Deck My Balls

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Silver Balls

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Fantastic Kwaanza! It's been way too long since I've shared my musical stylings with you and I know you've been craving some holiday tunes. Let's start with a Christmas classic:

Silver Balls

Geriatric older fellows
Dressed in baggy plaid pants
In their drawers
There's something that's

dangling.
Children laughing
People pointing
Testes swing to and fro
And from every street corner you'll see

Silver balls, silver balls
Geriatric sex in the city
dangling, see them swing
soon they will be on the ground.

Sexy old broads,
Even young chicks
check out his stretchy junk.
As his nuts do a dance in his trousers

See them bobbing,
See them bouncing
Like great big gray balloons
He's the stud of his rest home,
my dear.
Silver balls, silver balls
Please show him your saggy titties.
Jiggle them, wiggle them
Soon he will be in his grave!

Holiday Letters: What I'd Really Love to See in My Mailbox!

Since I've had the opportunity to share with you my version of the shit that I find in my mailbox every holiday season, I wanted the chance to give you an idea of what I'd prefer to see. I've thought long and hard about this, I've had years to contemplate it. Really, it's quite simple. Tell the truth. I hate the sugar-coated, ultra-padded, decorated with glitter version of anything. The real deal is always more entertaining...at least to me. I'd hope it would be for you, as well. Not that I care. Without further fumpfering around, here's my Christmas wish. A holiday letter I actually want to read!

Dear Person I Don't Talk to All Year Long But Feel the Need to Share Shit with Now That It's Christmas,

The Batshitcrazi Family has had a rollercoaster of a fucking year! Where to begin? Well, I suppose I'll tell you about my darling hubby. Joey lost his job, again. Been out of work for over 8 months and he's slowly driving me out of my fucking head. Thank God I have two jobs so I don't have to be home to watch him sitting on the couch, scratching his balls, and watching cartoons. He has perfected the art of farting to music, so I guess he can add that to his resume. Should get him a good-paying job real quick! He still doesn't take out the garbage or flush the toilet after he pisses all over the seat. I told him he should use this time to practice clean bathroom habits...like actually peeing into the toilet. I even bought him the little targets you get for boys who are potty training. He's having way too much fun! I think celebrating by peeing on the wall is taking it a step too far, but he says I'm being a tight ass. Why bother talking?

Joey, Jr. has had a fantastic year so far in school. Only 9 detentions and 6 notes home. I've only visited the principal TWICE! Such a good boy. He's learning so much. Like how to cheat on tests without getting caught; how to "borrow" someone else's homework; bullying kids who won't tattle; and my personal favorite, stealing really cool stuff from the backpacks of unsuspecting young schmucks. My boy! At least there wasn't the threat of Juvie this year. No cops at the door. No phone calls from irate parents. I'd say Joey is growing up to be a fine man, just like dear old dad.

Rosemarie is my pride and joy. Not the sharpest tack in the box, but so freaking beautiful. I told her to marry well, it's just as easy to love a rich man as it is to love a poor one. It's also smarter. I guess I'm a fucking moron. Anyway, Ro is blossoming into a fine young lady. The boys are falling all over themselves trying to date her. Joey, Sr. sits there in his wife-beater and sweats when they come over attempting to look tough to scare them. He's just a breathing "Stay in School" advertisement. Meh, who listens? Rosemarie is considering beauty school after she graduates high school. We think it would suit her perfectly, and think of the free haircuts! A little selfish, but these little brats owe us. The sacrifices I make for her to have her nails done and hair straightened...I could look like a model, but who'd notice in this house?

Thank God Nonna likes the new home she's in. The last two were a nightmare...for us. These places should be like maximum security prisons, the old people are expert escape artists. Especially Nonna Fortunata. This woman could have walked out the front door of San Quentin and waved goodbye to the guards. What a pain in my ass this woman is. Do you have any idea what it's like to get a call at 2:30 in the morning telling you that your grandma got out again, but don't worry, we found her at her favorite watering hole??? It's a good thing she likes to booze it up, makes her so much easier to find. This new place really makes her happy. She says the food isn't poison and the male nurses are so nice to her. Translated, that means they give good sponge baths. What a dirty old lady! So embarrassing, but she says at her age, you have to take the action wherever you can get it. OY! Do you know how hard it is to visit her there? I have to wear dark sunglasses so nobody recognizes me. A curse on me that I look just like that woman.

My days are filled to rim with work. Mornings at Walmart and afternoons at Dollar Tree. By the time I get home, all I want to do is grab that bottle of Two Buck Chuck and a straw. But, I don't. Everyone needs something from me. I'd swear they were all mentally challenged and helpless. Change the goddamn channel yourself! You'd think I taught them nothing. Joey, Sr. is a product of his own mother's fuck ups. Don't tell her I told you this, but she spoiled the shit out of all her kids. Is it any wonder they are like this now? I tell you, she is the cause of all my problems. I could be a stay-a-home mom if she taught him that actually keeping a job is a good thing! That woman makes me want to pull my hair out. God forbid I say anything negative about her to Joey. You'd think I pulled his heart out with a dull spoon through his mouth. Big baby, that's what he is.

Here's to a great holiday season and wishing you and yours a fantastic New Year! Good luck to all of us in 2015, I know we'll need it.

Love ya!
Antonella Marie and the Batshitcrazi Tribe

Take this as a guide for writing the perfect holiday letter. One that everyone on your list will anxiously await and read over and over again. I'll be checking my mailbox...maybe I'll even share it here, if you're lucky. That's a fucking joke. I'll just read it on the phone to my friends. Share it? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Holiday letters...stop the insanity!

We all have at least one person in our otherwise normal lives that sends these bad boys out. Some folks know how to word them in an interesting fashion, keeping my attention, and entertaining me with the ups and downs of their lives. I appreciate these letters as they keep me up to date with people I may not do a bang up job of keeping in touch with the other 364 days of the year. However, and I say this with the utmost seriousness, there are others who should step away from the laptop, grab a pen, and write out a regular fucking Christmas card. I'll send you some red and green pens, keep it festive. To open one of these and just know that you are going to start to dry heave, makes the whole holiday start to smell like crap. Christmas is a bit crappy for me anyway since my kid no longer believes in Santa...ok, so she's 19, but you get my point. Being a household of adults takes away some of the magic. Enough whining. Back to the topic at hand, which is those fucking, ridiculous holiday letters that only serve to be a bragging list of how faaaabulous your life and family are. Here's my rendition of what a holiday letter sounds like:

Dearest Friends, Colleagues, People I've Met Once and Consider My New BFFs, and Everyone in my Outdated Phone Book,

This year has been EXTRAORDINARY for the Fullofshitski Family! It's been a wild ride of good fortune and it's time for me to shove it down your throat, while you are wondering how you'll pay for all those lovely gifts you bought on credit, tucked neatly under your fake ass tree. Let me start by telling you all about my wonderful husband! Jim has been promoted six times this year...complete with the massive salary bumps along the way. We are fucking rolling in it and we couldn't be prouder of his accomplishments. The extra cash doesn't hurt, either. I now throw him a blow job once or twice a week to show my undying gratitude for the ability to maintain my mani/pedis and frosted hair. It's gross, but hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. He's working 75 hour weeks and leaves me with plenty of time to shag the pool boy. Which is fine since his secretary spends more time on her knees than in her chair doing actual work.

Moving on to our lovely and perfect children. Taylor is on the honor roll, dean's list, and playing five sports, all while holding down a full time job. How does she do it? Must be the coke habit. I hear it gives a fantastic amount of energy. Thank the Lord for Jim's latest promotion, cocaine can get pricey. But when you factor in the fact that she helps out by selling crack to her equally wealthy friends at The Waldorfia Bentley School for the Gifted and Rich, it doesn't seem so challenging. What an enterprising and helpful girl we've raised. She's sure to go far!

Preston is our boy wonder. There isn't anything he can't do. He just returned from helping the homeless in Jamaica, Queens. The hobos greatly appreciated his donations of the Help Wanted sections of the newspaper along with his recommendation to get off your ass and get a job. He's so thoughtful. Brings a tear to my eye just writing this to all of you. He's been accepted into every Ivy League school on full scholarship, and now has to make the challenging decision of which one to grace with his presence. Any school would be lucky to have him. He's sitting with a map right now, calculating the distance from home to each of them and laughing maniacally...I have no idea why. Such a good boy!

Little Frances Philipa is our pride and joy. She's only 8 and has already mastered four languages, plays the concert piano, and tutors the unfortunate in calculus. What a wonderful little girl we have on our hands. Slim and pretty, always smiling. She truly is a gift from God. Her modeling career has really taken off since she became anorexic. The contracts keep coming in, left and right. Thin is in!!!

My days are filled with so much selfless work. I visit the elderly and read to them every other day. They seem to really enjoy Fifty Shades of Grey. The looks on their faces are priceless, although I'm not sure what that long, irritating beeping sound is while I am reading to them or why the nurses come running in and rush me out. I am reading to these very lonely folks, thank you. Anyway, when I am not providing joy to the old folks, I am very busy playing tennis with my instructor, Hans. He says I have very good form and a fantastic ass. He should know, he holds it tightly every class and after class when he teaches me more about balls. This year I have done quite a bit of baking for my children's respective schools' functions. The rave reviews and sincere thanks mean so much to me. I don't even mind the work I put into it. After a bottle of wine and a pot brownie, I have no idea how much time has passed.

I hope this letter finds you and yours doing at least half as well as we are doing. Which, as you and I both know, is impossible. But as a good Christian wife and mother, it is my duty to wish only the best for you.

Cheers,
Sterling Quinn and the Fullofshitski Family

You are probably thinking that I am being a bitch. Why yes, I am. And nothing grates on my ass cheeks more than receiving a letter that leaves out the truth behind the lies. This one expresses both and I think you have to agree, it's far more palatable than the ones you'll be opening this Christmas. I can't be wrong. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Get it Straight, Domestic Violence is Very Real...and Not "God's Plan"

What the fuck is Janay Rice talking about? When is punching a woman God's plan for anything? Maybe I am ignorant religiously, although I think 12 years of Catholic school makes me somewhat of an expert on the topic. Not that I want to go all militant Catholic here, but I'm sure in all religions we can agree, no deity would want someone to hurt another person to make a point. I'll stretch it one step further and say that no human would truly believe that it is a good thing to be knocked out so that others will not repeat the mistake. Mrs. Rice is clearly stupid...was she also high when she gave that interview? Who says shit like that? Of course, someone will cry racism while reading this. Fuck you, too. Did I say anything about her race? No, I didn't. I said she was stupid. She'd be a moron if she was green with purple stripes. Yes, being knocked out by your husband is a fine example of what an asshole he is...not a vehicle to raise awareness. When she said this, did she realize how it made women who are really abused, who are fearful in their own homes, who can't say or do anything about it because they have children they are protecting feel? Did she know that it was like a knife being plunged into their hearts?

Shaking my head as I type this, I wonder what the fuck went through her head as the words fell out of her mouth. Domestic violence is a very real part of the lives of many women...and men. Something they don't want to talk about. Something that paralyzes them with fear, keeps them from maintaining friendships, at times prevents them from working, destroys self esteem, and creates scars both inside and out that last a lifetime. This is a topic very close to my heart and I take it very fucking seriously. There are no jokes to tell, no snide commentary today. I have nothing snarky to say this time. It's a horrific existence for both the abused and their children. The children suffer, too, in case you weren't aware. We are helpless to begin with, coupled with the fact that we are watching the person we love the most being treated like garbage...you can't imagine the scar tissue that builds on the heart of a child who has witnessed it. You should never know the internal pain and heartache it causes. You should never know it because it never ends. It's a lifetime of hurt that doesn't go away.

Do you have any idea what the abused person is thinking, is going through, is feeling? No, you don't and you can't. So, when you nod your head knowingly at what Janay was saying, believing you completely understood her plight and what had happened, you are simply making a jackass out of yourself. Unless you've been abused or witnessed abuse, you just don't know. Not forgetting the fact that what she said was utter nonsense and no abused woman would ever say that...ever. Her fucktardedness makes me wonder if she's one of those limelight whores who used this incident to make herself sound like a martyr to gain some sort of public acceptance, to explain away why she stays with an abuser. Don't for a second think that this was an isolated incident. Don't for a second believe this was the first time he was abusive in any form of the word. If a man can knock his fiancee out in a public place, with the possibility of being seen, do you realize what has happened behind closed doors? Do you know the things he's said to her? The horrible, degrading, cruel words that have shot out of his mouth like verbal poison...leaving emotional scarring that will be with her forever. There's not a doubt in my mind that he's already used his hands on her in an unkind way. Not a shred of uncertainty that she's been shoved, grabbed too tightly, smacked...kicked. Trust me when I tell you, this was not the first and will not be the last time she is hurt by this animal.

Let's see Ray Rice for the piece of shit he really is instead of trying to sweep it under the rug so he can maintain his superstar status as an athlete. "One bad night" my ass! Are we really supposed to believe he had so little self control that an argument sent him reeling to the point of actually punching his wife out? How stupid does the American public look to you, shitheel? Actually, now that I think about it, we have some window licking morons living in this fine country. I'm sure many of them have fallen for this line of bullshit hook, line, and sinker. Bunch of ignorant bastards! Why can't we believe that someone in the spotlight can also be a total douchebag? Nobody is perfect, why should a movie star, politician, or athlete be any different? We put these assholes up on pedestals so high, it's impossible to bring them down. Fuck that. They screw up just like everyone else. Sometimes worse because they believe they are immune to the same rules and standards as the rest of us. Let's hold them accountable. Let's hold him responsible for his actions...the one we saw and the ones only his wife knows about. He needs to know that what he did, what he does is unacceptable and we are not going to tolerate it by keeping him up on that goddamn pedestal any longer. Knock him the fuck off of it. Do you think showering him with adulation will help him? Do you really think he's going to stop? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Women Make the Worst Friends...Let's Fix That. Part Three.

For the love of all things holy, I really thought I'd be done yesterday. But, I thought about it, and I realized that you bitches are fucking ridiculous. I almost came to the conclusion that you were beyond hope. Something snapped and I felt the urge to try one more time. Once more to include the ragbags I missed the last two days. After this, I don't want to see another goddamn friendship faux pas! No joke. Let's try to be the support system we were meant to be for each other. Women were made to be compassionate and nurturing mulitasking powerhouses...not walking, talking thundercunts. Get it together, sisters! We outlive men. This means in the end, we will only have each other, and I do not want to be miserable in my golden years.

So, without further jibber jabber, continuing from where we left off...

7.  Uber-Competitive:  Jesus H. Christ on a cracker, why do we do this? Why do we insist on one-upping the people in our lives that we should be celebrating? Instead of hearty congratulations and cheers, we either knock our female friends down or attempt to go one better and compete with them. What the fresh fuck is that? You don't see men doing that to each other. High fives, back slapping, hoots and hollers. That's what they do when one of their friends is having some measure of success. We go so far in the other direction, you'd think we were discussing a mortal enemy by the end of the conversation. It's disgusting. When a friend tells you that she lost three pounds, that is not the time to remind her that you are a size zero and have so much trouble finding clothes that fit right. Listen bitch, if you are a size zero, it's kind of obvious to the naked eye and we don't need it thrust down our throats. We don't empathize with your plight and it's not about YOU. It's about Sally, who has been struggling with her weight since the age of 11, and has finally found something that works. High five her, you wretched snatch-face.

8.  Gossip Girls:  Don't even try to deny it. We all do it. Even men, who claim that it isn't in their DNA. Everyone talks about other people. It's human nature. But there's idle chit chat, information sharing, and then there's vicious gossip. I have something to tell you about gossip. If she talks about a mutual friend TO you, then she also talks ABOUT you to that mutual friend. It's as simple as that. The formula doesn't change, it stays constant. A fact of life, learn it, accept it, deal with it. Yet, it continues, daily. It seems to be worse now than it ever was when we were younger. Likely having something to do with technology, social media, and all that fucking over-sharing going on these days. We open ourselves up to harsh scrutiny and therefore, judgment. After that, we HAVE to tell someone about it. Now, when we share what you've broadcast, it's all in the delivery. Have I just mentioned that you posted a new profile pic and you look fabulous? Or...have I gathered my girls and not only told them you posted a fucking selfie, laughed an evil laugh, shared the pic off of my phone, but, I've begun the process of mocking you, all your flaws, wrinkles, and saying how horrid you look? All in the delivery, my friend.

9.  Needy as Hell:  Oy vey ist mir. I cannot deal with this one. What goes on in the brain of this one, anyway? Do they have a brain? Not very functioning, I can say that about her. How can you get to be an adult in the world and not be able to do shit for yourself? Why can't she do anything without consulting ten other people for an opinion and advice? How difficult is it to get dressed in the morning? Who cares if you wear the black pants with the red shirt or the blue jeans with the fucking green sweater? What will happen if you put the black pants with the green sweater? Does all hell break loose? Will your tits fall off? Tell me now, I'll help you if that is, indeed, the case. I don't want your hooters rolling around unprotected. But, if your boobies will remain in their proper place, regardless of the outfit you've chosen, please don't call me in a frantic state. I simply don't give a shit. We need to break these little girls of this habit. The habit of not being able to make a move on their own. The habit of needing others constantly. Be your own best friend, girlfriend. Trust yourself. I can't hold your hand forever. Put on your big girl panties and get your shit together.

I am so done. I can't keep writing anymore today. You twats wear me out and frankly, there aren't enough hours in the day to devote to you when I have other shit to do. Take these three types into consideration, add the last six to your memory bank, and start becoming the friend you'd like to have. I'm telling you, a lonely old bitch is no way to be. Even your cats will start to avoid you. Just stop being such an annoying little fuckstain, people will want to be around you. Unless you enjoy permanent solitude. Even I don't want that for myself. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Women Make the Worst Friends...Let's Fix That. Part Two

Not nearly enough time or space on the page to apprise you of all your friendship shortcomings yesterday, I have returned to remedy that today. I don't want you to go through life annoying the shit out of other women. We have neither the time nor the patience for that kind of crap. It's time to take a good, hard look at yourself, see what I see, and cut it the fuck out before someone junk punches you. Hell, it might be me. We don't want that, now do we? Prison stripes are so unattractive and I wouldn't be caught dead in unattractive clothing. Don't force me to do something rash.

Moving forward, let's pick up where we left off yesterday, shall we?

4. Hateful Prejudices:  These are among the worst offenses I can muster up about any person, much less a female friend. How dare you judge other women on some ridiculous standard created by a male-dominated society, perpetuated by Hollywood, and filtered into our daughters' lives through the evil that is much of media today? Fat girls are just lazy. Skinny bitches think who the hell they are. Married women are boring. Single women just whore around and have no responsibility. Any of these sound familiar to you? Familiar because they have erupted from your foul-assed, shit-spewing, hate-mongering lips? You don't know these women, you don't know their lives! What gives you the right to judge them on your first glance of them? Who the fuck are you? What is fat to you, is sexy and curvy to another. Skinny could mean an amazing metabolism, one of which you are fiercely jealous. Married women like to party just as much as single women...you wouldn't know. Single women work hard, support themselves and sometimes their children, and have no time for your fictional whoring around, nor do they want to engage in such nonsense. Worry about yourself, that is more than enough and quite possibly too much for you to handle.

5.  The Zealot:  We all have things about which we are passionate. It's what makes us all so interesting. Sad is the person who just doesn't give a shit about anything. But being passionate doesn't mean shoving your passion down my throat with both fists and a jackhammer. I respect your opinions; I respect your right to have opinions and beliefs; I cannot bear to feel obligated to agree with you and change my ways to suit your cause du jour.  You don't eat meat, fantastic. Not everyone who does eat meat is a murderer or animal hater. I have two cats, have always had pets, always will. I eat meat. Wearing leather means I have enough respect for an animal to want to use the whole thing and not waste it to fill my belly. You breastfeed? Wonderful. Don't do it in my face, don't criticize me for having bottle fed my child and we will get along famously. Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one. But discounting friendship with someone purely based on being unable to share an opinion, that's plain stupid. You are fucking stupid. And likely to be friendless at some point in your very passionate life. Good thing you have your opinion to keep you company.

6.  The Sad Sack:  Is life really that hard, honey? Does everything bad happen to you? Do you live under a big, dark rain cloud? Is bad luck your middle name? Or is it the fact that you tend to focus only on the negative and are completely unable to see the light at the end of the tunnel? You probably don't even notice when life is pumping along smooth as silk for you. Those moments matter not to a Whiny Wendy such as yourself. Nothing is ever good enough. You'd much rather sit and complain about everything under the sun to your friends. Maybe it is your way of participating in the conversation because you have little else to contribute? Or is it just a cry for attention? I can't fix what your mommy broke all those years ago, don't expect me to...not my job. Cry to a therapist, that's why they get paid the big bucks.

You know what? I thought I'd be done today. But I realized there is so much more to discuss because there are so many more asshole women in the world that I haven't gotten to yet. For that, I profusely apologize. I will get to each one of you, I promise. I wouldn't want you to feel left out of the conversation, you might have to talk about me behind my back...or even better, on Facebook! That is assuming your opinion matters to me, isn't it? Do you really believe that what you think is a fucking blip in my day? Do you think I cry at night worrying about your feelings about me? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Women Make the Worst Friends...Let's Fix That

Do you fall into the category of "I don't have very many female friends because I hate the drama" or do you surround yourself with a flock of sisters? I have fallen into both and everywhere in between over the years. The sisterhood feels good when times are good and everyone is getting along...and gossiping about the same people, hopefully on the outside of the group. As soon as one falls out of favor, gains weight, dates an asshole, or God forbid has some measure of success that outshines the rest of the girls, look out! The claws extend and BitchFest2014 can start in the blink of an eye. Why are we like that? Why the fuck can't women be truly good friends and support each other? I haven't the foggiest fucking clue, but I do know that is why many fall into the first category and have more male friends. I know that's why for a good portion of my life, I did. Lose a pound, get a good boyfriend, have a good hair day...and the fake smiles and jealousy rage on like a plague. It's a great reason to have cats. No judgement...out loud, at least.

Let's go over a few types of female friends, see where you fall, and then beat the stupid right out of you.

1. Instigator/Shit Disturber:  You know exactly to what and whom I am referring. The crazy bitch who can't leave well-enough alone. The cunt who thrives on drama and if it doesn't exist, she's hell-bent on creating it. What the fuck is her issue? She just wants to be in the center of a shit storm. Telling you all about what your mutual friend may or may not have said about you, getting your feedback and passing it along behind your back to the mutual friend and a few more. Oh, the joy she gleans from the venom being spewed from everyone else's lips. She stays clean as a whistle because, if you pay very close attention, she never once injects her opinion on the topic. She's simply sharing information she feels you NEED to know. Dear God someone shut her up before all hell breaks loose and the hair-pulling starts!

2. The Frenemy:  Oh, we all have them. Hell, most of us have been one at some point or another. The frenemy loves herself, you...not so much. She will tell you she does, right before she cuts you down. The insult wrapped up in a left-handed compliment. Starting to sound familiar, yet? "Only you could wear ugly boots with that outfit and totally rock it." Isn't it fun to be around someone who can simultaneously build you up and knock you down in the same sentence? Sometimes it's so cleverly done, you don't even notice it. She's very good at sliding the barbs in between the layers of bullshit frosting. In her mind, it's justified because she's only trying to be helpful. Not that she ever wants you look or be as good as she perceives herself to be...but she wants you to think she does. Aw, I just want to hug her so hard around the throat.

3. The Attention Whore:  I do not deny being this one...at least sometimes. The joy of all eyes being on me, all ears straining to hear my next brilliant and hilarious word is intoxicating. In my head, I hear thunderous applause. Then reality hits and I look around and see that I'm in my living room with my family. Whatever. In any event, I can relate to this bitch very closely. I am that bitch. Not that I don't enjoy listening to others and their stories, because I truly do. My friends are funny as fuck and they keep me laughing like no one else can. But there are broads who cannot share the limelight, not for a millisecond. Wanna talk about me, wanna talk about I...I Wanna Talk About Me, by the amazing Toby Keith captures this chick with a great beat. Sometimes, every once in a blue moon, someone else has a contribution to the conversation and should be permitted a moment or two in the spotlight. It's hard but sometimes you actually have to shut the fuck up.

This has been part one of two. You didn't really think I was done? There are far more infractions of the woman friend code and I intend to not only make you aware of them, but to knock them the fuck out of you so we can all start to be the kind of friends we want to have. Do you want to become a lonely old bitch? Moaning and griping to the four walls and your cranky cat? Not me. I am going to be that crazy old broad surrounded by equally crazy friends.Just watch me! Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Facebook Balls

You know exactly what I'm talking about. Hell, I'm sure you have them. Technology has created a bunch of very brave cowards as of late and frankly, I'm disgusted by all of you. Not just on Facebook, but all over social media and anywhere you can put someone on blast for a supposed infraction of what you feel to be a major societal code. Seriously, folks, this has got to stop. Let's begin by remembering that most of you who suddenly have this overwhelming desire to call everyone out, were born way back before the age of the smartphone, laptop, or personal computer. I know I was and I fucking miss those days. The days when if someone pissed you off, you either had to suck it up and deal with it internally, call someone on the phone to complain and commiserate about the offending party, or actually confront the motherfucker and set the record straight. Do any of you have at least vague memories of this? Or is your brain too alcohol-soaked to recall any significant details of your childhood?

Since when is it ok to publicly rip someone a new asshole for something they may or may not have done? Since when is it acceptable to post photos of someone you don't like in order to make other people make fun of them along with you? Since when is it morally correct to accuse someone in front of God and everyone of crimes real and imagined...especially if you aren't a cop, attorney, or judge? When did we become Jesus Christ come down off the cross, ready to smote all those who offend us? It's bad enough you feel the need to share all the details of your ridiculous life with the entire planet, as they happen, on the daily. That is leaving you open to the scrutinizing eye of everyone with internet access...which is bad enough. And yes, we do scrutinize and judge the fuck out of you. But, and here's where it goes horribly wrong...when the scrutiny doesn't remain in your head and comes flying out of your fingertips and onto the screen of whatever technology you happen to be in possession of at the moment. If you want to rag on someone to your friends, have at it, we all do it. At least I admit it.

The thing that gets me, that should get you, is when you get all Judgmental Jesus and take the mocking process public. Or the calling out. Or whatever you, in all your glorious perfection, deem to be a gross transgression of what is right in your world. Let me tell you something...come closer so you can really hear me...YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER! That should set the record straight. If you aren't my mother, you have no right to judge me, correct me, fix me, or call me out. She is and was the only person on this planet with the right to do so and the only one I would have ever listened to regarding my flaws and imperfections. The rest of you can go straight to hell, where assholes who try to publicly humiliate others belong. Are you perfection personified? If you are then please, teach us your ways so that we can be just like you. Since we all know that perfection does not exist, sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and put the smartphone away. We don't need your help.

Let's think about the things that people feel the need to put on blast, shall we? It's usually ridiculous, but sometimes it cuts deeply to the core of who someone is and you don't know anyone you criticize publicly that well. When you decide you are going to write a paragraph long Facebook rant about the mother you saw in the supermarket yelling at her child, describing in detail how evil she looked, what a terrible parent she is, and how you would have handled it oh-so-much better...what do you really know about the situation you just saw? Tell me, what do you know about that woman other than the fact that you saw her snap? Do you know why? Did you follow her from the moment she woke up? Did you also see her child kick the dog, set fire to the kitchen, try to smother the baby in her crib, and use foul language that would make your hair curl directed at the mother? All this while mom, poor mom, was trying to get ready for another job interview, figure out who was going to watch the children during that time because the babysitter called in sick, and she really needs a job because her drunken husband can't keep a job for more than ten minutes and she'd rather be out of the house anyway since his abuse has been escalating? Did you know that??? No, you didn't. You saw a brief moment in time and labelled the poor woman, ripping her apart, probably making her out to be ugly, inside and out...because you didn't really know.

This is the kind of shit that drives me crazy. Those brief moments in time. Little snippets that the outside world accidentally sees and makes snap judgments about. If you don't know the person, really know them, know their history, the day they've had, or the actual situation and the relationship she has with the person to whom she is speaking...walk away. Walk away and move on with your day. You may hear me talking to my daughter one day and call her an asshole...do you know why I've picked that exact word? Nope, you'd just call me an abusive mother. The little funny you aren't aware of is that we call one of our cats an asshole and sometimes we say that one of us is acting like her. It isn't mean, we love our cats like family. But all you'd hear is a mother calling her child a bad name. And you'd judge me harshly, write about it on Facebook or Twitter, maybe even with an accompanying sneaked photo of us...right before we burst out laughing. Very nice of you. I hope you got my good side, accenting my nose ring and my daughter's. We like to match whenever possible...but you didn't know that. You thought I beat her when no one was looking. See the discrepancy?

How about when you've decided you are mad at someone you do know and you choose to put them on blast? Are you such a pussy that you can't talk to them directly? Do you need a bunch of people you don't even know to stand in judgment with you on the internet to feel better? Does it make your stance more right? Perfect strangers jumping to your defense regarding something they haven't a clue about, taking your side about a topic of which they've only seen one side and not even completely...makes you feel big and strong, doesn't it? You experience virtual vindication! Hooray for you, shit stain. Doesn't make you right. Makes you a jackass. A jackass who can't handle their own private affairs...PRIVATELY. You know, privately, like grown ass people mature enough to deal with life do? People who can actually talk to another person directly when something is bugging them instead of becoming the town crier. You aren't one of them. You, my friend, are an ass clown.

Here are the facts as I see them, you don't know people the way you think you do, pure and simple. Your view is limited and skewed based on your own personal experiences. I completely understand that. When I see a man yelling at a woman, I cringe and then want to run over there and rescue the woman. I don't because I really don't know the situation. For all I know, it's a simple argument gone public. Nothing dangerous or ominous. Maybe she said something horrible to him that I hadn't heard. Not all fights are indicative of domestic violence. It doesn't mean that my first reaction isn't chilling. But I am mature enough and intelligent enough to know that not every situation is at it seems at first glance. If I am mad at you, rest assured you won't see evidence of it on any social media site, whatsoever. You won't see terrible photos of yourself with mean-spirited captions. Nor will you read a status and immediately know it is about you. I'm not that scared little shit. If you piss me off, you'll know it. The rest of the world won't. I'm very good at being phony when necessary. The rest of you, the cowards who hide behind their technology screens, it's time to grow the fuck up, butt the fuck out, and act like adults, not giant babies, scared of your own shadow. I have absolutely no time for your shit. One day, no one else will, either. And we all know you can't handle being alone. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Shut the Fuck Up!

No, really, shut the fuck up. I think I've had all I can possibly take from people and their bitching, whining, and griping to last a goddamn lifetime...and I am done. Is life really that hard? Tell the truth. Because if you say yes, and you don't have cancer, aren't beaten by your spouse, have a decent job, and a roof over your head...you're an asswipe. Life has its trials and tribulations, I am totally aware of that. Some days are shittier than others, some are just peachy, neato, keeno. 'Tis the nature of the beast. Life is a fickled bitch, and she does what she wants, when she wants. And you know what, that is perfectly fine. You'd never appreciate the good days if you didn't have a sprinkling of bad. But you don't appreciate anything. You would take the joy out of a fucking newborn. There's not a thing you can't piss all over. Why? What's made you so crusty? Did your mommy not love you enough?

Tell me how is a cold ruining your day? Seriously, how can snot wreck an entire 24 hour period? The powerful and mighty Mucosa! Look out, it's infiltrating nostrils everywhere! Certainly, you can't function when you have a stuffy nose, now can you? Your legs stop working, your eyes no longer see, it actually renders you paralyzed. Oh, it doesn't? Then why the hell do you make it sound like you were hit by a fucking truck while on roller skates every time you sneeze? Relax your sack, it's simply a basic virus. Not deadly, and certainly not incapacitating. Feel free to stop posting about it non-stop on social media. We really don't give a rat's furry little ass. In reality, most of us are laughing at you, even if we've wished you well and told you to feel better. Inside, we are mocking the fuck out of you and your wussy whining.

Life is filled with stuff we have to do rather than want to do. Even stuff for which we haven't planned, like flat tires, toilets overflowing, long lines at the supermarket, traffic...loads of totally un-fun shit. But, your reaction to them, that's a choice. No one forces you to get all pissy and bitchy when these things occur. Oh no, that's all you. Are any of these things insurmountable? Nope. Do you act like the sky is falling every time one of them happens? Sure as shit you do. Most of those things, life's little annoyances, are totally beyond your control. No one intentionally causes these things, no one wished them on you, the world is NOT out to get you...you aren't that important. I'm pretty sure the rest of the world doesn't consider you when it circles the sun. Sorry to disappoint all you narcissistic mother fucks out there. Shit happens. See if you can get over it.

Some of you like making mountains out of molehills. There have been plenty of injuries, sicknesses, even surgeries in my house...but you'd never know it. Most certainly you'd never find me blasting it all over social media land. It's none of your goddamn business, nor do I want your opinions and definitely not your pity. I don't require either. As a grown ass woman, I can handle the things that life throws at me. Much more than you can ever imagine and definitely more than you could on your very best day. I may not show it outwardly, but I am always fighting the good fight. Inside my mind and in my heart, there is constant turmoil, things about which I am constantly worried, tears left unshed, heartaches about which I'll never tell you, and normal every day shit that I have to get done. Trust me, you'll never see any of it on Facebook or Twitter. You can't help me and I don't want your trite words of supposed empathy.

There are so many folks out there who have had it worse than I, yet you'd never know it. Going about their lives, laughing and smiling, appreciating the warmth of the sun, the cool breeze on their faces...truly living life. While you sit around, glued to your computer screen, looking for shit about which to complain. No one I know has it that bad, lucky for them. Living in their safe little havens, untouched by real illness, never having to have dealt with true tragedy, having never felt threatened by someone they love, their children happy and generally healthy...grousing and griping about every little drama that they create out of their own self-pity and inability to handle life. Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Don't you feel the slightest bit fucktarded for complaining now? If you don't, I'm afraid there's really no hope for you. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Do What You Gotta Do!

To piggy-back on the last entry, I'd like to continue along a similar vein. One of my daughter's roommates last year said this all the time, or so I've heard. And you know what? I like it. A whole lot. It applies to your entire life, everything you say and do. Not just your life, but everyone's around you. It implies a certain degree of respect for the choices and decisions of others, don't you agree? Not that it matters. See what I did there? I'm forcing you to be on the side of the live and let live. Your opinion, while valuable to you, means nothing to me and the way I see or do things. So many hang their whole day on what others think of them. Why is this? What drives this way of thinking? Did someone hold you down as a child and tell you that your ideas meant shit and that the only thing that mattered was what the world saw? Are you so weak-minded that you care? Loads of questions and I know your tiny, thought-challenged brain needs time to process it all.

Let's begin with attempting to be judgement-free. I know what you're going to say, and let me stop you there. First, suck my ass, sack-licker. I make observations about what I see, what I hear, what I read. Mere observations. You may not agree with them, you may not like them. That's perfectly fine with me. I don't live to please you. Judgement-free. You shouldn't care about my observations except to see if you've also noticed the same thing. Taking this a step further, if someone wants to wear mismatched socks on a Friday, cool. Why should you care? They are the owners of those feet. Should I want another tattoo, does it mark up your body or mine? Unless I drag you down to the shop with me and force you to get a matching one, it's on me. And since I'm a grown-ass woman, I get to make those kind of choices for myself, knowing it affects only me and me alone. Gay marriage, boxers vs briefs, vegan vs omnivore...it's all up to the individual. You are against gay marriage? Don't marry a gay person. My drawers and the drawers of the nation are a very personal choice and it sure as hell ain't up to you to pick them. Yes, you must kill an animal to eat meat. Yes, I said kill. In the jungle of life, there's survival of the fittest. Should you want to eat sprouts and tofu, have at it. Doesn't affect my dinner. Are you getting this yet?

People who genuinely care about what others think make me bat-shit crazy. Why does the opinion of someone that doesn't even live in your house, pay your bills, or sleep in your bed matter so fucking much? How many live rent-free in your head? Do they at least do laundry? Oh, I can't wear that to the supermarket, what if Janey JunkSucker is there and sees me? I shouldn't say that out loud, what if Marty McMoron hears me and tells someone else? If I post this on Facebook, will it offend Betty Bitchface? Why the fuck do you care? Does their opinion pay your mortgage? Will your life change in any significant way if they frown upon something you've said or done? The answer, in case you hadn't a clue, is a resounding FUCK NO. Nothing they think changes you, your life, who you are, or your place in this world. If you can still wake up in the morning, take a shit, go to work, and live your life...their opinion has had zero affect on you. And it shouldn't.

The media can cause a serious amount of self-doubt, particularly in females. Of this I am painfully aware. Photoshopped stars staring at us, daring us to look the way we do. Challenging us to try to be happy with our appearance as we gaze into the faces of supposed perfection. I'll let you in on a secret. Even the stars don't look like that. They've been airbrushed, photoshopped, slathered with a shit ton of makeup by a professional, dressed for the occasion by yet another pro...come on, did you really believe the hype? There seems to be the opinion, as shoveled down our throats by TV, movies, and print media that women need to be startlingly skinny in order to be attractive. Really? Who says? We've gone over this bit of bullshit before. Sexy is not skin and bones. Curves, lush and soft...now that screams sex appeal. Don't let the ridiculousness of what Hollywood and a bunch of ugly men are trying to do to your ego. If you look in the mirror and like what you see, that is all that matters.

I propose we start doing what we like simply because we like it. No other reason. No ulterior motives. Just to make us happy. There's no law that says we can't. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. These are our rights in this country. Why shouldn't we exercise them? If I like to dress up one day and wear a concert tee and ripped jeans the next, am I hurting anyone? Some people like to laugh loudly when they hear something funny. Go crazy, motherfucker! Enjoy that joke from your guts out. You listen to country/classical/ghetto rap/polka? Roll your car windows down and blast that shit without apology. Eat that PB&J with the crusts cut off at lunch and laugh at your salad-eating co-workers.  Put that Hello Kitty/IronMan phone case on your Galaxy S5 and answer that phone like a boss when your Scooby-Doo ringtone beckons. Do what you gotta do, and do it with style! I know I will. Do you think I give a flying rat's ass what you think of me? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Strong opinions don't make you right...

Let me remind you of an Uncle Tommy-ism right off the bat. Your opinion doesn't make you right, sometimes you are just a loud wrong. Opinions, we all have them. Hell, we are all entitled to them. It's a free country, say and feel whatever the fuck you'd like. Just don't scream "FIRE" in a crowded theatre, right? Seems simple. However, since we now have a profusion of folks that think that social media seems to invite our every thought to become public, there's a shit ton of you who think your opinions are fact. Why, I can't imagine. Putting something in print doesn't make it so. Ask anyone who writes for a living. There are fact checkers, editors, rules, disclaimers...I could go on, but you get the point. If I like the color lime, that doesn't mean it is the best color on the planet and everyone should now love it and wear it, paint their walls that color, and buy lime green cars. Personally, I couldn't give a fuck less if you like what I like. You are you, which is NOT me, by definition, and therefore, have your own likes and dislikes. Even intense beliefs, those are all yours. Mine are all mine. Should they be similar, wonderful. If not, it doesn't change my day in the slightest.

Pan over to a typical day in social media land. Everyone is announcing the minutiae of their day, what they ate, how they feel, the mundane tasks of housework, all of the things we'd all rather not know. But fine, tell me what you washed, where you drove your kid for the umpteenth time, and that you have another stuffy nose. I may not care, but you are free to clog my feed with whatever nonsense you see fit. Part of our freedom of speech. Let it out, let it all out, baby. But bear in mind this one simple fact, your opinion is not the gospel truth. It will not affect how I live my life in the least bit. Don't expect it to. If you want to be on a totally organic vegan diet recommended by some guru you found on the internet, go ahead on with your big, bad self. Announce it all over every site you belong to with gusto. Do NOT expect me to follow suit. I will not do what you say just because you think you found Jesus in your new obsession. I am a highly educated, extremely intelligent woman. I do not need someone to think for me. Should you decide that you disagree with the President of the United States, you are free to do so. But, you must refrain from calling me and everyone like me an asshole for supporting him. There is more than one political party for a reason. Differing opinions about how the country should be run. Right, wrong, or somewhere in between...we, as a nation voted this man into office. Raging up the left and down the right isn't going to change my opinion about Mr. Obama.

So many topics upon which you've become an expert. So many ideas you want to shove down my throat. Being gung ho about something doesn't make it right for everyone. There's the parenting arena, one I threw my hat into many years ago. We all have our own way of doing it. Starting from pregnancy to childbirth and points beyond. Don't tell me I can't eat pizza and Chinese food every night of my gestation. How do you know what my baby wants? I didn't give birth to a hippo, so I guess it was fine. You want to wear your child like an accessory because you believe it's the only way to bond? Have at it. I didn't, yet my child is as close to me as any only daughter could possibly be. Hmm, is your way the best way...the only way? Not really. Breastfeeding. I could go on for hours about my opinions on the subject. I have very strong opinions against it. I think it's a savage way to feed your child. Do I care if you do? Hell, no. They're your ta-tas, do whatever you want with them. I have no say over that territory. My boobs are mine, all mine. You cannot tell me what to do with them. If I choose to keep them in my bra, rather than whipping them out for all to see in order to feed my child, it's MY choice. I am not a bad parent. My child will not have asthma, allergies, food allergies, lowered immunity, be overweight, or insecurely attached. She will not be mentally stunted nor have learning difficulties. Oh, that's right...she's 19 and has none of the above issues and never has. Bottle baby all the way. I didn't even pump. So, suck that, breastfeeding Nazis.

Anti-vaxxers! Holy fuck they are everywhere. "I'm not vaccinating my child because immunizations are dangerous, untested, cause Autism, and death." What the fuck? Can you prove it in your own neighborhood? At your child's school? In your house? I can prove otherwise right in your mirror. You, like me, like everyone else our age and older, were fully and completely vaccinated. Are you Autistic? Did you die? No? Then what is your proof? I'm not even going to remind you that there are vaccines that aren't even around anymore. Why? Because we've eradicated those diseases from our society. But let's put that aside for a moment. We are a living testament to the fact that they work and cause no harm. You disagree with me. Excellent. Do not vaccinate your child. Prevent them from being protected against disease. That is your choice. And that's okay with me. My child is and always will be protected from as many diseases as possible, so the fact that you want to expose yours to every funky ass bacteria that could cause serious issues, including death doesn't affect me...or her. Trust that I won't go all redneck crazy on your ass, filling your feed with my opinion, telling you how wrong you are to have made the decisions you have. I don't care enough.

You know what? It's not even lack of caring that prevents me from pounding you with my opinions, attempting to sway you to my way of thinking, my beliefs, my concerns, my likes and dislikes. No, it's not that at all. I truly believe that I am more evolved than you. I can live and let live. My life is not changed by how you live yours and I naturally assume yours remains unaffected by my choices. Somehow, I think you may know this already. Sadly, I don't think you care. Cro-magnon thinking, knuckle-dragging, pushy, opinionated cunt buckets haven't a clue that the rest of us don't give a shit. We don't base our decisions on your mindless, brainless rantings on social media. You do realize that, don't you? You can't believe your incessant jabber matters, can you? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

There Ought to be a Law: Part 2

You didn't think I was finished with this topic, did you? I warned you last time that there was more on my mind, more areas in which you fail. Not wanting to be remiss in my obvious concern for your well-being and how you present yourself to the world, I am here to continue to talk to you about some of these other issues that keep cropping up lately. No one wants to be THAT person. The big buffoon. The ass clown. The helmet-wearing window-licker. Have no fear, I am here. Moving forward from last time...

4. Parenting license:  Why is it we need to register to vote, get licenses to hunt, fish, drive a car...hell, you need to take classes when you want to drive...but to become a parent, likely the most important job any of us will ever hold, you just have to fuck? Don't get all up in my grill if you have had to take extraordinary means to have children, I do understand is isn't always that easy. I get it. My point is, most people just have to have sex and lo and behold, they are allowed to raise a child, Just like that. Here you go, have a child. What qualifies you to do so? I've seen some doozies out there, rationalizing with two year olds, potty training one year olds, or the reverse, having almost five year olds in diapers...who decided that making diapers in size SEVEN would be a good thing in the quest to get children transitioned to underwear? But I digress. There are people who have kids and then seem to want nothing to do with them, as opposed to the hover mothers out there who won't let their kids' feet touch the ground. Why have children if all you really wanted to do is continue to act like foolhardy singles, going out every night, working long hours, and taking couple's vacations? On the other hand, if all you wanted was control...that wasn't the right avenue to take, either. Some of us are amazing at it...not to pat myself on the back, but I have a pretty good kid. One who is independent and strong. What more can I ask for? Kids today are being raised so poorly, I'd have to wonder if they'll ever survive in the real world. Let's start issuing licenses to only the truly qualified. Sure, it'll cut the population down, but think of all the available parking!

5. Rambling answers:  Get to the point! Is it that hard? A yes or no question requires a one word answer, not a dissertation about why you chose the two letter word over the three and why the sky is blue today and your shoes hurt your feet and the cashier at Safeway didn't smile at you...I don't give a ripe fuck. Do you want another cup of coffee, for example, doesn't require endless paragraphs about caffeine, peeing, headaches, and your hemorrhoids to say, "yes, please" or "no, thank you" in reply. Also, and not to be totally rude, "How are you?" is a simple question, not a request for a complex diatribe on all that is wrong in your world. I do care, or I wouldn't have asked. But spare me the hour-long response. I can't focus on anything for that period of time. I can't even watch TV without getting up and down, checking my phone...in case Jesus has tried to contact me, running to the kitchen, and talking to one of the cats. You can't expect me to listen to you drone on and on for more than a sentence at a time. Pretend you are talking to a child, not talking down, just use brevity with me. Act like you are running past me and have but a few seconds to respond. Is that too much to ask? Do you love the sound of your own voice so much that you can't be asked to cut down on the verbiage? Trust me, it ain't that pleasant.

6.  Slang instead of manners.  Didn't your mother teach you anything? Seriously? We've become a lazy bunch of motherfucks. Who here wasn't taught to say, "You're welcome" when someone says "Thank you" to you? When did it become socially acceptable to shorten and bastardize all our responses into horrifically informal, uneducated-sounding shit? If I thank you for something, "no problem" "you bet" and "gotcha" are not acceptable answers...EVER. The only appropriate and polite response is "you're welcome" and nothing else. Hello. One word, five letters. Can you say it? Neither, "yo" "what's up" "how's it goin" nor "hey" will suffice. What the fuck is your problem? Unlike the jackass in number 5, you opt to abbreviate everything. My ADD can handle entire words and sentences. Use them. Manners are not out of style, you're an asshole. "Can I" has replaced" May I" all over the place. Can I go to the bathroom? Uh, I don't know, can you? Are you physically able to? Can I see the salt? Can you? Would you like to hold it, too? Perhaps even use it? It's in there, I know it is. You can't be that fucking moronic. It's impossible. I refuse to believe that no one taught you proper English and how to politely speak to others. In addition, not only should you speak proper English, but learn to accept compliments gracefully. When someone tells you they like your hairdo, don't pull all that self-effacing bullshit that you normally do and insult yourself. Just say "thank you" and mean it. Now, was that so hard?

To be clear, there are many more areas you completely blow it and if I had the time or inclination, we'd discuss them here and now. Sadly, I have actually stopped caring. It could be the fact that I've run out of wine, I'm tired, I need to pee, or you are just beyond help and I've decided to give up. In any event and whatever the actual reason is, it's all on you now. The torch has been passed, God help me. Take my advice, do as you're told, straighten up and fly right, fucktard. The world was not meant for people to behave the way you do. This is a civilized society and you are expected to blend the fuck in, not stand out like a sore, mentally deficient thumb. If you choose to ignore my well-thought out advice, don't come crying to me when someone bitch slaps you for acting a fool. And they will. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

There ought to be a law!

People, please, get your shit together! Why I have to even do this is a mystery to me. These things should be obvious, even to the dumbest of you ass clowns. Lately, I'm shaking my head so much, I'm giving myself headaches. That rubs my ass so far in the wrong direction, I'd like to punch you in the throat. Wasting my prescription narcotics on you window licking, dipshits pisses me off. Stuff your mother should have taught you, things you should have learned in kindergarten before it became Common Core 2nd grade, shit you should have figured out as a functioning member of society...it's somehow my job to pound it into your thick skulls.  Fine. Here goes.

1. Screaming children.  No one knows better than I do that children scream. Children are loud. They love the sound of their own voices and all the fun things it can do. I get it. I really do. But there is a time and a place for all things, loud little snot rockets included. One of those places is definitely and most certainly not a restaurant in which I am dining. Nothing jars me out of my happy place, which is eating, more than the fingernails on a blackboard sound of someone's spawn shrieking at the top of their lungs while the parents do nothing about it. I realize that kids will erupt like the little asshole volcanoes they are at the most inopportune moments. It's what YOU do directly thereafter that counts. Realistically, you should have trained your little monkey how to behave in public, but they are volatile and will test limits, I know. As soon as you start to hear that God-awful sound, grab the little fucker by the hand and lead them outside. Do whatever it is you do to show them the error of their ways and return to your seat with a better version of what fell out of your vagina.

2. Barking dogs.  I love all animals great and small. I really do. I've had more pets and have loved them all equally. I love my girls, Becca and MJ, like they are my other daughters. So, don't go all animal activist on me. By the way, I hate you extremist mother fucks. Moving on before I get distracted...oh look, a butterfly. Barking dogs are cute on the end of their leashes held by their mommy or daddy. I love to pet them and get little doggy kisses. However, when I am in my home, and your little furball is letting out all of his or her verbiage for the day at top volume, penetrating my very thin walls, and annoying me and the cats, I no longer like your dog. As a matter of fact, I am envisioning all sorts of terrible, horrible, no good, very bad things. This is not like me at all. I do not like the visions that pop into my head. The image of me grabbing Fluffy by the scruff and drop kicking him across the parking lot is not pleasant to me. But, you...you have the ability to erase this image. Doggies can be trained, just like children, to be quiet...obedient. Do it. Do it now, do it quickly.

3. Cutting people off on line.  This one should be obvious! No cuts. You learn this in kindergarten. When the bell rings and you line up, you fill in behind the last person you see. No fucking cuts! You get pushed if you do. And you know what? You deserve it. It just frosts my cookies to see some grown ass person approach a line from the side, seeing another person making a direct course to the aforementioned line, and thrusting their cart in front of the person in the right of way, cutting the line. WHAT THE FUCK?! You saw the other person, I know you did. You acted with malice aforethought. My attorney followers will enjoy that reference, but it's true! How dare you think you are more important than someone else in such a grotesque manner? Moreover, what in your little pea brain made you think it was perfectly fine to do it to me? It's a fucking playground rule, douche canoe. You just don't cut. Others may allow it, keep quiet, hold back. Not me, baby. I will let you know how you've wronged me...loudly. Don't make me discipline you. Mommy should have years ago. I'm not your mommy.

We've only scratched the surface today. There are many more areas where you fail. Don't worry, I'll tell you all about them next time. I wouldn't leave you hanging like that. I am a kind and compassionate person who doesn't want you to walk on this earth acting like a buffoon any more. I've taken on this job to help you. A job I take very seriously because you annoy the living fuck out of me and I am this close to hating you. This close to junk punching you. Don't think I won't. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

I'm bringing booty back...

What the hell is a size 00? I need someone to explain this to me, very slowly and with great detail. What is exactly is a size nothing? No, wait, a size double nothing? I'm pretty sure it's impossible to to be invisible. So what the fuck are we doing here? Why does the fashion industry think it's perfectly acceptable to put out clothing that is meant for anorexics or non-existent human beings? Unrealistic standards for beauty! That's what they are pushing in our faces, every damn day, in every damn way. Magazines, TV, billboards...all presenting us with the skinniest people they can find. Not only that, let's be honest here, everyone is photoshopped these days. Models, movie stars, assholes on social media sites. Everyone is doing it.

When did looking like a woman fall out of vogue? When did having an ass become something ugly or repulsive? Why do we need to airbrush out inches of curvy thigh before a photo is acceptable to share? Hips are narrowed, asses are slimmed down, faces sunken in to deathly hollows, stomachs erased to concavity...what the fresh fuck is this? Who looks like this? Heroin addicts, girls with serious eating disorders, and malnourished children in third world countries. Tell the truth, men, is that what turns you on? Does a pair of bony legs put lead in your pencil? Do hips resembling a ten year old boy's pump up your chub? Does a flat ass tickle your pickle? I'm gonna go out on a limb and answer for you...no fucking way. I know everyone has a type, and some prefer less meat on their woman's bones. But I do not believe for one minute that the emaciated-looking shit they are shoving down our throats is anyone's sexy ideal.

I'm not even going to rant about how this nonsense is the genesis of the eating disorders of today's youth. This is not news. Everyone with half a brain can make the connection. So, let's not belabor this. Instead, let's raise our voices against the sucking away of our femininity. What makes us women. What separates us from the boys...aside from the obvious. We are built to be soft, rounded, and curvy. Our curves are part of our makeup for bearing children. We need the room! That notwithstanding, we should embrace ourselves instead of despising what makes us beautiful, sexy, lush creatures. We shouldn't be forced to hate the very essence of who we are.

A full, round ass is sexy on a woman. I challenge you to contradict me. Meghan Trainor even defends my stance in All About That Bass. You all enjoy a bouncy set of fun bags...do you think they come naturally on a twig? Hell, no. They are made of glands and fat. The more fat, the bigger the boobie. You did know that, didn't you? My luscious hooters are not surgically enhanced, they are God-given...and enhanced only by good food and excellent wine. No silicone in these puppies. And why should there be? The rest of me is all real, too. That's just it. I am who I am and I make no apologies for it. None of us should be sorry for the way we look. Women in particular. We are constantly on display, being gawked at, leered at, judged, commented on, picked apart in the fishbowl that is our lives. By men, by other women...by society in general. It's bullshit.

I want your daughters to be able to walk proudly down the street, with their heads held high, unafraid of what others think of their appearance. We come in all different shapes and sizes. Every one of them is beautiful. When we can break down the expectations of unrealistic and often unattainable body size, we can finally love ourselves the way we were meant to be loved. Fuck anyone who says different. Who gives a shit what others think? You have to live with you, you'd better love you! Big, small, or somewhere in between, it's all perfect. I'd much rather drink booze and eat dessert than be a size 00. What's the fun in that? I'm bringing booty back. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Customer Service Reps Can't Afford to Be PC

As usual, I was making my bi-weekly call to Anthem Blue Cross when I was introduced to Daniel. Cozy in his call center in India, Daniel, otherwise known by his friends and family as Sanjeet, was on the other line. Seems like they can't get the simple things right, like my zip code. Because of that little brain fart, we have no insurance cards and haven't for months! So, I am asking nicely if I my address has been finally updated as promised two weeks ago. He tells me that he will put in a request for a new set of insurance cards. I tried to explain that they should have gone out since the only hold up was the zip code...which of course was causing the cards to go to Egypt and points beyond. Is the zip code updated? He repeats that he can send out new cards that I will receive in two weeks. Dude, are you fucking listening? It was at this point that I started to get stabby and kicked it into Queens-girl mode. As nicely as possible in that particular state, I explained yet again that my zip code was causing the card to be sent to the wrong location. I then went on to tell him that I had already put in the address change request with the good folks at Covered CA, the people who made the mistake in the first place, and they were to send that change to you people at Anthem. OK, I actually said that the request had gone through Jesus and the Pope and should be to them by now. It was at that moment I was talking to myself. That fucker hung up on me!

Am I to assume that using religious terms was somehow offensive to Sanjeet? My insurance cards had been sent to points unknown three times until I was the one who discovered, quite accidentally, that they had transposed two of the numbers of my zip code. One would think that I'd be slightly frustrated by now and could be permitted to use language befitting the situation at hand. Here I am, no insurance cards and three payments in, and you want me to be PC? How do you suppose I go to the doctor? Do you think Walgreens is going to be forgiving when I try to pick up another bottle of happy pills without my card? Come on, Sanjeet, cut a bitch a break! Customer service has the word service in its name...where's the service you claim to provide? Hanging up on me isn't helpful in the least. As a matter of fact, it makes me want to rip your liver out through your mouth. You are paid to talk to me. You are paid to listen to me. You are paid to put up with me and fix my goddamn problems!

Normally, I would have called back and asked for a supervisor. Any other day, I'd have had Daniel's ass in a sling and gotten something for free for my troubles. However, issue number one being that it's an insurance company and they have nothing to offer me for free left me a little empty. Which brings us to issue numero dos...having Daniel reprimanded for his bad behavior. Honestly, I hung up laughing so hard, I was sure tears were going to run down my leg. Something about being hung up on for saying Jesus and Pope struck me as hilarious! I couldn't stop laughing...my ass was in danger of falling off. Although if it had, you'd all know by the epic, newsworthy earthquake. Realize, I've been hung up on by customer service reps more times than I care to count. Each one of those other times, I've called back with a vengeance. But this time, oh this time was different. Religion was the deal-breaker and I couldn't be more overjoyed!

Daniel, Sanjeet, Asshole, whatever you are calling yourself today, thank you for the best laugh I've had in a very long time. It warms my heart to know that you are so hyper-sensitive, so fucking easy to offend, such a goddamn pussy, that I could cause you to hang up the phone after using only two harmless words. The power I wield in my mouth is immense. My words are like weapons. I feel so bad ass, so I thank you. Will I call back in another two weeks when my insurance cards aren't in the mail as promised? Yeah, sure, you betcha. Will I be as offensive...or more so? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Welcome to my asylum, where even the cats have Anxiety Disorder.

Don't adjust your screen, you read that correctly. Previously I have regaled you with stories of my and my daughter's bit of crazy...our anxiety disorders. Our prescriptions, our nightmares. But yesterday, I was given the strangest diagnosis from a vet I had ever heard. Mary Jane has anxiety, the kind that needs meds! What the fresh fuck? Are you serious? We had taken her in because she was coughing like 2 pack a day smoker with emphysema. That croupy sound could be heard from anywhere in the house and it was time to find out why and how we could help the poor, Zaftig baby. So she's a little on the Rubenesque side? Beauty comes in all sizes, I've told you that before.

This poor cat not only has asthma, but she is anxious. Anxiety and asthma are a lethal combination. One begets the other...begets the other. Why not? Why not have a very human issue that exacerbates your illness? Well, if you live in MY house, you may as well just grab yourself a cup of mental illness and sit right down and join the family. Take your pick: bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, or maybe a little multiple personality to spice things up. This household prefers panic attacks, but all are welcome. Line forms to the right, be sure to have your diagnosis handy for inspection. We like to keep your paperwork on file, in case. We haven't had to restrain anyone since 1994, but better safe than sorry.

To me, this isn't a curse. NosireeBOB. I like to think of it as my little blessing in disguise. Dealing with the inmates here helps me to not kill you. As annoying as the rest of the occupants of planet Earth can be, and you all irritate the living shit out of me at some point in the day, you can rest easy knowing that I won't shank you all any time soon. Why? Because not only am I medicated, but I have vast experience dealing with crazy so you will always pale in comparison simply due to the fact that I don't have to live with you. There's always an escape from you. Feeling lucky? No? Perhaps that's wise, I AM nuts. My diagnosis is also on file.  I'm not only the owner, I'm also a client.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Who here believes that...show of hands. Yeah, I doubted that bit of trite bullshit when I was but a young lass. Didn't quite understand the validity of it growing up in the house that I did. My version of it was, what doesn't kill you...means you live to see tomorrow, whatever the fuck that's gonna be. At the time, I didn't know there was a name for what sparked his episodes. Didn't know it could have been stopped. Had no clue that a simple pill could have changed my entire childhood. Back in those days, you didn't speak of such things. Mental illness was a taboo subject spoken about in whispers, like the word "cancer." And you certainly didn't tell anyone outside the house that bad things were happening inside it.

Maybe that's why I embrace my diagnosis like a well-worn, cozy blanket. Could be why I talk about it so much, why I can laugh about it and not feel embarrassed in the slightest. Hey, look at me, I take Zoloft! Woot! My kid takes Klonopin! Hooray! And now...my cat is on anti-anxiety meds, too! We is craaaaazy! And that's okay. We are no less than, no worse off, not one step below anyone else as a result. As a matter of fact, I believe we possess just a bit more awesome because we DO know our flaws, we HAVE addressed them, and still function like everyone else. Those who still, in this day and age, try to ignore what's staring them in the face, sweeping it under the rug because it causes them shame and disappointment...they are the ones who are screwed up as fuck. They are the crazy ones. You aren't doing yourself, your child, your husband or wife any favors by pretending they are normal. Normal...what a fucktarded word. What is normal, anyway?

What have we learned here? Admitting you have a problem is the first step. Mental illness affects everyone. And my house can officially be called an institution. Be not afraid, I go before you always, come follow me, and I will give you drugs. OK, maybe that isn't how that song goes, but it suited my purposes. Remember, knowledge is power and drugs are your friend. Embrace your crazy like it's a long lost friend. Unless you want to be fitted for one of those fabulous, white "hug myself" jackets with the big, shiny buckles. I know I don't. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Being a Potential Juror Sucks the Big One: Part Two

Jumping right back in, the following Tuesday arrives and I have been prepping for this moment. Go ahead, call me in, ask me anything. I'm fucking ready. Once again, I park in Ten Hour Meter Bumble Fuck, and make my way to the courthouse. Yanking off my belt as I approach the security area and plopping all my possible alarm-worthy shit on the counter, I walk through the metal detector smiling. Ha. Beat that shit. Shoving my belt back into my loops and heading towards the stairway to the second floor, I begin to panic. What if I do get picked? What if I am stuck on this jury, listening to the spewing of bullshit from that piece of dog turd and his equally greasy lawyer? What if I have to be there all fucking summer? This does not work for me in any way. This cannot happen.

Oh look, there are all the men, sitting pretty on the benches. Please, allow me to prostrate myself at your feet and sit upon the dirty carpet again. Thank you for the honor, dickhead. Parking my ass, I look around at the crowd, assessing them for their possible competency. Yeah, they are all WAY more suited for jury duty than I. At least that is what I am telling myself to keep from vomiting. Check it out, Miss Crunchy Nuts is here...excellent. Great. Thank the baby Jesus she is not sitting anywhere near me today. Fuck, they are calling names, here goes. Nope, it's for the other trial, whatever the fuck that one is. I'm sure that's a week long case about some petty theft. That's why I'm not in that group. And so we sit, and sit, and sit. Finally, Andrew, I call him that because that's how the judge refers to him, comes out and starts calling us to come in. First, the numbered jurors who are to be questioned, then the rest of the poor saps who have to sit and listen.

In case I haven't made it clear, I did get a number. Number 20, that was me. We file into the court room and take our assigned seats. Mine being next to a guy who couldn't stop talking to me. His running commentary was making want to jam a pen into my ear canal. Today, the judge was going to ask us a variety of questions based on the things she read in our voir dire questionnaire. Cool, have at it, baby. My answers are gonna be golden! As she makes her way through the jurors, the stories I am hearing are priceless. "My step sister from my mom's previous marriage, once-removed, who I've only met five years ago, was fondled by her step uncle on her father's side when she was eight...that was 40 years ago. I'm not sure I can be fair." "Do you have a relationship with this woman now?" "No, I haven't seen her since we met five years ago." Really? I can see how the intensity of this issue coupled with your very close and lengthy relationship with her would make this trial challenging for you.

Another schmuck tries to sell a similar line of shit, the "I have a distant relative that I don't speak to who accused another distant relative of some kind of touchy-feely 85 years ago, so I shouldn't be here." Right. And I am Jesus come down off the cross. Shut the fuck up, ass head. Oh, this is a good one, "I have a conference to attend where I've been invited to speak and it's been two years of hard work for me. I won't get the grant money that I've already laid out for the trip if I don't go." Um, ok. So, your job is more important than everyone else's sitting here? Or is it your inflated sense of amazing that causes you to believe it so? By the way, that was Miss Crunchy Nuts. Sorry, Crunch, keep on sitting there. "My daughter needs to be driven to work and I am the only one who can do it. There is no public transportation where we live and her job is far." Your daughter chose a job that she could not get to on her own and now it's MY problem? Eat my ass.

Yay! It's my turn. "So, Ms. Fiore, do you have any prior knowledge about this case from any form of media?" "I do." "From which form?" "The news." "Do you think you can still be fair if we imposed upon you?" "No, I do not." "One more question, Ms. Fiore, in the matter regarding your mother, do you feel it was handled fairly?" "I most certainly do NOT." "Thank you for your honesty." Well, that should do it. I'm feeling pretty good at this point. Almost superhuman. The judge thanks us all and sends us on our lunch break. A break from the action, quite nice, but extended because a bunch of the potentials decided to pass notes to the judge which then had to be discussed at length in chambers. Thanks, assholes. I guess they didn't realize they'd be affecting ALL of us with their invented excuses for why they couldn't possibly serve. We return after having to wait in the corridor yet again, only to have these notes addressed, one by one, painfully. After the notes were rendered useless to these boobs, the judge hands us over to the prosecuting attorney.

Very nice guy, amiable, funny, personable. But he wants a jury. I could be someone he wants, badly. I'd be a dream for his side. He goes around the room, asking, joking, getting more ridiculous answers and stories. The same lady who has the inept daughter now admits that she hardly understands English. That's a legitimate impediment. "How long have you been in this country, ma'am?" "Twenty years." OK, there's a line and you just jumped right the fuck over it, lady. You cannot be here that long and barely speak English. How the fuck do you survive speaking only Tagalog? This ain't the Philippines, honey. Yet, you may be excused because you're an idiot who refuses to learn the language of the country that provides you a lovely life. Nice.

Did I mention the attorney's name was Mr. Butts? Very unfortunate. Mr. Butts gets up to me and says he isn't going to ask me anything because I've made my stance very clear. Well, ALRIGHTY!!!!! That is what I wanted to hear. He moves on to Blabber Boy and whoops, we are done for today because we've run out of time. What does this mean? You guessed it, we get to come back tomorrow! Fabulous. These are three days I won't ever get back. Thanks, jurors 1-19 and 21 for making sure we couldn't possibly have finished today by sharing all of your sob stories. Driving home, I think about tomorrow and wonder what the greasy defense attorney could ask me and begin planning my answers. He isn't ready for me...he's never met someone with no filter in a court room! Wait for it, Clancy, I'm coming at you.

Fast forward, it's Wednesday, and I am back at the court house, sitting on the goddamn floor AGAIN. This time I am dreaming of ways to castrate the men in the benches. My kindle and I are connected at the eyeball and I am just waiting to hear Andrew call us in. Lost in my trashy novel, the sound of "Department 4"rings through the corridor and I am jostled into reality. Fuck. It's that time again. We stand up and file into the court room and take our now familiar seats. Judge O'Malley talks to us about today's portion of the program. Oh just bring it on already. For this segment of jury selection, we are going to be questioned by the defense attorney, Mr. Sleazebag. He bumbles up to the podium on wheels, spreads out his stapled-together file folders covered in Post-It notes, and starts talking to us like we are old friends. I think not, fucker.

Mr. S tries to make jokes but they fall as flat as his comb-over. Nobody wants to hear his stand-up routine on day three. Get to the fucking point. He decides to shake things up and go backwards up the juror list starting with number 21. Great, that means I go second. Then it occurs to me, he should gird his loins. I'm a force to reckoned with, bitch. He asks us all the same question, "After reading the paragraph on the first page of your questionnaire, and seeing 150 counts, 14 children, and a teacher, what was your gut reaction?" Excellent. Here's my chance to draw blood. After Mr. #20, he turns to me and asks the question. My response, "I was disgusted and repulsed. This kind of behavior is absolutely unacceptable in any setting but to be perpetrated by a teacher is reprehensible. As a fellow teacher, I am furious with his actions and treatment of children. We are trained to behave a certain way. That is not what we do, it is not how we are trained, it is inappropriate, and illegal. This man is evil in my eyes and there are boundaries when dealing with children and he crossed all of them."  "So, based on that, will you be able to sit through the testimony and be fair?" "No way!" The judge chuckled and said, "He did ask for total honesty." Mr. S thanked me and moved on.

Now if you think my response was classic, you haven't heard anything yet. One woman began tearfully explaining that since "I can't have children, I am very sensitive to children.*SNNIIIFFFF*. I just don't think I can, *SOB* sit and listen to the testimonies of all those children. *Blows nose and wipes eyes* I'm not sure I could be fair given my situation. *SNIFF, SOB* Lord, holy, baby Jesus H Christ on a Ritz cracker, lady, are you fucking serious??? You don't have kids, yet this is more traumatic to you than, let's say, the rest of us who DO? Damn. And just when I thought she was the most ridiculous woman on the entire planet and I was cursed to be in the same room with her, Mr. S. gets to Mrs. Chem Instructor. To clarify, she's Ms. Crunchy Nuts and also the one who had the conference, making her very important. Well, when asked the very same question we were all asked, and then asked if her anxiety was going to cause an issue, her face dropped. Hey, you gave the note to the bailiff, you wanted it addressed, here it is, dipwad. As her chin began to quiver, she broke out into tears as she choked out the words, "It would be, be , be very difficult for me because *SNIFF* my husband and I talk about everything and *SOB, SOB, SNIFFFF* we discuss our entire day with each other, and I wouldn't be able to tell him about, about, thiiiissss. It would be so hard *SOB* to hold this back from hiiiimmmm." "Would you tell us if you needed a break if you felt you needed one, if you felt anxious?" "Yes, yes I would." Awww, you poor wittle baby girl. You has anxiety disorder? Which means what? Oh, I know, I know. You have a prescription for something that helps abate that feeling before it even starts. I do. Pop a fucking happy pill and suck it up, Buttercup!

Everyone had been questioned and we were all looking around at each other, wondering what was next? Would they make us come back tomorrow? Will we find out today if we've been excused? The judge tells us that she needs to confer with the attorneys in chambers and we should wait for their return. Sure, why not. We all start chatting among ourselves and my seat buddy tells me that he knows there is no way I'm going to be picked. I laugh and tell him that I'd be a dream for the prosecution and a nightmare for the defense. The three stooges return to the court room, the judge sits down and begins to tell us that several of us are being excused for cause. Translation, you people are the worst candidates for this trial, EVER. She starts calling names as I sit impatiently, tapping my toes on the floor. Finally, number six, the last juror released of duty is, you know it....ME. We are asked to go to the jury office and turn in our release slips with our badges. I've never run down a flight of stairs so fast. I'm not even sure my feet touched each step. We wait in line, hand them in, and walk out together, incredulous. One of the older jurors turns to me and says, "This is it?" I look at him and say, with utter glee, "We are done!" Did you think this would end any differently? Are you friggin kidding me right now???