Sorry, Ms. Bastard

I am feeling very multiple-personalitied today. And that's okay! I sort of like it! I think I'm big enough for all the people in me and also, they're all in a good mood.

I went to yoga this morning and then I did something SO girly that I had to immediately go buy some pearly pink nail polish and also, I discussed Grandmotherhood with a woman whose granddaughter is her joy in life which reminded me of how joyful MY life is about to become with a grand child in it and made me feel a little grandmotherly myself and also, I just read Ms. Sarcastic Bastard's last post so my motherfucking ass is wanting to talk like her motherfucking ass does and maybe discuss German men wearing ugly ass Speedos that don't cover up their junk.
Whoa!
And of course I just went out to visit my chickens and give them some canteloupe and talk to them like this (in a highpitched voice, of course): Hey my ladies! How are my lovely ladies? Where is everyone? Mama has a treat for you! Etc. Etc. Then I told them how beautiful they are and I called them every one by name. Now that person is is probably the real me- the crazy batshit old Chicken Lady- but whatever.

What I did which was so girly was to go get a pampering facial. YES! YES! YES! Kathleen gave me a gift certificate for it for my birthday to help me get back in the girly mode before I leave for Mexico and it was nothing short of wonderful. The woman who did the facial was, well, she's a character and I already love her. Her name is Katie. She told me about how she works in her yard, wearing a bathing suit and a tank-top and how yesterday she mixed topsoil and sand and horse shit and mulch all together to make a soil for some pineapples she's planting. The conversation started like this, "Yesterday I realized I was out of dirt."
Uh- huh. And I knew exactly what she meant.
She also told me about the pot bellied pig which she used to have which lived in the house with her and her husband, whom the pig hated, and how she would take the pig to the nursing home to cheer up the old people. That pig was potty-trained!
"She was a gluttonous animal!" Katie cheerfully announced while describing to me how she would get the pig to sit on command with the aid of Cheetoes.
She also told me that her feet get so dirty she has to soak them in Oxyclean before she can get a pedicure. I'm going to try that.
But after we talked for awhile, sharing yard and animal and grandmother stories (she was the grandmother I talked to) she said, "Now I'm going to shut up and let you relax and boy, I did. It was heaven. Just heaven. The hands in the paraffin, the warmers on the hands and feet, the shoulder and arm and "decolletage" massage, the hands and feet massages. I'm about to go to sleep thinking about it.
I was lying there thinking that this probably did nothing at all for my skin but glory hallelujah! what it did for my soul.
I even let her wax my eyebrows! This is a first for me and I hope I look a bit less beasty.

Anyway, I stumbled out of there an hour and a half later, literally in tears of happiness, and barely able to walk. I yawned my way through the Winn Dixie where I bought canning lids and the CVS where I bought the pearly pink nail polish. Billy called me when I got home and I told him about the pearly pink nail polish. "It's so girly!" I announced gleefully.
"Yeah, maybe," he said. "But probably not too...uh, sexy."
Well. Billy will tell me truth and that's why I love him so very much.

And so that's what I've done today. Being all happy and girly and getting pampered. Although I have to admit that in yoga I was internally grumbling the whole entire time and was stiff as an old man to boot. An old German man, wrinkled like a mother-fucking Shar Pei and my ass is not lying.
At least I wasn't wearing a Speedo. My junk was hidden, Motherfuckers!

All right. I better go do something grandmotherly now. Actually, what I need to do is pop the seals on all the pickles I made last night and redo the brine with is more boring and less tasty than that Good Seasons Italian Dressing mix shit. You know the shit I'm talking about, Motherfuckers. Your Moms made it for you when you were a kid. You ate that shit up because you didn't know any better.

Or wait. I think I'm talking about me.

Oh well. This ass is out of here.

Happy Friday, y'all.
Love....Ms. Moon (And all the people inside of her.)