Don’t be an idiot…(again).

I wouldn’t be surprised if my parents blocked my number. I actually wouldn’t blame them.

I swear, I am not just some dumb fucking blonde, I really am quite smart. However, I think I may be having a “blonde month”.

Last week, I pulled two stupid moves; the snake in the mailbox (see “a strapping man: inquire within” post) and I “accidentally” ripped the fire alarm out of the wall because it was yelling at me (those things talk now, and I couldn’t figure out how to shut the mother fucker off). Found out there is a button for it and also my mother runs from loud talking fire alarms (still waiting for her mother instinct to kick in).

I’ll get to the stupid shit, my idiot move, my not so proud moment and the reason I may be blocked from contact with my parents past 8pm.

Yet again, I find myself strolling in from work around 10ish…I get in cozy clothing, turn on some late night jams and pour myself a nice glass of dirt cheap wine. This is all leading to a very relaxing evening, when I get the bright idea to hang a wreath on my door and go outside for a quick photo of said wreath and 3 new Holly Shrubs freshly displayed. I mean, we all know that I just can’t help myself. Any opportunity to snap some shots of my house, I’ll fucking take it. I snatch my new IPad Air up and leave my telephone to charge….one fucking photo and realize that the damn iPad doesn’t have a fucking flash!!!!! Simple fix, go inside and switch devices. Welp, that would been great if I didn’t fucking automatically lock my bottom lock when I shut the fucking door for the late night photo session (that could have waited till morning).

I literally curse my own name, and I mope for a good five minutes in the freezing cold, on my porch, in the dark, at a strange hour. I know what I have to do…walk over to my neighbors and ask to borrow his telephone (which would be fine if he was ancient like everyone else on my block, but we grew up together and I know he will give me hell). I talk to myself the entire 30 steps and finally ring the bell. He took his sweet fucking time answering and I think one of my nipples fell off it was so damn cold out. He finally gets there, and I notice he isn’t alone but with another childhood buddy who up until Thanksgiving night I hadn’t seen for years (buddy número dos, caught me off guard, stumbling out a cab while he was leaving my neighbors house, I was a bit tipsy and he was not, I MADE AN ASS OF MYSELF). Anyways, I explain myself and kindly ask to borrow his telephone. They hoot and I turn to the corner to call my mother (nobody puts baby in the corner).

She’s gonna kill me

Mother: Hello (sweetly because she doesn’t know what’s coming)
Me: Ma
Mother: Marie, what number is this?
Me: My neighbors, I locked myself out
Mother: I just talked to you and YOU WERE INSIDE YOUR HOUSE, what the hell.
Me: Yes, but I wanted to take a picture of my shrubs. Please come and unlock my home
Mother: I’m in my pajamas, you couldn’t wait till tomorrow, I’m in my pajamas….your father is IN HIS pajamas, seriously….we are in our pajamas (it’s a low whisper now, slow and annoyed), FRENCH TOAST (she is really great at swearing)

(I’m in my pajamas too, with two grown men laughing at my fucking socks)

Me: Please just come down here, I’m sorry.

(You would think I’d learn, I did the same thing last year but instead it was a ginormous Christmas bow and a different neighbor/house)

Mother: MARIE, this is the last time, we are IN are pajamas….we will honk.


She didn’t even say goodbye

I turn around and the boys (retracting my grown men statement) are laughing at me…I inform them that this isn’t the first time and about last weeks priors. That has them rolling. We can’t even do small talk because buddy número dos decides to tell me about the other night. Basically, I called him out for driving a grandma car, I proceed to touch his face and then inform him of his beard and I repeatedly said I was, “sorry for drinking but Emma has a lazy lip and it was her birthday”. Yes, my friend is missing a muscle in her lip, which is nothing new to anyone, so why I informed someone who already knows is beyond me. And I don’t remember doing all that, I think they may have been messing with me. I didn’t even drink that much.

I’m fifty shades of fucking red.

[Awkward silence]


Where the fuck are my parents…it’s been fifteen minutes

We are talking about my socks (again) and my high school sweatshirt I’m wearing AND my overall lifestyle…KILL ME NOW


The pajama crew finally arrived…Pops with his gun and hat and Mother has her purse, those two are always fucking prepared…how didn’t I get that trait?’?!?!?! They don’t come in. I get warning daggers and laughter all at the same time as my Mother states, “Marie, you HAVE to get a boyfriend…we can’t keep coming in our pajamas in the middle of the night……..(pause)……but your house does look cute”. I somehow think I won a small victory with her compliment.

I’m really glad they put up with me

I hope they answer when I phone later

I gave my neighbor a key (Lord, help me)

I threw my socks away and chugged my wine





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