I don’t know that he’d be caught dead driving that…?

I managed to capture this photo last week on the way to work. I realize there may not be many folks who recognize the phrase emblazoned upon this driver’s license plate, but I had to post it anyway because I’m soooo mad I didn’t think of it first…:)


Funny, t’was found on a BMW. The boys aren’t always in love with the Bavarian vehicles – unless they’re high end sports cars, which this one is not…gotta LOVE it anyway.

Of course, if you’re not a fan of TOP GEAR, you won’t get it.

Have a good weekend, all!


And her band of truth-spouting hippies…


Post #32 – Thank you, Mother Nature from a very HAPPY Bitch!

Today, there are no tithes to pay to any bill collectors or any banks.

There are no 22-year-old teenagers who are unemployed and balking about applying for jobs that he’s “not going to do” as if such is beneath him – despite his limited work history.

There is no corporate prison and its dreary cubicle existence poised to darken the door of my future in less than a fortnight.

Nay, there are only dark chocolate with peanut butter at present with a dose of red wine waiting in the wings, this magnificent sun pictured below – and last but not least, a Tenacious Bitch who is eternally grateful that the cruel and bitter winter has decided to take the day off! And by brutal, t’was -12 F less than 14 days ago!

THANK YOU, MOTHER EARTH/SUN/SKY for your beauty and the cloudless blue sky and 70 degrees of warmth bestowed upon us today….and please ignore the paleness of my almost colorless skin so eager to bronze in the luscious rays to come… 🙂


FYI….this was originally penned on Monday, March 16, 2015. I just forgot to post it….


OVER AND OUT from Lunatic Central!




Post # 31 – Rudolph’s Attempt To Avoid The Attic…

When I packed up the Christmas decorations this past weekend, I couldn’t find Rudolph anywhere. I thought maybe one of the cats had drug him away to some dark corner, and I was actually worried that George, in particular, might’ve ripped him to shreds because he was constantly running off with him during the holidays.

So, I put Rudolph upstairs in my office, but it seems Rudolph has developed superpowers – or a poltergeist felt the need to move him because he was not on the shelf in my office where I left him. Um, yeah, my mistake…guess Rudolph just didn’t want to go back in the attic…found him in the coat closet last night, LOL.


Not sure how he got there! 🙂 And people were making such a fuss about the elves whisking about their homes…:). And Charlie and Max swear they did not lay a hand on my beloved reindeer! So, I decided I would not put poor Rudolph in the cold, cold darkness of the attic nor into the cramped box full of holiday cheer (i.e. with the garland, the lights for the tree, the Christmas baubles, etc.) . He and I struck a bargain. If he’ll remain on the shelf in my office, he can live there until next December, when, hopefully, George will have tired of trying to dismember him.

Have a good day/evening/morning, ALL! 🙂


Post #30 – No More Christmas Crack…

I stopped by Big Lots the other day to get a birthday card for my sister-in-law, which would’ve been fine except I decided to look at the Christmas decorations to see maybe if there was something I thought Allicia (my sister-in-law) might like.

However, after perusing an aisle full of glittery ornaments and such, I thought it best to get her something else because she and my brother, Graham, just moved back to L.A. (from Chicago), and I have no clue how big their new digs are or if they have a 6′ tree or one of the table-top variety. And I wouldn’t want to buy a couple of Star Trek ornaments or something that might be almost as big as their tree should they opt for a smaller Christmas pine, shall we say.

Before I headed for the register though – I spotted THIS AISLE…


I took a deep breath and told myself, I didn’t have time to shop for anything else knowing that wasn’t the case. I was on my way home, and my husband and I didn’t have any plans, other than eating leftovers and knocking off a few TV shows hidden away on the DVR.

However, I know me, and even though I’m not one to impulsively drop $2K on clothes or something, I’m keenly aware that the cute and cuddlies could render me bankrupt.

Yes, I’m speaking of all the cute little holiday reindeer and snow men and such  who sing and dance. These little darlings are my Christmas crack, but like all addicts, I told myself…I’d just look. I wouldn’t touch anything, just a quick glance, and out the door I’d go.

I wouldn’t fetch a credit card or my debit card. I wouldn’t snatch the last dancing Snoopy from a small child like one particular November evening I spent in the custody of store security (luckily, no charges were filed…). Am I kidding? Am I telling the truth? Only the big man in blue at Walmart knows for sure.

Thankfully, while visiting all the beautiful babes in holiday toyland, I did not incur the wrath of an angry mother/fearful child or a suspicious rent-a-cop. But I took one look at this guy….


And I was down the Christmas rabbit hole. I squeezed his little paw and watched his song and dance with glee – ignoring thr promise from last year that I would not darken these sparkly walls on a full wallet.

However, that was last year’s promise. I’m making more money this year! It’ll be okay. I can handle it…I know. You’re shaking your heads, the verbiage of every addict on a binge, is it not?

know that now, but the words sounded true echoing about my gray matter when I was under the influence of my Christmas crack as I giggled and marveled at all the furry entertainers.

Unfortunately, it was the worst day for me to be standing about gazing at all the jivin’ Christmas troupe in fake fur who were rockin’ Christmas to the best of their rock-a-billy souls would allow. Yeah, you guessed it. I had unwittingly entered this retail drug den on none other than – payday.

My paycheck had been electronically deposited that morning, and I hadn’t paid any bills yet. Yeah, you said it – oh, f*cking hell, an addict’s worst nightmare, enough cash to buy every damned one of these delightful creatures.

I could pay my credit cards next payday, right? What were they gonna do? Show up at my house with a gun? Late fee – smate flea. I can afford what? Maybe, $25-$35 on my Visa and my Kohl’s credit card. I pushed aside all those logical thoughts about NOT trashing my excellent credit – because they were just so damned adorable.

I scooped up the abominable snowman and tossed him into my basket, and that was the beginning of the end. With the high from one acquisition coursing through my veins, I snapped up this hilarious little fellow…


If you can’t tell, his shirt says: IF I FLUSH, will you go away? 🙂

Five minutes later, my cashflow was a good $50 or $60 in the red. However, I managed to escape without emptying my bank account and still had more than enough to pay those damned credit cards. So, I’ll just put this event in the WIN/win column and call it a day.

But shhhhh…don’t tell anyone, especially my husband because he’ll make me go to a meeting or WORSE call my sponsor, but I’m thinking the Grinch might be busy gearing up for his big Christmas heist.

Anywho…just had to share, and if I can ever figure out how to upload videos, I shall do so in the hopes that you, dear reader, can truly understand my plight…:)

Good day all, and I hope your Christmas crack doesn’t come knocking upon your door because the guilt…oh, nay, the guilt is a beastly mistress to bear.

All the best,

TenaciousB and her band of truth-spouting hippies


Post #29 – Maybe, I’ll just get naked…

I had been overweight most of my son, Max’s, life, and then in 2002, I decided I was tired of being fat. I started dieting. Initially, I followed kind of a modified version of Weight Watchers, and I began walking anywhere from 20 to 40 minutes a day. I dropped 20 pounds, it seemed, without even trying that hard.

At that point, I was hooked. I kept walking. I kept cutting calories and whatnot…then, when I hit a plateau after losing around 30 pounds, I found the South Beach Diet, which was awesome. I lost 10 pounds in 2 weeks. But I had also added more aggressive exercise to my daily fitness regime. I lifted weights. I did yoga, step aerobics, kick boxing, you name it. I was a woman on a mission.

By 2004, I had lost 60 pounds. I went from a size 16 to a size 6…for the men in the crowd who have no idea what that means, let’s just say most runway models are between a size 2 and a size 4, so I was just a tad bigger than them, and I had a 28 inch waist.

And though I was 39 when I ran/spun and sweated the last pound off my much smaller frame, I started modeling again, just part-time, but it was exhilarating to be able to do that sort of thing again. If that weren’t a big enough ego boost, my son, Max, said something I’ll never forget that summer  of 2004 after I lost all the weight.

Max and I were walking into the neighborhood pool about 3 blocks from our house and suddenly, Max said…

“Why do I have to have the only Mom who’s hot?”

After I cracked up laughing, I was a tad confused, so I said…”Thanks, I guess, but why is it bad that I look better in a bathing suit than your friends’ mothers?”

Max frowned. Then, he gave me a rather exaggerated eye roll. “Because everyone’s looking at you.”

I surveyed the crowd and saw a 20ish lifeguard smile and look away. I noticed an older man in a blue Speedo leering at me, which made me a tad queasy. And a rather rotund bald guy who looked to be about 70 years old also seemed to be watching me until his wife noticed and smacked him in the chest.

“What?” the old, bald man bellowed innocently.

“Quit looking at all the young girls. It’s embarrassing,” said the wife.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that one because as I said…I was 39 and hadn’t thought of myself as a young girl for quite some time.

I was at a loss for words as to how I should respond to Max’s dilemma since no one had paid that kind of attention to me in more than a decade, so I just muttered, “Sorry, dude. Would you like me to put on a mu-mu?”

I thought that was funny, but obviously it did nothing to assuage Max’s discomfort.

“Whatever,” Max said. “I’ll be by the slide with my friends.”

“Okay,” I said, sitting down on the plastic lounge chair, almost wishing I had a large flannel shirt or a parka to cover up my skinnier self. Instead, I grabbed my pink cover up and decided – sweat be damned …I didn’t want people staring at me anymore than Max did.

I awkwardly stretched out on the lounger and settled in with my Diet Coke and my tome of the day, Intensity by Dean Koontz, but I couldn’t focus. I kept having to read various paragraphs, sometimes whole pages a second time. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was on display.

I observed the crowd of women at the pool. Four of Max’s friends were there, and all four mothers had 80 to 100 pounds on me. So, even when I was pretty hefty, I was still the smallest heifer in the herd, so to speak, among the moms in our neighborhood.

So, I said to hell with it…I used to be those women. Their hair was a mess. One woman was eating a Ho-Ho, the other was stuffing her face with Pringles, and I’ll bet the most exercise they’d gotten in a decade was walking to the bathroom or walking to their cars after work (or after a day at the pool).

I’m not those women anymore. So, I took off the cover-up, stood up and sashayed my ass over to the pool and jumped in. I didn’t care who was looking at me, and if any of the heavier moms sneered at me or made snide comments that I’d had liposuction or some other bullshit instead of literally working my ass off…maybe, I’d just get naked.

Why not? I wouldn’t be the first almost 40-year-old to bare it all…but no one said a word, of course…not even Max. Good thing…not sure I could do the naked in public thing…but you never know…:)

I was reminded of that moment when Max lamented about having a “hot mom” when I came across these photos from our vacation a month before the incident at the pool…

max and I at the swim up bar - Grand Cayman

tony and I in the caymans



Over and out from the naked couch in my naked living room…or something like that…:)

TENACIOUS BITCH and her band of truth-spouting hippies


Post #28 Dean Koontz cut class for Pinochle? And I slept under the dining room table…

Yesterday on Twitter, Dean Koontz mentioned that when he was in college, he cut class to play in Pinochle tournaments. When I was going to Marshall University, I skipped class once in awhile when it interrupted my hangover.

The day I woke up under a dining room table to the sound of 200 birds was definitely one of those days. I don’t remember how I ended up there, and when I first woke up I feared I must’ve been kidnapped or some sort of foul play had been enacted upon my person since I normally slept on a water bed at this point in time. Quit laughing. It was the late 80s. Everyone slept on a water bed back then.

Nathan, guy I was dating when this happened, lived in a frat house, which did not have a dining room, much less a dining room table, and the only time I stayed there, we slept in his twin bed.

My immediate panic that there might be someone with a gun on the other side of the off-white linen tablecloth drooping down from the table above me was assuaged when I realized I had slept with a feather pillow under my head and a down comforter over me, and I’m pretty sure those are not tools of the trade of your average kidnapper.

And then, there were the birds, not a good idea to harbor your human cargo in a room full of squawking creatures who obviously weren’t happy that I was there, or, maybe, they were just hungry. I really didn’t care because their racket was amplifying my dehydration headache from that smashing hangover I was experiencing.

Though my fear of being a hostage had dimmed, my next concern was that I had done irrevocably stupid like leaving the bar where I worked with a bar patron – or worse a friend of Nathan’s. Nathan was out of town at the beach with his sister, and we had been seeing each other for a couple of months. We hadn’t had “the talk” to determine whether we were exclusive or not, but if this little makeshift bed had been shared with a frat boy who knew Nathan, there pretty much wouldn’t be much point in having that little chat.

I looked at my watch, which indicated it was 3:44. I assumed it was afternoon because I could see some major daylight beaming in from outside my camp under the table, if you will. And the last concrete memory I have from the previous night was around 3 a.m. when I settled up my tips with the bartender at the Monarch Cafe (in Huntington, West Virginia, my hometown) where I worked back then. As I recall, the waitresses were required to give the bartenders 10% of our take.

Finally, I garnered the courage to lift up the tablecloth, I saw a messy and very ordinary desk and four cages with 3 or 4 very small white birds hopping around and chirping their little beaks off. I had no recollection of any of my friends having birds at pets, so these little feathered friends of whomever lived here were no help in solving the mystery of where the hell I was.

My quandary was interrupted by a hearty bout of laughter. I glanced to my right and much to my relief I saw Paula, my coworker at the Monarch, who was one of the bartenders. She was five foot nothing, had long blonde hair, and the face of a cherub. I always teased her saying her parents had stolen her face off the label of a baby food jar. Whenever I wanted to annoy her at work, I called her Babyface. She’d just roll her eyes and said, “One of these days, Smith, I’m gonna tape your butt cheeks together,” she reply laughing in homage to The Breakfast Club, of course, which had just graced the theaters a year or so before she and I started working together.

“Oh, thank God, it’s you,” I said smiling.

Paula giggled. “Where did you think you were?” she asked, her light blue eyes twinkling.

“I had no clue, but I was hoping and praying I hadn’t been kidnapped by some delusional grandmother-”

Paula laughed again.

“Or I’d left the bar with one of Nathan’s friends.”

“Nope. Just me, and I don’t think any of Nathan’s friends were there last night.”

“I didn’t think so either, but after that third Kamikazi, everything kinda fades to black. Thank you letting me stay here, but why am I under the table?”

“You said you can’t sleep on couches, and my roommate would freak if you slept in her bed.”


“Don’t ask. She’s more than a little O.C.D.” Paula said, “She’s more than a little touched in the head if you know what I mean, and these damned cockatiels are hers,” she said.

I nodded. “Why so many birds?”

“They were found in an abandoned house, and she couldn’t bear to separate them. She feared it would give them some sort of mental illness.”

I laughed. “Okay, then. So, next time if I get tanked, and I’m unable to drive, feel free to take me to my place. No roommates. Just two cats who won’t bother you unless you’re covered in bacon.”

“Fat chance of that,” Paula said, laughing.

“Yeah, since you’re a vegan and all.”

Paula nodded, and, luckily, I never ended up under her dining room table again. And these days I don’t drink like that – no more sleeping under the dining room table for me. I’m really boring these days, a beer before dinner, a glass of wine or 2 after dinner.

And, thank you, Dean Koontz for reminding me of that amusing story, which, in turn, reminded me that Paula’s birthday is in four days, and I must get her a card…so off I go to Walgreen’s.

Over and out from Tenacious Bitch’s bar and grill where cockatiels, sadly, aren’t welcome…they’re lovely birds, but all that racket wouldn’t be conducive to getting a whole lotta writing done…:)

~TenaciousBitch and her band of truth-spouting hippies



Post # 27 – Why I hate Donatos Pizza…

Whenever I’m at a party or a work function, and someone orders Donatos Pizza, people always inquire as to why I’m frowning at the sight of free pizza.   DENOATOS PIZZA 3Well, that would be because Donatos sued me for an $18.00 pizza that I didn’t even order. How is that, you ask? As many of my fans already know, I was once married to an asshole named Allen, mentioned in this particular post:


Yeah, him, the guy who asked me to give up custody of my son, Max, on Valentine’s Day, no less.

Anywho, Allen is the reason I hate Donatos. When Allen and I were married, I used to drive down to Jackson, Ohio, to meet Ashe and drop off Max and Rory almost every weekend, which was a 5-hour drive round trip, thereabouts. (for the 411 on Ashe, check out –


One night when I drove to Jackson, Allen ordered a pizza from Donatos. And the dickhead who went off about yours truly kiting checks to an employee of our bank – bounced the damned check to Donatos because he didn’t bother to check to see if his paycheck had cleared before ordering his dinner.

Several months after Allen and I separated in 1997, I received a complaint from Donatos – suing me in Small Claims Court for Allen’s Extra large pizza with pepperoni and mushrooms.

My telephone number was on the check, a number I kept until Charlie and I moved in together in June of 1998. Donatos never called. I never received anything in the mail from them. I also never received anything from the bank that the check had bounced either because all of the mail from Ohio Savings & Loan went to Allen because he was the primary on the account. If I’d known, I would’ve gone over to Donatos and paid the lousy $18 + the returned check fee.

Of course, since Allen was a doo-less prick, he probably received the notices from the bank – or maybe, a letter from Donatos and never bothered to pay for the check that HE bounced.

I assume they served complaints on both of us. And he didn’t respond to the complaint, or it got lost in the mail.

However, that seems like a stretch since he was living in the same apartment complex for a year after we separated. Three months after that check was written, however, the boys and I moved to Dublin (Ohio). I can’t imagine Donatos waited that long to return the check. But who knows.

But what I don’t get is before you go to all the trouble of suing someone and paying your corporate attorney to file a lawsuit for 18 frickin’ dollars and paying court costs, why didn’t someone pick up the damned phone and ask for payment?

Kroger called me once when Ashe bounced a check, and I went straight over there on payday and gave them cash to cover it. Then, I went home and threw darts at Ashe’s head…oh, wait…actually it was a knife and I missed, LOL. Think I’m kidding? Take a gander at this post  –    http://tenaciousbitch.com/2013/10/07/how-i-almost-murdered-ex-husband-2/

Although, t’was was a dirty diaper that prompted me to toss a bit of cutlery in his direction…:)

Anyway, there I was, a single Mom who knew very few people in town since we had been in Ohio less than a year, and I was supposed to appear in night court for a hearing around 6 p.m., seems like.

I asked a coworker to babysit, but she didn’t show up. It never occurred to me to take my children with me because my mother would’ve left us at home with a sitter if she’d had to go to court or the BMV or a doctor’s appointment, etc., and I was the same way. Additionally, Max was as hyper as the day is long at that point and would’ve been difficult to deal with in that situation.

Instead, I called the judge’s office. I was told that if I’d paid for the pizza and court costs, then the judge would dismiss the charges. I was extremely relieved – albeit very pissed off about the $74 I had to wire to the Court that evening – from the grocery store round the corner with 2 hungry and grouchy children in tow.

The silver lining, of course, was that I added that expense to the long list of debts Allen had to pay in our divorce. I’ll never forget the look on the judge’s reaction to the pizza clause, if you will.

“Excuse me, does this say $74 for pizza? Why? Did he have a party and not invite you?” Judge Brown asked with an amused smile on her lovely face.

My very astute lawyer explained the situation.

“I see,” said the judge. After a sigh and a full-on glare at Allen, she signed off on the settlement agreement and the final decreee, which legally severed a rather miserable relationship.

Perhaps, my loathing of Donatos is a tad misplaced since Allen was really more to blame than the pizza conglomerate, but I don’t care. It was the pie that broke my vault of patience!

Time to go eat some Papa John’s!

~TenaciousB and her band of truth-spouting hippies


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