Fair weather fans, did you enjoy the Giants parade?

For years I've called all Giants fans fair weather fans. Usually, they only show up when the team is having a winning streak or the beginning of the season after a World Series win. The ones who do show up with any regularity are generally there to socialize and eat their way through the new-ish stadium. How can I tell?  I've been to several games, and I am NOT a fan at all, where I have noticed that most of the folks there are dressed like they just came from work and didn't bother to grab any Giants gear to wear to the game. Then, and this part gets me, they are too busy waiting on line for food and alcohol, chatting with co-workers, and milling about the stadium to actually watch the game! The athletes will play whether you watch or not, but you've come to see a game, cheer them the fuck on.
Personally, I am an A's fan. They are my boys, and no matter how they play, I will love and support them. We used to get season tickets, but between the economy and my belief that I bring a big black rain cloud with me that gives them bad luck, we don't buy them anymore. That doesn't stop us from watching all the televised games and listening to the rest on the radio. Why? Because we are real fans. Real fans love their team all year and every season.  Real fans don't need fancy stadiums with 25 types of beer and gourmet food items. Real fans actually watch the game, understand the game, and pay attention to what is happening right in front of them. We scream, we cheer, we chant, we clap, we boo the other guys, and we jump out of our seats when one of our boys hits one out of the park.
As this season approached playoffs and my boys came so close, yet so far, we saw the increase in brand new Giants fans.  Everywhere you went, people were wearing orange and black.  People who didn't wear it all freaking season. Fast forward to the World Series, and holy shit, the whole Bay Area was wearing some form of Giants gear.  Even supposed fans of OTHER teams.  Which is it?  Do you know how this works? Crossing party lines in baseball is verboten. It's just not done, unless, and ONLY unless you are a transplanted resident of another state.  Then you are permitted to root for both of your home teams.  Beyond that scenario, two-faced fake fans are nauseating and make my fucking skin crawl.  To me, this means you are probably not even a baseball fan. Do you know which end of the bat makes contact with the ball? Douche bucket.

Probably more nauseating than the bullshit fans I had the misfortune to witness, was the news coverage of the playoffs. There was what probably added up to hours and hours of coverage of the Giants progress throughout, but if you blinked, you'd have missed the brief snippets of coverage of the A's playoff games. These are local fucking news stations.  Just because they are an Oakland team and not the "big city" team, it doesn't detract from the fact that they were smoking hot this season.  Particularly the end of it. Like the redheaded stepchild of Bay Area baseball, the A's were all but ignored by newscasters and TV stations.  Networks made fantastic commercials about the playoffs and 9 out 10 of them had no A's representation. What the fuck is that about? Too ghetto for the rich white network?
Genuine lifelong baseball fans will relate to what I am saying and agree with me wholeheartedly. We love the sport, we derive real joy from watching the game, and we are true to our team through thick and thin. We don't care if all we get is a Bud Light and a hot dog, as long as we can watch our boys play our favorite game in person, we are the happiest fans on the planet. We wear the gear throughout the year, and we have closet space reserved for all the gear we can't seem to stop purchasing.  Oh wait, that last part's me. But you get the point, which is there are fans and there are posers.  By Friday, I predict that all the fake Giants fans who went out and bought the World Series t-shirts to traipse around town like they even watch baseball, will all return to their regular outfits and the t-shirts will be tossed aside like dirty dishrags.  I'll still be wearing my A's sweatshirts, because it's getting chillier and the t-shirts won't work now.  I'll save those for warmer weather.
Don't even get me started on all the parade attendees today!  Are these the same losers that trashed San Francisco after the final game of the Series, smashing windows and setting fires?  Because that isn't ghetto at all. MY guess is at least half of the parade gawkers aren't Giants fans, and 2/3 of those people don't even watch baseball all fucking season.  Jumping on the bandwagon, joining in on the fun and festivities, using it as an excuse to skip work or school, these folks are the epitome of what makes a loser. Posting photos all over social media sites like you actually care about the team. All that tells me is you got the day off from work because a baseball team played hard and well this year and the parade was close enough to be convenient. Plus, it was an excuse to drink during the day.  Congratulations, you've just lost more IQ points in my book.

If you are going to dress like a fan and benefit from all the fun, BE a fan.  If you don't want to support the team all season long, cheer them on whether they win or lose, and attempt to understand and love the sport, don't wear the gear while screaming at a parade instead of going to work. Parades notwithstanding, don't join in the fun only at the end of the season during playoffs, you didn't earn it. Watch all the boring games and all the exciting games.  Scream yourself hoarse in July.  High five in the car because Fosse just announced another walk off. But don't be a poser or worse, a turn coat.  Either choice, you've lost all my respect.  Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Do NOT smack your food anywhere near me...

Misophonia.  Heard of it?  I hadn't before my daughter found the term and its definition last night, and diagnosed herself.  She suffers from first year med student disease even though she is still a senior in high school.  WebMD is dangerous at her fingertips, self-diagnosis can have her dying in the amount of time it takes her to hit the search button. But that is a whole other topic. This time her research made sense! Sadly, it also started me thinking about whether or not I had the same issue. To rewind the tape just a bit, let's define misophonia.  Literally, it is the hatred of sound. In actuality, it is the hypersensitivity to background sounds or visual stimuli usually ignored by other people. Worse than the sensitivity to the stimuli and being unable to block it out, is the negative emotional response to the trigger.
When I say negative emotional response, it probably has you thinking that it's no big deal. So what if a sound pisses you off?  Get over it. Not quite, ass clown. This is way more than hating the sound of a car honking outside your window at 3am. This is an emotional flood of rage and panic for the sufferer. The fight or flight instinct kicks in with brute force and with adrenaline pumping and heart pounding, you either want to run far and fast or physically attack the person making the noise. Think it's no big deal?  Imagine the social implications for a person afflicted with this disorder. My kid will just wear her earbuds at dinner to avoid hearing chewing of any kind. Other people, forced into situations with dinner companions may become so distraught by the sounds they can't muffle or disguise, they begin to decline all subsequent social invitations.  Isolation is no joke.
Relationships are often difficult for those with this issue.  They can become strained and sometimes come to a screeching halt because the offending party doesn't see a problem with what they are doing, no one has ever bitched about it before. Getting disgusted with someone like this is easy to do. You feel targeted and picked on and it gets really old really fast. Because you don't understand the physical and emotional stress this person is feeling and that, sadly, you are a huge factor. They want to be able to tune out, but they can't, pure and simple.

Crunching, sucking, chewing, smacking, swallowing, silverware scraping teeth, gum chewing and popping, slurping, water bottle squeezing, tooth sucking, saying aahhh after drinking, nail biting, and/or flossing.  Imagine if any of these things could set you off on a murderous rage? Loud breathing, yawning, snoring, throat clearing, sniffling, coughing, humming, and/or whistling. What if you couldn't stand to be in the same room with any of those sounds?  Limiting doesn't even begin to describe it. Stifling, isolating, stressful, tormented...those are a few words you could use instead.
Chewing sounds always bugged the shit out of me, even as a child.  I just thought my parents were very disgusting chewers with horrible table manners. Fingers jammed in my ears, I ate my dinner every night with my blood boiling.  Once in a while, I'd use my headphones to drown out the god-awful sounds. I even had terminology for each method of chewing. My dad simply chomped...like his life depended on it. I had assigned my mom a fancier term for what she did with her mouth, muhlatting.  Onomatopoeia at its finest. I'd have sworn they did it on purpose, too, just to annoy me. Why not?  Kids are fun to piss off, don't deny it. Their reactions are priceless!
When I first noticed my own daughter didn't like chewing sounds, it was a point of pride for me. I thought that she would have lovely table manners and shun the nasty sounds that I've heard others make over the years.  Well, to a degree. It started as just chewing sounds, then escalated to swallowing sounds, sucking sounds, crunching, and talking with any food in the mouth.  Yes, that is a gross habit, but it happens to the best of us, particularly when people insist on asking you a question the very second after you shoved food into to your gaping maw. You asked for it at that point.
What I am attempting to do today is educate you dumbshits about something very real and extremely hard to live with for both the sufferer and their family and friends. You probably have someone in your life dealing with this very problem right now and they frost your fucking cookies, don't they?
Before you get angry with this person, ask them what it feels like when they hear those sounds. If they tell you that they want to drive a stake through your eye when you make those sounds, take them seriously. The rage they feel is quite real and  it makes them feel terribly guilty but they cannot help it. Nobody wants to be this way. Being with people, sharing meals, close proximity, or a fun conversation are all natural desires. Desires that have to be suppressed by those who have misophonia. It can be lonely, and it is definitely miserable. Try to be understanding with that person, unless you want that stake in your eye. I know I don't. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

My life, my way, your opinion not necessary.

Yes, I am one of the most opinionated people you will ever have the honor of meeting. Lucky for you, I enjoy sharing my views with you, unedited and completely honest. This is not to say that you've asked or particularly care. Fortunately, that doesn't stop me. Because I can relate to this topic, I'd like to share with you why, when others do it, I get stabby. Hypocritical, yes. So what? Like you aren't?  Your flaws are glaring, yet you stand in judgment of me and everyone else daily. Does that make it acceptable? No, it does not, and you need to look in the mirror very closely before ever attempting to criticize any of my life choices.
So many folks love sharing their opinions, we should form a club, charge dues, and get freaky. Here's the thing, I hate opinionated people. At the risk of sounding ridiculous, I rarely want someone else's take on anything, unless I have gone out of my way to ask for it. My reasons are many, I'm perfectly capable of living my life without being micromanaged, I've gotten this far doing it my way, and I like my own style, fuck you very much.  Nowadays, it seems there are more people in the world who are so gung ho about so many different things that everywhere you turn, you are being recruited for or schooled in new and different techniques for doing the very thing you've been doing successfully your entire life.
The other thing that chafes my hide is when people seem to shake their heads in disdain about choices I've made or someone else has made. We all have our own distinct ways of dressing, housekeeping, unwinding, and recreating. When another person enters my house, they've entered my domain.  As master of my domain (do NOT reference Seinfeld, that's not what I mean) I have free reign to clean or not clean as I see fit.  If I've had an incredibly busy week, I may run the dishwasher, but not necessarily empty it.  I can access forks and plates as I need them, it's not like I've thrown them out or left them filthy. Why do you care from where I've pulled that spoon?  As long as it isn't out of my ass, you can rest assured it is clean and sanitary.

Cleanliness is subjective.  What one person finds tidy, another may see as tornado damage. Some of us have more crap than we'd like and are plugging away at it while the rest of the family adds to it. That doesn't mean the house is dirty, I hate dust, crumbs and other food shrapnel, smudges on mirrors, and dishes piled up in the sink. But if I have a pile of papers on the dining room table, don't go up and down the streets telling folks I have a dirty house.  Check your own corners for dust bunnies before town crying about my home.
The same theory applies to the way I dress.  Most days, you'll see me in jeans and t-shirt with a sweater.  It's my usual uniform, comfortable yet neat and presentable. If, on the weekend, I want to wear ripped jeans, a giant sweatshirt, and flip flops, I'm entitled to do so.  It's comfortable, warm, and unless I am going out to dinner, who cares what I look like? Showering is not optional, so I'm never dirty or smelly. If a concert tee and sweats are the outfit du jour, who are you to judge me? I'll always look better than you on your best day, doesn't matter what I wear. The fact is, the only person who should matter to you when getting dressed is you. You have to be comfortable, you have to like the clothing, and you have to look at yourself in the mirror and approve what you see.
My hair is almost constantly messy, wild curls tend to do that and I don't like spending an awful lot of time on styling it in the morning.  I prefer sleep to grooming. That's my choice, my nappy 'fro not yours. You want to spend hours layering on product, blow drying, styling, flat ironing and fuck knows what else, have at it.  My pillow is at its most comfy right around the time my alarm starts going off, and hitting the snooze button is more important to me than rounded, even curls. I rock this lion's mane, neat or not. Your hair may be a priority to you, and I do not begrudge you one minute of your intensive styling routine...from my cozy bed, cuddled up with my cat.
Enjoying a beer or two midweek is a perfectly normal way to unwind.  Yet, so often I hear about the evils of drinking on a Tuesday or Wednesday.  Because you don't do it doesn't make it wrong.  You are totally free to be a tight ass any day of the week you choose. Others may not see it that way.  Schedules are hectic, people are far more tired than they were when I was growing up, and looking forward to a tall, frosty beverage is not uncommon during the work week. There are also the militant health nuts that will stand there, arms folded, criticizing your freedom to have a glass of wine or two with your dinner. First of all, red wine IS heart-healthy, ask any cardiologist. Secondly, most health nuts, exercise freaks, what ever name you'd like to use, that I know aren't all that fit and trim.  Better stock up on Windex, your glass house is getting spotty from the bullshit you spew my way every day.

Same goes for my chowing down on a big, juicy burger or a plateful of Hooter wings once in a while. Who the fuck are you to judge my eating habits? Do I look morbidly obese? Hell, even if I was enormous, it would still be my decision. When you don't know which part of the weight journey a person is up to, your right to speak your mind flies straight out the window. Really, your right to speak never existed unless you are a close friend or family member. My health is of concern to me, my husband, and daughter.  Notice I mentioned myself first?  That's because, ultimately, my body is MY responsibility, no one else's. What I do, what I don't do, what I choose...all up to me, and me only. Back the fuck off unless you are my doctor and I've made an appointment.
I eat red meat, you don't.  That's fine up to the point where you begin to preach the evils of all things bovine and explain in detail the blockage my colon will endure as a result of my poor eating habits. Trust me, my colon is quite healthy and most definitely NOT blocked in any way.  Do I need to pinch a loaf for you as proof? Disgusting, right?  So is discussing my lower intestine in grotesque detail with me.  Artificial sweeteners are my thing, I love them. Two Splenda in my coffee, two to three cups per day. That's an assload of sucralose-based sweetener, and bless the good people at Tate & Lyle, it's delicious. Diet sodas by the cupful, bring 'em on. Aspartame is a wonderful invention, yet those of you who eschew artificial and chemical inventions for the oh-so-popular bug-infested organic versions don't agree with me. Enjoy the shit out of your roach leg-filled food and drink, and I'll take comfort in my clean, vermin-free, lab-created treats. I won't pull the brown apple out of your mouth, don't knock the sugar free yogurt out of my hand. Agree to disagree? Either way, I'm not really listening to you.
We are all different for a reason.  The world would be a very boring place if we all liked the same things, if we all did things the exact same way. There'd be no opportunity for learning, no intrigue or room for debate. Don't set out to change the people in your life, they are there because you wanted them the way you found them in the first place. If you don't like the way I do things, turn and walk the other way because I have no intention of changing now. People wanting a place in my life have to accept me, warts and all. I am who I am, like it or lump it. I wouldn't presume to mold you into a version of me, don't try to force your choices upon me...especially if you want me to stick around. Are you friggin kidding me right now???






 Bearpaw Marissa Midcalf Winter Boots - Juniors (Google Affiliate Ad)

Online journal vs. blogging, and why your writing sucks ass

The truth is often harsh and unpleasant, I know. Funny how that doesn't seem to stop me from telling it. Partially due to the fact that your feelings don't matter to me, and partially because most people need a rude awakening here and there over the course of their lives. Allow me to be the one to rattle your cage. Many folks out there aren't even aware when they suck, and they should be. Clogging up my eyeballs with sub-par drivel pisses me off. Reading is something I enjoy immensely and do with great fervor. Opportunities to read must be created, they won't plop themselves in your lap. We are a very busy generation of people and often, do not make the time to just relax with a good book anymore. When I was a child, and even a teenager, I surrounded myself with books, making frequent trips to the Maspeth Library. Returning, renewing, and checking out new books, usually five or six at a time, brought me more joy than to most of my friends, and I knew that. They lacked the ability to lose themselves in the world of fiction, into typed pages about another state, country, or world. Books transported me across time and space and allowed me to escape my inner demons for hours at a stretch.
These days it seems everyone's a writer, or so they think. Putting your thoughts out there for others to read is not writing, not always. More often than not, it's journaling. Remember keeping a private journal when you were younger?  Maybe yours had a lock, mine did. Kept under the bed or tucked deeply in a drawer, we used this book to inscribe our innermost thoughts, hopes, and dreams. Sometimes, it was a place to chronicle our day. A place to complain, whine, moan, or even shed quiet tears over heartbreak, our diaries kept our secrets in confidence and listened intently to our woes without judgement. Maybe you wrote poetry on those pages, expressing yourself in a way that couldn't be uttered aloud. The name of your current crush written in your fanciest script with hearts and stars peppering the spaces around it, and perhaps your first name and his last name, just testing it out...all found within the sacred pages read by no one but you. Modern technology has replaced the little book with the tiny lock and key. We have access to endless forms of online journals and ways to record our every thought.
The question is, should we?  More specifically, should YOU? If you are using online media that is private and can only be accessed by you, then I say, do it. Typing is faster and easier, and face it, you can even edit yourself, fix errors, add photos, and art to jazz it up. I am all for using technology, taking an easier path, using what is now readily available to us. When you make the decision to allow your every thought to become public, you are opening up a can of worms that can never be closed. Once you've put something out there into internet-land, it follows you forever. It can never be erased, and that should be one huge reason to journal privately. Opinions you have today won't be the same next year. Hell, they may not be the same next week. Someone you can't stand today may be your best friend tomorrow. That may be the same person for some of you. In love, out of love...all permanently there for me and God to read. Of course, you do realize you are opening up your life to intense scrutiny, don't you? Whether I want to or not, after reading your blather about basically nothing, I am judging you, harshly.
Another valid reason to keep your journal private or on actual paper, is that when you write about your day to day bullshit, using flowery, strained terminology, you start to sound like your twelve year old self. How this makes me feel, why I love him, who do I see in the mirror today?  Cute when you're in middle school, pathetic when you're middle aged. Information that no one needs or wants, you insist upon filling us up with absolute brain dead babble. Of course, couple the constant online waxing poetic about your day with letting us all know how your kid did the cutest thing today and that's what makes motherhood worthwhile amid all the dirty diapers and spit up, and I come *this* close to bashing your skull in with a hammer. Those of us past that point in our lives find no point in reliving those days, much less reading about it in vomitous amounts. Your glamorization of baby puke is reprehensible and does other potential new parents no favors when they read about it. If you are going to share with the world, let the truth hang out like fucking dog balls or keep it under wraps.
I feel that it's time to insult some folks, and no better time than the present. Just because you CAN write, doesn't mean you should. By can, I simply mean you have mastered the mechanics of putting a pen to a piece of paper or the more modern version, typing on a keyboard and making words pop up on a screen. Trained monkeys can do that, ask Jane Goodall. The question is, can you write? If the answer truly is yes, then start a blog or write an article for your local newspaper or magazine. But, is the answer really yes?  Can you tell a story and hold someone's interest for more than 2 minutes? Are you able to make words sing? When you write, are you creating something new, or presenting a fresh view no one has ever even contemplated until they've read your words? Or do you read other's work and attempt to re-work it, poorly and falsely call it your own?  Maybe you think that beating the shit out of a dead horse on a topic that has been written about, had movies of the week made about, photo montages published on, and songs heard on the radio regarding, is the way to catch a reader's interest.  Unless you can present it in a fashion I've not considered before today, you've lost me within the first seven words. That's honesty in all its glory.
So, I'll pose the question again. What makes you think you can write? The fact is, most people cannot write well. And, the flip side of that coin, is most people believe they can. Using ten-letter words inappropriately and attempting to be poetic is not only bad writing, but it should embarrass you.  I'm embarrassed for you when I read work that clearly has not been properly edited and appears as though the you were trying so hard, you popped out a couple of hemorrhoids. If you aren't sure what good writing looks like, pick up a book. Great writers are avid readers.  I don't mean trashy novels, nor do I mean biographies or autobiographies about Hollywood icons.  Good fiction writers should inspire you. They should have the ability to mentally remove you from your present and plop you right down in the middle of their created world, among the characters to whom they've birthed. If your writing doesn't pull me in, suck me out of my chair and into the beauty and wonder of your written word, you suck.
Blog posts need not be pages and pages long, filled with nonsense fillers and a whole lot of nothing. They do have to contain real meat. Real meat is not written during your ten minute break. It isn't even begun during your 30 minute lunch break. If you aren't spending at least an hour on your content, don't expect me to spend more than 25 seconds scanning it for points of interest, and not move on when I don't find any. Moving a reader to tears, to rage, to pee their pants, to see something in a whole new light, that's the goal. You won't reach that goal when you pop out a post like most people pop out a Tweet or a text. When I read someone's work, I'm waiting for that overwhelming need to write to them and either let them know how their words touched me in some way or how they fucking rubbed my ass the wrong way. If you've neither received fan mail nor hate mail, you've failed. Personally, I think you've done a bang up job when the hate mail flows in...it means you hit a nerve. That takes talent, and frankly, I don't see a hell of a lot of it out there.
This may seem hypocritical of me to write about this in such a harsh and judgmental manner. Some of you are already shaking your heads, pointing your fingers, and tsk tsk-ing me for picking on other writers. In all likelihood, all of you doing just that, don't write. Who better to figuratively flog these people than another writer? I'm not a lab rat or rocket scientist, with all the passive detachment and necessary objectivity it takes to perform those jobs. What I do here, the place from which it comes, qualifies me at least slightly to form these opinions over the average Joe. So, take it like a man, really absorb what I've said, and make the right choice. If you read your work, and it sounds like something straight out of a diary, make it private and spare me. My time is worth something. Conversely, if others have read your work and told you how much they want to shove a sharp object through your eyeball because you've struck a nerve and made them consider a side to a story they've never wanted to before, then allow me to shake your hand. Join me in the writer's club and let's knock 'em dead!  If not, if your writing sounds more like a desperate tween trying to be noticed, then for fuck's sake STOP! Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Note to politicians: stay the hell out of my uterus!

After reading the last issue of Cosmopolitan, I discovered what I had already suspected was true.  Politicians are a bunch of completely sexist male assholes with no clue what decade it is or what being a woman is all about. Most of us have always known this but for some unknown and godforsaken reason, this election has brought out the window licker in so many, that rather than get all stabby, I decided to share this information with you. There's nothing quite like the joy I feel while listening to or reading about someone else's opinion based upon close to nothing regarding my body and the choices I can or cannot make about it. Yet, ever since Roe v. Wade, male politicians have continued to argue about whether or not a woman is intelligent enough to make decisions about her well-being and future. Ladies, tell me you don't find this at least mildly offensive.
I'd like to start back in 1990 when former Republican Texas gubernatorial contender, Clayton Williams, gave his sage advice about rape. He said, "As long as it's inevitable, you might as well lie back and enjoy it." Cute, huh? Basically, after being scared shitless, brutally attacked, possibly beaten, clothing torn off of your body, and forcibly and likely painfully penetrated by a dirty dong, you really should just take a deep breath and get into it.  I know, maybe you should start kissing his neck and calling him "baby" while massaging his balls? Scream "harder" while digging your nails into his ass cheeks? If you are supposed to enjoy it, then the next step would be to ask for some cunnilingus so you can finish, too. What the fuck was that cock knocker thinking when he opened his yap and let that bit of genius spill out for all to hear? Maybe someone should break a beer bottle and shove it up his bung hole repeatedly so he gets the concept of what rape really is, which is a control and power trip. It is most certainly not solely about sex, but a way to exercise control over a woman.  Guess the barefoot, banjo-picking, shotgun toting, toothless, cousin-fucking redneck didn't know.
Moving forward to 2011, many male fucktards made their uninformed opinions public. In April of that year, Rep. Allen West (R-FL), said this, "These Planned Parenthood women, the Code Pink women, and all of these women have been neutering American men to the point of incredible weakness...We are not going to have our men become subservient." Really? Does the existence of places where women can go take charge of their reproductive health frighten you? Does a clinic make your pee pee shrivel up? What about it neuters you? Nobody asked you to follow us in when we are getting our prescriptions for birth control and have your nuts hacked off. We wouldn't need birth control if you'd take care of the situation on your own. Maybe that's why we have to do it, there isn't a male pill yet and God knows, condoms are nobody's favorite drugstore purchase.  Or perhaps, we are more responsible and behave like adults, while guys tend to think with their tallywhackers. Regardless of the reason, it would seem that this buffoon feels emasculated by women who take care of their lady parts, keeping them healthy and properly protected. Grow a pair!
That same month, over in Arizona, Sen. Jon Kyl proclaimed, "[Abortions make up] well over 90 percent of what Planned Parenthood does." I suppose this information was gleaned from his vast experience with the good people of Planned Parenthood and their variety of services. The reality is, only 3 percent of their services actually involve abortion. Slightly different figures...I imagine math wasn't our boy, Jon's strongest subject in school. Based upon his negative opinions about reproductive freedom, he must not have been a big hit with the ladies, either.
In August 2012, there was a burst of true intelligence out of the mouths of more ball-bearing politicians that made me want to junk punch them. They decided to sugar coat the issue of rape again, but using a whole new spin this time. Former Republican Arkansas Governor, Mike Huckabee, saw a light at the end of the rape tunnel, the "upside" of rape. Because, as we all know, some good shit can come out of a rape, as he so brilliantly states, "[Singer] Ethel Waters, for example, was the result of forcible rape." Oh, so if you get pregnant after being viciously raped, that's a good thing? And, you should most certainly carry that little reminder to term so you can be forever faced with his eyes for the rest of your life as you gaze at your unwanted, unplanned, result of violence for the next 18 years? Makes total sense now, thanks, dickweed. Do explain the difference between forcible and non-forcible rape because I am confused. By definition, rape IS without the victim's consent, thereby making it forcible all the fucking time.

Of course, Vice-Presidential candidate, Rep. Paul Ryan, backed up that joyful bit of advice when he said, "The method of conception doesn't change the definition of life." Right. When a married couple who had intended to eventually have children find themselves faced with a surprise pregnancy, that's one thing.  It may be stressful, poor timing, financially difficult, but it doesn't compare with the woman who, after being beaten and raped, finds herself pregnant with the child of the person who violated her in the most horrific manner possible. Can you honestly compare the two and call them equal? How about if I lowered the age of the woman to thirteen? Does that change your opinion now? Or should a child who is still in middle school, barely having started puberty, have to endure pregnancy, childbirth, and ruin the rest of her life to keep a child she never asked for in the first place?  I know she definitely didn't ask to be forced to have sex with a stranger. I guess when you don't have a vagina, you can't comprehend the horror.  Allow me to shove Sharpie up your peehole to demonstrate. Then you can pass a canteloupe out of your asshole to emulate the closest sensation to childbirth you'll ever encounter. Feeling it yet?  Here's the problem, you won't be stuck with a reminder of that day, reopening those wounds over and over and over.  She will.
Naturally, someone had to add insult to injury and take it one step further. Good old boy, Rep. Todd Akin (R-Mo), informed us of this radical new scientific fact, "If it's a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to shut that whole thing down." Okay, so, first we need to define legitimate rape. Returning to our dear friend, Clayton Williams, who wants you to lie back and enjoy it, you can then not call that legitimate because well, at his insistence it became consensual. But, should you have not heeded his advice, and were violated without your consent, forcibly, then at that point, I'm guessing it became legitimate. As such, according to Mr. Akin, you shouldn't really worry about it because your body will prevent pregnancy all on its own. Is that why an estimated 25,000 pregnancies result from rape each year? Seems like the faultiest birth control method I've ever heard of right after coitus interruptus. Thank God no intelligent woman took that man seriously.

Speaking of birth control, our lovable friend and former presidential hopeful, Rick Santorum, had this to say in 2011, "One of the things I will talk about, that no president has talked about before, is I think the dangers of contraception in this country...[Contraception] is not okay.  It's a license to do things in a sexual realm that is counter to how things are supposed to be." What Ricky is telling us is that we would have no need for such evils as Planned Parenthood, contraceptives, or abortions if we would just stop having sex outside of marriage.  Although, I am not positive he is pro-marital sex either. All the single ladies would just have to stick a Bayer aspirin between their knees since it's the only acceptable contraception to help them keep their whorish legs closed, as Ricky's good pal and sugar daddy, Foster Friess told America. Excellent! Now that you've said contraception shouldn't even exist, you've just raised the unwanted pregnancy rate to epic proportions and because you definitely would shut down any doctor or clinic that offered pregnancy terminations, there would be tens of thousands of young, poverty-stricken mothers lining the welfare offices daily. What next? Bringing back slavery? What a douche canoe!
Any rationally thinking, semi-intelligent woman could not take seriously the opinion of men who would place us back five or so decades, plopping us in kitchens barefoot and pregnant, serving our husbands dutifully. Take away my right to birth control? Stay the fuck out of my uterus and I'll keep my foot out of your asshole. Downplay the definition and lasting effects of rape on a woman? Wait till it's your sister...or daughter. Some jackasses need to learn the hard way.  Would any of these jerkwads tell their kid to just lie back and enjoy it if they were to be attacked in that way? I'd bet in that moment, shit would start to get real for them. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions.  Those dictate what work best for you and your family. However, backwards, old fashioned opinions have no place in my ovaries, so I suggest you keep them to yourself. But now that I have heard them, don't think for a moment that I'd vote for your ass. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Loud talkers and other petty annoyances

Every workplace has at least one, the loud talker. One would have to assume deafness due to the ear-splitting volume used regularly by this ass clown. You'd think everything they had to say was of utmost importance or they would certainly speak more softly. Not only is their spiel important, but it is meant for ALL ears. Most people speak to a targeted audience, not Betsy Big Mouth, she speaks to all those within a 3 mile radius of her body. Her decibel level makes having your own private conversation almost impossible.  Forget about talking on the phone or getting any work done if you need any degree of quiet to be productive. Should you grow a pair and decide to ask her to tone it down, you'll be met with one of two scenarios. She may laugh at you because she doesn't see anything wrong with her exuberant way of speaking, or and this one is fantastic, she may read you the riot act for even insinuating that she is loud in the first place, and how dare you approach her about the way speaks anyway, who do you think you are trying to control her behavior?! Shaking your head, you return to your office/cubicle/classroom and ram a pencil into your eye to diffuse the ear pain you're experiencing as she begins another scream-fest.
The not-so-distant cousin of the loud talker is the laugh blaster. We all share laughter at work, unless you are a mortician, although I have a feeling they need a sense of humor to get through the day. Laughing is healthy and necessary for sanity. Most days, I laugh throughout the entire time I am at work, whether it's a chuckle, a snicker, or a full-on guffaw. When you enjoy your job and truly like the  people with whom you work, laughing is a natural part of the day. But, and this is a big but, not to be confused with my ghetto butt (note the double t), certain laughs are just more pleasant to hear than others. Some folks have a waterfall-like laugh that just flows like water from their lips and is like music to your ears.  Others have whole body laughs that shake them so hard it forces you to laugh with them.  A few snort, chuckle, giggle like children, and basically have infectious laughter that is easy on the ear and fun to be around.
Then, there is the laugh blaster, and they can come in several forms. One is the loud, obnoxious booming laugher who makes sounds like bombs going off indoors. Headache-inducing and extremely annoying to be in the presence of, this person laughs at everything, including himself. He is the cause of the mass exodus you see after someone tells a joke. Nothing is THAT funny.  Another form of this horrific crime against hearing is the ugly laugher. Don't get all defensive, you know exactly what I mean. Much like the sound of yowling cats mixed with someone gargling snot, this laugh can actually drive you to commit heinous crimes against the offender. This person also laughs at almost everything, even the most uncomfortable situations because they are often the most socially awkward person in the room. The last one I'd like to mention is the shrieking cackler.  Holy shit, like a pen of chickens were let loose in the building, this one takes the fucking cake. Loud and penetrating, her laugh carries across state lines, piercing your brain along the way. They all really should be shot on sight.
Must you sniffle and clear your throat all day long, claiming allergies?  Here's a little secret no one may have shared with you yet, allergy medication has been invented. Crazy, right? I know, totally unexpected, but true nonetheless. Allow me to offer you a starter pill out of my own stash so you can enjoy the sweet relief of what an antihistamine can do, while I rejoice in the sounds of silence. There's nothing more disgusting than the sounds of someone's profuse juicy mucous collection.  The sinus samba rumbling loudly within my earshot is enough to make me seek out a candy dish filled with Xanax to toss into my mouth like M&Ms. Another fantastic little invention, it's called a tissue.  Use one, hell, use several.  Whatever it takes to empty your snot locker completely, I'll even tear off a sleeve if it helps.

The Shore Shower, or as it is more commonly known, the Whore's Bath. I love perfume as much as the next chick, but there are limits.  Not only in amount but also the type of perfume.  First things first, never substitute heavy scent usage for an actual shower.  We are all adults here, we are all aware of the necessity of good personal hygiene. Nobody likes to smell badly, I know that. That's the first step. However, as funky as your pits stink, trying to mask the odor with copious amounts of perfume is the equivalent of lemon-scented shit. You've created a whole new smell and it can drop an elephant at fifty paces. The other portion of the problem, is that the offender usually doesn't use an acceptable brand of perfume.  Not to be a total snob, but drugstore scents are for teenagers who can't afford better. I know, I know, I crossed a line.  Fuck you, too. Put it on your Christmas or birthday list, no need to spend the extra cash yourself, God forbid you bought less lattes and saved your pennies. Don't compromise the integrity of my atmosphere.
Speaking of compromising my atmosphere, cover your fucking mouth when you sneeze or cough! At only 50 mph, 3,000 drops of your anthrax-filled cough juices spray into my zone of privacy when you don't cover your mouth. Germs fly out at 200 mph shooting 40,000 droplets of your foul diseases during one good sneeze. Have I convinced you to trap your fucking sneeze yet?  This habit of sharing your germ-ridden spit with the people closest to you has to stop. Being sick sucks, we all know that.  Let's help prevent an epidemic of snot and hacking coughs by doing what we were taught at 2 years old, cover your damn piehole when you cough or sneeze.  I just had my yearly flu shot today, and I don't want this ache in my goddamn left arm to be for nothing.
How about we all just exercise more common sense and consideration for others from now on?  Keep your noises, outbursts, oddball sounds, ear piercing tendencies, stench, and cooties to yourself.  Sharing is NOT caring in these cases. I'd like to be able to go about my day with a song in my head that I put there, not the never-ending echo of your wretched voice. And believe me, your middle aged mutant ninja germs are not welcome in my body...ever.  Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Religion and politics. Taboo topics require some airtime.

Before you say anything about my touching upon topics I told YOU not to, realize there's a method to my madness and I have my reasons.  With the upcoming election, I have noticed a considerable amount of political divisiveness among my friends and have seen and heard things that I had no clue were bouncing around in their heads. These two topics are dominating my Facebook feed and while I understand having strong feelings about these things, I would be remiss if I didn't rip a few of you new assholes regarding the way you are going about it. While it's one thing to have these discussions in the privacy of your home with family and/or friends, it's quite another to go on the internet and make these views known to all.  You are on an open forum and with freedom of speech alive and well, anyone and everyone can and will comment, starting disagreements and possibly severing the ties of friendship in the process.  Was this your intent?

Since I'm fairly certain you didn't mean to cause this type of chaos, let me help you out. How about we start with politics? Back when most of us were in high school, or just starting college in my case, we all registered to vote.  It was pretty fucking huge for me, I can tell you that.  Having such strong opinions and a desire to attempt to affect change, voting was something I waited for quite impatiently, especially since I missed the deadline to vote in the 1988 election.  Damn being smart and skipping a grade!  I wanted to vote! Anyway, we all registered, bright eyed and bushy-tailed with what we thought were very firm stances on many topics and we were going to fix the ills of our nation. At least that's what I believed.  Today I know better, and I am confident that most of you do, too. You have no right to complain about the state of our great country if you don't get off your ass and vote. I'd like to say that every vote counts, but we all know that isn't completely true.
Here's what is true, we are entitled to our opinions and to vote according to our conscience without fear of repercussion. We don't have to agree, we simply have to respect other people's right to to disagree. However, as I scroll down my feed, I see this just isn't the case. Angry people, with mob mentalities, attacking others for not sharing the same love for their candidate. Guess what?  We don't have to like the same one.  I can hate your choice for President and you can abhor mine, and that's ok. What's not ok are the vicious comments I'm seeing directed at who I thought were friends based solely upon this year's election. What the fuck happened to everyone?  I'm seeing sides of people I never wanted to and frankly, didn't know existed. As I watch the debate, I am further convinced of my choice to vote for my candidate. Notice I haven't mentioned WHO my candidate is to you? Because it's none of your goddamn business.  Plus, I don't feel obligated to explain my decision to you or argue the point.

Religion. Part of the driving force determining for whom half of you will vote this year. Separation of church and state, have you forgotten this bit of information you learned so many years ago? "Believing with you that religion is a matter which lies solely between Man and his God, that he owes account to none other for his faith or his worship, that the legitimate powers of government reach actions only and not opinions, I contemplate with solemn reverence that Act of the whole American people which declared that their legislature should 'make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof,' thus building a wall of separation between Church and State." This quote can be credited to Thomas Jefferson in his letter to the Danbury Baptist Association. Does this sound familiar to you?
Here's the deal. Choosing a presidential candidate has nothing to do with your religious beliefs or lack thereof.  I'm Roman Catholic and have been since birth and I can tell you that my religious beliefs are quite contrary to my political beliefs. They are separate and distinct entities and never the twain shall meet in mind or my heart. While I may believe in following the Ten Commandments, I still don't want anyone but me deciding what to do with my body. I saw a fantastic sign in a You Tube video today, and I have to share the sentiment with you.  Keep your rosaries off of my ovaries.  Truer words on the topic I've not heard. You Don't Own Me, have a listen for yourself. As women, we have to protect our rights more strongly than ever. Repealing Roe v Wade would be catastrophic in 2012. Ask yourself these questions. If your fourteen year old daughter told you she was pregnant, what would you do?  What if she told you it was the result of rape? Think before you make snap decisions regarding MY body. Cutting funding to Planned Parenthood and inevitably denying access to proper birth control will perpetuate a vicious cycle...more unplanned pregnancies. And so on, and so on.  Pro life or Pro Choice, make that decision quietly on your own, but consider the ramifications should one reign supreme over the other.
Back to religion.  I've told you in the past, I don't care what you believe or if you do. What really frosts my cookies are people who have chosen to believe in nothing yet judge me negatively because I do have beliefs.  I could go on and on about how you are going to hell and how choices you make now will affect your eternity, but I won't.  Why?  Because I'd never presume to foist my beliefs upon you forcefully or with malice.  Somehow, a lack of faith seems to give you the right to shove science down my throat and insist that it is the only way of thinking. Maybe that works for you.  Maybe you use your non-belief to justify your current behavior and it allows you to live a life of unmindful debauchery with a clear conscience.  More power to you, have at it.  Posting incessant scientific links and articles and photos trying to tell those of us who are members of organized religion that we are stupid, unthinking, uneducated boobs is offensive and only serves to display your own lack of intelligence. Truly intelligent people understand that everyone is different and are able to accept those differences gracefully without trying to force homogeneity. Big word? Look it up, shitheel.

Now that I've done what I specifically told you not to do, feel free to shake your heads in disbelief and judge me harshly for being a hypocrite. I've forced your hand. But now that it is all out in the open, my opinions included, think about why I had no choice but to write this. Stop posting all of this bullshit all over the internet! Being entitled to an opinion doesn't mean nonstop blather online and filling page after page with what you think is proof of your political choices. It also doesn't mean you are allowed to be cruel and judgmental about what someone believes or doesn't believe. When you insist upon standing in judgment of others, perched upon your self-appointed pedestal, spewing venomous trash daily, you show us all your true self...and it ain't pretty. Harshly opinionated people are rarely attractive, the hate shows all over your face. It totally explains the way many of you look. The ugliness in your words imprints itself on your appearance, there's no escape.  Even if you pretend to be sweet and magnanimous, we'll see your ugly from a mile away, and cross the street to avoid you. Like my dad used to say, "Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one, and most of them stink." Does the shoe fit? It should.  Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Love photos, hate yours!

Photos are a great way to share with people who don't live close by.  I love photos, old and new. Sit me down with some photo albums and I can be contentedly busy the entire day, reminiscing and remembering the good old days. They help us keep fresh the faces of those we've lost, years ago and recently.  They provide us with a sigh and twinge in the chest when we are viewing ones of our children when they were still small and cute. Mine remind me of how never to wear my hair again, I did attend high school in the 80's as you all know. Some make me laugh at the clothing of the era, and the fact that I actually wore it!  My albums are filled with shots that can take me back in an instant to a certain time, place, or feeling. Much like a song you haven't heard in years, one photo can bring back smiles, tears, laughter, or a touch of melancholy. Instant memories.
However, photos have become a way for some people to showcase themselves the way they'd like to be perceived.  Maybe when you are 15, you can get away with duckface. Women in your 40's and beyond, this is not the look you want others to see and use to judge you.  Because we will. If you don't have pillowy lips and never have, let me offer you some advice.  Scientists have invented lip plumpers that you can apply yourself without the pain of needles in the face. If this option doesn't appeal to you, then you must accept your pencil-thin lips. Sticking them out for photos, Deena and Snooki-style, makes you look retarded. Posting them all over FB makes you look like an aging whore. Smile prettily for the camera like we were all taught years ago to do by our school photographer. Teeth are not only permitted, but welcome.
Moving on to one of my favorite poses ever, the Lady Madonna. Usually utilized by the bitchiest women alive, the Lady Madonna has become quite popular with women my age. Allow me to describe this pose, as I am sure you know several women busting it out all over FB, Instagram, and in your text messages. Picture, if you will, a Mona Lisa smile with the head tilted down ever so slightly, looking up at the camera as though they've just come home from a soup kitchen after hugging a few lepers. Certainly, if you know these women, you know they wouldn't dream of doing something for anyone BUT themselves. Their pose is meant to trick you into believing they are inches away from sainthood, sweet as pie, and selfless human beings. Right. And I just returned from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, where I spent time creating peace in the Middle East. Bitch, please.
Of course, you could be one of those people who isn't done behaving like you are still in college.  Posting drunken photos of you and your friends, drinks in hand, looking like you've just been dragged out of a ditch. As the night wears on, your photos become soft porn-like as you and the aforementioned friends all become les-b-curious and are kissing and pretending to lick each others fun bags. Next, you fly loose with drunken abandon and off comes the shirt or worse, you yank that Victoria's Secret titsling up over your face letting the ladies drop to levels that should never be seen in public.  Yet there you are with your iPhone, snapping pics of each others droopy boobs! Please spare the rest of us the horror that is your fallen rack. My eyes are aging as it is, they don't need to be prematurely blinded.

This next pose used to only be fancied by the teen set, but now has become popular with all who want to update their profile pics.  The bathroom portrait.  Who among you actually thinks we can't tell that you took the photo yourself and that it is, indeed, in your bathroom? The fact that your background has lovely items like your shower, bath towels, your robe, hairspray, and the toilet, tells us all we need to know.  Calling a private detective not necessary, this one can be solved by a fucking monkey. Not to mention the most obvious clue, the reflection of you holding your phone in the mirror over the sink. While conducting a bathroom photo shoot, some decide to turn it into a Penthouse layout. Leaning forward, snapping the shot down the shirt, or bending over, legs spread, ass out...I've seen these poses and more.  What are you thinking?  You look more like you just hopped off the short bus than like a sex kitten.
Speaking of imagined sexiness, let's talk about older women taking bedtime photos under the guise of Tweeting good night to their followers.  Seriously? Self-portraits of you, in bed, wearing full makeup, hair coiffed, making what you think are bedroom eyes at the camera on your phone are far from sexy. They are frightening, at best. The stuff of which nightmares are made.  Some of you take it a step further and strike poses that shouldn't be done by anyone but a professional photographer.  Why?  They know how to keep it classy.  You are a dirty ho, and so, have no idea that poses like that are supposed to be artfully done.  You lift your legs like you are about to straddle a horse instead of gracefully crossing them.  Shots taken down the length of your body should be reserved for swimsuit models only.  You look fat, foolish, and trust me, cellulite is NOT your friend. Call Glamour Shots if you want some hot pics taken of you, and then, share them only with your partner.  They love you just the way you are...we barely like you.
If you are sad, you probably shouldn't have a photo taken of you, nor should you use this time to photograph yourself.  Nobody likes to deal with the depression of others, we laugh at you when you whine and moan in your stati. Pictures of you pouting like you just lost your best friend make us shoot coffee out our noses from laughing so hard. There are two reasons for this.  One is that we really don't give a rat's smelly ass if you are sad. Friends talk to each other when they need a sounding board or to be cheered up, they don't humiliate themselves publicly by pouting and posting whiny stati.  Two, and this is even more to the point, you really aren't sad, you just think you are so fucking cute when you pout. Whoever told you this lied through their teeth.  Pouting stops being cute when you turn eight, ask anyone. Gullible butt monkey.
Tell me if this type of photo offends you as much as it does me.  The recycled photo.  I don't mean the ever popular "Throwback Thursday" photo, I enjoy those.  Bring on those old, awkward, yet cute photos.  A glimpse into your past is fun and I get to laugh at your funky 70's clothing and compare it with mine. Bangs, braces, wide collars, and gigantic bell-bottoms are retro fun and should be shared. Old high school pics of you with your lion's mane hair, lacquered in place by either Stiff Stuff or a can of Aqua Net make me smile...probably because I have some of the same pics of me tucked away.  What is particularly offensive is the photo that gets return airtime because you know that 5-10 years ago you looked way better than you do now.  Perhaps you had less wrinkles, weighed less, or had a better haircut.  Whatever the reason, most of us know that photo is NOT recent, yet you pretend it is and sit back and wait for the phony compliments that come your way via all your FB stalkers. Own your old and put up one from today!  Rock those wrinkles, you earned them. Let's age gracefully together rather than make this a competition for who has the younger appearance, because if so, you are cheating.

Bring back the laughing and smiling photos, the candid shots, and big beautiful smiles of our past. I am so tired of all the fake shit, forced poses, and ridiculously embarrassing shots you people bombard my timeline and Twitter feed with, that I feel like maybe serial killers have the right idea. Get rid of everyone that fits a certain mold and we will all be happier.  But since murder is a capital offense, and jail doesn't suit me, I'll have to think of another way to rid myself of your asinine photo montages. Perhaps I'll just remove my one last filter and comment honestly on all pics that piss me off.  I may have ten FB friends when I am done, but God will it feel GOOD!  Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Sorry you broke up, but Facebook is NOT your personal journal

Breaking up is hard to do, Neil Sedaka and I both agree with you. It sucks hairy, filthy rhino balls. Depressing and painful, it's a rite of passage and it happens to the best of us. However, unless you wish to leave yourself wide open to public ridicule and judgement, do NOT post the gory details all over your favorite social media site. Going back to keeping your personal life private and avoiding the over share, this qualifies on both levels. This information is for you and your ex, and perhaps a couple of close friends and family members.  What it is not meant for is the prying eyes of your 567 FB "friends" and 2K Twitter followers. You are becoming comment and stati fodder, and frankly, blog topics for me. Never one to sugar coat the truth, I will fully own up to laughing out loud, coffee spewing across my poor laptop, as I read the gruesome story of your breakup and all the ensuing drama you feel comfortable enough to post for God and all to see.

So in the interest of being helpful, I've compiled a list of things I've noticed you clueless, dim bulbs doing, and I'd like to share them with you.  First, and this is a fairly big one, remember that Facebook is NOT your diary. I know your heart is breaking and life feels like a country song, but posting page-long diatribes about you and your ex are totally inappropriate material for a social media site. That is way too much information being lobbed at a bunch of mostly strangers peppered with a handful of people you know, several of whom should not read about your private life because you work with them. Cry into your pillow, write letters you'll never mail, scream bloody murder while you are driving, and do whatever it takes to stop the stupidity from oozing out of your fingers and on to my computer screen.  You have friends, don't you?  This is the time to fill their ears to bursting with the gory details of the break up so you can hash and rehash each word that was said, evaluate the gestures and facial expressions that occurred, and maybe even trash the fuck out of your ex.
Denial, you're so deep in it I am surprised you can breathe. Once you are officially and permanently broken up, your profile picture should reflect that fact.  Nothing makes you look more fucktarded than having your profile pic emblazoned on all your stati and on your home page bearing you and your ex looking like lovesick baboons. You've made the break-up announcement, a little follow-through is necessary now. Put up a photo of a beer bottle or your ass for all I care, but delete the one of you and Mr. Wonderful. The same applies for the 17 photo albums you have in your account and the giant cover photo of the two of you at your cousin's wedding looking like you were going to be next in line. Constant reminders are not healthy and serve no other purpose than to make you cry. Plus, leaving them there makes you look pitiful and desperate.  He's not coming back, leaving the photos there is not the equivalent of leaving crumbs in the forest to ensure a safe return.  It's not going to bring him running into your arms, if anything, he will be creeped out if he hasn't already unfriended and blocked you.
The vague status post, another incredibly annoying break-up move. The allusion to sadness without actually saying it, this is no time to be coy.  If you don't want anyone to ask you why you are down in the dumps, don't leave clues for us on the internet.  We all fancy ourselves part-time detectives, and love putting pieces together to come to a conclusion about you and everyone like you. We will ask you what's wrong.  This is usually met with some equally ambiguous comment like, "oh, nothing, just a bad week, that's all."  Christ on the cross, if you don't want feedback, don't put it out there! The alternative reasoning is when you intentionally start off vague to reel us in and force us to beg for answers.  This is where you lose me.  I will ask, but I will not beg you. I don't care that much.  If you are a close friend of mine, I already know what's going on and I won't need to question you publicly.  My close friends aren't dipwads and wouldn't post such fucking nonsense.
Leave friends out of this mishegoss! This means staying off of his friends' posts for a fairly decent period of time. When you suddenly become Miss Mary Commenter on all of their posts, it becomes painfully obvious you are attempting to get into their good graces, whether you want them to side with you or put in a good word for you.  Either alternative is stupid as hell, don't do it. Don't try to force mutual friends to choose between the two of you.  This is not their battle, nor their break up.  Don't foist unnecessary stress on these people. It's not the way to ingratiate yourself and you will lose more than you stand to gain. Keep the drama between the two of you, and leave friends out of it. They don't deserve to be thrust in the middle of your shit.

Betraying their trust, even if they cheated and left you for some cheap-ass, skank-ho, is unacceptable! I don't care what crime they supposedly committed, what heinous acts of shitheelness they've done, you may not use Facebook to let us all know about his teeny weenie or inability to use it for good. This is information we simply have no need for, so please leave it in your memory bank for a hearty, private chuckle at his expense. This applies to anything he told you in confidence over the course of your relationship. We have no need to know that he wet the bed until he was 15, or that his mommy laid out his clothes for him until he moved out.  He shared this with you because he trusted you and believed that you would keep his confidence.  Don't stoop to his level of evil and spill your guts all over the place. At the very least, prove to yourself that you are the better person.
Posting photos of you with 17 different guys, drink in hand, each and every weekend night since the break up is classless at best. You look desperate and I have some shocking news for you, Einstein, it doesn't make him in the slightest bit jealous.  He doesn't give a steaming shit what you are doing or who you are doing, either.  He moved on, so should you. These photos make you look like a pathetic slut, much like the whore for whom he left your ass.  If that doesn't prevent you from continuing to post these humiliating photos, maybe this will.  Any chance you had of him coming back has just been totally eradicated by your immense public stupidity.  You've embarrassed yourself and he sure as shit is not impressed. Now he is patting himself on the back for his good judgement.  Smooth move.
Sad songs they say so much, I completely agree with Elton John. However, they are for your personal listening discomfort. Use them to induce a Niagara Falls of hot, salty tears in the privacy of your own home or car. Crying is a good outlet for pain, and nobody will deny that or begrudge you your need to do so. When you start sharing every gut-wrenching song you are listening to on You Tube and Pandora, listen for the loud groans and sighs.  We are all shaking our heads with disgust for your clear lack of discretion and boundaries. There is never a reason to drag the rest of us down into your personal hell with you.  Some of the songs you post may actually strike a nerve with someone else, about something completely unrelated to your break up.  Maybe it reminds them of a loved one who passed away.  Do you really want to reopen that wound for someone else?  Selfish shithead.
Finally, I am going to give you the best advice you'll get on the subject. Facebook is not a forum to beg for his return.  DO NOT humiliate yourself this way.  He shouldn't be looking at your wall, and you should keep your ass off of his. Stalking his wall, looking for an in or a sign that your presence may be welcome again is self-destructive and pointless. Using his wall to ask him to love you again, is worse than that. If you truly want to try again, if you feel the need to talk it over one more time, call him on the goddamn telephone and schedule a meeting.  No real discussions happen on FB, I've told you that, and it is particularly true of this situation. All it will do is embarrass him to the point of cutting off all contact and erasing any hope of a reunion for you. Putting someone on the spot like that almost always causes them to hunt for an escape and maybe even lash out at you even if that wasn't their initial intent.  Setting yourself up for failure online is a foolish move, don't be THAT person.
This all goes back to the advice I gave you in an earlier post.  Keep your personal shit off of the fucking internet.  You leave me and anyone remotely like me no choice but to mock you and your pathetic life. Ranting on and on in your stati about your ex, your lost love, and crying in your beer for all of us to witness is asking for public ridicule, and I for one, am not above it. You will become a blog topic, and I will rip your dumb ass to shreds, publicly, just the way you seem to like it.  The internet is not your diary, it isn't group therapy, and we are not your fucking MFTs.  Don't expect pity, you'll be grossly disappointed.  If you don't know me by now, learn quickly or risk the consequences!  Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Read the signs, you are NOT dating this douche bag!

Douche bags can be male or female, so don't read into this what isn't there. I would just like to point out that there are many people who are blissfully unaware of their relationship status or lack thereof. Wanting so badly to have a partner in crime, some folks become inappropriately attached to another person who, by all appearances and possibly has specifically stated, is not their significant other.  There is such a thing as friends with benefits, they even made a movie out of it starring Mila Kunis and Justin Timberlake.  Not the finest cinema, but it makes my point pretty clear. Just like sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, sometimes a lay is just a lay.  It wasn't called friends with benefits back in my day, but the concept is older than dirt. Certain people do not make a good couple, but they get along well as friends, and are compatible in the sack.  Perfectly acceptable if you aren't married or otherwise attached. Satisfying a multitude of needs both emotional and physical without all the obligations and drama. Why can't some people just go with the program?
There are signs for those of you who are too ignorant to know what it is that you are actually doing. The first one, and this should be totally obvious, you've never met their family or friends. Unless you are admittedly so hideous that you've taken to not leaving the house for fear of scaring the general public, you should hear alarm bells going off when you haven't met anyone in this person's life. Of course, this doesn't mean that after one date, you meet the parents and best friend.  But, if you've been making the beast with two backs for quite some time now and you don't know whether she resembles her mother or father and her best friend is only known to you by name, start to wonder. If they are ashamed of you, pull your pants back up and introduce them to their new dates, right and left hand. However, if you know you are fairly attractive and there is no reason whatsoever that they should feel uncomfortable introducing you to the important people in their life, and they haven't after 6 or more months, they are hiding something.  A wife, a husband, or the fact that you are just a booty call.
The next sign is a little more confusing to some and perhaps since it doesn't always happen in a formal way, you may not expect to see it. If you've not had a talk about your relationship and given it some definition, chances are it isn't a relationship at all. This is not to say that you need to have a planned sit-down with the other person, complete with contracts to sign that state rules and regulations. That's overkill and not what I mean. But, if you haven't discussed exclusivity, what we are doing, or where are we going...one of you is not fully invested in this. They may care about you deeply, but they are most certainly not committed to you at all. Avoidance of this conversation is very telling and should tip you off to the low level you sit upon in their list of priorities.
Number three should be painfully obvious, but desperation is a great reality filter. If your horizontal mambo partner never calls you on the weekend, they are waving a gigantic red flag in your face.  Pay attention to it and decide whether or not you are happy being in a purely sexual relationship.  Again, if you are consenting to those parameters and have zero expectations beyond friendship and nookie, have at it.  More power to you, enlightenment is thy middle name. However, if you have any expectations of love whatsoever, open your goddamn eyes, see the red flag that is two inches from your face, and run.  Run far and run fast. Get out of this farcical performance you've been cast in, and find someone who fits the entire bill for you. Remember, weekends are generally reserved for actual dates and family time.  Could he or she have a spouse? If there are no weekend calls, all signs point to married.  I repeat, RUN!

If you've never been to their humble abode, you've hit number four. The excuse of the messy apartment can only be stretched so far. Even if you are a total Oscar Madison tornado, you've come to terms with it over the course of your life, and don't hide your living space from the entire world.  I'm sure you've had friends come to your place.  They probably step over the pizza boxes and shove the beer cans to the side to make space for sitting on your couch. This is you, all you, and they accept it.  Wouldn't a person you are dating, who loves you, shares their time and body with you, also accept it? I'd like to believe they would, and it is that belief that causes me to want to shake you until the contrecoup damage matches your degree of stupid when you say that you've never been to their home, yet many, almost countless visits have been made to yours. Not convinced yet?
Have you been introduced to anyone yet?  Are you referred to simply by name or as a friend?  Guess what, sharp tack, that is all you are to them. When people are in a committed relationship and are formally introducing their other half, titles are used and expected.  While my husband and I may have started as friends, and continue to be so twenty years of marriage later, he still introduces me to new people as his WIFE.  That's who I am, a title I've long since earned. The State of New York bestowed it upon me on June 6th, 1992, and I proudly use it to this day. If your title, whether it is girlfriend, boyfriend, partner, or whatever you've agreed upon isn't used, let this be the warning sign that opens your eyes to the current situation.  You are NOT in a committed relationship. You are simply a convenient lay. And you've just experienced sign number five.
Can you cancel plans at the last minute with no drama or fanfare from them? No?  Then you have stumbled upon number six. Most people have unexpected crap pop up on them once in a great while.  That is the nature of being a person in today's world. Things happen, unforeseen emergencies, family crises, or even something work-related can throw a wrench into the best-laid plans. In a normal, healthy relationship, it may cause disappointment, but it wouldn't cause utter upset and chaos.  When you are the sideshow and not the main event, it takes careful plotting and planning to orchestrate your trysts. Making sure the wife is suitably occupied for the proper amount of time so you can get it in before she comes home takes time and effort.  When you ask to switch a Tuesday "date" to Thursday, you don't know what you are asking.  His wife is home on Thursdays! Don't you understand, she has bowling on Tuesdays, not Thursdays and that won't work at all!!! Right, you don't know she even exists. Are you still in denial? Ok, moving forward.
Number seven is directly related to numbers six and three. Do all your dates happen on weekdays? They do and you still think this is a healthy relationship? Pull your head out of your ass so you can read this. We've already discussed how weekends are most popular for family time and DATES. Why is this?  Well, for starters, people work and go to school during the week.  This process is tiring and time-consuming and doesn't lend itself to late night partying on Wednesdays, for example.  Hell, I have enough trouble with Friday night outings, my ass is just too exhausted by that point. So, since we've established that, generally, most nighttime outings take place on weekends, and you have never gotten together on a Saturday, would this be the time you are face palming and feeling absolutely ridiculous?  It should. Even if your slap and tickle friend isn't married, they also aren't involved with you other than to ride the hobby horse. They are spending their weekends doing something fun...without you.
Have you accompanied him to any event that he's been obligated to attend?  You know, birthday parties, weddings, work functions that allow bringing a "plus one" or just Thanksgiving at his mom's house? My guess is you haven't.  How can you NOT find this at least weird if not totally unacceptable?  Number eight should be your wake up throat punch. When he is invited to fun events like these, where a date is not only acceptable but expected, and you are always left home, demand to know why.  I already know, but you should hear it from his mouth. Force him to explain why he won't take you to his friend's wedding, after you've seen the invitation which clearly states that he may, indeed, bring a date. After he attempts to tell you how bored you would be or that the guys that will be there are drunk and obnoxious and he is trying to protect you from their antics, inform him that he can hide his sausage up their asses from now on because your highway to heaven is now and forever officially closed to him. Which probably won't affect him too much since his real girlfriend is still available to bump uglies with him.
This was meant to be a PSA for those of you in this situation, to help you recognize the signs and finally cut bait.  It's time you saw your situation clearly and without the rose-colored filter you've wrapped it in. If any one of these flags are being waved at you, stop being such a goddamn fool and end this nonsense before you get your heart broken. Because, you will. That is a promise I can make and keep.  Your heart is nothing but a trampoline for this person and you are allowing it to be used as such because you live in a fantasy world where one day, it will all change and this will be the relationship you've always imagined it already was.  It's not, it won't, and you are such a fucking ass clown. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Real friends can be counted on one hand...

...with fingers left over. Most people just haven't a clue what a real friend is and so actually believe they have this endless supply of friends. To hear some folks talk, they have them by the boatload, and all of them are incredibly close. Really? Out of those 4,789 people to whom you are referring, how many of them can you call in the middle of the night just to talk?  Are there any you can ask to feed your cat while you are on vacation?  Is there at least one who will babysit for you with absolutely NO notice? Who among them will shop for you if you fell ill? Know anyone who cares about you that much? Did the number just drop exponentially?  It should have.  Unless you are completely fucking retarded, you don't really believe you have hundreds you can truly count on in a moment of need. Maybe you believe it, but that doesn't make it so.  The fact is, you are clearly delusional and ignorant. But we knew that already.

The only way to inform you about what constitutes a real friend, is to tell you what one is NOT.  Having 765 Facebook friends means absolutely nothing. All it means is that you've come across bunches of people who enjoy hanging out on the internet pretending to know you and who like to comment on your stati. Trust me when I tell you, we all know you haven't even met 1/8 of those people and the rest are either family members and HAVE to be your FB friend or are actual acquaintances or old classmates. That isn't saying much to help your case. Just because you post a pic and get 28 "likes" doesn't mean those people give a flying fuck about you OR the pic. Surprise!  Some people hit the "like" button because they troll FB glancing at pics and stati and feel obligated to acknowledge the shit they see. Others, by virtue of believing in reciprocity, will like your crap just so you will like theirs. Sorry I just burst your happy little bubble.
The same goes for any other social media site.  Twitter followers are even less likely to be someone you know. I can easily attest to that fact since I have over 200 followers and I think I know a handful of them. Twitter is most definitely an internet popularity contest with some folks having thousands of followers.  Of course, remember, Twitter suggests followers based on what you tweet.  If you are an avid baseball fan, you'll be matched up with other like-minded people.  I've found it to be a place where people either try to be philosophical or perverse...in a competitive way. But, this is most definitely NOT a friend-making forum. Do not be fooled.  In reality, many of the women are actually guys.  I'm sure I crushed a ton of men at this point.  Their avi is just that, an avi.  I can put one up of a fucking goldfish, it doesn't mean I live in a bowl.  There are a lot of sick people out there, most of them tweet all day long. Try reality on for size, butt munch.

I won't even go into Instagram too deeply because you all know how I feel about a site that encourages delusions of grandeur and abundant conceit. I will tell you that most of your Instagram followers are also not friends, just people who share the incessant need to post photos of themselves and their every move every minute of every day. This does not make them your friend, even though you actually share a common trait, unfounded self-importance. All that means is you are a group of pompous assholes. Which, if you actually met, could lead to a beautiful friendship.  But since that isn't likely to happen, you are just internet jackoffs. Shared vanity doesn't make you life-long friends. Again, these people ascribe to the reciprocity standard and really, really want you to like their crap, so they are sure to like every ridiculous close-up of your ugly-ass face, every cocktail you ingest, every tree you pass by, and other assorted nonsensical photos you post like your goddamn life depends on the volume of photos shared.
Jumping off the internet and into the realm of the real world, not every person you meet is your friend. Did I just lose a few of you? Coming into contact with another human, even if with some frequency, does not make them your best buddy.  It means you met someone new and are possibly getting to know them on a level deeper than let's say, your local Starbucks barista. This person is not your friend, they are your acquaintance.  In life you will have tons of acquaintances.  Living your life as a semi-functioning adult, you will come into contact with more people than you have time to count. Work, shopping, hobbies, movie theaters, farmer's markets, post offices, doctor's offices, or just walking down the street will put you into close proximity with hundreds, even thousands of people dependent upon where you live. They are not your friends, nor should you refer to them as such.  Do not attempt to invite them to important events in your life, they don't care about you or your wife's 40th birthday party. Filling a room with strangers is pitiful. Although the strangers that actually show up are a special kind of pathetic. But that is definitely an entirely different topic.

I suppose you'd have to know how to BE a friend to actually have real friends. Spending inordinate amounts of time on the internet engaged in what you believe to be witty banter doesn't make you friend material.  How can it, you don't have real conversations with people on social media, not usually. Do you know all their kids' names and where they attend school? Where does that person work?  Where were they born?  What makes them happy/sad/frustrated?  Do they have any physical ailments? What is their first pet's name?  Favorite color? What is their relationship with their parents like? Right, you know none of this because they haven't posted wittily or philosophically about it on your favorite social media website, complete with gag-inducing photos. A friend knows everything about you and likes you anyway. They listen when they don't feel like it.  They answer the phone at any hour just because it's you. They drop what they are doing because you need them NOW. They empathize with you even if they don't fully understand why you are so freaking upset in the first place, because it's what you need to hear. You think you have friends.  You are sadly mistaken.  Are you friggin kidding me right now???