Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Civil unrest bullshit

The civil unrest and turmoil inside our great country, the USA, is seriously fucked up. I made it clear with Michael Brown that I felt Darren Wilson was in the right to shoot. Now I'm about to speak my mind again.

If you're going to start calling me a privileged white racist then get the fuck off my page now. Hit the unlike button and go find a page that agrees with your bullshit. I don't give two fucks, not even one fuck, if I lose fans for speaking my mind about utter stupidity of the citizens of our fucked up country

This weekend two officers were ambushed and killed in New York for no other reason than they wore the uniform. In Florida an officer was shot and killed, and RAN OVER as the suspect left the crime scene. And now rioters and protesters are taking over near Ferguson, MO again as an officer shot and killed an 18 year old black male who pulled a gun on him last night. The 18 year old LEGAL ADULT pulled a gun on an officer and people are fucking rioting because the officer shot him? Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME? 

Want to talk about someone feeling privileged and creating racial tension? It's not me. It's not my white friends or the white officers doing their goddamn jobs. It's not the Hispanic officers or the black officers. It's the few low life fucktards who think they should get away with murder because they believe they've been oppressed for generations. Those are the "privileged racists". To those assholes I say "Go fuck yourself." You have no interest in drawing attention to any real racial tension that does exist. You have no interest in making things better for your community. It's about shoving your agenda down the nation's throat and taking what you feel entitled to.. 

To the officers putting their lives on the line every single day, I say "Thank you." Thank you for doing a job that too many don't appreciate you doing. Thank you for the sacrifices you make to your family. And thank you for the ultimate sacrifice you sometimes make with your life. 

Cop hugs a tearful boy during Ferguson Protest
Image from Time

There are those that say you decided to do this job that is dangerous. But it doesn't mean that you should expect to live a short life because of this job. 

This job that can make people turn on you just for wearing a uniform. 

This job that puts you in danger on a daily basis even when doing routine calls.

To the families that won't have their loved ones with them this Christmas because they were killed in the line of duty, I'm so very sorry for your loss and my prayers are with you.

Saturday, December 20, 2014

Snatch emergency

Remember last weekend how I missed my wax appointment? Yeah I called to reschedule that shit. Well, due to circumstances outside my master waxer's control, she couldn't get me in until after Christmas. 

The state of my hairy snatch became an emergency. I got desperate and shaved. I. fucking. shaved. I fucking know better! My FUPA (fat upper pussy area) does not do well with a razor. OMFG I hurt so bad. How do bitches SHAVE?!? My twat had razor burn and I got ingrown hairs. When I walked my clothes felt like a Brillo pad scrubbing me raw. 

Dickhead has a hard time understanding why I worship the wax - preferring to have my hair ripped from my lady bits, taint and asshole - and refuse to shave. 

He understood once I humped his face like a dog in heat and gave him a bearded-clam burn.

Wednesday, October 29, 2014

It's all about the blowjob-enomics

Last week I went in for my normal Botox injections in my forehead. Don't judge me. My forehead wrinkles are deep! Without the Botox God my deep forehead wrinkles resemble a woman's gash.

While my plastic surgeon assessed to see how much movement had returned since my last visit, I inquired about lip fillers. My bottom lip is nice and thick (I'm sure it's from all that dick sucking Dickhead gets), and my upper lip is thin (again I think it's from all that dick sucking since I pull my lip over my teeth so Dickehad's junk doesn't get scraped).

You're trying to make that face aren't you? You're trying to figure out if your dick sucking face is different than mine. I know, don't lie. I'm not judging you. I'm a good dick sucker.

Anyway, lip fillers are fucking expensive! Like, the same price as TWO of my Botox visits. At my scowl (or as good of a scowl I can do since I have permanent Bitchy Resting Face), my surgeon mentioned she may have a more cost effective solution. From a plastic surgeon that means you're still going to ass rape me, but you'll considerately use lube while doing it.

The good doctor told me she could put three Botox injections in my upper lip, which wouldn't fill it in like a plumper, but would instead lift it and expose more of the pink lip which would make it look fuller. Now, in my extensive research of fillers (conducted in 5 minutes while in the lobby waiting for my appointment) I had scoured the interwebz looking at before and after pictures of lip filler options. Botox was not one of the options I had found so I had some questions. Okay okay, I had one. The good doctor assured me I wouldn't end up with duck lips for the next six months. After pondering on it for a good long time (a nanosecond) I made up my up mind to give it a try.

I'm not going to lie, I probably worked myself into a little anxiety over how much a lip injection would hurt. I'm not a pussy about pain, but somehow as the needle neared my lip it seemed like a good time to panic. It took some calming and extra cold air numbing of my lips to allow her to proceed. Holy fucking hades those little bee stings hurt like a muthafucker. I swear that Bitch was smiling at the pain she was subjecting me to.

As she tidied up, the good doctor mentioned I may notice a difference in my "pucker" face. She actually used air quotes. I've never wanted to throat punch someone so fucking bad. At my confusion she said anytime I needed to pucker, such as suck on a straw or say words that contained certain sounds, I'd notice a difference in how my lips worked but I would end up compensating for it. Basically I may be drinking through a straw and my lips wouldn't be able to maintain the pucker position so I'd not have as much sucking power, and liquid may dribble out. At this news I shook my head. Fuck me. I told you she was about to ass rape me! The doctor was surprised at my irritation. So I had to spell it out for her. This meant blowjobs were not going to be as easy to give and it may affect the quality which would impact my Coach Bucks earning potential. The good doctor was a little stunned at my vulgarity, but intrigued about Coach Bucks. So I gave her a little lesson in blowjob-enomics. She was so impressed (or disgusted, I'm not entirely sure) that I got my lip injections for FREE. Either way I win!

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Moving is a bitch!

So I promised you the moving woes of Scrub & Company (adequately named by Scrub's husband, Big Daddy) and of our mom and dad.

Here Dickhead and I were, dodging the moving bullet by being out of town the weekend the big fucking move should have happened. And then we get a phone call.

First, Scrub's closing in TX was a fucking nightmare. The day before they were to sign the closing paperwork and move here their agent called with news that the buyer's lender fucked up and things were on hold. Their shit was already packed on the moving truck and ready to roll as they were going to close on the new home in two days. Were. That shit got put on hold, too.

So Scrub & Company rented their TX house to the buyers, stayed in a hotel down there for a few nights, then headed on up and camped out...NOT at the Bitch household. My response to her request was something like this:

"Hell to the fuck no. Sorry little sis, but your cats aren't declawed like Princess Fiona and they aren't going to tear my shit up. Get a goddamn hotel room until you can board those fur balls. Then you'll be welcome to stay here."

Scrub & Company hit up a hotel until they could work out an arrangement to rent the house they were planning to buy here. The day they moved into the house was the day our parents closed on their home and began the five hour drive here. Their plans were to rent an apartment as they wanted to be snow birds.

I was stressed as a motherfucker dealing with all this drama - yeah yeah blah blah blah, Scrub was probably the stressed one, don't judge me motherfuckers - so I went for a manicure. Halfway through it my phone rings. Against better judgment I answered.

Scrub was in a panic. Our parents apartment had been rented out from under them. The apartment manager tried the old bait and switch. The next apartment was not available for 12 more days and cost more. I waited for her to drop the bomb I knew was coming:

"Can they stay with you. The movers are only halfway done unloading our truck so they can't stay here! I'll help you help them find a place...please please please!"

I told her she better start Googling shit and hung up. Yeah, I'm a Bitch. Here's your cookie for figuring that out.

Long story short on that part, my parents stayed in my house for few nights. Each morning I handed them potential places to check out. Again, yes I know I'm a Bitch. On the 3rd day while my parents were out looking, my sister calls.

I always know the conversation is going to be interesting when she laughs nervously and says, "You're going to think I'm crazy."

She didn't have to go any further. I knew that bat shit crazy Scrub was letting our parents move into her house. The gates of heaven opened and the sun shined down on my house as I laughed with joy that they were leaving my home. True, Scrub's house is less than a mile away, but IT'S A MILE AWAY!

Having my mom and dad here was like adding fucking teenagers to my household. They didn't clean up after themselves, they ate all the goddamn food in the pantry, dishes were left on the table. This is my house, not a motherfucking Bed & Breakfast! So yeah, I've done a happy dance each night they've been gone. And while I drank heavily while they were here so I could cope with the stress, I'm now drinking heavily with relief that they've been gone two nights. TWO nights of them living with Scrub, and she's already losing it. Haha sucker! Blame yourself.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Wine and waxing - of course it's a fucking disaster

Master Waxer was drinking her own wine before I arrived today. She must've had a rough day full of pussies and assholes because MW was already slurring when I walked in the door. Then we had a glass (or two, but who's counting) in prep for my vag-anus hair to be ripped out. We joked as usual as I laid back with my legs cocked at odd angles for her to get the wax on.

The air conditioner was going full blast, blowing right on my twat, and I swear my labia clapped to warm itself up. MW apologized for the freezing cold air, but she had been having hot flashes all day so she was trying to cool off. Well, that explained why she was hitting the wine pretty hard before I got there. Fanning herself with one hand, MW smeared some wax on me with the other. Holymotherfuckingjesuschrist the wax was hot hot hot. I yelped in surprise as hot wax dripped on my lady bits. MW was horrified and apologized profusely, starting to fan my twat with her hands. And then, the motherfucking wax stick fell from her fingertips in slow motion and landed in the thick of things on my veej. Of course the air was blowing so hard the wax was congealing faster than normal. When MW grabbed the stick and pulled it took a nice little hair ball with it. At this point I started laughing. I laughed so hard I forgot to maintain position and closed my legs...pretty much gluing my twat closed with wax. My vagina had to be oiled to dissolve the stickiness. If my appointment was any indication of how the rest of MW's day had gone, I couldn't blame her one bit for getting shit-faced. Before we got back to the business of removing the hair from my business I made MW pour me another glass of wine so I could cope with this awkwardly traumatic experience.

I finally left with my hair all ripped out, my lips unglued and a nice little buzz going. Dickhead was pissy when I walked in the door because I was later getting home than normal from an appointment. So I showcased my hard-earned wax job, asked him if it looked good and when he said 'yeah' and tried to fondle me I told him he needed to remember what it looked like because he wasn't getting any with that motherfucking attitude.

Now he's sulking on the couch, and I'm sitting over here drinking more wine and throwing out zero fucks that he's pouting like a fucking child.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Clusterfuck moving weekend

Scrub, Big Daddy and Little Scrub will be living near me in just a couple of weeks when they leave Texas behind and close on their new house here.

Having their two favorite daughters (I'm the favorite of course, then Scrub, with our oldest sister so far off the favorite chart she's lucky to still be considered part of the damn family), in the same place proved to be too much temptation for our parents. They put their house on the market. Scrub and I weren't worried though. Nah. We thought it would take a while for them to sell since they live in the fucking middle of nowhere. But within a motherfucking month the house had already gone under contract, and the new owner wanting possession ASAP. Cue the anxiety attacks for Scrub and I. Especially for Scrub though. Our parents move here the same weekend Scrub and her family are moving. So what does the Bitch household do? Offer up our house for that weekend so everyone has someplace to stay while they close on a new house, or in our parent's case sign a rental lease.

"Are you out of your goddamn ever loving fucking mind?" yelled Dickhead when I told him.

"Relax" was my response, "That's the weekend of Bestie's baby girl's 1st birthday party. We absolutely can't miss we'll be five hours away while the clusterfuck moving weekend happens. Besides, I'm previewing places for mom and dad so they can sign without seeing it and just move the fuck in."

Dickhead's lightbulb went on as his pea brain processed what that meant. "So, we won't have to help with moving weekend? Not even a little?" At my confirmation he exclaimed "Fucking A!"

That's right Dickhead, fucking A! Sorry Scrub, not sorry.

Friday, September 12, 2014

Oh, you wouldn't put up with that stuff? STFU

I haven't posted yet about the Ray Rice "beating the fuck out of his then fiance, now wife" incident, but those of you who've been with me since the early days of this page know how I feel about domestic abuse and the shit stains who put their hands on their spouse, partner or children in anger.

I've watched in amazement and disappointment over the last few days as friends in my newsfeed have blasted Janay, the victim, and said she deserves what she gets since she decided to marry the fuckwad anyway, and she deserves no sympathy.

Wrong. No one ever, let me fucking repeat myself, EVER deserves to be beaten. To be kicked, punched, spat on, mentally, and emotionally broken down until they can see no way out. That kind of ignorance that I saw in my feed of blaming the victim and judging her for being in that situation—yes I call it fucking ignorance—is what allows scum shit like Ray Rice and other abusers to isolate their victims. LOOK at Janay's face in the press conference where Ray Rice apologized for his the public, but not to Janay. LOOK at the fear on her face.
AP photo found on WBAL News Radio 1090 
Domestic violence is NEVER ok. I grew up in a home with domestic violence. I watched first hand how my mother tried time and again to leave my stupid sack of shit asshole douchebag stepfather that beat her, me and my little sister, Scrub. I watched that motherfucker throw knives at her, pull a shotgun on her. I watched my baby sister get tied up like a fucking hog and gagged when she was a toddler so "daddy could enjoy his peace and quiet while mommy was gone."

I was there when my mom tried to ask for help and was turned away. By her own fucking family. She married the asshole and needed to learn how to control him. Yeah, how fucked up is that shit? I was there when the police officers wouldn't take her beatings seriously. I was there when my mom would hide her bruises. I was hiding mine along with her. I was there when my mom felt she had no goddamn way out. I was there each time she attempted to leave and got beaten down even more.

Did you know it takes ON AVERAGE seven attempts for an abuse victim to leave their abuser successfully....or wind up dead.

I was there when mom kicked him out for good. I was there when that psychotic fuck came with a knife and gun and cut our fucking phone lines so we couldn't call for help, and he went around trying to break into our house.

Just the other day my mom called to tell me the fucking nut job had died. You know what I felt? After years of wondering if he would catch up with us? After years of avoiding using my maiden name and protecting my identity as much as possible in public forums like social networking sites? I felt RELIEF. Relief for my mother that she wouldn't get anymore surprise phone calls again from him after repeatedly changing numbers...even after getting remarried. Relief he wouldn't some day show up where I live. Relief my kids and my sister and her family were safe. My next thought was "I hope he suffered." I hope he suffered painfully in his death. If there is anyone on this earth that I can honestly say should burn in a hell of lava shit, it's him.

You. don't. know. what a victim has been through emotionally and mentally. Oh, you wouldn't put up with that stuff? Good for you. Have a motherfucking cookie, sit down and shut the fuck up for a moment. Open your eyes to something other than the sheltered fucking world you know.

When I read those statuses judging Janay, blaming her for "her part in this" by staying with a feces covered dick like Ray Rice, I was angry. That fear on her face? I saw it day after day in my own home. I wore that look myself. After taking some time to think about what my friends had written, women I consider kindhearted which made it even harder to swallow the shit they wrote, I knew I needed to break that ignorance they had displayed.

I hope this posts gets through to as many of you reading it as possible. Share it. You don't know who in your newsfeed is dealing with abuse. You think you know what someone else is going through? I guarantee you don't know half of it.

Domestic violence is never okay. Help break the cycle. Don't empower the abuser and isolate the victim.

Resources for victims and survivors:

Sunday, August 24, 2014

Nominated for the ice water challenge - f*ck that!

Everyone is still dumping ice on their fucking heads for that ALS charity challenge. Guess who got nominated? Yep, this Bitch. Guess who didn't do it? If you said this Bitch, you'd be right again.

Are you feeling like I'm an asshole yet? Of course you are. Do I care? Fuck no. ZFG. Look, it's a great charity. I'm not going to knock it. How many people are participating though because they feel guilted, not because it's a charity they care about? Did you accept the challenge? Be honest, I won't hate on you.

Here's the motherfucking deal. There is a charity close to my ice cold Bitch heart. This organization is raising awareness for children with CHILDHOOD CANCER. How many people do you know with that scary word....cancer? How many children do you know with CANCER? I know one. He's the precious son of my friend from Facebook's Cowboy Up for a CURE. Drew is only slightly older than Little Shit. When Little Shit is sick and has been in the hospital, Drew sends her pictures of himself with thumbs up and tells her she can do it, she will be okay. Drew and his mom are my heroes.

Picture collage of Drew from Cowboy Up for a CURE website

Want to know what Drew faces every. day. on top of cancer? He faces destruction to his nervous system from the radiation that is saving his life. He faces deterioration of his brain from chemo. He's lost some motor control because the life saving treatment he must take to beat cancer is too harsh for his little body. That life saving treatment is meant for an adult's body.

Most cancer research is not done with children in mind. Therefore when kids get that awful fucking thing called cancer, they must use the same treatment used on adults. More and more kids are diagnosed every. fucking. day. It's time we learn of an acceptable treatment. Because kids get cancer, too.

My dear friend is doing amazing work raising awareness and funds for research specific to childhood cancer. Check out the Cowboy Up for a CURE website. Donate. Or buy a shirt. All proceeds go to support families of those like Drew's and to research.

Saturday, August 9, 2014

Poop soul mates

Until this afternoon I was backed up for four horrible goddamn days - my colon that is - due to the hydrocodone for my back. I suffer from IBS - I'm on the diarrhea side of it while Scrub, my sis is on the constipation side. I shit like five times a day and if I don't go for a day then I'm constipated.

***If you've made it this far and feel like I'm oversharing and feel the revulsion rising at this being discussed, well obviously I give zero fucks. You can do yourself a favor, just scroll to the next status. You were warned.***

So back to the subject of my poop chute...I don't feel normal if I don't take a crap on the daily. Dickhead used to get so mad at the amount of time I spend in the bathroom. After more than eleven fucking years you'd think he'd have shut the fuck up about it by now! But recently a GI motility specialist (Little Shit's) explained it to him. So Dickhead gives me less shit about my shit now.

Anyway, until the birth of my 13 inch, weight unknown, turd baby this afternoon I was feeling really fucking awful. But as relief hit me and that fucker slid into the water from my exit hole (would that be considered a water birth?) I messaged my dear friend of You Still Laugh At "Diarrhea". Like the poop soul mates that we are, she was also on the crapper and shared her constipation story with me. It's below.

So there I was after having a baby and I managed to only birth a tiny tiny turd. tiny. Like nothing. I didn't even go poop when I was pushing. But the nurses were satisfied with the tiny tiny turd and all like 'YAY you can go home.'

Well nothing happened when I got home. And I had nothing and nothing but waaaaaaves of pain. And I kept popping percs because of the pain. On day 5 I was sweating bullets TERRIFIED THIS WHOLE TIME OF BUSTING A STITCH because I got the big E (for episotomy) ....and I didn't know the percs would make it worse. Anywho so day 5 I try everything. Chugging metamucil and water and eating prunes and doing an at home enema where NOT A DAMN THING HAPPENED. I called my OB in tears and he told me I can either wait it out at home or I can go to the ER. I went to the ER where I HAD TO GET AN ENEMA. TWICE. And I was STILL BACKED UP. The doctor wanted to go in manually. and dig. So of course I'm like 'this will NOT HAPPEN SIGN ME OUT AMA (against medical advice) IF YOU HAVE TO I'M NOT DOING THAT.' So the doc was like well I understand so they gave me a little to go suppository and told me to come back if I need to.

We go to my parents and pick up the baby and it feels like I need to shit glass this whole entire time, like that whole day and night (it's like 1am at this point and my boobs are leaking ALL OVER THE DAMN PLACE AND EVERYTHING and I'm embarassed and like THIS IS THE WORST THING EVER... ). We get home and baby boy is screaming his head off hungry. I had been having Baby Daddy give him bottles because I was in so much pain. But the urge struck as soon as we walked into the door. I ran. (Cue eye of the tiger music here, I felt like a champ). I hovered over the toilet and the gates of hell opened and my asshole unleashed a fury like never known before. The relief was unlike anything ever and thus the rest of the baby weight was lost.

THE END. *drops mic
I had tears from laughter rolling down my face as I sat in the Cadillac stall of my work restroom reading that shit. I will admit though, my asshole slammed shut at reading the part where they wanted to go in manually and dig. Motherfucker hell NO! But I'm sure my laughter was echoing and could be heard in the goddamn hallway. My laughter is very easily identified so someone walking by would have know immediately it was me. Oh well, ZFG.

I text several of the ladies when I know I'm going to stink it up by dropping a deuce so they can avoid the bathroom for a while. Sometimes I even make a loud announcement on my way in because it kinda grosses the guys out.

There's no shame in my game.