A terminal case of khaki ass

A full-time job opportunity cropped up recently at one of my part-time jobs. It involves a healthy pay increase, paid holidays and vacation and full health benefits. Woot! Just what I was looking for! But there is one definite drawback. I have to wear khaki pants. Full-time khaki ass. I have yet to find a pair that don't start bagging and sagging after a few hours and make me look like I'm carrying a lumpy sack of potatoes around behind me.  No matter how long the shirt I wear to cover the spuds, it finds a way to ride up in back and let it all hang out. The inventor of khaki pants is a certified sadist.

Working retail and wearing ugly pants when I'm 50 years old was never a dream of mine. But sometimes life takes unexpected twists and turns for the better. I'm going to make sure this is one of them.

This could be a sign of addiction...

There's something about playing those stupid Facebook games that numbs the senses. The click of the mouse becomes soothing as you mindlessly complete game after game. Your brain doesn't have to think about the smelly mess in the kitchen that just keeps getting bigger; the laundry escaping from my daughter's doorway and spilling into the hallway; the bills that I don't know how I'm going to pay; the funny noise the car started making; all that stuff that makes me crazy. Just click, click, click it all into white noise in the background of my brain. Almost as good as booze.

But when I started using my dog's Facebook page (don't mock me, he's adorable and has friends that I don't even have) to feed my hunger for more games, it became a problem. I could waste even more time! Today I considered making a profile for my other dog. I think I just might be an addict. Maybe.

Serious or satire?

I've been trying to write a serious post about guilt, mothers and Mother's Day but it turned into an incoherent rant about shitty mothers and crappy holidays so I gave up. I went for satire and got another guest post on White and Delightsome. Remember Molly? Well, she's driving Bishop Thurmond to...eat. Heh. I'm not eating doughnuts and other carbs so I might as well write about them.

This kid knows me so well...

My eldest son texted me the other day.

Him: Would you like some GinFlowers for Mother's Day?

Me: Can you drink them?

Him: Yes! I've been told the Rangpur Roses are especially lovely this time of year.

So I know I'll be getting one damn good gift for Mother's Day. Too bad I'll be working and won't be able to imbibe. I'm thinking the most epic way to spend that horrid day would be to stay drunk and stoned the entire time, thus ensuring I would have no memory of it the next day. Maybe next year. A mom can dream...