So Long Novembeard!

It is nearly the end of the month and I cannot begin to tell you how excited I am that at last, the billions of tiny puncture wounds on my tender bits (I mean my lips and cheeks, gutter-brain…on my FACE! I am praying for y’all.) can finally begin to heal! My husband (Alex) has even agreed to shave off his dangerous chin needles a couple of days early! Heading off impetigo like a BOSS, you guys! I just want everyone to understand that I too have suffered in the name of Prostate and Testicular Cancer Awareness, because I am going to have to (regretfully) decline participation in the upcoming FANuHAIRy (which I would have called FebPUBEruary, but no one asked me) festivities, as I am already committed to scoring the BIG box of ‘Ferrero Roche’ on Valentines Day. Naturally, the angry feminist inside me is shaking her head in disapointment but I’m sorry. I’ve been planning this ever since last February, when I discovered it is entirely possible to survive on a diet of chocolate for an entire week, as long as you have enough chocolate. I mean, maybe, I could invest in some sparkly clips or combs, a little glitter…but no. I just can’t risk it, folks. I will celebrate JanuHAIRy instead. Who’s with me?

Speaking of things I will not be participating in this year, Happy Black Friday everyone! I should probably make it clear that I am not boycotting Black Friday because of any noble anti-materialism/consumerism reason, It is simply a matter of not having any money. Also I prefer the soothing, familiar buzz of caffeine and nicotine, to the rather harsher buzz of main-lined adrenaline.  I tried it once, a few years ago, and just ended up getting my feelings hurt because of all the people yelling and crashing into me with their over-flowing hell carts. I remember ducking into an empty aisle (literally empty, except for a tumbleweed and a gnawed off human hand with Xbox packaging caked beneath its splintered nail nubs) to escape this particularly aggressive gang of librarian/church lady types. And as I stood there gasping for breath and attempting to staunch the bleeding, I happened to notice a slightly crushed and battered, “Sponge Bob Edition: Ants in The Pants”, wedged between layers of collapsed shelving. It was the closest I had managed to get to any of the sale items from the moment I’d gotten swept into the fray upon entering the shop and the taunts of “Get outta the way slow poke! And “Don’t you ‘excuse me’, me, Missy!” were still fresh in my mind when something inside me broke and I was all “I WILL NOT LEAVE THIS PLACE WITH NOTHING!” I didn’t care that it was on exactly no ones Christmas list that I knew or that it was somewhat mangled and not all that much of a bargain at $10. I pried it out of its prison of twisted metal, popped my collar and forced my way through the crowds, scrambling over the bodies of the fallen. At last, I got to the end of the queue where I passed the next two hours, casting smug glances at the losers who had to line up behind me. When I finally got to my car, I lit a Pall Mall with trembling hands and laughed like a maniac** before starting the hour-long drive home. Somewhere along the way, I experienced a world-class adrenaline crash and found myself unable to enjoy family game nights for months to come. I would probably do it again if it weren’t for the lack of funds though, because on second thought, that shit was kinda rad.

By the way, Thanksgiving was AWESOME this year. I have so much to be thankful for*! The food was delicious as usual. My dad and step-mom and youngest brother got to come down, even though they had originally said they wouldn’t be able to. We had some nice catching up and everyone was in a great mood. The family love was totally flowing at Casa de Good. Also everyone visibly relaxed when I announced that I didn’t really think any of them where assholes.  The only person who did get a little assholey was the cat. As it turns out, turkey is like crack for cats. I hope all of you had a fantastic, asshole-free Thanksgiving as well!

I have a ton of Christmas themed posts lined up for December that I can’t wait to share with you guys! be sure to check in around the end of each week as I teach you how to get through the Holiday season on a real life budget. Not an “I’m so broke I’ll have to save my Starbucks cash to buy those designer shoes” budget. More of an “I’m so broke I’m thinking of learning to fashion some shoes from an old tire” budget. I have a ton of festive hobo tricks up the sleeve of this ugly sweater! We might even take a stroll down ‘Christmas Memory Lane’, with a special emphasis on yule-tide-near-death-experiences! We shall see, my friends. We. Shall. See.

Finally, as I’m sure you noticed already, I decided to keep the cussing’ in this particular post down to the barest of minimums in an effort to balance out the plethora of pubes in the first paragraph. That is called being classy, people. It’s a good first step in the right direction toward staying the hell off Santa’s naughty list, which is something I would totes recommend to anyone who can manage such a hefty undertaking. Honestly, I know it’s possible if we put our minds to it. I believe in you. If you fall short though, don’t beat yourself up. That’s why the baby Jesus made wine, so we can feel better about ourselves when we screw up. And on that note, I’m going dark (which is what Alex said to me when I told him about my glitter pubes idea. It means “I’m going to put on head phones and curl up in the fetal position facing away from you now, so please stop talking.”) ! Have an awesome December everyone!  I’m sorry this post is getting out a little late. I will try to do better next time! Be there or be square!

shalabeard

* This morning after I finished eating some pecan pie for breakfast, my dad and step-mom came over and fricking GAVE me an SUV !!! (<- Officially the most posh sentence I have ever uttered that didn’t start with “The last time I went to England”) BEST.THANKSGIVING.EVER!!!!

**EDIT: After I posted this, the following conversation occurred with my niece on Facebook :

HER: ” and laughed maniacally.”

ME:  no. like a maniac. maniacal laughter would have implied something much more sinister and mastermind-esque. I laughed exactly like a maniac. with drool and a hacking cough.

HER: Yep. I misread. I think maniacal is one of my fav words. …. or “cylindrical”

ME: it is nice, I wish i had laughed maniacally.

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Conversations with My Mother- A Bonus Post

I’m thinking that for the most part, for now anyway, “It’s All Good-The Adventures of Shala Good” is going to be a weekly kind of deal. But from time to time I will throw in a little bonus post for dat ass, just to keep the old juices flowing and to keep me from needing to wedge some fabulous but random tidbit into a real post where it doesn’t belong. (Now I have the “Sesame Street” tune, “One of These Things is Not Like the Others”, stuck in my head.) Anyway, without further adieu, I bring you the first ever, BONUS POST:

Conversations With My Mother

 My mother is always getting mad at me for not being able to remember people I have absolutely no business remembering. It usually happens when she’s having a conversation with someone else. She’ll turn to me and say something like, “Shala, what’s the name of that kid who sang at our church that time?” And I’ll say “Which church?” and she’ll say, ” In Hallsville!” In a tone that say’s “Don’t fuck with me, Shala. You know damn well which church.” Except my mom rarely EVER says “fuck” or damn”. Her tone says it a LOT though.

Now let me stop right here to give you a bit of background. When I was a little kid, we moved around a bunch because of my dad’s job (which had to do with insulating power plants). We lived in a different house in a different town, roughly every 18-30 months or so. So when I ask, “which church” I am not just being a smarty pants. We went to shit loads of churches. Baptist ones. Anyway, back to my example:

“Sorry.” I’ll say. “But how the HELL am I supposed to remember, that? I was four!”  “Watch your mouth!” she’ll gasp. (“Watch your mouth, dammit!” gasps her tone) And then I’ll take a weary breath and explain to her that “It’s a darn MIRACLE that I can even remember making napkin rings out of slices of toilet paper roll (not the whole roll, the core part. The cob? Tube? That.) at that church, because I was four and that most people have no clear memories before the age of seven or so!” And then she’ll glare into my eyes (because I’m clearly fucking with her? Faking pre-school era amnesia? I don’t even know.) before heaving a gusty sigh and returning to her original conversation with the person with whom she was originally conversating, about someone who sang at our church. thirty. two. years. ago. !

Another favorite conversational topic of Mom’s is one that also happens to have taken place over thirty years ago; The (admittedly) harrowing account of her ten month pregnancy and 76 hour labor that resulted in me drowning on my own shit and DYING* in her uterus! Obviously, they were able to bring me back though, so It’s All Good (see what I did there?). Her favorite part of this story is the part where she wakes up after like 3 days to the smell of cigarette smoke coming from the bed next to her (it was the 70’s) and my dad and grandma are waiting there to tell her she now has a baby girl named, ‘Shayla’! At which point her Demerol injection kicked in, resulting in vivid hallucinations of my uncle wearing a “beautiful shirt with Christmas lights on it” as well as the tragic misspelling of my name on my ACTUAL BIRTH CERTIFICATE (yeah, “Oh fuck!) ! Hence “Shala” without a ‘Y’. And so it was, that on a lovely October day, the first cold day of the year, my parents bundled baby me into my dads Pick-Up truck (without a car seat) And drove me to the yellow, scorpion infested house where my first 2.5 years of adventure would take place.

Last month, just a few days before my birthday I was saying to Ol’ Momzie how much I was enjoying the cold weather and that the first cold day of the year is always one of my all time faves. She excitedly pointed out the fact of my being born during the first cold snap of 1978 and speculated that this was perhaps the subconscious reason behind my preference. And then she paused for a second and (I swear on the souls of a thousand kittens) asked, “What was the name of that girl I shared a room with? The one who had a little girl at the same time as me?” And I was like, “seriously? I was a newborn! How could I possibly remember that?” At which she sighed and said, “I really worry about your mind sometimes, Shala. You can’t remember anything.”

* I suspect my early voyage into the the great unknown is at least somewhat responsible for my mild psychic abilities and my knack for accidentally picking haunted houses to rent.

Shalakazam.
Shalakazam.

Thanksgiving is Upon Us

In less than a week, Americans across the country will be taking a short break from the assholes at work and school, to spend a bit of much-needed quality time with the assholes in their own families. Now, you might be thinking, “No sir! My family is 100% asshole free! We love the crap out of each other ’round here!”  Ok, fine. Maybe that’s true. Maybe you live on “The Cosby Show”. Or maybe you’re the asshole in your family and you just don’t know it. But trust me. Every family has at least one asshole. And that, my friends, is okay. We should be thankful for our family’s assholes! Here’s why:

Maybe the asshole in your family is the snobby sister-in-law? The one who always brags about everything and is pretty much all around better than you? Need I remind thee that this is the asshole who will show up with the fancy, $75 chocolate pound cake (with collectible tin) from the trendy bakery where you can’t even afford a cake pop?  And as a bonus? Her popular children will some day teach your kids all about blow jobs, so you wont have to! What if your sister-in-law is a different kind of asshole? Is she the kind who wont let her kids eat anything but organic sea kelp and apple cider vinegar? Only lets them play with wooden toys*, and allows them to crawl all over your furniture because “They are exploring their environment”? So what, if her preschoolers are smarter than you and your husband put together and will probably  infect you all with Polio because they haven’t been fucking immunized! They make your kids seem like angels by comparison, not to mention cool as shit. This sister-in-law might even sterilize your home to make it “safe” for her family. Score!

Of course sisters-in-law are not the only family members with the potential for Asshole-itis. It could easily be your brother. The one who shows up in team colors, leads the family in saying grace so he can beg ‘The Lord’ to “Please just let us go to State this year, Pleeeease!”  and he’ll promptly commandeer the den as the “Man Cave”. Or your other brother who wonders, “Is there somewhere I can spark this up?” Good news! These two charming lads will not only be glad to hook you up with a cold long-neck (or sneaky toke) to help you survive this festive occasion, they may even butter (or wind) your mom up enough to distract her from making judgmental, passive aggressive remarks toward you! Thanks Bro(s)!

Speaking of Mom; She may be a world-class Nit-Picker or Master of the ‘Insult in Compliments’ Clothing’, ( “I’ve always liked you with a little meat on your bones, dear.” ). But the good thing about this asshole is that no matter how many faults she finds with you, she really does love you (probably) and she will always have your back, especially when it comes to….

The Mother-In-Law. Maybe you still harbor a little resentment towards her for guilt tripping your Sugar Booger into saving cash whilst upholding the family tradition of honeymooning on Uncle Larry’s pig farm in Cousinlove, Kentucky. Maybe she treats you like The Wicked Witch of the West, ever since she found out you make her baby iron his own shirts. She is your complete opposite in every way and has no problem putting her two cents in, but no matter how awful she can be sometimes, this is the asshole who raised your SOULMATE! If that’s not something to be thankful for, I don’t know what is!

Surprisingly “The Dad’s” are generally quite useful at these types of soirees, By making inappropriate off-color jokes like, “CONDIMENT TRAY!? IS THAT WHERE YOU KEEP THE CONDOMS? heh heh heh” (true story). They give “The Moms”, someone to get angry at besides you! Although they are bound to make the obligatory nod to asshole-ism by dragging out the trusty old “Managing the Old Finances Lecture” or by wondering, yet again “When you plan to stop fooling around and find a real job”. They have always been willing to help out when they could, and just imagine how up in your business your mother would be if she didn’t have him to worry about!

And what would Thanksgiving be without The Grandparents, Great Aunts and Uncles? They insist on you saving every last solo cup, as well as the Cool Whip tubs and gently used sheets of aluminum foil. Maybe they just don’t understand that the terms “colored” and “oriental” are racist when used to describe people. They complain about the noise and everything they eat, “goes right through me.”  Thanks to them,no smell on earth really brings the holidays to mind like the smell of the downstairs bathroom after one of the old folks sneaks off for “a try“. There are “Pumpkin Pie” candles and “Evergreen” potpourri, but where is the “Rhinoceros Exhibit Mingled With l’air Du Temps/Aqua Velva” holiday spray? Of course, they are sweet aren’t they? And pretty adorable to boot. Not only should you be thankful for these assholes, on Thanksgiving, you should treasure them every day, because believe me, you will miss them when they’re gone.

Other assholes you may find yourself sharing a turkey with this year, are the cousins who bring their own agenda (slide show of Bible Camp shenanigans? Instruments for a rousing rendition of Kumbaya?) The college student who now goes by Rainbow, smells like patchouli, is suddenly vegan and brought along a “friend” she met at the end-of-term Polyamorously Inclined Students Society (PISS) rally, who just sits at the table texting and casting annoyed glances at the assholes who belong there.The 13 year old nephew who shouts a lot because he can’t get enough of his newly changing voice, and keeps being a dick to the littler kids because they are the only people who believe in his nun-chuck skills.There’s the “too nice” brother-in-law who stands close, makes eye-contact and says your name a lot to make you feel special (but really just makes you feel like punching him right in the compassionate face) or the boyfriend who treats your sister like crap (actually, screw that asshole.), the creepy cousin who may or may not be an actual pervert, ” “The Hugger”, “The Mouth Breather”, “The Full Mouth Talker”, “The Hypochondriac” and the “Sorry-we-can’t-stay-long-because-our-other-better-family-is- waiting-ites”…There are just too many to name! But one thing I can say about all of these assholes, is that they will go home at the end of the day! Be thankful you only have to see them a few times a year!

Finally, even though your own kids and husband and pets are the most awesome people you will ever know, don’t be surprised if the holiday spirit brings out a previously unrecognized inner asshole even in them. In all the excitement, of course your cat will vomit play doh down the arm of the couch! And I can practically guarantee that If ever, one of your beautiful kids is going to push another kid off the shed, call their sibling a “motherfucker”, track dog shit through the living room, or get a Lego piece stuck in their nose, it WILL be while all those other assholes are around to witness it. Further more, your brilliant husband who always “gets” you without you having to say anything, will at some point turn to you and say, “I think it’s going really well, Honey, don’t you?” Asshole. But you know what? These are your assholes; the ones who make your life a life! Nobody needs to give you a list of reasons to be thankful for them!  Least of all some asshole with a (spankin’ new) blog.

turkeylurkey

Happy Thanksgiving, to all MY assholes. I love you guys!

* DISCLAIMER: I’m not knocking wooden toys. I’m just saying, bring your own. The only wooden toys at my house are: A pack of chop sticks left over from “Crazy Wok Buffet”, a #2 Halloween pencil, a rake handle and a sheet of plywood that says, “ LEMINAID  LEMONADE $6″ in Magic Marker. Also the following Alphabet blocks: B, C, F, J, N, R, S, and W.

Hello Darlings!

Welcome to my spankin’ new blog! In case you don’t know me already, I’m Shala. Nice to meet you! This is my very first attempt at blogging ever. I’ve never even twatted on twitter before! Congrats on taking my blog dime, you guys! It’s a pretty big deal. I hope it’s as good for you as it is for me.

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