldn't afford to visit because it was more important to me that they have nice clothes, good food to eat, a house to live in, and get to have experiences like movies, concerts, live theater, theme parks, camping, fishing, visiting other cities, karate, dance, girlscouts, etc.


Yes, you darn critters are expensive and exhausting. But I love you and wouldn't do it different. So try not to roll your eyes when asked to do some chores, or you're told no you can't have X amount of dollars for that cool game, toy, as seen on TV item. Give your mother a break child, I've given a lot more than I've ever had, more than I've ever received.


I will try to go back to sleep and in a couple of hours, I will wake up with the dark circles, wipe the layers of sandman dust from my eyes, then try to wake up three overslept children that beg for a few minutes more. All at once the house will turn into a crazy circus of me running around in circles picking out clothes, brushing hair, repeating myself a million times like we don't have the same routine every single day. I have to constantly check what the youngest is up to. Is she dumping out crackers, or salt, or water all over the house? Why are you two screaming? No you can't have a candy right now. Why are you watching TV and you are not even dressed yet?


On second thought, if I don't go to sleep, could I maybe avoid that craziness in the morning? Will morning still come and force the crazy out?


Go hug your mother, or any mother. Pity all those moms in zombieland. The land where their voice is never heard, their sacrifices are huge, and appreciation is small. They give way more than they receive and cling to all their kids' successes as their own. Goodnight, and don't let the bedbugs bite. (one more hassle mom doesn't want to deal with, thank you very much)