IS IT CONFIDENCE OR BITCHINESS?
By: Shauna Gillentine
Follow me on: shaunagillentine.com
Email me at: shauna@shaunagillentine.com
COPYRIGHT 2012 SHAUNA GILLENTINE
Smashwords Edition License Notes:
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
PUBLISHED at Smashwords
Chapter 6 - Nightmare on Graham Street
Chapter 7 - Brown Spot on the Ceiling
Chapter 8 - “I Took Out the Garbage”
Chapter 10 - The Art of Christmas Letters
Chapter 13 - Bring Back Contaminated Halloween Candy
Chapter 14 - Handicapped Parking Spaces
Chapter 15 - Do I Have Food in My Teeth?
Chapter 17 - It’s Called a Dog Leash
Chapter 19 - Outhouses / Airplane Bathrooms
Chapter 21 - Tupperware, Pampered Chef, Candles, Lingerie
Chapter 24 - Watching Football is a Contact Sport in our House
Chapter 30 - Creating my Website – www.shaunagillentine.com
Chapter 31 - I’m not an Old Maid, but I am a Virgin
Chapter 32 - Pets vs. Relatives
For my husband, Jack. He has my back…always, and I have his…always. He is kind, supportive, loving and a great soldier in the United States Army. He encourages me to chase my dreams. He encourages me to find my rainbows and look for my gold. I know that sounds really mushy. I’m not really a mushy person. All I am trying to say is my husband is a good man.
Read my first book, “YEA, FREE PANTY LINERS” before reading this new book. It explains my craziness…my CDO, and you’ll laugh from start to finish. We all have a story to tell. Stories are fun to tell and funny to hear. Learn to laugh; including at yourself.
Follow me through the grossest outhouses on the planet. Why car problems should always be discussed by men. Has tipping gone astray? Do I have food in my teeth? And, stop the crankiness. Use your will for goodness. Be grateful. Visualize what you want and you’ll get it. Real life adventures and chaos to follow in this jam packed, exciting book.
Forward
If you’re not laughing, you’re not living. Why are comedic stand-up shows sold-out? Why does everyone read the funny quotes and stories in Reader’s Digest? Why are people happier around happy people? Laughter makes you feel good.
Learn to laugh at yourself…FIRST. Plan your life. Plan it with laughter. You’ll profit from it every time!
Follow me, again, through some hilarious, true-life stories of fun.
Laugh out loud and enjoy.
A special thank-you to all of you that purchased my first book – either on Amazon’s Kindle or through Smashwords. What a great country we live in! Love your freedom and love your choices – Thank a Veteran!
Men and women are not created equal. I know this comes as no surprise to anyone. When a man is a little cranky, everyone around him just says, “He’s having an off day.” But oh no, not women! When a woman has an off day, everyone tries to find a reason. Her newborn kept her up all night and that’s why she’s cranky. She must be on her period this week and retaining water because she’s really cranky. She probably got in a fight with her hubbie and that’s why she’s cranky. The house was toilet-papered last night and she’s going to strangle her kid and his friends (I digress…that’s my world).
There has always got to be a reason why women are cranky. Not so with men. And you know what? That is just fine. It’s an easy fix.
Women - start by getting the scowl off your face and get rid of the cattiness. Smile. Try saying “good morning” to your family and your co-workers. It really is amazing how far those two words will go. I’m not suggesting you suddenly transform into Mother Theresa, live in India in a shack, not bath for three months, contract malaria and continue to fight and struggle for others. Just try being nice! Stop judging others! Give someone a compliment, it will make you feel good and it will make the other person feel good. It works. I promise. I’ve done it.
If your kid is being a brat, walk away for five minutes and take a breath, or better yet go online shoe shopping and buy two pairs of shoes (that is my sure-fire, fix-it, EVERY TIME). If your husband comes home from work in a fowl mode, go sneak a little sip of the bourbon or take an Advil PM and then when you continue the conversation with hubbie, you’ll be half-asleep and not care. It’s fun.
Women have a weird DNA strand called…”judge every other woman you see.” At about the age of 40, this DNA strand finally disappears (for most women). That is the age where you realize, “who cares what other people are doing” and “who cares what other people are saying about me. I want to work on my own happiness.”
If you’re healthy and happy; you’re living.
Ladies, work on your confidence, not on your bitchiness. If your neighbor across the street walks to the mailbox everyday in her curlers, say “good morning”. Stop judging her. Are her curlers really affecting your life? No. If a kid at the zoo is absolutely going wild at the monkey cage, go and look at the elephants and come back to the monkeys when the crazy-kid is gone. Don’t judge the mom. Yea, your tax dollars will soon be paying disability payments to the kid, but at this point, there is nothing you can do about it. Go see the elephants and take a big sniff - EEKS. That will make you laugh (and you’ll appreciate the piles of poo your dog leaves on the front porch – more on the dog poo later).
Find your edge in life. Find what makes you happy. Find your meaning. If your job sucks and you can’t quit tomorrow because you need the money, but you’d really like to tell your boss and the whole corporate culture to back-off, just smile, say “good morning” to all the psychos at work and then take all the post-its and pens (apparently everyone is doing it these days), find your happy place, look for a new job on corporate time, don’t get involved in the rumor mill (every company has it) and invest your time in YOU. Remember, you will never be able to change someone else, but you can decide that YOU want to be happy. Then do it!
Everyone needs an outlet, their sanctuary – especially women. Let’s face it; women do most of the household “stuff”. They take care of the house, they organize all the schedules - kids and sports, kids and school, kids and chores, kids and doctor appointments, dogs and vet appointments, dogs and dog-park, cleaning the house, grocery shopping, clipping coupons, writing your next book which you only have six weeks to accomplish that task and you’ve promised 100 people that it will be done (I digress). You know what I’m saying. Find your sanctuary.
For many women, their sanctuary is their home. It should be. It’s the place where you relax. It’s the place where you get to wear your 20-year old sweatpants, use Aqua Net Hair Spray, read trashy novels, burn dinner, wash all the white clothing with the red shop towel that your husband threw in the washer and you didn’t notice it when you put the white clothing on top of the red shop-towel in the washer and then you immediately throwaway all the white clothing, get in your car, drive to Wal-mart and replace all the white clothing and then marvel at the fact that “it’s all good.”
Even though you just spent $100 at Wal-mart that you didn’t have and you were crossing your fingers that the debit card would not decline at the check-out stand with the 19-year old kid that has more piercings in their face than you have earrings in your whole house and you know you’re staring at the freaky teen and you want to ask if they were raised by heathens, but you don’t. Not to mention, the woman behind you in the checkout line just came from the outdoor swim park and she didn’t bother drying-off and she’s standing in the Wal-mart checkout line in a bikini and you’re sure she weighs at least 200 pounds. Probably 225 and she’s dripping water all over the floor. It’s all good.
Building your confidence will prepare you for a toilet papered house, a 225-pound woman in a bikini in a public place (not the swimming pool), your husband complaining about work and your dog pooping on the front porch.
Laugh. Because tomorrow it will be a new adventure.
Before I married my really-cool, super-nice, very-supportive husband, I was a single working mommy. I’m reaching-out to all of the single mommies of the world – I think you’re wonderful. It is hard work! You wake up, try to get a 20-minute run on the treadmill in before you do a quick load of laundry, shower, wake up your son (or other kids in your case), breakfast, then out the door to day care and work all day. Grocery store on the way home, dinner, play time (or homework time), glass of wine (of course), kid to bed then 20 minutes of reading. Then it all happens again the next day. It can be hard. BUT, it can be fun. My son and I had FUN! (We still do!)
It was about adventures and we had lots of adventures that didn’t cost any money. There was a nature trail near our home and every season offered new sights to see at the trail. In the cold mornings of fall, we would take a spray bottle full of water and then go hiking. When we came across a web, we’d spray a little water and find a picture in the web. He loved it and I loved that he loved it.
We had a kiddie pool in the backyard. In the summer, our pool got used. We had water fights for hours. We ran and laughed and hugged. It doesn’t get any better.
One evening, when my son was 4 years old, we got home from work/daycare and I started dinner. Our normal making-dinner-routine was my son would watch Sponge Bob Square Pants while I cooked dinner. The show was 30 minutes and it took me 30 minutes to get dinner ready. It always worked. He loved the show, and I needed the time to go through the mail, feed my dogs, and get dinner on the table. Our house at the time was arranged so that when I was in the kitchen and he was in the living room, we couldn’t see one another. BUT, I could always hear my son. He laughed at Sponge Bob, Squidward and Patrick’s latest nonsense and he gave me the play-by-play of every night’s episode. It was all good.
One evening, while I was cooking, I couldn’t hear my son. I could hear the T.V., but not my kid. I didn’t think anything of it. He was enjoying the show. More time went by and I continued making dinner. I hadn’t heard from my son for about 15 minutes and dinner was almost ready. It was odd for my son to go 15 minutes without telling me about the show, or one of the commercials. He always wanted what the commercials were selling. Those advertisers are so good.
I placed dinner on the table and turned to walk into the living room. I have never been the type of mom to holler throughout the house for my child. I walked into the living room and behold.
My son (now remember he was only 4 years old at the time) was sitting in our bean-bag chair, in front of the T.V. He always sat in the bean-bag chair. His pants were down around his ankles and he turned to me when I entered the room and said, “LOOK MOM, I MADE MY PEE-PEE BIG.”
Yep, you got it. He was playing with his penis. For some reason, I thought that started later in life.
I tried to contain my laughter. He thought it was a game. I chuckled.
I asked if he wanted to eat dinner and he stood-up like nothing was out of the ordinary, pulled up his pants and said, “Yea mom, whatcha make?”
It’s all good. Life is great.
My son is 13 years old now. I don’t know if he remembers this story, and I don’t ask about his current bean-bag adventures.
Remember my discussion on CDO in my first book? I really have CDO when it comes to public rest rooms. Most of the time they’re yukky. I try and avoid public rest rooms at all costs. When I was pregnant, that was difficult. Remember Sister Summer from my first book? She always makes me laugh so hard. She made me laugh especially hard when I was pregnant. When I was pregnant and we were out on the town I would have to use a public potty.
I like my own bathroom. End of story.
My dad likes to hunt. My parents used to have this disgusting, falling-down, rat-infested, stinky hunting cabin. It wasn’t my favorite place to go. I don’t hunt, so I usually didn’t see the hunting cabin. That was fine with me.
There were mouse traps in every corner of the hunting shack. There were bunk-beds on every wall with sheets that hadn’t been washed since Eisenhower was President. There was a wood-burning stove in the middle of the room and there was a bathroom.
There aren’t enough adjectives to explain the bathroom. Sister Summer can explain the bathroom better then me. You should call Sister Summer about the hunting shack’s bathroom.
The bathroom floor was always wet. The area around the toilet was so bad, that the toilet was actually sinking into the floor. We were sure Hades was waiting with a net.
Since toilets are heavier in the back, you felt like you were on your way up a roller coaster every time you had to use the potty. The shower head was only five feet up from the tub, so taking a shower required kneeling to shampoo your hair. There was no lock on the door. I hated that part. There was a washer and dryer inside the bathroom & adjacent to the door. The washer and dryer were taken from the Leave It to Beaver set from the 50’s. My goodness, they were scary. When there were 10 hunters in the cabin and you had to poop (in private), you actually had to open the dryer door once the bathroom door was closed to keep anyone from coming in and that is how you locked the hunting cabin bathroom door. That still didn’t stop people from pestering you while you were on the crapper. There was a hole in the bathroom door where there used to be a pseudo-lock and people would always look through the hole and ask, “What are you doing in there?”
The hunting cabin and I were not friends. The hunting cabin bathroom and I were enemies. Outside in the cold and snow with a leaf was much better.
Thanksgiving in Montana is cold. There is always snow and 32 degrees would be a heat-wave in November. Every year my dad hunts at Thanksgiving and he never misses a year. My dad invited all of us kids to the hunting cabin one Thanksgiving for a “special” Thanksgiving dinner. Sister Summer and I thought he was kidding. What was he going to do? Sister Summer was convinced he was going to clean-out the rat traps and cook us dinner. I didn’t think that was funny. Another YUKKY.
So, all of us kids arrive at the hunting cabin. Now mind you, that isn’t just a drive down the road. We all live in the Portland, Oregon Metropolitan area and the drive to the Montana Hunting Shack is nine hours away. But we all knew it would make him happy for all of us kids to come for Thanksgiving dinner and mom would love it, too.
Off we went.
We arrive at the hunting cabin and all take claims to the beds. I always had to have a top bunk. One of my worst memories is being woken in the middle of the night at the hunting cabin when one of the rat traps snapped a rat in it and I was on a lower bunk. Not happening again. The hunting cabin has scarred me in more ways than one.
Thanksgiving Day arrives and my dad is very busy cooking the stuffing and turkey. All of us kids are sitting around the table chatting. At the time, my parents had a very fluffy, white dog. That darn dog always got lost in the snow when it went outside. Well, mom let the dog outside to take care of his toilet business and then she opened the door to let him back in the cabin. She didn’t bother to check the dog for hangers. OH NO!
The dog walks into the one-room hunting cabin with poop hangers flying from his fluffy white fur and Sister Summer immediately starting chastising mom.
“Mom, geez. The dog has poop hanging from its ass and you let it into the house where we’re going to eat in a few minutes and he’s rubbing his butt on the floor.” We all started laughing so hard including my mom.
Mom just calmly grabs a paper towel and starts wiping the dog’s butt right there in the one-room shack and Sister Summer starts in again…
“Really mom? Maybe you can take the dog with its shit hangers outside and wipe his ass. Not in our shack, next to our table.”
We were all in tears. We continued laughing throughout our Thanksgiving meal. It really was a nice meal and the laughter made it even better.
After dinner, one of our family members (its best not to mention the family member by name) went into the bathroom to do the business. Call Sister Summer, she’ll give you the whole play-by-play.
That family member was in the bathroom a long time. We’re sure that family member finished an entire magazine, start-to-finish, while completing the Thanksgiving meal release. Well, as a good family, we started giving this person a hard time. Now remember, it’s only a one-room shack. We weren’t that far away.
Sister Summer is the funny one in our group. When I’m being funny and entertaining, I’m laughing throughout my funniness. Not Sister Summer. She is coy and dry. She is lighting up the room and never chuckles. She’s great at it.
The family member that pitched a tent in the bathroom finally came out. We were all at the table laughing so hard. Then Sister Summer decides to perk up her act. She walks into the bathroom and the fuzzy white dog follows.
The dog didn’t even stay in the bathroom. He ran out. Then Sister Summer ran out. She turns to our family member and says, “Hey, have you heard of the courtesy flush and the courtesy spray?” It was bad.
That was a Thanksgiving to remember. All families have bathroom humor. A one-room shack bathroom humor is the best. We still tell this story over-and-over again. It gets better each time it’s told.
I have been driving a long time. Let me look at the calendar. Yep, it’s about 27 years now. That is well over half my life.
Political correctness is absolutely crazy in this country (in my opinion) and none more so than on the driver education cars of today that the kids use to learn to drive.
Most driver education cars are four-door sedans and usually a dark color. There is an extra foot-brake in the driver education cars – on the passenger side. That part is entertaining. When the 16-year old kid is getting a little crazy and doesn’t brake when they should, then the instructor can use their brake. I can still remember my training. My instructor never had to use his brake. I was cautious. Now, it wasn’t that way with Sister Summer. Her instructor used the brake every time she was behind the wheel. Scary! That is why I drive every time we go somewhere together. I don’t have a brake on the passenger side of Sister Summer’s car. I need a brake in her car.
The other day, I was taking my son to swim practice and beside me on the road was a driver education car. But, I could hardly tell. The kid behind the wheel looked about 10 years old and the man sitting in the passenger seat looked cranky. It reminded me of my days in driver’s education. But the car was barely marked “Driver Education”. On the trunk in very small, dark lettering it said “Driver Education.” The car was dark, too, so you really had to look for the lettering.
Now let’s take a trip in the way-back machine. The way-back machine is only taken-out for special occasions. I don’t like the way-back machine. This is why I don’t log-in to Classmates.com. Are you kidding? I have no need or desire to go back in time over 25 years to talk with people I only knew for a couple years when we were at the peak of the DUMBEST time of our lives. Facebook is a close 2nd to Classmates.com. My boyfriend when I was 16-years old can remain in the past. No friending me on Facebook, no signing my autograph page on Classmates.com. We had the Homecoming Dance in 1984. Let’s stick with that fond memory; that’s good enough for me. I occasionally get an email from someone that belongs in the way-back machine. Each time I think, “Why are you emailing me? Do you want to talk about the time we snuck-out in the middle of the night when we were 17, or perhaps ask me for money to invest in your latest craze-of-the-day?” Huh.
I digress. Back to Driver Education.
The four-door sedans were used when I was in driver’s education, too. But they weren’t dark. They were neon orange. Bolted on top of the neon orange, four-door sedan was a yield-yellow sign with black lettering that stated “BEWARE, DRIVER EDUCATION CAR. INEXPERIENCED DRIVER.” Glued to each door was a yield-yellow sign that stated, “ALLOW AMPLE ROOM, DRIVER EDUCATION.”
What happened to those cars? Better yet, what happened to the driver education signs from the 80’s? We were serious in the 80’s about teenage drivers. There wasn’t this hearts and flowers coddling going-on. There was an expectation. That expectation was get out of the way, there’s bound to be some mailboxes flying, gravel skidding and hubcaps falling-off.
I know for a fact that teenage drivers are still BAD. My husband is a cop, remember? He’s got stories. As a society, are we so overly cautious with feelings that we are neglecting the experienced drivers on the road? Of course we need to prepare our children, but we also need to let other drivers know to get the hell out of the way.
My all-time favorite driver education stories of today’s youth is the fact that they only have two kids in the car and one instructor. The first kid drives a few miles in the poorly marked Driver’s Education car. Then they stop someplace very safe, like an empty office parking lot. The first kid-driver puts the car in park, sets the emergency brake, checks to see that he or she hasn’t run over anything (like a squirrel), and then the two kids trade places and off they go. It is very neat.
I took driver’s education in high school. The driver’s education class was exactly one hour long and we had 30 kids in the class. There just wasn’t time for hearts and flowers. We needed real-life experience. We could get six kids in the car. One kid driving, one cranky instructor in the passenger seat and five kids piled in the back. There wasn’t a seatbelt law. We didn’t even have seatbelts in the driver’s education cars. That was the least of our worries. We all got 10 minutes to practice driving.
Now when you only have 10 minutes for each kid to practice driving, there wasn’t time for neat parking and trading places. NO, NO!! We got to a red light and we all scrambled to change places. Yes, we had a “Chinese Fire Drill” right there in the street. You crazy kids today only think you see those shenanigans on funny movies. Those funny movies were made in the 80’s and at the time they were real life. All the doors would fly open and six kids ran for their new spot in the car. Other drivers didn’t mind. They knew exactly what was happening.
All six of us kids were running around the car to try and hurry to get a new spot before the light turned green. The car was kept in the “Drive” position and the instructor used his brake. The instructor was always cranky and he was yelling for us to hurry up. It worked every time.
Can we find those signs? It’s time to bring them back.
As you all know, I’m married to a wonderful man. He has two jobs. He is a Portland Police Officer and he’s an officer in the Army National Guard. When he’s “playing” Army, he frequently has to go to different bases throughout the United States for training.
At such a training, he was spending eight fun-filled weeks at Ft. Bliss in El Paso, Texas. When he is gone and something goes array at home, I take care of it. That is part of our life and I’m used to it. I am a get-it-done woman.
We have an outside rain drain that was clogged (of course while he was gone I noticed the swimming pool of rain accumulating on our driveway). I knew exactly what happened. The prior summer, my husband and I put in a rock pathway and kept it in place with path cement. That path cement is amazing. There was no premixing. You just put the rocks where you want the rocks, put the dusty concrete in place and water. It was as easy as putting a jigsaw puzzle together.
Or so I thought. Apparently, in my enthusiasm over the very easy concrete, I got a little too excited and put the dusty concrete too close to the rain drain and then cemented the drain and rocks all at the same time.
The rain started to fall in October in our very lovely rainy part of the world and when I went outside, I noticed we had a make-shift pool in the driveway. The rain was not draining in the rain drain. Not good.
I went back inside and immediately called the plumber. I always call the same plumber – Roto Rooter. They’re close. They’re inexpensive. They have warranties. And, they can fix the problem within 24 hours. We have used Roto Rooter at least five times since we’ve lived in our house.
I called, the customer service woman picks up the phone and I tell her my problem. She asks for my name and says, “I’m sure we can fix the rain drain.” That was the right answer. I gave her my name. We have an unusual name, so I usually don’t have to give anymore information than our last name. She finds us. “Mrs. Gillentine, will tomorrow morning at 8:am work for you?”
Yes, it will.
“Great. Our driver will call you 15 minutes before he arrives at your house. You are our first appointment tomorrow morning, so he should be there by 8:am,” she says.
Great.
So, the next morning at 8:am I am in my living room looking out the front window and waiting. The times goes by…8:am, then 8:15am, then 8:30am. No call. No plumber. Where is the plumber?
The phone rings at 8:35am and I look to see who is calling. It’s my husband.
I answer the phone…”Hi babe, how are you?”
“Good,” he says. “What are you doing?”
“Actually, I’m looking out the front window waiting for Roto Rooter. We have a little problem with the drain outside.”
“Yes, I know,” he says. “They just called me.”
“They called you? Huh? That’s interesting. They must have your phone number on file from the last time we used them.”
“Babe, let me tell you about the conversation I just had before the plumber gets to the house,” my husband says.
Interesting. This should be good.
My husband begins, “When I picked up the phone, the driver said, ‘Mr. Gillentine, this is Tom from Roto Rooter and I’ll be there in 15 minutes.’ “
My husband states to Tom the driver, in his very deep and paralyzing voice, “Soldier, you address me as Major or Sir, unless you outrank me, then you can call me Jack.”
Tom, the plumber is startled and starts to stutter. “Okay Sir, I am 15 minutes away.”
My husband continues, “I didn’t get a memo on a drain being clogged. Which one?”
The poor plumber. “Sir, my notes just state that it is an outside drain.”
“Why are we using an outside contractor? Has this been cleared with the Army Engineer?” My husband continues.
Can you see the problem so far? My husband – Texas. The plumber – Oregon. It just gets worse. This poor plumber. I know he was thinking, this guy’s doctor really should up his meds. He’s crazy.
“I’m sorry sir, I don’t have anymore information. I am on the freeway now and should be there in 15 minutes.”
My husband, still a little confused, continues, “Do you have clearance to get on the base?”
“Sir, I don’t know. I’m just going to park outside on the street.”
“I will meet you. Which barrack’s drain is clogged? What entrance will you be using?” My husband scolds.
My husband is telling me this story and I am laughing uncontrollably. Real life is much funnier than anything made up.