This Blessed Mess » The Goddess

In 23 days, The Goddess will be road-tripping from Washington to Texas to come and see me!! I am so grossly excited that I can’t stand myself.

My kids call her their Beenie.

Her kids call me their real dad.

My husband calls her his step-wife.

‘Best Friends’ has never summed up our relationship.

It has been way way too long since we’ve seen each other – but every time I start getting sad that it’s been so so so long, something like this happens on Facebook:

Me: Whatever, Ricky Retardo. Suck it, Mary Tyler Moron.

Her: HOW COME I’M NOT THERE??? SHUT YOUR EFFIN PIEHOLE!

Her: Stop making me laugh. The friggin Feds are here.

Me: WHAT DID YOU DO? Was it something you were trying to send me in the mail?! Was it because of the post office? Are they asking about me? What did they say? What do their faces look like? Are they smirky or like, all serious and straight-faced? Are they the FEDS FEDS or just like ‘the feds’? Do they have sunglasses on? DON’T LOOK AT THE FLASHY THING.

Me: Yesterday your step-husband started going “Whens my step-wife getting here? You’re meeeeeeaaaaaaaaaan.” He said he keeps texting you and you aren’t answering him and I told him it’s because you’re holding your breath till you get here.

Her: WHAT THE EFF DID I JUST SAY???? DO I STUTTER, TITLIP??? SHUT THE EFF UP! THE EFFIN FEDS ARE HERE RIGHT NOW, RIGHT HERE, TWO FEET AWAY FROM ME.
On the one day that I decided not to wear shoes to work, too.
Friuuuuck.

They walked in when my boss said I needed to go to sensitivity classes and I was yelling,”Sensitivity is for pussies!” That was real nice, too.

Her: I am holding my breath. I need him around because we are witty together and we banter.I like having a bantering step husband. It makes me sound smart.

Me: Ask them if they ever met Will Smith. Or the Jonas Brothers. Tell them you aren’t putting on your pants unless they have a Jonas Brother.

Me: Ask them if they’re scared they are gonna get blown to smithereeeens on the day before they retire.

Me: Ask them if they have any t-shirts that say I’M THE FEDS.

Me: Ask them if they would call you a Redhead Southern Bred Fed Bedder if you DID IT with one of ‘em.

Me: Be like, I’D RATHER BE A BED WETTER THAN A FED BEDDER.

Her: Sherri, I swear to God.

Me: OMG I can’t breathe

Me: That’s the funniest email that’s ever – I’m gonna die.

Me: I’m crying – I’m doing the cryface laugh.

Her: I CANT FIND ANYTHING TO STARE AT SO I DONT GET THE HYSTERICALS! YOU KNOW HOW I AM. SHERRI-I SWEAR I AM GOING TO LOSE IT. I FEEL DIZZY

Her: IM BITING THE INSIDE OF MY EFFIN GTODAMAND MOUTH

Me: WHATEVER YOU DO DON’T LOOK AT THEIR WIENERS.

-and then I don’t feel so bad.

IMPORTANT UPDATE:

Her: Well if I’da known you were gonna blog it, I would have been funnier and kinda sexy sounding…like some kind of irriesistable side-kick best friend who just hasn’t found that ONE special guy yet…like in the movies, Stupid. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to effin’ blog me, so I coulda sounded cool and sultry and sexy instead of hysterical and blabbering? NOBODY’S EVER GONNA LOVE ME NOW!
Gawd. I can’t believe how you always ruin my life.

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