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...

You Know It Happens At Your House Too

What I Had REALLY Meant to Say Was....

People I Want to Punch in the Throat

Sad But True Life of a Middle Aged Woman

Life of a Spinster Broad

Tripping While Standing Still

Dadmissions

Fodder 4 Fathers

SooperDad Blog of Awesomeness

Daddy Doin' Work

The Dude of the House

Diary of a not so wimpy mom

What Inside Voice?

The Petite Young Blonde

Turd Mountain

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

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.

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....

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!

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.

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.