Incoherent Ramblings of a Crazy Bitch

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Tag: crazy

CHILDREN SENSE I’M CRAZY — January 29, 2015

CHILDREN SENSE I’M CRAZY

/Erica Dyer/Leave a comment

Several years ago I took my kids to New Haven with my friend Angie and her kids. We were doing train rides with Santa. Well we were in the back of the caboose with our kids and there was another kid that had to sit in our area because the rest was filled. This boy was about 9-10 years old, not too little to sit by himself.

He’s sitting across from Angie and I notice he has a train on his jacket. And I say, “Oh look at his coat it has a train how cute.” Angie tells me it was for Purdue. I replied I sure as heck didn’t know that because I don’t watch sports. Suddenly this kid says “You’re crazy.” I tell him that’s not a nice thing to say. So he says it again “You’re crazy.” I ignore the little fucker.

Then Conrad, who was 4 at the time, stands up and points at me and says “Mommy you’re crazy.” I tell him it’s not nice to call his mommy crazy. So this little brat sitting across from me says it again “You’re crazy.” He’s not being quiet either; I think the whole train car heard him. So then my older son, being the smartass he is, starts called me crazy too. I have three kids all pointing their fingers at me chanting “You’re crazy! You’re crazy! You’re crazy!”

Angie is just laughing and laughing. I’m trying to diffuse the situation and make it a joke, “They’re young yet know me so well.” It’s not like I could say what I really wanted to.  I wanted to grab the little brat sitting across from me and toss him off the train. I wanted to act like a child and tell him he was crazy and ugly and his mommy didn’t love him. Dang brat. but I kept my mouth shut and felt like I was in Salem at a witch hunt where all the villagers stand around the accused witch pointing and chanting “WITCH WITCH WITCH” until they strung her up or burned her at the stake. And to think my children were part of it. Hate kids.

Then I’ll be damned another kid called me crazy just a few months ago. I went to a friend’s house to hang out with her, her boyfriend and their kids. I’d never met his kid before so I hardly talked to him. I’m sitting there talking away, like usual, and this kid pipes up, “You’re crazy.” I laughed and asked if he just called me crazy. He again replied that I was crazy. So obviously I can’t go anywhere without a kid telling me like it is. Now I do realize I might be a little out there, and even a little crazy. But dammit, I don’t need reminded of it. And people wonder why I can’t stand kids.

I’M KICKING MY ASS, DO YOU MIND! — January 7, 2015

I’M KICKING MY ASS, DO YOU MIND!

/Erica Dyer/1 Comment

Went out with this rebound guy one night and we ended up at Vinnie’s where some of our friends were. I was drunk as a skunk, ya I know, not unusual Ha-ha. Well this guy and I were sitting at a table with a couple of friends. We were drinking, having a good time and an ex who had destroyed my heart came in. Between seeing him and the alcohol I drank I looked at my rebound guy and just hated the fact I was with him. He said something stupid, not even bad, but I just hauled off and slapped the guy I was with. For no reason! I’m not kidding, and I’m not one of those women who thinks it’s okay for a woman to hit a man. I slapped him harder than I have ever slapped anyone in my life. This dude was big too, 6’2” and out weighed me by almost a hundred pounds.

He sat there just looking at me, and then slowly said, “Why did you do that?” I’m stuttering, “Oh that didn’t hurt.” And he replied, “Yes it did.” So I say, “No it didn’t, see!” At which point I slapped myself so hard I about fell out of my chair. Yes folks, if you saw that drunken crazy bitch slapping the shit out of herself at Vinnie’s one night, well that was me. Kind of like Jim Carrey in the movie Liar Liar when he’s in the bathroom kicking his own ass. After I slapped myself silly I realized I was fucked up beyond fucked up. And if I didn’t leave soon I’d probably end up getting my ass kicked. Or kicking my own ass who the Hell knows.

I started walking home, in the winter, dead of night.  Traipsing along in the cold and snow hoping I would make it the few miles home before I fell over into a ditch. I made it almost the whole way then a friend saw me and picked me up. And yes, to answer your question, we did continue dating. Of course had I been able to read the future I would have just slapped him twice that night and ended it right there. HAHAHA

Why I hate holidays—Thanksgiving/My Birthday — December 5, 2014

Why I hate holidays—Thanksgiving/My Birthday

/Erica Dyer/Leave a comment

Over the years I’ve had a couple of good birthdays and a shitload of bad ones. Many times I was dating someone and maybe they didn’t acknowledge my birthday or chose that particular day to cheat on me. Sometimes all it took to ruin that day was the fact it fell on Thanksgiving that year and due to it being a holiday not one person said a thing. Considering I was born on Thanksgiving Day that should have been a sign haha.

One birthday in particular brings back such lovely memories. I’d been dating this guy for almost nine months. Oh what goodies was he going to get me, perfume, a necklace, a ring???? Well he gets me a coat. Which is a very nice gift normally. But this was the ugliest ass coat I had ever seen. I pulled this thing out and it was midlength, a nasty shit brown, straight line so no shape whatsoever, and it was this brushed fabric. Not to mention a big ass collar. I’m thinking “this is the ugliest fucking coat I’ve ever seen, it’s something my mother would wear”. But bless his heart he had tried, so dammit I was going to smile and wear this ugly coat. He asked if it fit and I thought “oh please god don’t fit”. But it did. Things would have been fine except he asked the big questions “Do you like it?” Man I can’t lie for nothing. So I kept my mouth shut, he then said “I have good taste, my mom wears stuff I buy her all the time!” My response, “I bet she does.”

Oh I know what you’re thinking; this doesn’t sound like a bad birthday, at least I got a present, but let me continue. He said he wanted to take me to Fort Wayne so we got in my car and headed North. As we are driving along he takes my hand, puts it between his legs (oh he’s getting frisky), and he farts on it. Not one of those little toots either. Imagine the butt flapping noise and smell that comes to mind when you think someone shit themselves. Now imagine your hand up next to their ass. Happy Birthday to me. He then laughs like he just did the funniest thing in the world. And his laugh wasn’t a normal laugh he was a moron so his laugh was more like a 15 year old boy (he was 35),  “HUH HUH HUH HUH That was so funny!” Ya, not my idea of a good time. Then we go to the dollar movie, which I picked out, paid for and considering we took my car, spent money in gas to go see

You want to know what I got him for his birthday? A 1967 Cubs MLB autographed baseball, signed by 10 of the players from that year. I’m not shitting you; I don’t even want to tell you what this thing cost. So yes for his birthday he gets a piece of history and a collector’s item. I get a dollar movie, an ugly coat and my hand farted on. But you know, I hate to say it, he was one of the better men I’ve dated. Sure as shit makes you wonder about the other men doesn’t it…