It’s so BIG.

Yeah if I had a quarter for every time I said “That’s what she said” yesterday? I could retire.


My darling chosen father showed up with a rototiller at 10 o’clock. He’d driven by a week ago and saw me weeding in the garden and I got a call later.

B- Hi Jen, I drove by and saw you trying to do the impossible. Call me. I’ll go get the tiller.

I couldn’t ask him to till it again. He did it last year and I let it go to shit with my terrifying water bill and full time job. All that work and I didn’t even pull it off. I couldn’t call him back.

So he showed up with it anyway.

My Bill. My dad, as I’ve taken to calling him. He’s been there for me since I was a kid.

When I was 14 or 15 he met my mom and offered to help. He drove me to school for years. He’s always been there for me and has taught me a million things. He taught me how to install insulation, how to drive a snowmobile and a boat. He’s happily married and a complete pervert. He regularly comments on my boobs, as he always has.

B- When are ya gonna take that rack out and get a husband, this is ridiculous to do alone and you shouldn’t be single.

J- I have horrible taste.

B- Obviously if I’m the one driving the tiller.

His youngest son died suddenly last summer. It’s been a hard year… and yet?

He’s always been there for me.

He loaned me the money to save me from getting the water turned off after the leak from hell and when I had nowhere to turn and no idea what to do.

He gave me a car when mine broke and it was too expensive to fix it.

He tilled my garden, for the second year in a row… and he’s picky like me so he went over it twice without me asking. He paid for it, wouldn’t take a dollar and came and left like the real dad it feels like he is to me. I tell him every time that I love him. He’s not one of those guys… but as long as he knows I do- we’re good.

Beyond all the help he gives me, and the real support he’s always been to me?

He calls me on my shit.

B- Time to get that hibernation weight off you. It’s high season in the lake and you need someone to help you around here. Time to get out there and find a nice husband.

J- What if I don’t want one of those?

B- Maybe I should buy a tiller.

For all the shit he gives me, he’d kill a man for being disrespectful to me, he destroys the undercarriage of his shiny new black Corvette to come down my driveway to check on me… and he shows up for the worst of jobs… like climbing under the house. Ugh.

He puts the time in. He get’s his hands dirty… hell he gets cut and bleeds over this damn garden every year- and yesterday was no exception. He got here early- around 9:30… and I was still in my bikini and a nightgown. I threw on my garden boots and raced out to the garden to meet him and he started laughing.

B- Trying to drum up more volunteers?

J- What?

B- Oh hell are you gonna start doing yard work in high heel shoes again?

J- If I do, I expect you to support me.

B- I’m not a hippie. I’m not worried about hurting your feelings. I’m going to tell you when you look like an idiot and when you’re tromping through the soil with your heels sticking into the mulch? You look like an idiot.

Which is when another person walks up to the fence and says…

L- It’s SO big!!!

he laughs and shouts back..

B- Thank you, but I’m afraid I don’t remember our night together.

She frowns and walks away.

J- You. Behave… these are my neighbors.

He laughs and goes back to plowing. I’m in full fledged suffering mode. Shoveling huge garden cart loads of compost and spreading it over the entire garden. Every muscle in my body is screaming out and begging me to reconsider this enormous commitment.

I can feel the sweat run down my spine. My eyes are burning from my epic allergies this spring and the tires are flat on my garden cart. I’m absolutely knee deep in purgatory. I can feel every single thread of every muscle running from my tailbone to my neck.

I’m reconsidering every inch of this garden… not to mention that it’s nearly an acre. The blisters on my hands from pulling the cart are breaking against the dirty cold metal handle. Ouch.

Which is when the hot bald volunteer shows up.

D- Hey. Jen?

I look up and die a little… and have to laugh. My pops turns the tiller off and comes to stand next to me when he sees him jump over the fence.

B- Are you a Jehova witness? We don’t need a watchtower, we need tilled soil and a fence.

D- Oh I offered to help her fix the fence.

B- Great. Follow me.

J- Slow down. How about you meet each other first.

D- Hi, I’m,

B- She needs a fence, so thanks for offering. Let’s get you all set up, come here I’ll show you the wood.

So this is what it’s like to have a dad. I feel like I’m living my own version of Meet the Fockers. He’s not usually like this, but he’s not fucking around and when the shiny volunteer starts to balk, my Pops laughs and walks back to keep on tilling, shaking his head.

D- Maybe we could get a beer next week?

J- No, but thank you.

He made his excuses and exited the line of fire fairly quickly. Pops was all over it the minute he drove away.

B- If he was serious he would have come dressed to help.

J- I know.

We finish out the day just dragging through it. Exhausted on a level I haven’t known for a while. I’m sunburned, I have dirt in my hair and an acre of bare soil staring back at me, daring me to pull off the impossible, yet again.

Standing back to survey the absolute lunacy of growing a garden this big, alone… an idea hits me.

J- Maybe I’ll make it into a rainbow this year!

B- I don’t think that’s a good idea.

J- I think it’d be beautiful!

B- I think it would attract the wrong guy.

He’s my Pops…  and we laugh like hell when we’re hanging out. We had to rinse all the dirt off the tiller before returning it and it hit the wrong piece of angled metal on the tiller and I sprayed him full force in the thigh. He left, soaking wet & laughing… inviting my daughter and I over for a martini and a soak in the hot tub. At this point breathing hurts and every muscle in my body just wants to hold very, very still. Ouch.

He hugs me goodbye with the most amazing sentiment.

B- Let me know if I can help you with anything else. We’ll get the fence figured out, don’t worry.

J- I love you Dad.

He smiled at me and threw a piece of dirt at me.

B- I love you too, good luck planting all that. You need to make friends with some hippies that don’t have a garden or start wearing less and wait for a nice guy to volunteer.

I stood there in an acre of open dirt and laughed. Here… look.

Any suggestions? I like it round but it’s a bit of a pain to navigate with hoses & weeding. Hmm…


For blogging…. regardless of the lame canned excuse I was given, what it boils down to is that the Cunt I’ve had to work under for the past two years played her trump card. She’s known about my blog since I started- and I’ve had to sit on my hands and bite my tongue.

Blah, blah, blah… type, type, type… guess who’s hands are free and whose mouth is open?

Not a good thing when you’re running a business in a glass house.

If they were going to fire everyone that hated her, they’d have to restaff the entire restaurant.

“She’s like the mother of this place” was the line I got.

No. She’s the red-headed step-child we all had crammed down our throats while making a 5th of what she makes an hour. Ever heard of someone making manager wages, writing the schedule, working the best shifts and smoking a half a pack of cigarettes on every 4 hour shift?

I know one.

I called in sick once in 2 years and she had to cover for me on her day off. She had the balls to tell the customers I was sick with a hangover. They told me, saying “She’s such a bitch, why on earth does she work here?”

Good question.

One time in two years I told her I was in the weeds and she flipped out. I’ve never said it since because she’s hostile and will throw something in your face so many times you want to snap.

She’s the server that makes the bussers cry on shift. People complain about her online and to the rest of us.

She’s a walking criticizing hypocritical nightmare- one that I woke up from today and finally realize what a blessing in disguise this is.

I never have to listen to her bullshit again. I never have to acknowledge her ever again and I can wash my hands of the worst human I’ve ever met. I never have to dread walking in to find that she’s covering someone I work with, and I never have to give up shifts to avoid having to work with her again.

I wake up my same self, with a happy heart and a bright future.

She wakes up as Miss Cunt Bag- yet again. She’s facing the same day she’s faced for years. Lonely & alone and destined to stay that way because it’d take a damn fool to sign on to that nightmare.

All in all- I’ll miss my job because I truly liked one of my bosses and all the rest of my co-workers. They’re like an extended family to me…. but.

I’m a single mom, and they fired me without a seconds notice at the first of the month and with no regard to me, based on the fact I didn’t apologize and didn’t take down my blog.

They ushered me in and out with as few words as possible and I saw the writing on the wall…

They’re scared of me. It has everything to do with my blog and nothing to do with my performance- with the text messages to prove it.

This audience is too broad and what I say here- counts. They could silence me and make me endure all the torment that Cunt can dish out while I was working- but they can’t take my freedom of speech away.

Or freedom to blog.

And like I say with any guy I’ve dated- and about the real assholes in my life… if you’re afraid of my blog then you know you’re doing a shitty job.

If you’re afraid of truth, you’re not living it… and if you’re afraid of what I might say? Perhaps you should be more concerned with how you treat people.

When you’re kind and friendly- that’s all people can say about you. The same is true when you’re an asshole.

It’s going to be an interesting day, to say the least. I’ve never filed for unemployment before- I’ve never been fired for that matter.

Cheers… to the future and to never having to take a single ounce of shit from that wretched Cunt, ever again.