Tuesday, December 24, 2013

The truths of Christmas according to Little Shit

After eating dinner out for Dickhead's birthday, we decided to go look at Christmas lights. Dickhead, myself, all three little shits and Nana piled into my car and headed out.

Little Shit launched into a medley of Christmas songs as if we hadn't just seen her train wreck Christmas program last week.

"You know Dasher, and Blitzen and Cupid and Dancer and Conner and Ditzen" sang Little Shit....hey mommy, do you remember when Glo-bug used to come over and bring bagels and her son Connor came to play? But he's a human, not a reindeer." At my nod because I couldn't speak from choking on laughter, Little Shit continued on with her song ..."Rudolph the red nosed reindeer." Baby Shit punctuated the song with random "damn its" but Little Shit got the last of the lyrics right.

At the end of the song Little Shit matter-of-factly told us all that she sang that song so the "Tween would know that reindeer are real and the leader of them is Rudolph and HIS NOSE IS RED!"

The entire car erupted in laughter. Then Little Shit told us it was "time to get home because it's late for little girls" and she didn't want to miss Santa coming if she didn't get to bed soon enough "since he's bringing a kid's luxury two-seater electric car for me."

I don't know what muthafuckin shit the Tween has been telling her little sisters, but considering that it isn't even 8:00pm here....kids in bed sounds like a grand fucking plan.

Saturday, December 21, 2013

Burning the house down

The Tween and her friend got the brilliant fucking idea to do some holiday baking in the Easy Bake Oven. No big deal, right? Two 12 year olds turned loose cooking with a kiddie oven should be no fucking problem. Right? Right?! Muthafuckin' WRONG, Bitches.

It all started with an Easy Bake Oven recipe...

They set up in the bar of our house to do the baking. After pouring a beer from the tapper, I vacated the area. About half an hour later I smelled something burning and went downstairs to see what the hell was going on. In the midst of the cooking, the girls got hungry and heated up a pizza. Some of the cheese dripped and left that disgusting burnt fart smell. Assured that things were going smoothly, I refilled the beer and again vacated the area. Zero fucks given.

After getting settled with my beer and iPad to do some reading, Nana starts sniffing the air. "I smell something burning," she said. I absentmindedly told her what had happened. A couple of minutes later Dickhead asked what was burning. Without looking up I said "cheese from a pizza." Bromance who was also sitting around with a beer said, "Yeah, smells like the house is burning down."

At this point I was getting really irritated, and when everyone kept talking about the smell I lost my shit and snapped, "I was just down there. It's just some fucking cheese. Can I read my goddam book now?" Then Nana sniffed the air again. I launched up out of my chair, stomped downstairs and into the bar....to see smoke billowing from the microwave above the Tween's oblivious head. I punched the microwave door button and as it opened even more smoke rushed out.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I sputtered. So much smoke was pouring out that I couldn't even see what was inside it.

"The cake was taking too long so we were just finishing it up in the microwave," said the Tween's friend.

And in that instant. In that very.fucking.instant I saw it. A goddam METAL pan in my muthafuckin' MICROWAVE. There must have been steam coming out of my nostrils because the Tween and her friend shrank back.

"Who's brilliant idea was it to put this in here? You can't put metal in a MICROWAVE!" I yelled.

The Tween meekly replied, "I didn't know that."

Wrong. fucking. answer. "You blew up a microwave at our last house and almost caught the house on fire when you put metal in it. And you. didn't. know? You didn't learn anything from that?!?" Then I yelled up the stairs, "Hey, Dickhead, did you hear what my genius daughter just did and said?" I heard laughter from Dickhead, Bromance and Nana. ...Fucking assholes upstairs laughing.

The girls were ordered to clean everything up. Before leaving the bar I grabbed a new glass and filled it with beer. Then told them as punishment they were the household bar maids for the rest of the evening. Any time we yelled for them they better both come running and refill our beers or bring some food. And they were also officially babysitting the little shits. For free.

Zero muthafuckin' fucks given.

Friday, December 20, 2013

Clusterfucked Christmas Program

The entire family just returned home from Little Shit's Pre-K Christmas program. We arrived early and snagged seats right in the middle of the front row. While we waited for the program to start, Baby Shit crawled around on the gym floor, danced and sang her own version of several popular Christmas songs. A few times, in her sugar-hyped state, she would jump in the air and fall on her ass. Baby Shit would announce her clumsiness by shouting "Oh dammit! I falled down!" To which I'd hide my face on Dickhead's shoulder in an attempt to disguise my giggles. A grandma approached with her grandson who was Baby Shit's age so they could play. The first time Baby Shit fell and yelled out "oh dammit I felled" the grandma tittered, but let the kids keep playing. After the third time she caught on that Baby Shit really just liked yelling "oh dammit." So she grabbed her grandson and hastily retreated to the safety of their seats....several rows away.

After all the parents, siblings and grandparents of 64 pre-k kids were jammed in the gym, our precious little shits made their grand entrance.

Cue the gong show...while it was a cute clusterfuck of 4-5 year old kids and teachers in their pajamas dancing and singing songs, they barely knew the words. But it was entertaining. Especially when Baby Shit joined in
at the top of her lungsand made up words when she didn't know them. Taking a cue from Baby Shit, the Pre-K kids started making up words and the entire program became a fucking train wreck.

Best Christmas program ever. Ever.

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Mommy's "meanness"

I was sitting on the crapper so of course Baby Shit and Little Shit barged in to disturb my sacred "pooping in peace" time. An unopened tampon was on the floor by my feet.

Baby Shit snatched it up and asked "Wha's dat mommy?" I reached for it, telling her it was mommy's.

"Dis a pen?" inquired Baby Shit. She backed away a little when I swiped at it. "Dis a color?" she asked louder, inching toward the door and bumping into Little Shit who grabbed it from her.

"No, Baby Shit, this is what mommy uses to soak up her extra meanness," explained Little Shit. As she handed the tampon back to me Little Shit further explained, "Then she drinks wine to make her happy the meanness is going away. Right mommy?"

Nailed it, Little Shit. Nailed it.

Monday, December 16, 2013

What sucks hairy elephant balls? Mondays.

Mondays. Mun-fucking-days. They all suck, but what sucks hairy elephant balls? This muthafuckin' Monday. I was on my way to work, running on time (about 10 minutes late) as usual, and listening to some soothing tunes (Eminem) when I started getting irritated at the asshole in front of me who wouldn't pass despite being in the passing lane. This blocked me in on the far left lane and my exit to the right was coming up. I was a couple of car lengths behind the fucker with some douchenugget riding my ass so hard I thought he should be paying me for the privilege. When the numb nuts in front of me finally figured out how the gas pedal works, I was about to miss my exit. I sped past him, switched lanes and made my exit just in time. Fuck yeah! Fist pumping and feeling the Eminem rhythm, I rapped along like a fucking white rapper prodigy. Soon I heard sirens and realized it was NOT coming from my stereo. Son.of.a.cuntard.bitch. Are you fucking kidding me?
Wouldn't you know I'd get the cop with an ego hard-on so big you just know he's either:
A) pissed that he didn't get laid before his shift or
B) furious about his pinky dick and has to act like an asshole to make up for the maggot-sized appendage he jacks off between his finger and thumb.
He was one angry little man, head barely clearing the bottom of my SUV's window, yelling about how I should have pulled over ON THE EXIT RAMP of an interstate rather than waited to pull over in a spot I felt safe in. Had I done that both my car and his would have been straddling the nonexistent shoulder line: "Sorry officer, I'd rather not have your torso get chopped in half by a semi and blood sprayed over my newly washed vehicle, and ruin my fuckin' holidays."

He also didn't like when I politely asked what the fuck I had done to get pulled over. With spittle flying from his mouth like a rabid dog he berated me for not having the sense to know what the hell I had done wrong. Remember the part where some goddam asshat was nosing around my tail end like he was trying to get the courage to ass rape the tail pipe of my SUV? It was this angry munchkin in his unmarked patrol car. Sorry sir, are you upset that I was blocking you from passing? Because it was the fault of the fucktard in front of me. The raving Oompa Loompa was not amused. He stalked back to his patrol car with my license, his little bowlegs making it appear the baton in his ass was moving further north into a more uncomfortable position.

He was gone for a little while, intimidation tactic I presume, so I had cranked up some Eazy-E "Boyz N The Hood" and threw down "Cruising down the street in my 6-4, Jocking the freaks, clocking the dough" when my chunk of a midget stalked back over. Judging from more pleasant scowl on his face he either realized this Bitch has zero points deducted from her driving record or he wanked one off in his car. Can't say I'd blame a muthafucka...I'm pretty fucking hot, even in my license picture.

Officer Munchkin gruffly informed me that he was letting me go with a warning. I smiled and said "thank you sir" while reaching for my license. With one more attempt at asserting his dominance, he told me to say it louder and like I meant it. Hold.the.fuck.up. Say WHAT? I just stared at Officer Jackass until he let my license go.

I'm grateful the asshat didn't give me a ticket. But I don't care what fucking color your uniform is, I'm not your whipping dog and I certainly will not allow you to get your rocks off by acting like you're better than me. Welcome to my muthafuckin' Monday, Bitches. 

Monday, December 9, 2013

I'll take a Brazilian and some fries with that, fuck you very much

After having my vajayjay and ass hair savagely ripped out with a quick Brazilian wax, I went through a drive thru for lunch. I was feeling pretty sassy, as one typically does when relishing in a hair free cooter, and immediately after placing my order the Lily Allen song "Fuck You" came on from my iTunes. I cranked the volume up and pulled up to pay.

 Video: Fuck You

Shaking my ass to the beat, I rolled down the window and handed over my credit card singing the chorus "fuck you, fuck you very very muu-uh-uh-uh-uch." The shocked look on the worker's face snapped me back to reality of what was coming out of my mouth.

But with zero fucks to give I hit the arrow on my steering wheel to crank that muthafucka up even more. I just hope like hell that my ZFG attitude didn't result in some herpes-infested ass clown rubbing the meat patty over their crusted lip, causing me to wind up with an STD. If I get mouth herpes I may very well give a fuck.

Monday, December 2, 2013

"Vaginal Knitting" – Yarn spindling from a weaver's beaver

Some people crochet, creative Pinterest assholes create artsy fartsy crafts, others scrapbook. And others think of the most douchey thing they can do to make a hobby a new form of ‘art’. Have you had the pleasure of viewing the video of a performing arts woman who knits from her twat? Well, be prepared to feel enlightened. Kidding, prepared to be stunned. And grab some bleach because you’ll need it for your eyes after viewing this.

Doesn’t that shit just make you want to rush out and order your own pair of veej mittens? How about a scarf? With that thing tucked under your nose you’ll be in rank pussy heaven.

A few things astound me about this new art craft and raised questions that I MUST ask:

  1. How much yarn is needed in order to last the full 28 days, and most importantly how many rolls of yarn have been stuffed in that beaver in order to learn this? 
  2. How many hours a day are spent pulling threads of yarn from one’s twat in order to finish on the 28th day? 
  3. For those of you unfamiliar with yarn, I must inform you that it comes in a massive roll. Like, bigger than a footlong with several inches of girth. Holyfuckinghell how is it possible that she shoves a roll into her vag?? Seriously! How big is her twat that she can shove a roll of yarn in there? 
  4. How does it unroll whilst she's yarning her glorious splendor and wondrous creations? Geezus I know how much it hurts to pull out a tampon sometimes, how it scrapes my uterine lining and makes me feel like the walls of my vagina are being sanded from the cotton. WTF does an unwinding spool of yarn feel like?
  5. How many pubic hairs have been weaved in with the masterpieces? I know you noticed the dark bush hair that didn't match what's on that cunt nugget's head.
  6. If I were to order one of these creations, would it need to be a heartfelt order? Could I order some twat glove liners for my Dickhead so his digits stay warm? Must I tell him his fingers are pushed inside a vulva creation? It’s not like he hasn’t had his fingers in a twat before….
  7. Do the creations smell au naturel? Does the beaver weaver douche between spools of yarn so each creation smells its best?
  8. Does the portion of said scarf or yarning goodness that spurts forth from her inner loins during her days of profuse bleeding sell for MORE money or LESS money?
Even with all of these thoughts churning in my mind, I will admit I was actually disappointed after watching the video. I thought for sure this genius was actually knitting from her vagina, not just letting the yarn fester in her taco town before pulling the yarn from it. I was prepared to be amazed and speechless with hopes she’d knit a fucking owl hat or a flower or some shit. When I pressed play I thought to myself, "Self, YOU need to be able to spin wool with your vaj. That is the next level in greatness. You need to become a master beaver weaver.” Alas, my disappointment is great and my disgust borders on “would someone really pay for artwork from my uterine lining?” and “what kind of fucked up kinky bitch is this and when did she escape the mental institute?”

Monday, November 18, 2013

Eight things you'll wish I had kept to myself

Everyone is doing that number thing where they list off things you may not know about them. My friend Jennay of What I Really Meant to Say decided to do her own thing where she listed things that you may NOT WANT to know. Her list of 7 things was fucking awesome so I'm going to see if I can top it. My number is 8:
  1. I like to pop pimples. There's some satisfaction in getting the hard white thingy out or pushing out the puss until it bleeds. I'll pop mine and I like to find them on Dickhead's back. Sometimes he may not really even have one, but I'll try to pop it anyway just to hear him cry out like a pussy.
  2. I have a fake toenail. The real one was ripped out by a rowdy little fucking kid when he barreled through a store door, which I was entering. My beautiful pedicure was on display with gorgeous new sandals. My big toe was caught by the bottom of the door, ripping the nail and nail bed free of my toe. So now I have a fake one that I have to get filled and replaced just like fake fingernails. 
  3. I do Kegels every other day. Doing the exercise turns me on. I'm pretty sure my vajayjay muscles are strong enough to pick up a bowling ball. 
  4. Taking a shit is an event for me. I hole up in the bathroom with a book, iPad or my phone. Sometimes I text updates to friends on how it's going...or not going. A particularly raunchy shit fills me with pride and I like to let my closest friends know. 
  5. I got my first glimpse of porn at a slumber party in 2nd grade. My friend proudly showed us what she caught her older brother watching. It was pretty disgusting. I'm fairly certain that was the first time I saw Ron Jeremy and afterward I thought all men were hung like a donkey.
  6. When I make a sandwich the mustard has to be on one slice of the bread and the mayo on the other slice. My cheese has to be on the same side as the mayo. If you make me a sandwich where the mustard is touching the cheese then I won't eat it. 
  7. I really enjoy picking my nose. I always have and always will. I have never eaten a booger though. If I don't have a tissue to wipe it on then I'll roll it up and flick it. 
  8. I seriously heart REO Speedwagon and Wilson Phillips. Go ahead and judge me. I don't care. 
Now you know 8 utterly un-fascinating things about me. Feel free to share your weird shit, too.

Saturday, October 26, 2013

Parent of the Year Award...stomp it out!

Little Shit, Baby Shit and I were on the floor where I was reading a book to them. Apparently Baby Shit found the book boring because she got up and started marching around, playing with dolls and doing some more marching. I was focused on reading the book, and the racket she made became that droning noise in the background that parents associate with another child talking but block it out.

Dickhead came out of the kitchen and asked if I was listening to what Baby Shit was saying. Of course not, but I tuned in at that. The droning noise became.... "Sonovabitch! *stomping feet as Baby Shit marched* ...SonnnnovaBITCH! ...Sonovabiiittch!" *stomp stomp*

Dickhead and I stared at one another with our eyes bugging out of our heads. Of course Nana walked in on the loudest "SONOVABITCH!"

I covered my face with the book and tried to smother my giggles. Sonovabiiittch!" *stomp stomp*

Little Shit kept trying to pull the book down and finally asked me if I was laughing because the book was funny. That threw me into a giggling fit.

"Sonovabiiittch!" *stomp stomp*

Dickhead finally distracted Baby Shit and the Sonovabiiittch!" *stomp stomp* train ended. When I lowered the book and uncovered my face Nana was glaring at me. WTF? Like I'm the only one that says 'Son of a bitch!' in our household.

Nana: "Well, she sure does have some colorful language. Just the other day I said 'shit' and who do you think repeated it?" Another glare.

Me: "Well, shit, if you stopped cussing all the damn time maybe my girls wouldn't have the vocabulary of a fucking sailor."

Baby Shit: "SHIT!" Of course that earned me another glare.

In related news, I've already opened my first wine bottle of the day.

Thursday, October 24, 2013

Let's fucking go!

I was sitting on the shitter after sneaking in the garage after work, minding my own business and trying to DO my business when I heard a shocked Tween yell "You can't say that!" to Little Shit who immediately burst into tears complete with uncontrollable sobbing. Then I heard the Tween trying to shush her only for the volume of sobbing to increase to an uncomfortable level - like a goddamned siren. Fuck me. My peaceful, toilet clogging shit needed to be put on hold. Like a responsible mom I pinched the loaf and headed into the living room to determine what the problem was.

All hell was breaking loose when I interrupted. After shutting everyone up I asked the Tween what the problem was. "SHE said a VERY VERY bad word!" The Tween accused and crossed her arms smugly waiting for me to flip my shit. I looked at Little Shit who was glaring daggers at her older sister and looking like she wanted to rip her head off and crap down her throat. Whoa! My toddler looked E-V-I-L. After some coaxing Little Shit finally told me what went down.

"Tween said we were going outside to play on the swing set but she wouldn't go outside because she was playing her iPad. I kept asking really nice, mommy. I asked really nice." Cue the big eyes tearing up from Little Shit and an exasperated sigh from the Tween. "So I told her we needed to go and tried to grab her iPad and she pushed me so I grabbed her and said..." at this pout Little Shit juts her chin out and stands her ground like zero fucks are given "let's fucking go!" At the look on my face Little Shit's zero fucks attitude falters..."is that bad mommy? I heard you tell daddy that earlier."

I'm in my room now with a bottle of wine and a straw, coping with the circus I live.

Monday, October 21, 2013

I kissed a...boy?..and I liked it

The Tween was searching her bag for Chapstick while we drove to meet her dad. As she applied it she looked at me and said, "I don't think guys should put Chapstick on in public. It's really disturbing. They need to do that in private."

This surprised me so I asked why she had a problem with Chapstick and guys. It's not like we were talking about guys wearing lip gloss or lipstick. "Well this one guy at daddy's church applies his Chapstick during service and he's all like <mimics a loose woman trying to be sexy by applying lipstick>."

I busted out laughing and told her that wasn't fair to all guys that one man's technique grossed her out. The Tween rolled her eyes at me because I obviously didn't get it.

When we met up with my ex-husband and were discussing upcoming events for the Tween, she interrupted us and asked, "Daddy, don't you think guys shouldn't apply Chapstick in public?" I started laughing at his perplexed look and gave a brief explanation.

Then, he looked at the Tween and said, "If a man wearing Chapstick bothers you then I better not tell you what I did last night while playing a game with a group of [church] friends." Of course the Tween perked up at this and, knowing my bible thumping ex and his hypocritical tendencies, my interest was also piqued.

My ex-husband proceeds to tell our daughter that a challenge in the game was for him to kiss someone else playing, but not his spouse. (What the hell kind of game were they playing??) Rather than kissing one of the other women playing and upsetting his own wife, he decided to kiss one of the guys. The Tweens eyes were bugging out of her head..."OMG DADDY! You kissed a GUY?!?"

He confirmed he did and then explained he kissed the guy's neck...near his ear. What. the. fuck? Did he really think that was better than a quick peck on the lips or the cheek?? A kiss on the neck is pretty intimate. Then the ex-hole floored the Tween with, "In hindsight I should have taken the point deduction rather than do the kiss."

It was obvious this disturbed the Tween because she pulled me to the side and whispered furiously to me. As we headed back to the ex-hole I pulled some lip gloss out of my purse and asked if his boyfriend prefers cherry or mint flavor. The Tween thought it was funny....the ex not so much.

Saturday, October 19, 2013

Boo you!

After tucking Baby Shit into bed, Little Shit, the Tween and I went to "Boo" 2 houses in the neighborhood.  
In case you don't know what it means to "Boo" someone, during the month of October you sneak up to a house and leave a bag of treats on the doorstep then ring the doorbell and run like hell.  
With my college football team winning today you could say I've done a little (lot) celebrating (drinking) so I decided to keep to the shadows and let the kids do the tricking. The people in the 1st house we hit must have been anticipating a booing (or had been ding-dong-ditched a lot) because the Tween and Little Shit barely cleared the reach of the porch light when the front door was thrown open and the dad and 2 kids came barreling outside. The dad looked around for a few minutes until the kids noticed the bag of treats. As soon as the front door shut the Tween and Little Shit ran across the front yard IN THE LIGHT and the dad threw the door back open, yelling "caught ya little bastards!" My kids froze. Absolutely froze. I stayed back (sipping my beer), and listened as the Tween thought fast on her feet and responded to his question of whether or not they were the culprits. She gave a pretty convincing explanation of why her and Little Shit happened to be there right at that same moment. And then....Little Shit started giggling. Then it was full blown laughter. She looked at the neighbor and blew their cover with "Tween is just kidding! It was us!!!" More giggles from Little Shit as Tween yelled at her that she couldn't say that. I took another sip of beer and waited until the girls joined me. 
 As we headed to the next house, both girls talking excitedly about how they just got busted, I heard my phone beep and checked my text messages..."Did that scare the kids or what? I thought [Tween] was going to crap herself when she was busted for lying." Ah yes, it's so much fun when the neighbors play along.

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Little Shit's swim lesson

Little Shit started swim lessons this week - 2 mornings per week. I wasn't able to go today since I had a conflict with work meetings so Nana took her. Apparently Little Shit was beside herself upset when the instructor was aggressive with her and pulled her into the water. I got a text message play-by-play from Nana who watched from the "parent's room." Once the lesson ended and they were in the car, Nana asked Little Shit how she liked swim lessons. Little Shit replied that she hated it. When Nana asked her why she hated it Little Shit replied, "That crazy bitch pulled me under water and scared the crap out of me, Nana." According to Nana that response startled her and made her jump a curb in her Cadillac. Trying to not flip out over Little Shit's language, Nana asked her why she would say such a thing. Little Shit promptly replied with, "that's what mommy would have said about that crazy bitch!"

....I'm in time out this evening.

Sunday, August 25, 2013

There's no rationalizing with crazy

A coworker hired after me at my previous employer informed our mutual boss that his wife, who was mentally unstable, wanted a divorce because she thought we were having an affair. HELL NO! This dude is one of those that immediately sets off the “creep” flags on a woman’s radar and makes your skin crawl. He asked our boss to inform me that his wife was unstable and may reach out to me, that she had done this at his previous employer and that it caused problems with his coworkers. My boss told me to be aware of my surroundings at all times because "the woman is unstable and there is no telling what she could do."

I then was harassed on a daily basis. I got HR involved. Finally my employer changed my work extension, asked my coworker to tell his wife to stop coming inside the building after she came down and sat outside my office one day in an attempt to intimidate me - we worked at opposite sides of the building. And she still came into the building but my employer never kicked her out! I changed my work habits and started secluding myself in my office. I was stressed. Certified crazy is scary…you don’t mess with that shit. There’s no rationalizing with crazy!

Dickhead was very supportive of what I was dealing with. He told me she was blinded by my beauty and boobs when she saw me and latched onto me as a threat in her unstable mind. He thought it was rather funny at first until the harassment continued to get worse.

It was a blessing when I got my new job. Then my fucking boss blasted an email out to everyone and told them I had given my notice so congratulate me on my new position...and she said where I was going!

However, all has been quiet since I left there a month ago. Until this past week. I answered my work phone and the crazy twit said "this is so and so's wife. I'm calling because he told me you two are having an affair." I told her to stop right there, that I have never slept with her husband and I'm happily married. I told her to never call me again. She said "this is the first time I've EVER called you." So I called bullshit and told her we had to change my extension at my last employer because of her repeated calls. She said "as a woman, I need to ask how you can do this....is it true?" I told her as a woman I wouldn't look twice at her husband and she needs to let her obsession go. I LEFT my last job to get away from this crazy situation that was forced on me and she has no right to harass me. She said "if you aren't sleeping with him then how did you know about this situation." I was like "Look, Crazy, obviously you have a screw or two loose. Your husband told OUR boss about it, who then informed me that I had a crazy psycho on my hands. Since then you've proved it time and again. Don't ever contact me again. I'm filing a police report for harassment," and I hung up. Then I immediately went to HR and filled them in on the situation. The IT department pulled the number from our phone system—in less than 24 hours she had called my new place of work 3 times before actually talking with meand they blocked it so Crazy can't call again from that number. I filed the police report. I also called my old boss and informed her about what had happened and about the police report.

I’m now packing mace and ready to show Crazy what crazy really is…

Monday, July 1, 2013

You call that a compromise?

Dickhead and I have gone 'round and 'round about tubal ligation vs vasectomy. I've had 3 c-sections and refuse to get my tubes tied. My birth control is causing issues ranging from RAPID weight gain and 2 periods per month (who the fuck wants to deal with that??) to skin discoloration aka hyper-pigmentation on my face. I told DH last week that I'm done with birth control and the side effects so when this pack runs out he'll need to buy condoms because we aren't having unprotected sex...or he can schedule a vasectomy. DH isn't thrilled about using condoms and I'm on my sugar pill week so he better figure it out. Well, tonight he approached me with a compromise:

Option 1: Stay on birth control and get liposuction and tummy tuck no vasectomy

Option 2: Go off birth control and get back to my pre pregnancy weight (lose 20 lbs) and he'll get a vasectomy

Both options piss me off. What, did you think he was being generous? Let me point out the error in your thought.

Option 1 came with the stipulation that I get my part of the benefit WHEN we can afford it - which is right now but he won't admit that - so he can string me along. Meanwhile he doesn't have to wear condoms or do anything on his part.

Option 2 came with the stipulation that he does't have to get a vasectomy UNTIL I reach the goal he set for me...he's counting on me not getting back into pre pregnancy shape.

Dickhead has made a huge error in judgement in approaching me with these "compromises." We'll see how long it takes him to get tired of date nights with his fists.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

I cuss like a fucking lady!

I love to cuss! There. I said it. In case you didn't know before, well, now you do. Asshole. Shitbag, fuckity uppity judgmental twat sitting there with your ankles crossed, your head held high, staring down your nose at my crudeness. Good for you with your boring goody goodness and stupid wholesomeness. I'm sure you're a god dammed riot in the sack. "Oh, Johnny, put it in me. Touch me there...yea, pound my pee hole! Can I hold your love stick?" I hope you like missionary position, because that's the best fucking you're going to get with that boring personality. Meanwhile, Johnny's hiding in the bathroom fist-pumping away to the porn on his smart phone.

I shit you not, it's been tried.

Obviously bad words flow from my mouth like verbal diarrhea. Some have tried to stop the leakage, but they usually throw their hands in the air and walk away in disgust...but not before I've gotten in their heads and mouths and caused them to toss out a few expletives of their own. I'll be honest...that brings me great joy. Knowing I've gotten to someone that way. I love rubbing off on someone - and not just in a sexual way. *wink*

Seriously, why the hell do cuss words bother people so much? Repeat after me: words are words made by man, they have no bearing on life other than the enjoyment they give (me) to say them.

I especially love that word FUCK. I fucking love the shit out of the word "fuck." I'll throw a "fuck" or two into a business meeting like the guys do just to see eyes bulge. Why does it bother people? Because I'm sitting there in my business suit, with my perfectly done hair and my manicured nails, looking like someone that should be sniffing flowers rather rolling in the mud with the boys. Who says it's not lady-like to cuss? I'm a fucking lady, dammit!

Monday, May 20, 2013

Sorry your kid is fugly

You know you've seen an ugly child. One that makes you do a double take, probably even cringe. How do you handle it? I'm not good at lying and I sure as hell can't tell someone their baby is adorable when I'm wondering what on earth it did in a former life to be saddled with such horrible looks, or what the parents did to bring about such a fucking ugly kid. Why was this innocent child beaten with the ugly stick? Was it incest? Decades of inbreeding?

Then you have to wonder if mom and dad know just how ugly their baby is, but live in denial. Like if they keep saying how cute their troll is, then it will be so.

Whoa!! I can feel some of you already getting butt-hurt. I know you're thinking, "How dare that Bitch say something so bad about a baby? A child?!" Oh shut the fuck up! I'm only voicing what you've thought at some point.

Dickhead has a good friend who married a fairly attractive woman. Imagine my horror when their first daughter was born with the worst of each of their features. Megamind, from the animated kid's movie Megamind could have been based on her looks. The poor girl had a face shaped like an alien with a high forehead and large skull, big eyes, small nose, narrow cheeks and a jutting chin with a cleft in it. In short, the baby was the ugliest fucking thing I've ever seen. When I saw her for the first time, all I could say was, "She's got daddy's...oh look at her little toes!" I mean, what was I supposed to say? "Sorry your baby is butt fucking ugly...I'm sure she'll develop a nice personality" just didn't seem to cut it.

Each time I saw her it was a slap in the face with ugly, but as Megamind's sister hit the toddler stage she kind of grew on me. She did develop quite the personality. Dickhead and I would go to our friend's house for dinner and I'd spend the first hour hiding my revulsion and trying not to stare at the little monster. But baby girl would win me over with her personality. I'd forget what a troll the kid was. By the time we left our friend's home I'd be thinking she was such a cute little thing, and I'd talk her up to our other friends – who looked at me like I was out of my fucking mind. Then I'd see her again and it would shock my system. I'd have to go through the adjustment period all over again.

Fortunately, baby troll finally grew into her features – around the time she entered 1st grade in elementary school. She really is a cute little girl, with a winning personality. I can only hope the next time her parents procreate that the next baby doesn't have to grow into its looks. Either that or Dickhead and I move away so I don't have to witness the metamorphosis.

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

He's a douchebag doing what douchebags do best...being douchey

All it takes is a douchebag to open his mouth and rank shit comes forth. Add the internet and social media to the mix and you have the perfect shit storm. Take Abercrombie & Fitch CEO Mike Jeffries - 7 years ago he spewed elitist nonsense when he said A&F's clientele target is the cool, beautiful kids...not the fatties. Ok, he didn't say it JUST like that, but awfully damn close. In 2006, Mikey-boy told Salon.com, ”We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely.” Of course this drew outrage in 2006, but it died down. Fast-forward 7 years when Mikey's words came back to bite him in the ass and went viral. Suddenly everyone is pissed. They're offended. Why? Because on a broader scale, everyone is finally understanding that Mikey is an elitist asshole.

Look at me, Dude! I'm cool and shit. Check out my
plump lips and bulging biceps man. That's hot.

I'm sure people think I'm going to rip into the surgically altered frat boy (his plastic surgeon should be fired) and tear him a new asshole. Meh. Who fucking cares? I don't know about you, but I have zero fucks to give. Fucks are expensive and I don't just throw them out there. How many of us actually shop at A&F anyway? I'm a 30 something year old woman. I'm not shopping there. My kids spend their money where I let them. And it isn't at A&F. Why give the douchecanoe power by getting upset over his idea of marketing a business? Douchey Mikey has come out and said what other retailers practice but don't verbalize. Honestly, I'm kind of impressed that he knows he's a dick and doesn't back down from it. Either way, he isn't getting MY money. And other than this, he isn't getting any more of my time talking about it.

Monday, April 29, 2013

How fucking dare you!?

Heads are going to roll at Little Shit's pre-school today. She goes 2 days a week, but is usually lucky to make it both days due to some health issues. When we selected the pre-school, we were very clear with her teachers and the directors on how Little Shit needs extra attention around potty matters because of the health issues - 25 UTI's in a 1 1/2 year period and bowel problems, multiple specialists and some procedures. She has spent more time on antibiotics than I have in my entire life!

Luckily, Little Shit's primary teacher had previously been a nurses assistant and was somewhat familiar with Little Shit's problems and understood the importance of our directions and what we asked. We felt lucky that the school and teachers were going to be accommodating - you'd be surprised at how many were not equipped or even willing to understand and meet our needs.

Lately when Little Shit has been dropped off at class, her primary teacher hasn't been there. Come to find out, she was transferred to another room. That wouldn't be a big deal except for what happened on Friday. We got home and I took Little Shit to the bathroom only to find dried poop on her bottom and in her pull up. When asked about it, she said she had pooped on the potty at school, but the teacher refused to wipe her. The teacher had told her that she was a big girl and needed to wipe on her own. Little Shit was upset over all of it because it made her feel like a baby that she doesn't wear big girl panties at school and needs help. Yes, Little Shit is 4. Yes, she is in pull ups. Yes, she is potty trained. HOWEVER, due to her medical issues she can't always make it to the potty so she gets limited time in big girl panties at home. And due to her medical issues, she is not to wipe herself when she poops.

I am so fucking pissed about the attitude of the new teacher. My 4 year old is not in pull ups because she has lazy parents that don't want her wearing big girl panties. My 4 year old has endured so much pain with infections and sickness, confusion at being poked and prodded by doctors, and shame at not being able to control herself like the other kids. How fucking DARE the teacher make her feel bad!?!

And it's not just the teacher's attitude. Other parents see my 4 year old in pull ups and judge me and my husband. They wonder why we wouldn't have potty trained our daughter by now. You can feel the condescending and superior attitude as they share how their own kid was potty trained early on. Kudos to them. I don't need to fucking explain my child's problems for them. For the rest of you reading this, when you see something you don't understand, something like this, think before you judge. Unless it's someone breastfeeding a 7 year old. Then judge all you want because I'll be doing the same.

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Very Inspiring Blogger Award!

Two Bored Housewives have honored me with the Very Inspiring Blogger Award. I knew my blog was pretty damn awesome, but it always feels good to be validated by someone else or in this case, two bored, wine drinking housewives named Mandy and Annoula.

And now I have to play by the rules in order to keep the award going. Since I don't always play by the rules, I'll post them below to be sure I follow them. The rules are:
  • Display award logo on blog
  • Link back to the person who gave you the award
  • State 7 things about yourself
  • Nominate 15 other bloggers for this award and link back to them
  • Leave a comment on each of the blog's letting them know they have been nominated

7 things about the Bitch of the Lifestyle

I'm very outgoing and friendly so I have many friends, but I don't let many people actually get close to me. That honor is reserved for the select few that have proven their worthiness, and to those I am loyal and would do anything for them.

I'm addicted to Coach purses, wallets and sunglasses. So addicted that I've worked out a system of "Coach Bucks" with my husband, Dickhead. Each blowjob earns credit for my Coach shopping sprees.

Daniel Craig is my celebrity crush.

I pick my nose, but not in public. It grosses out my oldest daughter, and that gives me great enjoyment.

I grew up in an abusive household and am a huge advocate for ending domestic violence. Also, because of my upbringing I don't like bullies. Being a Bitch is not the same as being a bully, and I hate when people get the two confused. When I see someone getting bullied, I tend to step in.

Dickhead and I love to travel to warm, tropical beach climates, but we don't like the usual touristy spots. We travel as often as possible, sometimes with the little shits and sometimes without.

I have a Chihuahua, but Pugs are my obsession. They're just so damn ugly that they're cute. How can you not love them?!


My blogger nominees...

Some of these wonderful bloggers are straight out funny, some are offensively funny and some are just sweet. But they are all awesome bloggers.

Monday, April 22, 2013

You're a fucking train wreck

Over the weekend I was visiting with a cousin who recently moved in with a new boyfriend while she's waiting to file for a divorce. Can you already smell the train wreck coming? 

While catching up, we were all joking around and my cousin was telling a funny story where the cops showed up. Her first thought when the cops arrived was "oh shit, he (boyfriend) doesn't need this...he's on parole!" I caught the parole slip but hoped she meant probation for traffic violations or something. Since he was standing right there I decided to ask her about it later. 

Before I left we made plans for them to visit me in a month. I mentioned the parole slip to Dickhead who said, "Your cousin probably meant probation. Besides, he seems nice." He seems nice? Hello! So did Ted Bundy!

This morning I pulled up the online public court record for the state my cousin lives in, and searched the boyfriend's name to find multiple cases. On the "no big deal" end of the spectrum there was a divorce and custody modification, plus some speeding tickets. Then...wait for it... a guilty plea for FELON BURGLARY, another guilty plea for FELON FORGERY with 5 years in prison. 

Let me say this as nicely as I can. You're a fucking train wreck.

Are you fucking kidding me? HELL to the FUCK NO, they're not coming to stay at my house. I called Dickhead at work to tell him the news and he told me to come up with an excuse to cancel their visit. An excuse? Fuck that! You can bet your ass I'm telling my cousin "While I normally enjoy having front row tickets to your train wreck of a life, your boyfriend is a FELON. On parole! And you let him move in with you and your kids! Pull your fucking head out of your ass." Knowing she won't listen, I'll watch the rest of the train wreck through her status updates.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

Don't fuck with my kid or I'll fart on you

After Principal Douchebag ignored me and taunted me about the Tween's three day In School Suspension (ISS) over spraying fart spray in the school hallway, I scheduled a meeting through his secretary. I arrived a few minutes early for our appointment, but was kept waiting almost thirty damn minutes so the asshole could get off on his continual power trip.

When the cock bag sauntered out with a smirk on his face to introduce himself I stared at him completely unimpressed. "Hi, I'm Doctor Douchebag. You must be Bitch, the Tween's mom." Oh yeah, he stressed "doctor." While the other principals are Mr. or Mrs., he's the only fucktard in the massive middle school that insists on people addressing him as "doctor." Just for the record, anytime some asshole tries to make me feel inferior by inserting his education status (yay for you on getting that doctorate), I will go out of my way to ignore it. "Yes, Mister Douchebag. I'm Bitch. Let's have a chat."

After seating me on the visitor side of his desk, on a student's classroom chair, Mr. Douchebag settled down on his side of the desk and stared down at me. All of the nicety bullshit aside, I was ready to get down to business. I informed Mr. Douchebag that I had read the school's policy on disruptive behavior, detention, ISS and Out of School Suspension (OSS). Based on what the Tween admitted to doing, the punishment was severe. I told him I realized that the punishment has already been served, but my concern is the impact on her school record. During the discussion, Mr. Douchebag admitted the Tween's fart spray incident was just middle school silliness. "Well, gee, let me look in this handbook for discipline of 'silliness.' Hmmm. How about that. I don't see anything. From what you're telling me, at most this is disruptive behavior. And not even serious disruptive behavior. According to the policy, for a first offense, that means one hour of detention. Not THREE days of ISS."

As we debated over the complexity of the policy, which I held in my hand in black and white, Mr. Douchebag confirmed my assessment that he was on a power trip with his "latitude of discretion" in handing out punishment. Hold. the. fuck. up. It's within my latitude of discretion to determine how far your cock sack is going to get shoved inside you when I kick you in the nuts.

When it became increasingly clear that Mr. Douchebag and I were not going to come to a reasonable conclusion to his fucktardedness, I did what any other parent would have done. Without attracting attention, I slide a can of fart spray from my purse and down by my side where I let off one quiet and fucking stinky ass can fart. While the smell permeated the room I kept a straight face, waiting for Mr. Douchebag to acknowledge the skunk-mixed-with-other-road kill stench. With a little gag and "You should see someone about that problem," I dismissed myself from the meeting.

Friday, April 12, 2013

Lesson Learned: You're a Douche

Last week the Tween received 3 days of in-school suspension (ISS!). THREE DAYS. What.the.hell. did she do to get THREE days? My child who is a straight "A" student. My child who is popular with her friends and most of the teachers (although her sarcasm can get her in trouble at times). My sarcastically funny child who at most has only had to miss recess before middle school. WTF did she do??
A friend of hers brought a can of fart spray yeah, there really is such a thing to school and they were letting off farts. Stinky farts. Ass in a can. And blaming some of the boys for passing gas. And she gets THREE days of ISS for this?? Seriously? Too top it off, I later find out that it didn't happen in class as I was told by the principal, who was justifying three days due to disruptive class behavior. Oh no, I find out from the teacher that Tween and her friend were having the fun between class bells in the hallway.
How did the principal reply to my exclamation (string of profanities) of shock? "Well, Mrs. Bitch, there are kids that have asthma and allergies that this could have caused issues for." No shit Sherlock. Tween has some of the worst asthma you've ever seen and it didn't cause any issues for her. And if you're going to play that card with me then ban all scented lotions and perfumes from the fucking building. Oh yeah, and your cologne. That scent is so strong you could choke a whore in a whore house with it. Seriously though, lighten the fuck up. Grab the stick that's lodged in your ass and give it a good yank.
Of course I argued against three days. I told Principal StickUpHisAss that one day would be sufficient. He said he'd possibly cut it to two days provided the Tween had good behavior during ISS. What is this...jail? And you're the fucking parole board? When I called the second day to confirm there would be no day three of ISS hell, Principal Douche wasn't available and the asshole never returned my call. Since I couldn't get to the school to discuss it face-to-face, the Tween served three days.
But, at the end of the second day the Tween wasn't taking her punishment seriously anyway. Too many adults had laughed (not her parents!) in front of her over the incident and exclaimed that it was crap that she got three days over ass in a can. Wonderfuckingful. The asshole principal's attempt at making an example out of a straight "A" student just backfired. Instead of teaching the Tween to be more responsible and that ISS isn't something you want to be in, it taught her that the principal is a fucktarded cock sack who isn't to be taken seriously.
On Saturday a letter detailing the terrible ass spray travesty arrived from the principal. Underneath the three day prison sentence he'd highlighted and underlined "2 days is not an option!". That fucking chicken shit! It didn't save him from a visit from me. But that's another story....

Monday, April 1, 2013

We may be family, but you suck!

Everyone has that one family member that is the black sheep, the drain on the family, the embarrassing STD that no one wants to talk about, the self-entitled asshole that always wants to know what's in it for them. In my family that person happens to be the oldest child - my white trash, deadbeat sister.

That's right, I called my own sister white trash. I call her a lot worse the majority of the time. Things weren't always this way between us. We used to get along, back when I was younger...before I realized how worthless she is. But then the rose-tinted glasses were stripped away and I saw her for who she really is.

While White Trash's 2nd husband was off fighting a war, the part of her that had only shown up occasionally came out full force. White Trash began neglecting her three sons in order to go drinking all the time. She lost a stable job and began bouncing around to other jobs until she became a bartender. She began sleeping around with the customers and "fell in love" with a married man. White Trash stopped paying bills on time and when her husband returned from deployment they faced foreclosure on their home. During this time our parents stepped in and tried to help them hang on to the house. When White Trash filed for divorce my parents gave her a new place to live in. It was a rental property, and it wasn't as nice as the house she had owned, but beggars can't be choosers. Our parents paid for everything (food, clothes, utilities, they gave her a cell phone!) and even gave her a car after she wrecked her own while driving drunk. Guess what? That piece of trash expected them to pay for any maintenance and even the gas for her to get places. White Trash ran the car into the ground....and demanded a replacement vehicle.

Sadly, this has gone on for years. But wait, just like an infomercial, there's more!

White Trash married her 3rd husband and they convinced our parents to let them move into the larger rental house for which they would pay rent. One guess what really happened. For the last 2 years they have leached off our parents. Do they ever say "Thanks"? Hell to the fuck no! Instead, they bad-mouth my parents behind their back. If the dependent behavior hadn't already driven a wedge between us, this surely has. I haven't sat back and watched this shit happening without saying anything. Family gatherings are tense when the money-sucking, ungrateful pile of dog turds makes an appearance.

Yes, my parents have been enablers - they have big hearts and don't want to see any of their children do without - but they are especially concerned with any impact on their grandchildren. Not helping White Trash means her three sons suffer. White Trash has played that against their sympathies.

It has reached an all-time low though. Yesterday my little sister called, upset, to share something that our dad told her specifically not to repeat to me because he knew how I'd react. Well this is a fucking doozy, Bitches, so get ready. White Trash hasn't paid rent for months - sometimes she makes a half-assed attempt - and the stress of supporting White Trash, her husband and three sons has taken a financial toll on our parents. Mom and Dad have to cancel their vacation to see my little sister and her family because the financial impact is so bad that their savings has been entirely drained. In fact, they are now juggling bills to stall foreclosure on both houses.

This pisses me off for a multitude of reasons. I'm sure I don't need to actually list them out for you. I'm sick to my stomach with rage. It's a good thing I live 5 hours away because I'd probably be in jail right now for assault on the cunt rag. I'd like to punch them both in the throat, kick her in the taco and twist off his nut sack with my bare hands. I don't give a shit that we share the same blood. My older sister is a user. A loser. A piece of dog shit on the bottom of my shoe. She deserves to be smeared in the fucking grass. My parents need to evict White Trash and her equally white trash husband and be done with them. The boys pretty much live at my parent's home and they should continue to.

You know the old saying "you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family"? Fuck. That. To all the leaching, douche canoe, loser, white trash family members out there....YOU SUCK!

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

That really chaps my ass

Some things just really chap my ass. I'm not referring to scratchy granny panties. One of my biggest pet peeves is women hating on women - for no reason other than they are both women. I see it all the time in the corporate world. If there is a woman in a powerful role at work, other women will hate her. And it fucking disgusts me. Ladies that were once friends become jealous, conniving, bitter backstabbing cunt nuggets: "Look at Sally. She didn't deserve that position. I wonder how many dicks she had to suck to get that promotion."

Heaven forbid anyone actually remembers that Sally busted her ass working late, skipping lunches and making miracles happen to get projects completed. She wasn't slobbin' nobs and getting porked over the boss's desk when no one was looking. Why degrade Sally like that? Oh, because then you don't have to face the facts that your ass didn't get promoted...because you're a fucking slacker that leaves at 4:59pm every day, denies responsibility and never volunteers for complex projects.

Just yesterday another chic and I were discussing our company's CEO, who is female. My coworker was reaming the CEO for being a worthless twit with no sense about running a business. After listening to the twat waffle carry about how the CEO was "going to run the company into the ground because she doesn't know the first thing about business" I interrupted the tirade and received a blank stare for asking, "What makes you think she isn't capable?" Finally the judgmental dipshit stuttered, "Well, isn't it obvious?" Uhm...no. It isn't. She has the credentials to run the business. They didn't hire her because she has a great rack. I read the company reports and I know she's making changes that need to be made. Some of those changes are painful for people that don't accept change well. But if the company is to survive, they must be made.

It sickens me that women are less likely to judge a man's capability in running a business than they are to question another female's ability. Why the fuck do women turn on each other?? We should be supporting one another, doing booby bumps, slapping asses and high fiving the Bitch that had the guts to go against the grain and succeed in business. So the next time you want to slam another strong Bitch, step back and ask yourself what really pisses you off about the situation. Chances are that it's jealousy.

Friday, March 8, 2013

Funny Farm, population: 1

My mom and I have a strange relationship. I'm sane and she's batshit fucking crazy. If this were the late 1800's or early 1900's I would have taken her for a Sunday drive and checked her into the loony farm. I can't begin to explain how delusional she is, but I'm going to try.

Before you think I'm hating on my mother, let me just say I believe my mom is a saint in the fact that as a divorced mother of 4 kids in the 80's she did what she had to do to raise her kids. She worked 3 jobs to provide for me and my siblings. She made a lot of sacrifices. I know she loves all of us, although I'd say I'm by far the favorite. And really I can't blame her there. But I can't say we are particularly close. Hell, I can't have a 5 minute conversation with her without wanting to hang myself. In fact, any conversation with my mother is rather painful because Mom can't stay on topic. By that I mean, I could be talking about a play that the Tween is in and Mom veers off onto government conspiracy. Half the time she can't focus her thoughts. On a good day a conversation with her goes something like this:

*ring, ring* I look at my caller ID. Shit, it's Mom. *press ignore* Five minutes later *ring, ring*
Me: "Hello?"
<dead air>
Me: "Hello? Mom?"
Mom: *clears throat three times* "Hello?"
Me: "Yes mom?"
Mom: "Who is this? Is Bitch there? I thought I was calling Bitch."
Me: "Mom, it is me."
Mom: "Oh....."
Me (getting exasperated by now): "What did you need, Mom?"
Mom: "Huh?"
Me: "MOM, Why.did.you.call?"
Mom: "Oh yeah, I wanted to ask you a question..............................."
Me: *sigh* "And that question is....?"
Mom: "Are the girls safe? Where's Baby Shit?"
Me: "Yes the girls are safe, and Baby Shit is napping in her crib."
Mom: "Are you sure? I had a premonition. She was in the bleach under the kitchen cabinet. Was the cabinet locked? Oh god! Go check on her, right now!"

In case you can't tell by that last bit of conversation, Mom thinks she's psychic. The amazing thing is, she can predict things that really happen.....but it's always after the fact. For example, an airplane crashes. Mom calls me and said, "I knew that was going to happen. I dreamed about it. If only I had seen the plane number I could have helped them by calling the airline and telling them they needed to cancel the flight. I couldn't get the plane number though. The plane didn't look quite right, it looked like a paper airplane, but I saw it crash. The meaning is the same." Right.....

In addition to being an after-the-fact psychic, Mom sees dead people. If she can't see them, she can feel their spirit. Mom has had many a conversation with ghosts that apparently lived with us over the years in various houses we moved to. Imagine a 9 year old child being told a headless ghost hangs out in the house and then leaving that kid home alone...at night. That's a fucking disaster in the making. I should know. I was that 9 year old child. 911 doesn't take you seriously when you call to report a ghost terrorizing you even though you're scared out of your fucking mind, shaking and barely controlling your bladder. Now I think "talking to dead people" is actually Mom having conversations with the voices in her head.

Mom is an expert on many things. Don't cough in front of her because she will diagnose you. And god forbid you fart and it smells funny because she'll think you're dying of something. See, Mom was once a medical transcriptionist. She wrote up doctor's diagnosis based on their voice recorded notes and now she thinks she's qualified to diagnose anyone. Oh, and while being a medical transcriptionist, she learned a lot about medications so don't get her started on big pharma's because she'll let you know what a bunch of crooks they are. This from a woman addicted to Vicodin and a few other pain meds. Irony, anyone?

Every kid thinks their parents are strange. I know my mom is strange. And crazy. Certifuckingfiable crazy. I have my suspicions that too much pot and maybe a few bad acid trips before I was born started her downward spiral. As the years have gone on, more of her mind has tripped out. Even the Tween knows Maw Maw is "different." For several years now the Tween and I have joked that Maw Maw is the Mayor of her own little Funny Farm, population: 1.

Mom is coming to visit for 5 days. She'll be here tonight and I'm not thrilled. She hasn't even arrived and already I'm looking forward to her leaving. Don't get me wrong, I love her and miss her, and I'm glad she's coming to visit because the Shits have really missed her since her January visit. But the only way I'm going to make it through the next 5 days is by heavily self-medicating. In fact, I've gotta go to the store right.this.instant so I can stock up on provisions - liquor.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

The evil stepparent

The other day I was listening to a conversation between two women. One was complaining about how difficult it is to like her stepchildren. Since my oldest, the Tween, is from my first marriage and my ex and I are both remarried, my ears perked up. As I listened, I realized with much aggravation that she was bitching about two small kids. The more she whined about how insensitive they were, how they didn't listen to her, what a pain in the ass the mother was and the ungrateful brats she was raising, the more my ears burned and I struggled to keep my opinions to myself. After all, I didn't really know either of these women.

My breaking point was when the self-involved twat waffle said she couldn't believe how little support her husband gave her, and expected her to keep making an effort to develop a relationship with two kids that obviously didn't like her. Are you fucking kidding me?! My head spun around like Linda Blair from The Exorcist, and I butted into the conversation. "I've been sitting here listening to the diarrhea flowing from your mouth for the last half hour. I'm disgusted at what I've heard. You're talking about two kids! You are the adult. You have the power over how you act and react to the kids. You have the opportunity to develop a bond to strengthen your family. And you have the power to influence what those kids think about you. Do something about the situation instead of acting like a fucking victim." 

Nothing raises my fur more than hearing someone bitch and moan about their terrible stepchildren. When you marry a person who has kids from a previous relationship, you're getting a package deal. It's not like you didn't know that! The kids are never, I repeat NEVER, going away. And the younger the child, the more your attitude will shape and influence how you're perceived. So what if the ex-wife/husband is a complete asshole and you think they're turning their kid(s) against you? Pull the stick out of your ass! We're talking about children. You're the adult so act like one. Don't take your anger out on the kid. The child doesn't deserve your contempt. And the kid definitely doesn't deserve you making your spouse choose between you. If your spouse is any kind of person at all, the kid will win.

I was once really good friends with this funny, smart-ass woman we nicknamed "Red" for her short temper. While I was going through my divorce, Red was marrying a man with a 4 year old daughter. Red tolerated the little girl, who was with them about 50% of the time, but trash talked the kid even when she was in another room of the house. Since I had a small child who would one day have stepparents, Red's attitude really began to get on my nerves. She talked about her stepdaughter like she was an evil entity, like she consciously chose to piss Red off. When Red and her husband had their own daughter together, she began excluding the first daughter from everything including family pictures. She made her husband take pictures with his oldest child alone. How fucking insecure  and jealous are you to treat a kid like that? What kind of monster destroys a child's developing self-esteem by treating her like she's nobody? Red and I came to words over it. I'd lost all respect for her at this point and I didn't want anything to do with her anymore. Our friendship was over. And only a few years passed before I heard from mutual friends that Red and her husband were divorcing. I can't say I was surprised.

I've been very fortunate that my own daughter didn't have to live through hell with an insecure adult who couldn't stand her. My ex-husband remarried before I did, and his wife is great. She loves the Tween and has always treated her like her own. When they had their own kids, nothing changed with how she acted toward my daughter. My ex-husband and I are divorced for a reason, but we share a beautiful girl who deserves the best of either of us and who deserves the best of what our partners have to offer. As far as we're concerned my husband and the Tween's step-mom are just as important in her life as we are. Even when we don't agree on something, we put our differences aside and present a united front to the Tween. People usually remark on how refreshing it is to see all of us sit together and talk at the Tween's sporting events and how we all four show up for parent-teacher conferences.

I realize not every situation will be as amicable as what I have with my ex. But as I said to the twat waffle earlier, be the adult! Don't be an asshole. Put your feelings aside and do what's best for the kids.

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Your past is not your future

Disclaimer: This week’s blog isn’t a hardcore Bitch session.

Sometimes something will happen and get you to thinking about how far you’ve come in life. That was the case for me the other day. It had me reflecting on the differences between my childhood and what I’ve been able to provide for my own children. 

My parents divorced when I was only 1 year old. My mother worked 3 jobs to support me and my 3 siblings, while my bio-dad moved out of the states and rarely communicated with us.  We lived in public housing and food stamps kept food in our fridge.  When I was 7 my mother married a real piece of shit, an abusive alcoholic asshole. He could never hold down a job, but my mom kept working 3 jobs to keep our family going. Everyone seemed to think my stepdad was a cool man – he could really turn on the charm sometimes. They would have been shocked to know how often he abused my mother, or beat me and my youngest sister with belts, fly swatters or even his hands. It leaves a hell of an impression on a young child to see her 3 year old sister gagged and tied up in her bedroom just so “daddy” could get some quiet time with another bottle of beer while mommy was working. Many nights my mom would lock me and my little sister in our bedroom before the asshole returned from the bar. Her instructions were always the same, “Don’t come out, no matter what you hear.” She tried to shield us from the worst of it yet I still saw him hold a shotgun to her head and throw knives at her. My mother tried many times to leave my stepdad, but it wasn’t until I was 14 that she was finally successful.  

When the asshole was finally out of the picture I started getting into trouble with the law. Go figure! I got into so much trouble that I spent a month in juvenile detention and then was removed from my mother’s home at the age of 15. Luckily, some family members stepped up and took me in so I wouldn’t be placed in a foster home. This was a major turning point for me. I changed schools, started participating in school activities and got back on the honor roll. I began to realize that I had been acting out in all of my anger and years of pain and frustration. I resolved that I would live a better life and that one day I would provide an environment for my own kids that would be so completely different than what I experienced.

I think this was really the start of my “Bitch lifestyle”. It was at this time that I knew I would never let another person treat me so horribly. It was when I knew I would always protect those that mattered to me. It was when I knew I would not become my past. I would do what it took to rise above everything I had been through.

My adult life has been so different from my childhood. I’m successful in my career. I have one college degree completed and I’m almost done with another. I have a great husband and three wonderful daughters who I instill with my beliefs of being strong, independent and determined women who won’t let someone kick them down. At the same time I teach them compassion for others. I give them opportunities to become confident in who they are.

So many people allow their past to become their future. They repeat patterns and stay with what is familiar to them. It doesn’t have to be this way. What happened in the past is not who you are in the future. It should shape who you become, but you have the power to make decisions that will change the course of your life. I didn’t have an easy childhood, but I don’t use that as an excuse as others do. I use my past as motivation for my future. You should, too. It’s never too late to be the person you want to be.   

Monday, February 4, 2013

Don't be a shitty parent

You know what I think is shitty parenting? Allowing your child, who doesn't even meet the age requirement of 13+, to have a Facebook account. First, you've taught your child it's OK to lie about their age - on the internet. Way to go, dipshit. Second, not even monitoring what your child is looking at on Facebook. Come on parents! Facebook makes it extremely easy to spy on other people's activities with little effort - it shows up right in your damn newsfeed!

The Tween has a friend (I'll call her Nelly to protect her) who signed up for a Facebook account when she was 10 years old. The mom rationalized to me that it was because she was tired of Nelly logging into her own account to play games, and she didn't want her daughter to see inappropriate things. Nelly's mom helped her set up her account and suggested me as a friend for her daughter. Not smart! The posts on my personal page are geared to a more mature audience since my friends are exactly that - mature. Because I wanted to be front and center when this stupid fucking idea backfired, I accepted the friend request and immediately assigned Nelly to a list that would never see my status updates. Eventually another girl in our little group of friends talked her mom into letting her join Facebook. And that little girl also sent me a friend request. Another child accepted and added to the special list with Nelly. How do you think this went over in my house? The Tween repeatedly asked me if she could have an account "because all of my friends do!" Uhm...hell to the fuck no!

Nelly is now about to turn 12. I've watched her online activities for almost 2 years now. It started out innocent enough. Over the last 6 months I've seen her behavior change. She apparently has figured out how to add people to her own special lists because her mom isn't seeing her status updates, which tend to be very suggestive in nature. Nelly has added over 200 friends. Many of which appear to be older. These may be friends of her parent's, just like me, but if so her interactions with them are inappropriate. Also, I often see that Nelly has liked pages with names and content that compete with my own "Bitch" is a Lifestyle. I see her sharing their photos and commenting on adult humor. Granted, those page admins should have set age restrictions as I have done in the Lifestyle, but the ultimate responsibility falls to Nelly's parents. Where the hell are they? Why aren't they monitoring what their child is doing? Even if they don't see her status updates, they can still see her activity. Are you slightly curious as to how Nelly lists her education in her "About" section? She apparently attends the "University of Sexy".

Guess who started talking to my Tween about sexual things? You bet...Nelly. I found the texts on my daughter's phone. When I told the mother, she laughed it off and then said it wasn't as bad as I made it sound. She also tried to deflect fault on me for “snooping” on my kid. Oh hell no! Bitch, the fucking texts are right there in the incoming messages on my daughter's phone! Just because your kid was smart enough to delete her messages doesn't mean it didn't happen!

For those of you that are going to get self-righteous and say that parents shouldn't "spy" on their children and shouldn't invade their privacy, turn your ass around right now and leave. I don't want to fucking hear it. Parents are meant to guide their children, to protect them and to make sure they're not being introduced to things that take away their childhood innocence. Parents aren't meant to be their kid's best friend. And parents sure as hell shouldn't introduce their child to an environment without monitoring them.

You can bet your ass I know what my kids are doing. I'm raising them and I'm going to make sure they follow my rules. Most importantly, I'm going to make sure I protect them and their innocence as much as I can.

Parents, pull your head out of your asses. Watch your kids. Make sure you know what they are up to. Don't jump into the running for the shitty parent award. You're going to hear it from me the instant your shitty parenting starts affecting my family.