BB Guns and Beyonce.....

"I think she's gone crazy. No really. I think she might kill the boys". That's what our family friend, Hip told my sister Lenice, one Saturday afternoon. And the fact of the matter is..... Hip was correct. I had gone crazy. Not like Ricky Martin, "livin' la vida loca", "cool and sexy" crazy. No- I was less Ricky... more, Jesus at the temple when the people decided to have a garage sale. I like to think I'm a pretty calm person. Ok, that was a lie. I at least like to think it takes alot to make me truly angry. I tend to view myself as one of those big dogs that sits there patiently as the little kitten bites at her ear. You see... I'm adorable, because I don't eat the kitten. Well, usually I don't eat the kitten. In this particular incident, I didn't have a desire to simply eat the kitten, I had a drive to DESTROY said kitten.

I want to tell you that after you have been shot approximately 733 times with an air soft gun, that the BB's feel as if they are little heavenly kisses from Zac Efron. I want to tell you that the metal ones from my dad's old Daisy BB gun, are more bark than bite. I want to tell you these things, to comfort you at night when you crawl into your safe bed, in your safe house..... but I would be lying to you- and I don't want to do that.

It was a nice day for a big ribeye on the ole' grill, that Saturday. I'm the grill master of our house, you see. And when I grill.... I grill. Lenice, my nephew Ethan, Hip and his 2 teenagers, Sienna and Isaiah, were all over from some delicious grub. Per the usual, Hip was barking orders at me from the porch. 

"Low and slow, Leanne", he would say.

"That's what she said, Hip". I would reply.

"Don't burn those wings, Leanne!!!", he would yell.

"I will cram these wings straight up your ass, Hippy!!!!" I would yell back. 

*Let me just say that I could write an entire blog post on men and their ability to do nothing, yet criticize EVERYTHING. Buuuttttt- I digress.*

Well, things were nice that day. Lenice and Sienna were inside, making pasta salad and Ethan and Isaiah were outside, in Lenice's car, "jammin'" to some tunes. I was attempting to grill dinner with welts the size of dollar coins all over my body, compliments of a certain nephew and his new found buddy the "air soft 5000". Ok. Within that past week, I was a victim of every type of terror you could imagine. I'm out mowing the lawn- DRIVE BY!!! I'm reading in my room- "Aunt Leanne, I need a hug. PSCYH!!! Sneak attack!! Yes, I had been hit more times than Tupac, Biggie, and 50 cent combined, but I still had all of my original teeth, so I was confident I would pull through. I was also sure that my act of grabbing Ethan by the throat and threatening to go "Rodney King" on his ass if shot me again, was sufficient. It had been hours since my last beating, and like Nagasaki after the attack, I was starting to put my life back together. 

Then, it happened. It was all quiet outside. Too quiet.  The only sound, was the soft bass of lil' Wayne's latest hit blaring on the radio. Suddenly, lil' Wayne became louder... Hmmm.... I turned around just in time, to see my nephew, ala Cuba Gooding Jr. in Boyz in the Hood, quietly roll down his window just enough for the gun to stick out.  I was frozen by fear. I saw the blood lust in his eyes. I saw his finger on the trigger. I knew it was over. With a smile that would have sent shivers up Hannibal Lecter's spine, I was met with a swift, single shot to the thigh. 

I can't tell you 100% for sure, what happened after that. I guess they say that's how the rage blackouts work. All I remember is running over to the car as fast as I could, while Ethan rolled up the window. I swear to you all, as I got to the car and began pounding on the window like an angry mother gorilla, Ethan and Isaiah just laughed. The angrier I got, the harder they cackled. Without regard for human life, or for my sister's driver side window, I continued to pound on that car with the fervor of one, Stewie Griffin , beating up the "Bird is the Word" record. I screamed every word in the book. I mean, literally- I stood there... In the driveway... grill utensil in hand, crying.. SCREAMING every profane word I knew.... at my nephew. 

Yes, dear friends... Hip was right on. I had gone crazy. And you know what? To this day, I don't remember ever being that mad. Before then, or after then. Until recently.
I work at an office. We do workers' compensation billing. However, if you were to walk around our building a time or two, you might get the wrong idea. There are a select group of girls that like to dress as if they are providing workers' compensation.... for Hugh Hefner. It.drives.me.INSANE!!

Hey Beyonce- I'm so beyond glad that you've embraced your inner "bootylicious girl", but pull your skirt down a few inches, you're embarassing yourself. So, because, if I see one more girl like this, I might explode, I have decided to draft the following letter. I will be walking around the office tomorrow, (fully clothed) posting this "friendly reminder" to all the trashy cubicles. What do you think?

Dear [skanky] co-worker-

   Hey! I want to start off this document with a disclaimer. This letter, does not come from a place of jealousy for your "HOTT" body. I assure you. This letter, instead, comes more from a place of concern- for both my eyes, and the guy in cubicle 18, that is smiling alot with a bunch of 1's in his hand. 

I like your outfit. I do. I think, that it would look really nice if you were Jesse from Saved by the Bell's character in Showgirls, or Nicki Minaj. But there is a harsh reality that I am forced to introduce you to. This isn't Nebraska Avenue. This is a job. I know you probably think I'm Amish, the way I wear clothes. Pants that Abercrombie didn't have to paint on this morning. Shirts that aren't one centimeter away from an NC-17 rating. You know me- I'm old school. I like to keep it classy. 

I'm honestly not sure if you are trying to look seductive, or if you're just going to the Rhianna concert after work. The truth is- I DON'T CARE. The Laker's cheerleaders wear more clothes to their job. Just Sayin'. So because I'm nice, and want to feel like I'm going to work, not a nudist colony,  I made you a nice checklist for your cubicle. Please detach the bottom portion of this letter and keep it with you. The directions are simple. Before you come into work, read the 5 questions below. If you answer, "YES" to any of these inquiries, add one item of clothing for each yes answer. 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

1. If you turn on a KE$HA song right now, are you completely prepared to be an extra in one of her music videos?

2. If you saw Britney Spears right now, would she say your pants are "Toxic"? 

3. If someone put a FOUR LOKO in your hands right now, would it look right at home?

4. Are your *coughstrippercough* heels so high that you might actually trip and fall, break an ankle then be able to file a workers' compensation claim?

5. Would Sir-Mix-Alot wanna get witcha and take yo picktcha? too much?  

Howabout you? Any skanky girls in your office? Feel free to vent.......