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.

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.

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....

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?"
<silence>
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.

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.

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.   

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.

Baby naming rights revoked!

After last week’s baby naming incident I couldn’t help but share that stupid ass name with a few friends. Over drinks we bullshitted and shared other brilliant names that we have come across. I shit you not, these names have been used!

Momma destined me….to be a stripper

• Mystery – So aptly named because her momma had slept with so many men, it was a “mystery” who the daddy was.
• Treasure – Do I need to provide an explanation? Poor kid will be called “treasure chest” when her boobs come in.

Actually….Mystery’s mom, although obviously fucked up, is kind of a genius when you think about it.

Mom and Dad are assholes

Some parents are just asshats that think it’s funny to put certain name combinations together. For instance, they have the last name “Brown” so they name their son “Charlie”. Not cute, mom and dad! Here are a few from asshats who were trying to be clever.

• Richard Head – Way to go mom and dad...your kid will always be known as Dick Head (and not my fondly referred to “Dickhead”).
• Marsha Mallow – Hope she wasn’t white, fluffy and puffy.

Some people are just fucking idiots

• Female (pronounced fee-malee) – The mom thought the "hospital named the baby for her. It said so on the bracelet.” In the twat’s defense, she was Hispanic and maybe didn’t understand.
• Shithead (pronounced SHA-THEED) – I have no words for this level of stupidity and cruelty.

I realize people want something unique – something to make their child stand out in the crowd. But does it have to be done at the child’s expense? The poor kid is the one that has to live with the choice his or her parents made.

Seriously, parents need to grow the hell up. Names are not a contest. You aren’t going to receive a fucking award for the most creative name. “Oh, you named your son after an Aztec god? Well, gee mom, Quatzequatel must be terribly thrilled to have the hardest goddamned name to spell in his kindergarten class! Even the teacher gets so flustered trying to pronounce it and spell it that she calls him “Q”. Here’s your fucking award. Aren’t you proud?” Yep. That’s not going to happen.

So, Bitches, here’s how you can help end this horrible trend. The next time a friend tells you she’s pregnant and gives you a name that stops you in your tracks, please bitch slap her. Kidding. No violence please. But pull your Bitch badge out of your purse and let her know what a stupid. fucking. idea she has. Steer her away from the name nicely if you have a hard time being blunt with an emotionally unstable pregnant lady, but for the love of god and for the kid’s sake, don’t let the stupidity go on.