Archive for August, 2013

Post #110 – Epic fail on the Re-Blogging, and where’s the LOW-CARB Merlot?

Posted in Food and beverages, humor, nonfiction, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 28, 2013 by tenaciousbitch

So, I read this post this morning, which I thought was hysterical, and I wanted to re-blog it, but, apparently, I’m not smart enough to find the RE-BLOG link, or as my son, Max, is always saying that I committed an “EPIC FAIL”, so….here’s the link/ping/pong/web address/cyber condo/ coordinates – whatever:

I particularly LOVE the way she demonstrates the POWER of the Hostess Cupcake, which thank YOU GOD, are back on the shelves for those of us who put our brains on hiatus and EAT ONE once/year :)…and I commend her for being able to stop at just one bite of that boy’s face. Not sure my vampiric lust for chocolate would’ve allowed me to cease feasting until I’d eaten half his face.

And I totally feel her pain. As I stated in my comment on her post, today is DAY ONE/Ground Zero of yet another diet. However, this one shows real promise. It’s not teasing me with promises of alcohol at the end of EVERY day like Jorge Cruise’s 100 diet did.

While I did lose a few pounds on the 100 regime, it was difficult to STAY on course because it wasn’t always easy to calculate the calories in one’s sugar rations if you can’t stomach a skinny muffin, made from flax flour and water or whatever, converted to a solid in the microwave (bleh).

If it had been made from dried up glue and Styrofoam it might’ve tasted better. So, I would substitute a piece of whole wheat toast, occasionally, or maybe another piece of goat cheese. Yes, I know a muffin is not in the same food group as cheese, but I was hungry, and you don’t have to microwave cheese, now do you? Cow-wrangled cheese (ahem, dairy) is allowed on Jorge’s meal plan, so why not organic goat cheese? It’s healthier, and it’s yummy.

And while you’re allowed 2 glasses of wine, perhaps, it was too easy to overindulge because my favorite wine glass (shown below) will hold 10 OUNCES of my beloved Merlot..

wine glass on table 2

And I believe if you drink TWO glasses of exquisite red vino nearly cresting the rim, such is probably too much, but it’s easy to brainwash yourself with these clever thoughts – It’s Saturday night, and the book SAYS 2 glasses…:)…until Saturday becomes Wednesday becomes Sunday, and once you’ve had 20 ounces of wine, ya gotta have more cheese, right? 🙂 And 4 weeks later, you’ve gained four pounds between the wine and the occasional must-have vanilla bean ice cream with chocolate syrup, which was definitely NOT on the list of acceptable foods…sigh, but I ran out of goat cheese. So, yes, that’s all on ME. However, I put this sign on the freezer:


Yeah, yeah, Weight Watchers magazine says CUT OUT THE NEGATIVE talk. Well, I’ve met me, and if I stand in front of the mirror and tell myself how “beautiful” I am, I’ll just start laughing and eat the damned ice cream, so tough love is in order!

Not that I think I’m ugly or anything, but I could still wiggle into size 8 shorts two years ago, and now I have to stop breathing in 30 second intervals and wrap myself in duct tape in order to zip up the size 12 shorts I just bought. But who am I kidding? Perhaps, buying a 14 might’ve been easier (BIG SIGH), but I just don’t wanna go there cuz I keep hoping I’ll wake up, and all the jogging I do in my sleep will have finally paid off, and 20 pounds has evaporated.

But so far…NOT SO MUCH. And I do still exercise 4-5 times/week, or I’d probably be sporting a double-wide caboose/size 44 pants at this point.

ANYWHO…sugar-coating the existence of unwanted waistline blubber is not going to help me! I need the mean-assed sergeant from Private Benjamin screaming at me in the form of the above-mentioned SIGN because I only buy organic ice cream that contains milk, cream, vanilla and sugar, so how bad could it be, right? It’s like coffee with more sugar, sans the coffee… 🙂

I posted notes like this around the house before, and it worked  – kind of the smack to my closeted glutton-beast needed to stave off shoveling more donuts/ice cream/3 Musketeers bars into my pie-hole…:)

However, more importantly – we humans, in our mega-brainy moments, have seen fit to:

1) Fly to the moon

2) Figure out how to SIPHON fat from our bodies

3) Design hybrid electric cars that get 47 miles/ gallon

4) Design cars that can park themselves and text their owners about necessary maintenance.

5) Design telephones that will holler directions at you to the nearest Starbucks.

6) Design cars and phones that we can ORDER AROUND with one’s spoken words…how cool is that?

7) Genetically engineer plants to grow LARGER and/or make cows yield more milk

8)  Design microchips that track the wanderings of our lost pets

9)  Manufacture cameras the size of a gnat’s fart

10) Make DIET soda that has NO calories!

11) Create luscious-tasting beer that only has 3.9 carbs and 64 CALORIES

So, number 12 should be create DIET WINE, but you’ll notice it’s NOT on the list, and why the hell not? I don’t wanna start drinking vodka because it has no carbs. I don’t really like vodka. I want LOW-CARB MERLOT  that tastes like red FUCKING wine!!

Who’s with me?

Hmmm…perhaps, I should research what kind of grapes will grow in Ohio…and stock up on Splenda..

OVER and out from everyone’s favorite BITCH and her band of truth-spouting hippies~



Post #109 – How Karma Bitch-Slapped the Philanderer…without kiting any CHECKS…:)

Posted in courtroom drama, marriage, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, sex, true crime, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on August 21, 2013 by tenaciousbitch

So, AFTER the initial batch of checks that Eli bounced, mentioned previously, I received a seemingly endless slew of notices announcing more ATM withdrawals/checks against our now HOLLOW joint account from him using the WRONG ATM card. The final total was $984.

However, my lawyer, Blaine Lexington, drew up a very reasonable settlement agreement requiring Eli PAY for his additional bounced checks/charges, and in exchange, I wouldn’t ask for alimony. Since he’d cheated on me, and he had no children to support, I had an excellent chance of getting alimony.

Apparently, Eli laughed at this proposal, to his detriment, I might add. You see, Eli, being the cheap bastard that he is, hired Lily Murano, who represented his employer in business matters. And Lily had NEVER handled a divorce before, LOL.

On the other hand, Blaine is the BEST divorce attorney in the state of Ohio, who charged $1500 for an uncontested divorce but I only paid $1100. Why? Well, Blaine’s wife, Felicia, is a friend of mine. We met at a paralegal seminar back in the late 80s.  And Blaine allowed me to do a lot of the legwork on the divorce to help defray the cost as well. In fact, I drafted part of the settlement agreement…:)

And, truth be known, Eli actually owed me a lot more than $984. About a month before we moved to Ohio, he asked if he could use my Visa to open an Internet account with America Online, just to use the free 800 hours.

He didn’t have a Visa because he SAID his ex-wife went uber psycho during the divorce (wonder why :)?) and opened a Mastercard in HIS name and ran up more than $5,000 in purchases, a scant $2,000 over the limit within A WEEK, allegedly ruining his credit, and his Visa got cancelled because of his plummeting credit score. And now all he had was a Sears card.

“If it’s free, why do you need my Visa?” I asked.

“To validate my identity.  You know, people would take advantage otherwise, and then AOL wouldn’t be able to collect any money or even know who to bill without a credit card. After all, I could make up any name as my email address.”

I nodded. “As long as you cancel it the SECOND the trial is over.”


He was my husband. Why wouldn’t I trust him?

Two months later, he’d added $449 on my Visa bill from using AOL!! Back then, in 1995, AOL charged $3.99 per HALF hour for Internet service after the free trial ended.

However, Eli didn’t bother to cancel after the free trial because he was too busy chatting with other WOMEN and downloading PORN all day long on weekends and such on my FUCKING DIME.

I wondered why he so-loved AOL. I knew he was playing vampire role-playing games sometimes because he would talk about the plot lines sometimes.  But since he worked nights, and I worked days, I had no idea just HOW MUCH time he’d spent online until it was too late.

However, after I found out he’d cheated on me (re: ), I SNOOPED on his PC, and not only did I find a cyber-sex conversation with Wolfbitch296, he’d saved on a Word file, but there were HUNDREDS of photos of naked women in leather masks who were shackled to a wall or, perhaps, secured with rope. Some were in elaborate costumes, save their large breasts tumbling out of what looked like PORT HOLES in body armor.

Some were on leashes on all fours. It was all rather disturbing, and I had NO CLUE that he would prematurely go WET, if you will, if I had slipped on some leather and assumed the position as the family pet. I would’ve laughed my ass off at the mere hint of anything like that because I’m not the least bit submissive. A lot of people are into that sort of thing, but it’s just not for me.

Though I cancelled his AOL account immediately, the bills just kept pouring in. And I destroyed half a dozen dishes/glasses and an ugly lamp lobbing one or the other at Eli’s head every time I exploded on him after opening yet another BLOATED Visa bill for 3/4 months. All tolled, the balance crested at $1100 over the limit because of the interest, late fees, and over-the-limit fees. He paid the MINIMUM payments until we split up, but after that, he paid ZIPPO because I allegedly charged more than that on his Sears card.

That was such bullshit. First of all, I, MYSELF, never charged one fucking cent on his Sears card, much less anything without permission. He offered to pay for new tile and new paint for my kitchen because my tile was 20 years old. He OFFERED to buy a new water heater on his Sears card when mine went kaput, so we could use my tax refund for our honeymoon. All of which was HIS idea. But the total on his Sears card was less than $1,000, so he didn’t even bother with that in court.

“It would cause an undue burden on your wife to pay the taxes on her home in West Virginia plus all the debut incurred during the marriage,” said Judge Bickely, a very attractive black woman in her 40s. “Therefore, I’m granting the Plaintiff’s Motion for Support, requiring that you pay the $1122 requested by the apartment community in unpaid rent after you relocated as well as-”

“Your honor, this will cause my client undue financial stress as well,” Ms. Murano objected.

“But your client broke the marriage vows twice, once by cheating, once by abandoning his wife in an apartment she couldn’t afford. Therefore, Mr. Costanza, you can agree to your wife’s terms, or pay $1,000 per month in alimony until she remarries. Your choice,” Judge Bickel said.

Eli glared sideways at me, then at his attorney. With a sigh, he accepted defeat and finally agreed to my demands.

In the end, because Eli refused to cover his $984 in bounced checks, he paid more than $5,000 over 28 months. DUMB ASS…should’ve taken the offer behind Door #1. If he hadn’t accepted the settlement, however, alimony would’ve cost around $40,000 by the time Charlie and I got married in 2000.  I just love when the justice system actually WORKS, don’t you?

T’was all she wrote, ladies n gents, cuz the fat lady’s singing! And singing pretty. And I hadn’t thought about Eli for a decade until seeing his SURLY self on Facebook (mentioned in my last post).

Over and out from fracked up central,

Tenacious BITCH and her band of truth-spouting hippies…:)

© Tenacious Bitch 2013

Post #108 – Thank You for reminding me of the Supreme Philanderer and my check kiting days…

Posted in Family, humor, marriage, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, true crime, true stories, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 13, 2013 by tenaciousbitch

Round about 1993, I met an asshole named Allen through the personals in the newspaper.  Stop laughing and smirking. After all, the Internet was in diapers then, and dating websites were sketchy, clunky and relatively unknown.  Besides, I didn’t own a computer until ’96.

Long story short, after dating for almost two+ years, Allen and I got married in August of ’95. Not long after, Allen accepted a job at Ohio State as a chemical engineer or something like that. I don’t speak geek, badly or otherwise. And off we went to Ohio.

At first, Allen’s rendition of the devoted stepfather was Oscar worthy. Max was 4, and Rory was 9. Taking them to the park, going camping, helping them build model airplanes and other father-feigning activities.

Then, came our first marital blowout, on Valentine’s Day, a mere six months into our marriage.

“You should give up custody of Max, to his dad, Allen said, his hazel eyes darkening to a murky, turd-water green. And his voice was stern and authoritative as if this crucifixion of my life and Max’s were an order, not a suggestion. Max was a little hellion, but he was FOUR! It’s not like he’d just wrecked Allen’s car or something.

*And for those who are new to my corral of crazy, Ashe is ex #2, mentioned in this post:

“NO FUCKING WAY!” Was my swift, blood-curdling reply.

And so it began, the first of many vicious brawls between us. This one ended with him slinging me into a cinder-block wall. He then barricaded me in our bedroom with a chair under the doorknob. I sat stunned on the scratchy, sculptured carpet for a moment, completely bewildered. My back and arms were wallpapered with sharp-edged bruises. But, luckily, no broken bones.

Taking a deep breath, I bit down on the anger, and ran into the door, shoulder first like a battering ram. I heard the wood splintering and made a second charge into the door. With a SPLAT, the door gave way, and I landed, sprawled across the door, which had plunked down atop the washer across the hall.

And there was Allen, holding a wooden shard from the kitchen chair I’d bashed into with the door.  I think God saved me from breaking my pelvis that night, or the adrenalin padded my fall, who knows. Later, Allen confessed, he’d grabbed the chair just before I sacked it with the door a second time to lessen any acute injuries. How sweet – trying to minimize the blood bath he’d started. And I’d broken and dislocated his thumb to boot. Allen was a South Paw. After that, he had to learn to write with the opposite hand. Served him right…the bastard … 🙂 I was still raw from such a brutal exchange, so I called the police.

By the time the Sheriff arrived, Allen had gone to a motel to avoid “Anymore of my insolence.” Really? Interesting word choice. I was 26, not 12, and the word OBEY was not among our marital promises, but I guess in the warped world of Allen Costanza, I was still beholden to his whims, wants and rules. Fuck that. I didn’t alter my custody agreement with Ashe who had visitation on weekends. If Allen didn’t like it, too frickin’ bad!

A couple weeks later, Allen and I made a tentative truce of sorts. In that, I no longer wanted to boil him alive.  Not two weeks later, I developed what I thought was a yeast infection. But I was SO wrong.

“I’m sorry, but you have a rash that is most likely from,” the Nurse said with a heavy sigh, her eyebrows twitching nervously, “Well, often caused by a spermicidal product used with a diaphragm,” the nurse continued delicately.

“But I’ve been on the pill since Max was born…” I couldn’t finish that sentence as the realization sunk in. I stared at the nurse speechless and slack-jawed.  I didn’t own a diaphragm, nor had I ever used one.

I broke down sobbing knowing that I’d suffered with these damned hives that made me wanna sandpaper my crotch because of another woman’s birth control bullshit! Can you say DICKHEAD with a capital D?

And that was the end of Mr. and Mrs. Allen. I drove straight to his office, flung open the door and started screaming every disdainful adjective and four-letter word in my vast vocabulary. And I didn’t give a shit who heard me.

“See you in court, you lousy prick,” I sputtered sashaying my vindicated ass past his dough-eyed assistant, who’d been white-knuckling it the whole time while easing backward against a file cabinet as if fearing she was my next target. But she could drain his little ding dong dry for all I cared. I was DONE. However, I found out years later from a mutual friend, Allen had been boinking an ex-girlfriend who dumped him right after I did! Karma’s a bitch, is she not? 🙂

If all that weren’t bad enough, the month before our divorce was final, Allen darkened my doorway one sunny afternoon with claims of fiduciary misconduct.

“You’ve overdrawn our joint account.”

“I have not.  I just balanced my checkbook yesterday after I got paid, and there was $75 left over.”

“Well, I suggest you straighten it out because they might debit my fucking business account for your mismanagement of funds.”

“I didn’t mismanage anything, you fucking ass hat. I’d bet my life it’s your fuck-up, not mine!” I hollered in a huff, slamming the door in his face.

When Allen and I split up, we agreed, through our lawyers, that I’d use the joint account, and he’d use his business account at the SAME BANK.  And the $50 in our sad little savings was used to pay the fee for filing for the divorce.

While the neighbor watched my boys, I headed to the bank. When I walked in, there was Allen sitting with Brenda, a blonde in customer service, just lambasting me all to hell.

“And she kites checks all the time, so it’s no wonder. ” Allen explained in a very flat tone.

“Hello, Allen, what’s up?” I asked, smiling, wanting to bludgeon the smug off his face with a sledge hammer, but there wasn’t one handy.

His head snapped around, a sour face glaring up at mine. Not a word, just rolled his eyes.

For those unfamiliar with check kiting, according to, it’s “the unlawful practice of drawing checks against a bank account containing insufficient funds to cover them, with the expectation that the necessary funds will be deposited before such checks are presented for payment.”

  1. Guilty as charged.When you have two kids, and your ex-husband is behind on child support because he’s unemployed, and you make all of $14,000/year, kiting checks is the only way to avoid eating McDonald’s ketchup packets for dinner the night before payday. And I NEVER wrote checks for anything but groceries.

The ONLY time I ever bounced a check was because of  Mountain State Savings’ jack-leg practices in 1990. Though I deposited my paychecks every Friday at noon, they weren’t credited until 12:01 AM Monday/hog-tying one’s cash until Tuesday. To-wit, I covered the bad check, closed the account and went to Bank One.

So, ANYWHO…I sat down beside Allen as Brenda explained, “Well, sir, the problem is your paychecks are being direct-deposited in your business account, but you’re withdrawing funds from the joint account with this debit card,” she said, holding up one of Allen’s GREEN ATM cards that he’d already given her. “This is the card for your business account,” she continued picking up a different GREEN card.

“So, you’ve mismanaged my account, Allen! How shocking,” I said, with a much deserved gigle.

“Shut up, you stupid cow!” Allen countered, his face glowing red.

Sticks and stones, my friend. Sticks and stones. When we opened our accounts with 1st National, all three ATM cards were green. I warned Allen to request a different colored card for his business account, so he wouldn’t mix them up. But he poo-pooed me. However, I ordered a flowered bank card for the joint account to avoid such issues.

Yes, t’was Christmas come early! He had to write a check for $440 to cover his debits from the WRONG ACCOUNT.  In the end, our divorce cost him almost $5,000.

How’s that, you ask? Well, this post is long enough to choke a horse as it is…so tune in next time…for the conclusion of the Allen Fiasco and all its juicy…:)

And I’d like to THANK Facebook who sent me FLYING backward into the mental shadows of this shitty relationship after seeing its algorithmic prompt yesterday, which innocently said:

People you may know:

Allen Costanza

Red Bank, Wyoming

4 mutual friends…

WITH A PHOTO of his ugly mug staring at me from cyber space.

He’s currently separated from wife #8, and he’s rather bald. He also weighs somewhere north of 400 pounds! Meanwhile, I’ve lost 40 pounds since our demise. I hope that FB’s mystical auto friend prompter flung him the same message, so he can see how awesome I look in comparison. Regardless, I’d rather be horse-whipped than send him an invite!

Love and chocolate chip cookies – from fracked up central –

TenaciousB and her band of truth-spouting HIPPIES

Tenacious Bitch © 2013


Post #107 – If you’re weird, and you know it…clap your hands! :)

Posted in beer, college, Family, friends, humor, marriage, memoir, nonfiction, relationships, thrillers, true stories, true stories, Uncategorized, writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 6, 2013 by tenaciousbitch

First, my mother told me I was weird in high school because I like sci-fi and horror books and movies as well as thriller and action movies. I have many tomes by Mr. King and Mr. Koontz. For some odd reason though since I majored in English/Creative Writing, Mom assumed I should be sitting around reading Milton or Melville or something equally high brow.

However, in college I was usually bored in traditional Literature classes like British Lit 101. That said, there were some authors/books from the required reading list that I liked including:

Charles Dickens. Loved Great Expectations.

Emily Bronte: Wuthering Heights still ROCKS.

Daphne DuMaurier:  Will anyone EVER forget Rebecca? Which incidentally I first read in the 8th Grade. So, perhaps, that makes me doubly strange with a cherry on top…dunno, you be the judge.

Franz Kafka: The Metamorphosis. Those of us who have survived corporate America, can we NOT relate to feeling like an insect?

F. Scott Fitzgerald – The Great Gatsby, the book and the movie (either version)!

1984 by George Orwell.

And there are a few others, but I won’t bore you with the rest. So, ANYWHO…about being weird…

Though he loves me, and he’s very good to me, my husband also thinks I’m weird because:

1) I, like Sally Albright, get cold, occasionally, when it’s below 72 degrees.

2) I wolf down dark chocolate covered in peanut butter once in awhile with a glass of Merlot or a beer. It’s a family thing. My great-grandmother used to eat chocolate with a pint ‘o beer all the time, so I’m in good company. So, maybe, it’s an Irish thing. Dunno…never been to the land of my ancestors though I hope to some day.

3) As I said, I prefer action/thriller/horror/sci fi books/movies to chick lit and chick flicks though I LOVE memoirs.  Unfortunately, I find SOME chick lit to be contrived and boring, and I stopped reading  50 Shades of Gray about 40 pages in (couldn’t relate to anyone that submissive).  But memoirs? The characters are more genuine since they’re about contradictory/cantankerous/flawed humans who are brutally honest about a drug problem, for example (i.e. Portrait of a Young Man as an Addict by Bill Clegg) or maybe they overcame severe circumstances like Jeanette Walls in A Glass Castle and the like. As they say, truth is stranger than fiction. However, I do love FICTION as well, obviously.

However, there are some chick flicks/romantic comedies that I absolutely adore like:

Ahem, When Harry Met Sally if you didn’t get the Sally Albright reference above.

The Wedding Singer

Serious Moonlight

Pretty Woman (what’s not to like?)

Oh, and lest we forget, Moonstruck with my favorite DIVA, Cher.

4) So, why else am I weird besides the fact that I prefer most of the same movies as my husband? Well, because I’m not big on SPOOFS.

I think most of them are stupid. Max and Charlie both LOVE Shaun of the Dead, which annoyed me, and all the Austin Powers movies, which have comedic moments, but they’re just not for me. So, when anyone mentions movies like those, I suddenly have 5 loads of laundry to do.

But don’t think that my taste in movies is logical because I will watch Clerks, Jay and Silent Bob or Dogma all DAY LONG, which some might consider spoofs or spoof-ish. Yes, MEGA fan of Kevin Smith. I even like Comic Book Men. And wasn’t Kevin Smith AWESOME in Die Hard 4? Yes, the WARLOCK rules!

Aside from all that, I’m weird because:

5) I don’t care if my socks match (a navy blue/black combo is commonplace for moi), but I hate it if my bra and panties don’t match and/or if my pillow cases don’t match my bedspread. I know. I know. It doesn’t make any sense, but who SAYS I HAVE TO? 🙂

6) I am OBSESSED with British Television, and my current faves are – Doctor Who (when’s it coming back on??!!!) MI-5, and Downton Abby. And I’ll be distraught after watching the 86th episode of MI-5 on Netflix cuz then, I’ll have nothing to watch after the Old Man goes to bed. I’m also still reeling from the death of Adam Carter, and if he left because of some squabble with a director or something, might just cross the pond to deck the bastard…just so you know! 🙂

7) I don’t care that I’ve never eaten a Big Mac or a slider from White Castle. No loss! Steak n shake is my FAV! Get over it.

8) Though I’ve been accused of not being a girlie girl, I rarely EVER go out in public without makeup even if I’m just going to the grocery store.

9)  It gets on my last nerve if the kitchen and the bathrooms are dirty, but a little clutter doesn’t bother me. A lot of CLUTTER is different. For example…, check out this post   ….yeah, that BOTHERS ME…:)

10) And last but not least: I like working alone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not antisocial. My friends will attest I can be the life of the party. And I’ve been known to hang out in bars until daylight (years ago, but still). That said, I much prefer working at home, with just my black lab and 2 cats because they don’t GO on and on about every single argument with their spouse over who ate the last muffin or the oh, so exciting plot of the Kardashians or Mad Men, or another broadcast I don’t care about.

So, there you have it. My weirdness cataloged…and, personally, I much prefer being deemed ODD (not to be confused with Odd Thomas cuz I can’t see ghosts)…than being called God forbid…BORING…

See what I mean? What a GEEK I am…this was one of my Facebook posts last week…

TROUBLE WITH TRIBLES  A perfect date night for me and my hubby: a bottle of Merlot and TROUBLE WITH TRIBBLES…:)

So, CHEERS to all of us weirdos, harmless weirdos…not those guys in raincoats who flash people in public…:)

Over and out from fracked up CENTRAL or something like that…:)

TenaciousB and her band of truth-spouting hippies…

© Tenacious Bitch 2013