I have another personality that only breaks through when I am forced to sit in carpool lane.  I am a carpool Nazi, named Hedrid.  Don’t ask.  I wish your children dead.  I wish you to disappear into thin air so that I may move immediately to the front of the line.  But mostly, I just wish you’d stay IN YOUR FUCKING CARS!  Just sit there and wait for your child to enter your vehicle, then depart.

Why is this so impossible for some people?

It makes me wonder how these same individuals function in the world around them.  The rules state clearly STAY IN YOUR FUCKING CAR IN CARPOOL LANE.  By getting out of your car you are establishing what exactly?   Did you not rebel as a child and this is your big chance?  Do you know me personally and have a vendetta?  At the grocery store when you see “15 Items or Less” do you disregard that, too?  Want to know what I think , I think you’re just a douche.  Or one of those hopeless Helicopter Moms that doesn’t believe your precious can actually put themselves in a car without your assistance.  And you probably still wipe their ass.  And that all equals douche in my book.

I knew I was behind Mr. Impossible today in carpool lane.  I knew he was going to get out of the car as soon as he got up to the front.  It was obvious he was a carpool lane virgin.  Something must have been awry with his wife today.  As he stepped out of the car, opened the passenger doors (both back ones), he then walked up to the front door of the school to retrieve multiple children.  You could see the carpool teachers cringe at the sight of him.  Out walked his eldest child, at least 8 years old , WITH A FUCKING BLANKET.  Oh, and just to really make me need Advil , SHE WAS SUCKING ON ONE END OF IT!  It took all my willpower to keep from flooring it and running over her and her ignorant enabler.  That’s it!  People who get out of their cars in carpool lane are nothing but a bunch of enablers!

Since I’m not afraid of a little assault charge and all, I have been known to roll my window down and call people stupid.  There was this one time, this chick was PARKED in the carpool lane, so I drove around her.  But I wasn’t quite out of her way.  I didn’t know what she was doing.  Her car was PARKED and vacant.  For all I knew she had gone into the school and died and her car would be police evidence and not be moved for days!  So I went around her.  And out she came, banged on my passenger window (which my mother in law happened to be sitting beside).  I rolled the window down, and I swear to you she stuck half her body into my car and started violently pointing her finger and swearing at me and I think she placed a spell on me or some such shit.  So I pressed the roll up button on my car and watched her boobs get more and more squished as the window pressed up on her body , and she’s all yelling, “What the hell?  You’re rolling your window up on my body!  My body is in here, lady!!  AAAAARRRRRRKKKKKK!”

So I stopped the window and asked her if she had learned her lesson about leaning into people’s cars.  Then, you know in all my brilliance and creative brain material, I came up with this, “Oh.  And you’re the one that’s stupid!”  Because that’s how I roll.  And by then it was time for me to scoot up 4 more inches in carpool lane.

Did I ever tell you the one about when I was on probation for assault?  I know.  Your mouth is agape right now and you’re thinking, Sabrina, assault?  It just doesn’t go together.  Sabrina keeps her cool, especially under pressure.  Who could’ve pissed her off to the point of assault?  But, if you’ve been a long time reader you’re going, “Yep!  I knew she had a criminal record.”

Only one person on this planet could drive me to assault and then get assaulted and then tattle on me , my ex-husband.  Yep, the one that flops his dick against the door frame.  You’d think if he can handle doing that to himself there’d be nothing I could do to harm him.

Ex-husband lives in Oklahoma (there’s a little hint about why I hate Oklahoma).  He’s the President of The White Trash, Oklahoma Division.  He lives on 80 acres with his brother and his wife, with their 4 children, and his parents.  Ex-husband lived in a trailer on the land with New Wife for years.  Every car they owned was bought at an auction.  And every car had red interior.  And most had no headliner.  And most had bondo as a body color.  The mom actually handmade a windchime from a coat hanger and old cans of corn , CRAFTY!

He spent 18 months not contacting the kids and not paying child support.  In fact, he wasn’t even on the radar.  Then shows up with New Wife, a lawyer, and a hard intent to see his kids.

After several times in front of a judge he finally was awarded visitation.  So, ding-dong goes my doorbell, and there he stands with his wife standing behind him with a video camera.  Which pissed me off immediately.  Because What. The. Fuck. Right?

I step out onto the front porch and close the front door.  Tell him that I wanted the camera removed.  This is when he starts flailing about like a fish out of water, yelling, “This is public access!  This is public access!”  And I’m all like, “Dude.  Chill out.  My front porch is so the opposite of public access.”  This is when his head starts spinning and smoke literally starts pouring out of his ears like Elmer Fudd.  I try calmly to instruct his wife to get her ass back in the car and I’ll let the kids out when he’s not making such a spectacle of himself.

And when you tell someone with smoke coming out of their ears to stop making a spectacle of themselves, well, it doesn’t go over well.  In fact, it made this little, short man come toe to toe with me.  Literally.  His front shoe was touching my shoe and he got about a quarter inch away from my nose and informed me I was nothing but a whore.

Which, on a sidenote I would like to debate because I’m the furthest thing from a whore, and he should know this because he was flat broke and I never asked him to pay me for sex.

But you can’t reason with someone that is that wound up.

So, with his hot breath blowing my bangs backwards I said, jovially, “Would you like for me to open the door so you can bang your dick against my door frame as your war cry?”  Then I snorted and giggled.

This is when he stuck his finger in my face and almost poked my eye out.  He said nothing audible.  It sounded something like I would imagine a heart attack would sound like.

And then he called me fat!

And the gloves were off.  Something from the depths of my inner being.  Something from the very tips of my toenails created this large, fitful wad of spit to fly out of my mouth and spatter all over his face!  At the same time my brain was saying to my mouth, “What the fuck did you do that for?  Now RUN!”  And, I walked quickly back into the house.  As he turned to his wife, now sitting in the car with the camera and yells, “You got the zoom on that?”  And I immediately wished I had a copy.  Because how cool would that be to put on Youtube today!!

Then the cops show up.  He presses charges for assault.  And I was on probation.  I had to stand before a judge and promise to not spit on anyone for the next 90 days.  And I kinda figured I could agree to that since I had spent my entire life never spitting on anyone before.

After about 6 months of visiting the kids and paying child support he drifted off the radar again.  I was in Belize with my family and my cell phone rang.  It was his now EX wife on the other end.  She informed me that he had buried himself in the house and was in the midst of a shootout with the local police.  And I was all like, “Did you spit on him?”  And she was all, “No!  He just went crazy!”  And I was all, “Bitch he was crazy before!”  And she was all, “What should I do?”  And I was, “He’s not my problem! And I’m on vaca!”

And I haven’t spit on anyone since.

To say that Daniel Lewis of Green Peridot is a thrill to be around is like saying the Eiffel Tower is kinda an architectural masterpiece.  Daniel Lewis is one of the most fun, exciting, dynamic people I’ve ever had the pleasure to spend an hour or so with every 6 , 8 weeks.  He cuts my hair.  And I love him.  Is he obsessed with his new stardom after winning Viewer Favorite on Bravo’s Shear Genius?  Absolutely not.  His feet are firmly planted in the ground , and BONUS , he’s not booked for months out!  You can usually get an appointment within a few weeks.  And before you know it, he’s making you feel like you could pull off any new hairdo, color, and yes, even BANGS, with his southern drawl.  I could go on and on, but you just have to make an appointment for yourself.  He has never once screwed my hair up.  Never cuts off too much.  And banged me at my last cut, er, he gave me bangs, I mean.  And they look fucking great. 

My 14 year old daughter gets her hair cut by one of the chicks there, can’t remember her name, but my daughter who is ultra picky loves her hair!  She’s never had a bad experience.  In fact, I’m so trusting of the whole bunch at Green Peridot I just send her in with my credit card and tell her to call me when she’s done.

When you make your appointment mention you saw them here on the Housewives!

Sabrina gives Green Peridot 5 out of 5 Countini’s!

I think the worst thing about moving to a new place, is not having to start over, make new friends, etc.  It’s having to find a new hair stylist.  When I moved here four years ago, I struggled.  I tried to fly back to Phoenix every six weeks because my dear friend is a fabulous hair stylist, and one of the only few I trust.  However, life happened, and that became a little too difficult.

So in between visits I would try new stylists.  One gave me hoochie highlights, which were wonderful to go in front of a room of executives with.  Then I found someone that I thought was good, but then she ended up FRYING my hair.  My hair is honestly, not that difficult, but somehow Collin County people just couldn’t get it right.  I had given up, and had to resort back to the flight back to Phoenix every six weeks.

Well when I couldn’t get back right away, I finally decided to try one more place.  Through a recommendation I went to the Green Peridot where I met Betti.  My prayers were freaking answered.  She’s the perfect combination of being knowledgeable enough to suggest new cuts/colors, but also respectful enough to know what I like.  I love going there, and would recommend it in a heartbeat.  I get eyebrows and lip done there now, too.

Their customer service goes so above and beyond, and I think it’s an extremely fair price for an outstanding job. 

Elanah gives The Green Peridot Five out of Five Collin Countinis.  They have saved me the stress and the money of flying back out to Phoenix.  When I was there in February, my friend actually didn’t feel the need to redo my hair!!!  Love them.

So hubby and I own a few rental houses, and one of them is vacant.  I had to go do some work on it, and spoke with a few different gentlemen, who were interested in renting, about what time I was going to be up there, etc.  These men weren’t ultra scary sounding, or even did anything that would cause me to worry.  However, when it came time to go up there on Sunday afternoon, I looked at hubby and said ‘you have to go with me’. 

He thought I was being a little neurotic.  However, I then explained that me, a vancant house, and two strange men, really didn’t add up to a safe situation.  It was something that I knew would be just fine, but suddenly I became paranoid about it.  Two years ago I never would have thought twice about it, but now I was thinking of all the random and crazy things that could happen.

It’s such a fine line because when is it being paranoid vs. being smart about a situation?  Maybe it was the small town naive girl in me, or maybe I was an idiot, but I never used to be paranoid about any situations.  I remember one time meeting a guy in a San Francisco hotel restaurant and was off to a night out with him within hours.  Even my crazy friend thought I was insane, but I just never thought about things like that.  Now I’m slightly freaked out by the smallest of events, and I can’t imagine throwing kids in the mix because you hear about all those psychos out there.  How do find that line of letting them figure things out for themselves, yet try to protect the hell out of them?  How do I find that line of not putting myself in bad predicaments, yet not being a freak about things either?

I’m not sure if it’s the paranoia that bothers me, or the fact that I have suddenly become my fucking mother.  She used to drive me nuts about her worry this, worry that, and never wanted to do anything because of her worries.  I still hear her voice in my head constantly warning me about anything and everything, and it makes me want to scream.   No, I’m not to her level (yet), but the fact that I’m suddenly second guessing anything at all is driving me nuts.

So anyway, the girl that used to go hiking on her own, travel to strange cities regardless if I had someone to join me or not, and who was always up for the hell of a good time, has now taken a bit of a step back.  I don’t run by myself at night unless I have one of my dogs with me.  Yes, even crazies of the non-mommy type live in Collin County, right?  Ugh, I used to curse the day I would become anything like my mother.  I saw the start of a varicose vein the other day, and I’m now I’m a freaking worrier.

I love the spring. As soon as the weather starts to warm up, I try to spend every minute outside so I can soak up as much sun as possible before it gets so blistern’ hot all you can do is lay naked on your couch with the A/C on high.

Along with spring comes gardening for this middle class housewife. I relish in getting dirty and sweaty, then having to take a nice long shower with my husband to clean up.

Now, I understand that gardening and yard work isn’t everyone cup of tea. So, they hire a company and just keep maintenance free bushes and trees in the front. Cool with me. As long as it looks taken care of.

Here is where I need some explanations. Why do people put FAKE flowers in their yard? Right there, in the same bed as the bushes, with mulch spread around it. 

At first I thought this was just one crazy neighbor who decided to put fake poinsettias out during Christmas. Then, another neighbor put out fake daisies during the summer and left them their for an entire year until they faded. Now, there are probably at least 6 homes with fake flowers out front. Ummmmm… you aren’t tricking anyone, it is very obvious that they are fake.

What also has me wondering is what is going through their head during this time. You know, when they are at Michael’s picking out the flowers instead of Lowe’s. Or when they are just stabbing the flowers into the ground instead of digging a hole.  Do they wear gloves?  Does their husband come out and tell them how great it looks?  

Please, someone, enlighten me.

On another note, what do you do with a kid who will not be potty trained?  I have the most “spirited” kid who refuses to go to the potty. I have spend HOURS sitting in the damn bathroom waiting for Eldest to pee. My damn back it killing me!

Ok, rant is now over. Back to why the hell people put fake flowers in their front yard.

Smiley is in the hospital and looking at a likely c-section tomorrow.  The baby is early so they’ve given her the steroid shot.  Please keep her and her “mini-me” in your thoughts!

Guess what I’m gonna write about today , MY CATS!  Hold onto your keyboards people!  I’ve been driven to write about my pussies.  And not the kind that get this crowd excited.  But bear with me because it’s a story worth telling, or I wouldn’t write it.

So, we had a cat.  A beautiful, white, fat cat.  He kept getting bladder infections and when cats get bladder infections they search out soft places to pee.  So he was pissing on my comforter, my couch, all sorts of BIG OVERSTUFFED EXPENSIVE PIECES OF FURNITURE.  And I was buying the motherload of Febreeze.

He finally started pissing blood after a month on antibiotics.  So, the vet explained, a male cat’s penis is made up of bone , actual bone.  (insert all boner jokes here_____) And because of this bone the stones in his bladder could not pass.

The answer:  A sex change.  Yep.  Doc said he wanted to remove Cat’s penis and create a vulva.  This would be at a starting cost of $1,400.  For the sex change.  For Cat.

Our answer:  Euthanasia.   Hey!  Don’t judge me!  You don’t know what it’s like to have Cat and Children to explain things to (right, Elanah?  No kids, right Elanah?).  Seriously though, Vet said it was the most humane thing we could do.  So we knocked Cat out.

When deciding on replacing Cat we knew we wanted a female cat of the same brand.  No penis, no bone, no problem.  So off we went and Breeder sold us New Cat, quickly named Sasha Fierce by the girls.

So we’re kicking it with Sasha and she’s all fun and everything and really, really adorable.  All white with a little raccoon face.  And she purrs about everything.  And snuggles , all the things that Cat never did.

However, Husband refuses to take Sasha (New Cat) to our old Vet because he thinks it’s wrong that we didn’t follow through on the sex change on Cat.  So we started taking Sasha to a new vet.  Per Breeder we had Sasha visit New Vet within 3 days for a health check.  Everything checked out and we scheduled her hysterectomy for 3 months later.

Got a call from New Vet yesterday.  “During our examination we discovered Sasha is actually a male cat, so we’ll be neutering instead of spaying him, er, .her, er, Ok.”  (Dial tone on the answering machine)

We’re trying desperately to rename Sasha and have decided to stick with Chairman Fierce.  With a bone penis.  You know, the one we tried to avoid by getting a female and thought we had for 3 months.  And we’re making lots of jokes about why Chairman Fierce won’t climb the curtains because he likes the pattern.  Yes.  Gay jokes.  About New Cat.  Which is probably wrong on some level, but funny as hell on so many others.

Man, oh man, have I not been a pleasure to be around the last few days.  I wish I could blame it on PMS, but since I don’t have those girly parts anymore, I think this is just my personality.  Or, at a minimum, this week’s personality?

I think it all started when I weighed myself and I have gained 10 pounds in 21 days.  Who the fuck can gain 10 pounds in 21 days?  I can’t blame the Girl Scouts because the thin mints were history before the check was even signed.  So I’m pissed.  I’m supposed to be going in the other direction , you know, with Fiji and all on my horizon.  With me doing Pilates twice a week, pole dance class once a week, and running 2 miles a day on my treadmill, how. did. I. gain. weight.?  You could tell me it’s muscle.  But then I’d have to kick your ass and I don’t want to have to do that.

It’s got to be water, right?  Right Internet?  Because I know you are all full of knowledge and can help me with what the fuck my body is doing!  I think, and this is strictly my professional opinion , MY BODY IS REJECTING FIJI.  Rejecting it!  I think it’s all freaked out at the very idea that I have to come up with shit to talk about for 8 days with my husband.  And that’s longer than a 2 hour date night.  We’re going to have to talk about something other than kids, curfews, colleges, mood swings (my daughters, not my own).  We’re going to have to actually be interesting people.  I am going to have to be interesting.  Who can be that interesting??  I’m almost positive he can’t. 

Sure we’re going to hump each other until we’re both dried out (which might help with my water weight, no?).  But that’ll take care of the first 2 days.  I’ve got 6 more to cover.

So, 2 questions, Internet:

1. Who the fuck can gain 10 pounds in 21 days (and Smiley, don’t dare say I’m pregnant!  I don’t have the “housing” for that issue.)
2. What would you do for 8 days all alone with your significant other?

You want to see the absolute most beautiful family on the internet?  Seriously.  Babies.  Mommies.  Obscene cuteness that can’t be helped.

Click here.

Oh, and I think she sells Mona Vie.  I think everyone should give this drink at least one shot.  I had a friend give me a bottle, but I didn’t finish it – I suck at dedication I suppose.  But I have friends that swear by it and have lost weight from it and all sorts of pot-of-gold-end-of-rainbow flying out of your ass and stuff.

I know we’ve reviewed Poledance Experience with Madame Diva Gwen before.  Back when Holly found her sexy and Lulu and I were grinding on each other’s legs.  However, when our two new sex kittens started writing I decided we would review her again from Twila and Elanah’s point of view.

My point of view remains the same:  Me likey!

I even own a pole that is permanently implanted into my media room.  A feature that makes my husband very disappointed that this week is Spring Break.  On Monday he’ll get the show he’s been waiting for! 

I’ve now known Madame Diva Gwen for a few months and I love her more and more as a person and teacher.  She is now offering public classes and you can sign up online!  She’ll be hosting classes in Frisco and McKinney and I highly recommend you take her up on a course.  The workout is a bitch and the teacher is the bomb.

Sabrina gives Poledance Experience 5 out of 5 Countini’s (which is one more than last review!)

So I tend not to be the most girly girl, and I always thought stripper poles were strictly for strippers.  I really didn’t feel that pole dancing was for someone like me.  However, after meeting Gwen and my first pole dancing session, my entire mindset changed.  I LOVED it.  I was with Twila and Sabrina, so I have to admit it was a little on the awkward side finding my sensual side while meeting a whole new crew of people.  Gwen is so awesome, though.  She makes you feel right at home, and makes you feel like there’s absolutely nothing to feel silly about.

So we started out with just small ‘floor’ moves, making sure we were nice and limber before moving to the pole.  I felt sort of a little idiotic getting on the pole, but the whole experience was fun.  In just a short time, I was ready to get dollar bills tucked in my panties like a pro. 

I’ve loved going back to every session.  Not only am I feeling like a superstar, I’m getting a great workout.  You’re working legs, abs, arms, and other muscles you never knew you had.  After a session, I’m wiped.  It’s a great thing to do one on one, or with friends, and I would highly suggest it for anyone.  You can’t help but love Gwen, and have a good time.  It will also make you want to copy Sabrina and get your own pole in your house.  However, you’ll still need Gwen to show you new moves.  Believe me ladies, your men will be forever grateful to you for considering this.  I say it’s a must!

Elanah give The Pole Dance Experience Four out of five Collin Countinis.

Oh Madame Diva, how do I love thee,

I cannot express how much I love taking pole dancing classes. The second you walk in, Madame Diva makes you feel completely comfortable.  This lady oozes confidence and sexiness and by the end of the lesson some of it has rubbed off on you.

Truthfully, I laughed through the first two sessions.  Just because the thought of me oozing sexiness is a bit funny. But, over time, I got into the groove.  After the third lesson I was dancing while I was cooking dinner. Nothing is like seeing a housewife shake her ass while cutting an onion.

Pole dancing is no joke, it is hard as shit. I thought I was just going to jump up on that bad boy and spin my way into the hearts of every husband’s fantasy. Ummm, no. I fell on my ass.  After a couple of tries I got the hang of it, and off I went. Loving that pole. Now I’m pretty damn good at it, if I do say so myself.

I love “bad boy” and Madame Diva for so many reasons. For giving me confidence. For showing me how to be sexier.  And, for giving me one of the best workouts ever. (Even better than boot camp, and a shit load more fun.)

Twila gives Poledance Experience 5 out of 5. No exercise is better than this.