You Don't Know Shit: Part One

Certainly, I can't be the only one noticing this new trend? Everywhere you look in SocialMediaLand, you can see them. People who know EVERYTHING. I know, it's amazing to find such incredibly intelligent folks all in a select few places. If you want advice about anything, scroll through your Facebook timeline or your Twitter feed. Guaranteed, there will be someone claiming to know all there is to know on the topic. And lucky for us to have access to all this knowledge! Seriously, I cannot begin to explain how this shit irritates the living fuck out of me. If I want information, I'll Google it myself. I don't need your post, complete with the accompanying editorial from you. That's the part that truly gets under my skin like scabies eggs, the commentary from the "expert" with the posted article on the topic du jour. I've complied a list of things I've seen on Fuckbook and TwitTer to share with you. To help illustrate my frustration with what they've become.

1.  Parenting: If you find an article about parenting that fascinates the shit out of you, fan-fucking-tastic! Should it help you through a rough time you are having with your own family, awesome. Maybe you'd like to share it with the entire planet. Stop right there and back away from the computer. Not everyone in the world gives a shit. Not everyone wants to hear your problems. But...and here's where it can get a bit messy...when you aren't even a parent, you need to shut the fuck up. I can't tell you how many people I see posting parenting/right to life/common core shit who have never even been pregnant much less have actual children of their own. No, being an aunt, godmother, neighbor does not qualify you to have an opinion on these topics. As much as you think you know...you know SQUAT. Until you've actually been there, your knowledge can be placed on the head of a pin leaving room for a dance party. Childless people seem to be the most opinionated on these topics...takes a particular kind of balls, don't you think? Ask women who've gone through labor and delivery if they want your opinion about natural childbirth, for example. I'd be willing to bet you should steer clear of them when expressing these opinions, unless you want your uterus pulled out through your mouthhole.

2.  Gun control:  So many of you fuckers posting about gun control don't know the first thing about responsible gun ownership, have never owned a gun, nor have you been in the presence of one. Yet, you are scared shitless of the concept of anyone in the world owning one aside from police officers and the military. Let me ask you this question, and I have asked it before, do you think criminals buy their weapons from reputable gun shops? Moreover, do you think they are subject to a background check and waiting period when they buy their guns out of the back of a van in a deserted alley from some dude who goes only by the name Killer? When I go out to buy a gun, I am subject to all kinds of checks, a waiting period, and I need my current certificate. When Inmate #37698 gets his gun, he just hands Killer cash in an envelope and is handed the weapon in a paper bag. Note the differences. Keeping guns out of the hands of law abiding citizens is like keeping forks out of the hands of the kids at fat camps. Neither serves any good purpose. Plus, you are taking away a means to protect ourselves and families from Inmate #37698 when he busts through our front door brandishing his new "gat" and threatening to kill everyone in the fucking house. What are you thinking? People who do not practice safe gun ownership should be shot with their own weapon, I totally agree. But the grand majority of us have gun safes...that stay locked. Another question that begs asking, have you been personally affected by gun violence? I'll answer that for you, NO. Crying about what happens on the news doesn't count. Get back to me when you've lost a loved one to a round of ammo.

3.  Recipe flooders: You know who you are. You've all become either master chefs or health nuts. But have you really? If you find a recipe that looks fantastic, try it out at home. Should it come out perfectly, taste amazing, and look like something out of a magazine...post it for all of us to ooh and ahhh. But stop flooding my timeline with ridiculous and basic shit. If you didn't know how to cook vegetables with garlic and oil before locating the recipe on the internet, that's a huge problem in your personal kitchen. One that can't be fixed by posting it on Facebook. I'm sorry you didn't grow up Italian, but as I've said before, not everyone can be Italian...but everyone wishes they were. On the flip side, if you find something incredibly difficult but that looks beautiful, feel free to post with the admission of, "Boy, I sure wish I could make something like that" because that is the truth. Also, when I see you posting all this healthy shit like you actually eat that way, I have to laugh. Ooh, look at the gluten-free, no carb, low cal, no fat thing I posted...I'm such a healthy eater! Right. Then, three hours later you check in at the drive thru at your local McDonald's. Ummm, WTF? Did you think you fooled us with the Paleo recipe from earlier? Believe me when I say that you, in all your SuperSized eating glory, are fooling no one.

4.  College Campus Dangers:  Well, then. Let's start with asking you a fairly simple question. When was the last time you stepped foot on a college campus? How many decades was it? Right. Exactly my point. Because nine out of ten frightened little veal posters haven't been in college for over 20 years. Eight out of ten don't even have kids nearly old enough to be applying to college...forget about living on a distant campus away from your smothering arms. OMG, there's rape running rampant on campuses because there are no rules about drinking there. They have no policy about saying no and that NO means NO. REALLY? Is that what you believe? No rules? So, I send my kid to a school devoid of rules meant for her safety? Absolutely. And I pay for it, too. What kind of drugs do you take when you sit and Google the shit you find and post on this topic? My daughter's school is a DRY school and has very serious rules and consequences for those who can't take NO for an answer. The girls have rape whistles. Does this sound unsafe and without rules? Ahhh, but you had no fucking idea, did you? You just read about some redneck schools in the middle of bumfuck 'Murica having issues with drunken consent and assumed it was happening everywhere. You assumed and you posted it complete with your ignorant opinion. Did you realize how fucktarded you sounded right after you hit the blue "post" button? Of course you didn't. You sat there in your little righteous world, without a clue on earth regarding your article share, feeling superior to everyone else. Probably even me. Dumb bitch doesn't know what goes on in her own daughter's school. She should read this motherfucking article before she lets that child go back into that Caligula-ass lion's den of drunken debauchery. She'll be sorry, mark my words. If I shake my head any harder, I'll lose all my fucking marbles. Dumb ass.

Let's be honest with each other, you don't know shit. You think you have a wide body of knowledge that begs to be shared with the rest of the world, but in reality, you are simply an ignorant twatburger who wants people to like and agree with something you've said. A pathetic attention whore. Losing respect for people like this happens so quickly for me that I barely notice it occurring. But the effects are deep-rooted and long-lasting. Once I think you have committed douche baggery, I can't unsee the damage you've done. Forever will you be that asshole. Are you frigging kidding me right now???

For the rest of my opinions on your stupidity:
You Don't Know Shit, Part 2

Italians are Better Than Everyone

We just are. I said it, I meant it. When I refer to Italians, I am really referring to NY Italians, and more specifically, Queens and Brooklyn Italians. From here on out, just keep that in mind. Idaho Italians...wtf are they anyway? Do they even exist? I must add that I find Italians from anywhere else very odd. They don't seem to embrace their heritage and certainly don't act very much like me or anyone in my family. Almost like they are ashamed of who they are and don't want anyone to know that they are...greaseballs. Oh, keep your fucking stupidity to yourself. I can use all the slurs I want, I am Italian. If I want to call myself a WOP, I will and you'll like it. The difference is, I know the origin of the slurs, and when I use them it's because I find them hilarious, not offensive. People who get offended by these things see a glimmer of truth in them. I know they're all bullshit. That's what makes me smart and you...well, you.

Let me tell you about the basics of being Italian American by telling you what we aren't so you can understand who we really are...and love us as much as we do.
We are not all connected to the Mob, and if we were, we wouldn't tell you...that's where omerta kicks in to the equation. Don't fucking ask. Yes, the Cosa Nostra is real. No, not every Italian man living in NY is a member. Our male family members often held regular jobs, like the rest of you white folk. Mostly blue collar back in the day, but all honorable jobs.  Which brings me to the next stereotype...Italian men all work as: construction workers, garbage men, pizzeria owners, marble workers, or bakers. So maybe I had an uncle who owned a bakery, but that was not the norm. Italian men are police officers, firefighters, doctors, lawyers, accountants, and tennis instructors. Imagine that, not everyone named Tony was in waste management. And let me further refute the nonsense that all Italian women were housewives. Yes, many sacrificed to stay home with their children during the early years of their lives. But most went back to work when they deemed the children independent enough to unlock the front door on their own, get their homework done without prodding, and fix their own after school snack. They did worry about us not eating enough. Hence my mom's ever popular question over the phone, "Jjeeet?" Which translates to, "Did you eat?" As though I would forget to partake in the stuffing my face process. Hell would have frozen ten times over before that happened.

It's been said that we talk with our hands. I have no idea from where that nonsense originates. Does the fact that my own husband thinks its funny to ask me to "sit on your hands and say that" reveal anything about my heritage? Mind you, he's Italian, too. But his Italian is more in his appearance and his last name. Based upon his pronunciations, I'd swear he was raised by Eskimos. My way of being definitely screams Italian in every sense of the stereotype. Hands flying; loud excited expressiveness; peppering my speech with bastardized Queens Italian; that crazy twinkle in my eye that can be found in most of us. Yeah, I'd say I embody the fucking stereotype. But that doesn't mean that everyone from Queens and Brooklyn born of Italian heritage acts that way. Some are quite embarrassingly subdued. Actually, many are far quieter and less animated than I. Most of my family members are no longer living so that gene might die with me. I know my kid doesn't have the gesturing down as she should. Christ Jesus, she can't even answer basic questions about The Godfather correctly. I think she may be losing her membership in the nationality shortly. That's a whole other story that I don't want to dive into right now because it makes me very emotional.

Do you think Italian women are hot tempered? Spicy meatballs? I hate that phrase as used to describe one of us, by the way, so don't ever use it on me. I daresay if you piss off many women of a variety of national origins, you'll get your balls handed to you in some way.  Maybe not with the flair that we can and do, but it happens. Perhaps what we view as honest and open with our feelings, you see as being hot headed. Perhaps you are just a fucktard who grew up in a milky white, Wonder Bread eating, Leave it to Beaver, boring ass family. In my house, screaming and crying, then laughing so hard you had tears streaming down your face was considered an average Thursday. Emotions worn on the sleeve, that was a fact of life and it was good. No bullshit, no hiding behind a wall of indifference. That didn't exist in my world and I'm damn glad. I'd hate to be one of you dispassionate, cold-blooded. phony assed shit bags. Would you rather I lie to your face? I think we've gone over this and I would like to believe that you have come to expect quite the opposite from me. Actually, I think down deep inside, you like it.

On the flip side of that fun little coin, do you also believe that all Italian men are violent? That, to me, is absofuckinglutely hilarious. Let me start by saying that the men in my family were among the most affectionate people I have ever met in my entire lifetime. Ma's side of the family was always hugging, kissing, cheek pinching, hand holding...some form of loving touch. Much to my disgust when I was very young. My uncle would chase me around the house trying to pinch my cheeks and kiss me. The more I resisted, the more he pursued. A fun game to him, a stressful episode that made me cry every goddamn time he came over. He became my favorite family member over the years, and thank the newborn baby Jesus he never gave up on me, that he never stopped chasing. That abundance of affection was just an outpouring of love for his goddaughter, his niece, his surrogate daughter. God, I miss him. Back on track, the only man I knew with a quick temper and quicker hands was my dad, a French Canadian, not Italian. So think before you judge us, dickweed.

Let me think about the last time someone was shocked that I was Italian...yeah, it was just as frustrating as the first, second, and 3,145th. Yes, I have red hair, freckles, and blue eyes. Yes, I am half Italian. My grandpa had blue eyes. My Uncle Tommy was a platinum blond as a young boy. My mom burned with even the slightest sun exposure, she was so pale. Am I blowing apart your predetermined view of us as olive skinned, chocolate eyed, raven haired inhabitants of this planet? Do you know how many times Italy was invaded and by whom? Moors and Arabs to the south. Are you aware of who borders Italy to the north? Switzerland! Loads of darkies in Switzerland, right? No, far more Nordic looking aren't they? Combine us all somewhere in the middle and then spread us out over the countryside once again. Not what you saw in Good Fellas now is it? Get over it. Lose the preconceived notions of what we are supposed to look like. And for the last time, I'm NOT Irish. Christ on a fucking cracker.

The whole Jersey Shore thing drives me fucking bat shit. Let me back up and tell you I loved that show. It entertained the shit out of me. If they weren't so much younger than I, I'd swear I went to high school with them. Christ the King RHS was a hotbed of guidos.  That being said, they do NOT exemplify all Queens and Brooklyn or Jersey Italians in the least. They are the low rent, classless breed that we all try not to be. Yes, we all go through the phase, even if briefly, at some point in our lives. But, if we are even remotely intelligent and slightly educated, it doesn't last long and we become the amazing people you see before you now. We are college-educated, well-rounded people on the whole. Not the bumbling buffoons you see on TV. Not all of us have those thick, mildly retarded sounding accents, either. And not just those of us who moved out of Dodge. Some still live in the thick of the gravy and don't sound like Rocky Balboa. What kills me, what really rubs my ass in the wrong direction is when non-Italians try to sound like that. Why the fuck on God's green earth would you WANT to sound like that? First of all, you don't sound like us. You'll never have the proper inflection and intonation to sound Italian. Secondly, and even more to the point, you sound completely fucking idiotic.

I don't disagree with our food obsession. To deny that would be to deny my entire life and the family I love. Food and I go way back. My fondest memories of family all relate to some kind of eating frenzy. Bowls, platters, dishes everywhere! Filled with the most delicious and mostly homemade delights imaginable. I say mostly because we didn't cure our own meat. We did live in Queens, not on a farm with our own goat. But between Grandma Rose's cooking, Ma's cooking, and Aunt Dolly's cooking...you were in an eater's paradise. There was no "Thanks, but no thanks, I'm full" bullshit going on in my family. You ate till your eyes were about to pop and then you had dessert. And it was good. We used the Queens Italian words for everything on that table and everyone knew exactly what we were talking about. "Pass the ricott'" "Who has the scungeel?" "Who wants more sawzeech?" "Have another dish of gavadeel" and yes, "Where's the gabagool?" We ate and laughed and yelled over each other and never tired of the present company. That's how it should be. Polite, quiet dinner conversation over boring meatloaf and other white food is not for me. I need sensory overload, dammit. I need a Las Vegas dinner experience. Fill my senses and don't stop until I explode. That's how we do, no apologies.

Being Italian is such a huge part of who I am, of how I am, of my every day life. I know of no other way to be. If we are being totally honest, and when am I not, I am thankful to be Italian and not any other nationality. We have our own way of looking at things and handling the things that life throws at us. We are strong, yet sensitive. If you get on our bad side, just keep on walking, we do not tolerate shit and are very slow to forgive and definitely do NOT forget. Family comes first, don't you dare try to test that theory. Friends are just extended family and get treated as such. We love with such abandon and full hearts you won't know what hit you if you are lucky enough to be on the receiving end. It may sound prejudiced, but we actually prefer to be around our own kind. It's not that we don't like you, we are just more comfortable with those who embody the awesome that is a fellow Italian. They understand us, they get where we are coming from, appreciate the references, relate to the point of view, and can keep up with the conversation. Face it, you all want to be Italian, even for just one day. Think we don't know? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

For more reasons to find Italians better than anyone, or simply for a better understanding of how we speak because God knows you have no idea about half of what we are saying:

Queens/Italian English, a lesson in linguistics

Queens/Italian English, lesson #2

Queens/Italian English: Lesson #3, the final chapter