Do you have the time to listen to me whine?

Why is it that some people actually think you care about their hangnails and hemorrhoids? Sounds like an Echo and the Bunnymen song, but far less entertaining and you can't dance to it. If you are chatting with a very close friend, and you decide to confide in them about your bladder infection, you can probably assume they do care and the news was met with actual concern. But should you be making small talk with your local Safeway cashier, and she asks how you are doing, do not regale her with a full account of your boil lancing at the doctor's office and attempt to show her video footage of the event. Even as I type what seems to be an obvious helpful suggestion, I am cringing because I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you will do it. Not only will you tell the cashier, but you'll share it with the Starbucks barista, the mailman, and dude about to change your oil. Are you just cruel or completely fucktarded?

Lately, I've noticed that people are feeling more social and chatty, which is fine in small doses and keeping within some framework which limits you to light, not heavily personal topics. Waiting for the cable guy is a personal enough topic without becoming gross or offensive to anyone. Running out of milk in the middle of a recipe is perfectly fine conversational fodder for your cashier, it's relevant to the situation. Most folks of relatively average intelligence seem to be able to do this without much effort. Then why, oh why, are people I'd consider to be fairly smart blabbing their life stories to anyone and everyone they come into contact with each day? What drives someone to have verbal diarrhea? Are you wondering, too? Or are you just as guilty?

Some folks seem to believe that everyone in the world actually wants to know the details about their last spewed loogie. Color, texture, viscosity, and any other little tidbit that crosses their little minds that makes their mucous sound more interesting. I can assure you that if I only know you as an acquaintance, I have NO interest whatsoever in any of your bodily fluids. The color of your pee after taking antibiotics, the saturation of your maxi pad, or how many tissues you've filled to the absolute breaking point...none of this matters to me, and my life will go on with or without the information you so desperately want to impart.  I have no need for this amount of detail about anyone, and certainly not about what amounts to a stranger in my world.

I'd have to believe that social media created these monsters and has allowed them to fester like the boils they enjoy sharing with everyone on their friend list. Like I have suggested before, social media uses the name social for a reason. It is not a diary or a bullhorn. You are not supposed to announce every time you take a shit, eat a burger, or get flowers from your significant other. Nor is it a forum to discuss your every minor ailment in grotesque detail, repeatedly throughout the day, and continuing on all week or however long it takes to get better...until the next sore throat, stuffy nose, or hemorrhoid flare-up. Your family and perhaps the people with whom you work are the only ones who need to know your level of contagion today. And your family is probably the only group of people who may actually care about how you feel. Sad, but true, get over it.

Whining is about as unappealing as it gets. When a small child does it, you may actually believe that your ears are bleeding and you will inevitably wind up with a blaring headache should it persist for any length of time. When an adult does it in person, you want to bitch slap them or poke your own eye out with a dull pencil. It's that much worse. Now that we have places like Facebook and Twitter, not only are we lucky enough to hear the whining in person, but we can also log in to what we used to use as a form of brain-draining entertainment and have our eyes flooded with pages of bitching and moaning and groaning, and yes, whining. I understand that your eyes itch, your nose is stuffed, and your throat is on fire. However, must your entire wall be filled with not only the minute details of each affliction, but also, the most nauseating and aggravating complaints about those minute details?

My guess is that you enjoy attempting to illicit pity from friends, acquaintances, strangers, and anyone dumb enough to offer it for minor illnesses. You like feeling sorry for yourself because you like drama and all the attention you derive from it. It's easier to bitch about something than it is to make an effort to fix it. If you have a sinus infection, for example, you belong in a doctor's office getting a prescription for antibiotics, not on Facebook grousing about it over and over until the pity turns to disgust and no one wants to read another word. The flu is something that requires rest, not wearing out your typing fingers, crying on the figurative shoulders of everyone you know, seeking virtual hugs and love. Baby, get that shit at home and leave the rest of us to our sarcasm and bawdy humor, please!  Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Why your opinion about gun laws doesn't matter

Oh my God, she went there! I did, and there's nothing you can do about it. Everyone has been spouting off about guns, violence, gun laws, and what they believe the government should do about it. Guess what? It's not up to you. Another thing I'd like to bring out is while it is certainly lovely of you to care so much about the plight of strangers and their suffering horrific losses at the hands of people who are clearly psychotic, some of you take it way too goddamn far. As a parent, I can easily empathize with the moms and dads who lost young children in the Sandy Hook massacre. When I heard about it, I felt a momentary pain in my own heart, simply imagining what those parents must be feeling. I am not without emotion, believe me. My own child is my world, and I'd rather die than have anything happen to her. But, unlike some of you, I did not curl up into a little ball and cry my eyes out or post incessantly on Facebook about it as though I could come up with something newer and more different than we had already heard on the news umpteen times that day.

What I also did not do, was become a laptop attorney. My eyes were flooded with all sorts of political bullshit from people who don't understand the law and who, although, not directly affected by any firearm related tragedy, were emphatic about how things needed to change NOW and we had to remove all weapons from everyone but the police and military. Damn! While a ban on assault weapons makes perfect sense because the last time I checked, we ALL didn't have the balls to join the military and get shipped off to battle. However, to insist that we now do psychological testing, tack on additional wait time before actually picking up a purchased gun, and possibly just going bat shit crazy and convince people to get rid of the guns they already own is pushing the goddamn envelope.  Oh that's right, we did that last part recently, didn't we? We even offered cash incentives to get guns out of the hands of the potentially dangerous. What a concept! Now they have cash on hand to buy bigger and better weaponry.

Completely beyond my understanding is the theory that if someone who has the potential to be violent doesn't own a gun, they will somehow no longer be violent. How does that work exactly? If you take a psycho's gun away, they suddenly become passive and placid? By extension of that, if you take a firearm away from a rapist who always attacks at gunpoint, he can't commit rape again? A thief won't be able to rob someone without holding a .45? Is that all it takes? Remove the weapon and restore peace on Earth. Do you honestly think it's that simple? I honestly think YOU are simple. Access to one type of weapon doesn't create a criminal. The criminal mind is what it is and it is clever and resourceful. Remove one method and it will seek out a newer, possibly better one. You've done nothing positive when you take guns away. Actually, you may have enhanced their methodology by forcing them to be more creative. Nice work, fucktard.

Let me ask you this, do you think that a domestic abuser NEEDS a weapon to be abusive? I can assure you beyond the shadow of a doubt, they do not. In reality, anything in their hands can become a weapon...a hardcover book, a bottle of beer, a chair, a Zippo lighter, a shoe, or even a picture frame. In the absence of these fun items, they easily rely on their very own hands and can do all kinds of permanent damage with them. Getting pushed down a flight of stairs after sustaining a beating could be a death sentence should you fall head first and break your neck. Didn't consider that? Didn't think so. The reality is, violent people are who they are in the presence of and in the absence of guns. If they have no access to guns, they are still violent and have the potential to harm and kill.

Then, of course, you all went apeshit about mental health issues and becoming more focused on them. Absolutely!  I don't disagree with you one bit. Let's start looking in our own backyards, to start. Many parents out there wear gigantic rose-colored glasses when it comes to their children. Living in complete denial that anything may be awry with their little angel, they ignore any warnings or requests to have them tested...and that's just for things like autism and dyslexia. Could you imagine if they were asked to look into the possibility of bipolar disorder or oppositional defiant disorder? They'd run for the hills and never look back, transferring their little head case from school to school avoiding the truth at all costs. What we need is universal acceptance that mental health needs as much attention as physical health, and remove the stigma that is attached to psychological disorders. Are you able to remove the word crazy from your vocabulary? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Before you publicly express an opinion about a topic, do your research, think it through, and then wait. Knee-jerk reactions to incendiary news stories only serve to announce your rampant stupidity.  Spewing ignorant and judgmental nonsense, blaming the government, society, and Jesus for the tragedies that occur in our world make you sound like uneducated white trash. You may be the smartest bumpkin on your dirt road, but the rest of us use our book learnin' to form rational and informed opinions on all sorts of topics. This is why I know (at the risk of sounding like an NRA ad) that guns do NOT kill people, people kill people. I've lived with guns my whole life and have never once seen one jump up and fire itself at someone. I'd also ask you to refrain from wallowing in vicarious self-pity, behaving like you've lost a loved one every time someone makes the 6 o'clock news because they've been shot to death. Until you've experienced that pain for real, you have no fucking idea, don't bother pretending to empathize. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Bullying, don't fucking do it.

Bullies are the weakest people on the planet. They build themselves up by tearing someone else down. Why? Because they hate themselves, and why is that? They are pure fucking evil. You can dislike the shit out of yourself and handle it however you see fit. Want to eat yourself to death? Have at it. Feel like drinking until you fall down? Here's a bottle. Need to self-flagellate? Let me show you some techniques.  But when you take it out on an innocent human being, you've become worse than steaming dog shit on a NY summer day. To me, you are the lowest form of life walking on two legs and should be shot on sight. Gun laws are another topic, and unless you've had personal loss as a result of gun violence, I don't want your fucking opinion on the matter.

Moving forward, when you mock someone else about the way they speak, it only reflects the fact that your own voice causes ears to bleed for miles around every time you open your gaping maw. Hating in others what you cannot tolerate in yourself is classic psychological projection. Yet, many dumbasses engage in this behavior on a daily basis. Many people who watch singing competition reality shows become Mariah Carey or Josh Groban when they sit on the couch, shoveling cookies and chips into their mouths, screaming out harsh criticism at the singers who are trying their best. Of course, the first few auditions are meant to encourage that because the networks show us all the ones that clearly shouldn't have been at the auditions in the first place. After that, when the real competition begins, the armchair Grammy winners come out of the woodwork and begin their expert assessment of each singer.

The worst part of what those folks do, is not sitting in the privacy of their own homes, hurling insults at the TV. What can be truly offensive, is those who bring it out of the house and into the public realm for all to hear. If I haven't seen YOU on TV singing your heart out, on a stage, or even in your church choir, it's time to swallow a hearty dose of shut the fuck up. If you have no idea what it's like to be in front of a live audience, by yourself, sucking back nerves and anxiety, mustering up the best performance you have inside, you have NO right to open your piehole and spew hatred about anything you've seen or heard. Bullying isn't always direct. The people around you, unfortunate enough to have to listen to you are also being tormented by hearing the shit that comes out of your yap. Fearful of offending, they don't tell you to stop. Afraid of being the next target, they listen and sometimes, agree with you. This doesn't mean you are right.  It just means you are mean and intimidating.  Feel proud now?

Those of you who bully by intimidation, I've got your intimidation right HERE! I don't care how big you are or how much taller you are, you are still a douchebag. Getting your way by scaring someone doesn't make you powerful. In a Sado-Masochistic relationship, the masochist holds all the power. When you force someone to agree with you or do your bidding by some form of coercion, they will, at some point, be the one holding all the cards. The moment they decide to stand up to you, disagree, or call you out to someone in authority, you are going down...hard. The fact that they can choose to say NO, gives them the upper hand. Sadly, you choose to instill fear into their hearts in order to get what you want. Pecking away at their self-esteem until there's nothing left but an empty shell of what used to be a functioning adult. Someone who will need a lot of work to reinvent themselves as the strong person they were meant to be, when, in actuality, you are the weak, spineless, fucker...not them.

My personal pet peeve, picking on someone because of their appearance. We all are guilty here.  How many of you deny looking at some chick walking down the street in a micro mini, stilettos, and a bustier, and calling her a whore? You know you have. Or seen some kid in ratty clothes and messy hair, shuffling down the street and accused him of being a drug addict? Who here hasn't seen a Guido and immediately thought he wasn't the brightest crayon in the box? Perhaps you feel as though you've stepped off the cover of Vogue and loudly taunted someone not dressed to your standards?  Maybe you are the perfect one who sees an overweight person and immediately assumes they are lazy and spends their entire day eating in front of the TV?

You motherfucking piece of shit. Did you ever stop to think that the scantily-clad girl might have just lost a ton of weight and finally has the confidence to wear something besides oversized sweats? Has it ever entered your mind that the sloppy kid may not have the money to buy new clothing and shops at thrift shops because his dad lost his job and rather than lose their home, they've learned to cut back? That Guido may be on a full academic scholarship to an Ivy-league university, and you'd know that by speaking to him rather than mocking him. Maybe the person in the less than stellar outfit isn't as materialistic as you are and would rather spend their cash on something more worthy, like donating it to charity. That heavy-set person...may be in their first month of Weight Watchers and is really trying like hell to get healthy. Or maybe they are perfectly happy with the curves they are currently rocking and so is their partner who finds a little meat on their bones sexier than just the bones.  You'd never take the time to find out, you're too big of an ass hat.

Bullies make me sick, pure and simple. People who stand by and watch it happen make me even sicker. At some point in our lives, someone has made us feel badly about ourselves...intentionally. No apology in the world can heal the scars of emotional abuse. We all carry those scars, some of us proudly. I can say that each one of them made me even stronger, much stronger than the pussy who dished it out without sticking around to have it thrown back. Today, I do not suffer bullies gladly. My philosophy is that if you can dish it out, you'd better have the testicular fortitude to take it back, in spades. Don't believe me? Give me all you've got, ass clown. You won't know what hit you.  Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Things You Should Never Say to a Woman: part 2

You couldn't have thought that yesterday's five were the only things that should never fall out of your yap, could you? Our brains are programmed to translate slight inferences and tonal inflections that men don't even know exist. If they were able, I'd hope half of this crap would be left unsaid.

6.  You look good for your age!  Would that be as old as dirt? For my age? More often than not, the offender doesn't even know your age and is assuming much older. Thinking this is somehow flattering, they go out of their way to say something about their brilliant observation. Or, on the other hand, they find out your age and let you know that even though you are a few years older than Jesus, you seem to be holding up better. The appropriate and safer response to hearing our age sounds more like, "That's impossible, I thought you were (subtract ten years from actual age)!" Commit that one to memory.

7.  You aren't old enough to have a 17 (18, 19...) year old! Did you have her when you were ten?  Yes, I was a mail-order bride and gave birth before going through puberty, it was miraculous. What the fuck are you saying exactly? If you are implying that I look young, then thank you. But to imply that I look young and that I must have been a raging whore as a kid pisses me off. Most folks will say it once and it won't have been too offensive for either party once they are straightened out on the facts. Unfortunately, there are the ass clowns who, like a rabid dog with a bone, will rant on and on, beating the topic to death and raising my blood pressure to unhealthy levels. Yes, she is my daughter; no, she is NOT my sister; I had her at 24 NOT 14; and if you persist upon belaboring this conversation, I will be forced to ram my foot directly into your ball bag so far that you actually stop breathing for a period of time. Are we clear?

8.  She doesn't work, she's a stay-at-home mom.  I suppose you don't really treasure your family jewels as much as you should. Anyone who made the choice to stop working outside the home after their child(ren) was born knows how much work they do during the course of any given day. They also know that their job doesn't start at 8, have an hour lunch break, and end at 5:30 at which time they grab their shit and leave. When we made the decision to raise our child ourselves rather than letting day care workers do it for us, we signed on for a 24/7 position. Not only would be be saddled with all the household duties, because hell, we WERE home, but we agreed to be a mom, teacher, nurse, chauffeur, chanteuse, walking coach, stroller pusher, book reader, cook, maid, waitress, personal assistant, and the end-all and be-all to this one little person. Stay home and try it for a solid week. As you stumble across the floor to reach for your much-needed giant mug of coffee, tell me again that it's not work.

9.  Is that your natural hair color? or Are those your natural curls?  While these questions are usually followed with a lovely compliment, there are times when they are not. Those times are the ones that set my fucking teeth on edge. I have previously admitted to playing with hair color on a regular basis, so I won't try to deny it now. However, when it fades, and it always does, my natural color comes through.  At least in part. Never one to stray far from the original, it is always a shade of red, auburn, strawberry blonde, or something in that realm. Throw in the fact that I do have blue eyes and freckles, unless I've gone completely fucking nuts and dyed it black, chances are it's pretty close to what has been the progression of my natural color over the years. Would you ask a man if those were his real teeth or if he used a penis pump?  I think not. The curls are mine, all mine.  They are wild, untamed, and a pain in my ass. But NO, I do not perm it, my hair does not have the tacky, frizzy look most girls had back in the 80's. Lesson here, throw a compliment directly after the question unless you like being set on fire.

10. Check out the tits, ass, legs, gaping vagina on that one!  With the exception of lesbians, I do not know one woman who actually wants to have another woman's assets pointed out to her. Of course, I am pretty sure that most lesbians have more class than most straight men and wouldn't call it out quite in that way. Having our own personal insecurities that we may or may not share with you, we are very aware of what other women look like and how we compare. There is never a need to direct our attention to the gigantic cans of some broad passing us on the street, remarking about how ours look like her twin babies. Trust me when I say, I have no desire to check out any woman's ass tightly wrapped in yoga pants that look like they are buried so far in her vagina, her cervix is dressed. My ghetto ass is the only one I have, I'm not shopping around for a new one, so don't alert me to the alternates. Point of interest, if you want to be in our presence and have the ability to breathe and use your genitals ever again, keep your eyes in your head and your mouth closed.

Hopefully I've shed some light on some relevant topics and helped you understand a fraction of how we tick.  This is not rocket science, we are not convoluted mazes to figure out, you don't need a road map to our brains, it's just not that hard. Pay attention to what I've said, perhaps read more of my entries to get a feel for where a woman's mind is coming from, and file away all of this important information in your memory banks. We'd never actually injure you, jail holds no appeal to us. But don't underestimate our ability to make your life a living hell for even the slightest infraction. Think I'm not serious?  Give it a try. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Things You Should Never Say to a Woman: part 1

There are many things, that barring you having a deep desire to die, that should ever be uttered to any woman you know. Trust me, you will be eternally grateful to me for providing you with this information. We are not that complex, you are just THAT simple. Commit these to memory and live happily ever after.

1.  When are you due? Unless you have a death wish or have no intention of ever speaking to this woman again, do not ask this question. Certain criteria allow you to inquire, prior knowledge of her pregnancy or she is so far along you fear her water may break and splash on your favorite shoes. If neither of these choices exist, keep your big freakin mouth shut. Believe me, asking the wrong woman that question could result in her assisting you in shutting it...for good. Women do tend to yo-yo in the weight department, assuming that her excess belly fat is due to having a small human nestled inside her is one of the most insulting things you can say. I had been asked that question after losing 25 pounds on my way to 50 on Weight Watchers one time, and the only thing that prevented me from shanking the offender in the throat was that I was at work.

2. You've lost A LOT of weight! While this seems, on the surface, to be a wonderful compliment, it's actually a stab right in the eye to a woman. I know you are trying to be nice, but we hear something totally different. Our version sounds something like this, "Holy fuck! You used to be a fucking cow...Jesus H. Christ, you must have had your enormous jaw wired shut!" Turning something with good intentions into the biggest insult you've flung that day. Thus, putting you and your jejunum in grave danger.

3. You look really nice today. Depending on whether or not you have freely given this woman compliments before this time, expressing positive affirmations about her clothing and hair, it could mean the difference between retaining and losing your nutsack. If you've never told us that you approve of our appearance and your emphasis is on the today, you've just told us that on other occasions, we look uglier than a bag of assholes. Never say this line with shock in your voice, that just endangers your bag boys oh so much more. Maintain an even tone, and remember to be specific about at least one detail, or we will assume you usually find us hideously unattractive.

4. Dump his ass.  No matter what your opinion of her boyfriend or husband, unless she is ready to hear it, never tell her the complete truth. Now, you are probably asking yourself, "How the hell do I know when she is ready?" You may never know, but unless you are a domestic violence counselor and she has come to you specifically for advice about how to leave him, err on the side of caution. Usually, someone says this because the guy is a generic jerk, forgot a birthday or two, is lazy, cheap or just loud-mouthed. She may complain all the fucking time. The temptation is there, right on the tip of your tongue. But, if your intention isn't to break off the friendship, bite that tongue until it bleeds if necessary. Because, the fight will be over, they will be madly in love all over again, and now your negative and caustic opinion of him lingers like a bad fart.

5.  Are you going to finish that?  Why do you want to know? Keeping tabs on every bite that goes into my mouth? Are you genuinely hungry, because if so, ask for a fucking piece. Otherwise, don't worry about what I eat.  Look at your own massive ass first and take care of that. When you ask a woman that question, she hears, "Don't you think you've had enough?" Which does translate in woman-ese to "You are an enormous, fat slob, you pig bitch." If there was ever a reason to commit murder, you've given it directly to us on a silver platter, asshole.
     

It takes one to know one

Not always evident right away, this theory can apply to a future transformation in personality or behavior. Lurking within every harsh critic is the hidden version of that which they criticize. Experts will tell you that we despise characteristics in others that are most like us...the things about us we just don't like. Imagine that. Yet, we are all guilty of this judgmental habit on a regular basis. I am not immune to it, although I'll bet you figured that out. For me, it was designer purse envy manifesting itself as mockery of those with designer purses. Anyone sporting a Coach, Dooney and Burke, Michael Kors, or Louis Vuitton was subject to my bitter assessment of their choice in handbag. What a colossal waste of money! Spending hundreds on a bag that carries tampons, a wallet, and lipstick...seriously. Who does this? How fucking stupid and really, why buy one expensive bag when you can buy many different ones at Target for way less? I can have a closet filled with purses for the price you are paying for that overpriced satchel. Until I drank the Kool Aid and discovered my love for all things Michael Kors. Guilty as charged, I have several of his handbags and do not plan on stopping there.

This is not a preventable disease. I learned it the hard way with my new-found purse addiction. Once totally convinced that designer handbags were a waste of hard-earned cash, I've done a total turn around. Hell, I've even passed this love to my daughter, who also owns MK purses and a wallet. I've achieved acceptance and added myself to the list of fools who will spend an asswad on a fucking pocketbook. This is also what separates me from you. The rest of you ass clowns will stand in judgement of others and never once notice that you are either AS guilty of the supposed crime or ABOUT to become as guilty. Those of you who swore up the left and down the right that your flip phone was sufficient and you already had a computer are the same people I've seen waiting in line for the new iPhone 5. Calling those of us with SmartPhones spoiled and wasteful. Accusing us of having an unhealthy need to be in touch with everyone every minute of every day and accessing the internet unnecessarily throughout the day. What is that you are doing on that iPhone you HAD to have the second it hit the market?  I admit to being slightly obsessed with my phone and being absolutely, without a doubt unable to go back to a regular telephone-only cell phone.

Those of you glued to your phones while crossing the street and causing me to delight in scaring the living shit out of you by blaring my car's horn are the same people who mocked those of us who jumped on the SmartPhone bandwagon at the speed of sound. Just because we jumped on board before you and developed an intimate relationship with our phones before you, doesn't make you any less of a tool for doing the same goddamn thing. We did it without passing judgement. But don't for one minute think that we've forgotten all the shit you said about us and our phones. This is probably why we now mock you and your incessant phone checking as if you are expecting that all-important email from Jesus Christ. No one is THAT important, but I don't begrudge you that idiosyncrasy. Have at it. I understand how today's society has turned us into instant gratification whores. I don't deny that I have become one, to a degree.  Type and scroll away, my friend.  Do it with abandon, I won't judge.

People who pooh-pooh shopping at discount stores and consignment stores piss me off. Because, you know and I know, most of us are not independently wealthy and work hard for our money. Having been raised by one of the most frugal women on the planet, I learned early on that money did NOT grow on trees, nor was she made of money. I also learned how to bargain shop, use coupons, and embrace the clearance racks. Trust me, I never walked around town looking like nobody's child. Quite the contrary, you'd have thought we were rolling in dough to look at me. My closet was bursting with clothing, as were my dressers and the additional set of shelves we bought and the very fashionable clothing rack I also had in my room. You'd never know that I actually did grow up fairly poor. I envied those who had more than one pair of designer jeans and Reebok sneakers. We couldn't afford that luxury.

Back to those who laugh at smart shoppers such as myself. I personally know a couple who would swear by the old saw, "You get what you pay for" and would never buy something that didn't have a name attached.  Even food, for Christ's sake! No generic canned vegetables in that house, no sir. Fancy names equaled quality to these folks. Not knowing that many manufacturers package under multiple names, some for the wealthier consumer and some for the rest of us. Red Gold Tomatoes, which operates in Indiana, cans under the name Tutto Rosso and ships it to the East Coast for the discriminating Italians who have no clue it's the same as the can of Redpack, Red Gold, or Sacramento other folks buy because it's the same fucking company. I was one of those discriminating Italians. However, I did not subscribe to the whole "give me name brands or give me death" way of thinking. I seriously thought the Tutto Rosso tasted the best.

Fast forward to today, the same people who turned their nose up at my bargain shopping are now frequenting the same types of stores that I do, avoiding the phone for fear of bill collectors making actual contact. Living above your means because you think being a snob makes you better than everyone else only serves to make you one thing, broke. It's my turn to laugh and laugh I will. We are the same under the skin and what you purchase doesn't change your DNA. And, in case you didn't know, most of us were born with pretty average, blue collar DNA. I was and I am not ashamed to admit it. Fuck all of you who look down your noses at me, pitying my sad upbringing and unfortunate gene pool. I wouldn't be the person I am without it.

Facebook seems to figure prominently in my writing, today is no different. I jumped on that train when it first left the station, enjoying the ability to reconnect with people I hadn't even thought about in years. Joking around, sharing photos, and discussing the events of the day via stati and comments were light-hearted and interesting ways to spend a little time on the internet. As much as I love Googling random shit that pops into my head, actual communication was definitely nosing ahead of that pastime. This little hobby subject me to a bit of mockery and ridicule from friends who didn't quite share this new interest of mine. Thinking they were just a bunch of old farts who couldn't wrap their ancient heads around a new and exciting concept, I ignored it. The snarky comments continued, asking why anyone would want to announce what they were drinking, eating, seeing, or where they were or where they were going, or their plans for the day, complete with an accompanying photo montage. It's called SOCIAL media for a reason, but that logic fell on deaf, sarcastic ears.

Years later, one person in particular turned an unusual corner and became a person very different from the one who teased me mercilessly about my love for Facebook. Now, each day I am privy to the minutiae of her life, the food she ingests, the libations she consumes, the places she travels within the course of any given day, and barfy and nauseating commentary on her extremely immature love life....complete with photo montage. Imagine my surprise and horror at witnessing this transformation right on my laptop! Could it be?  The very thing that caused me to be picked on a few years ago was now perfectly acceptable? Did the fact that her new boyfriend spent what seemed to be at least 15 hours per day on Facebook have anything to do with her change of heart? This type of douchebaggery has not gone unnoticed. Others have seen the same weird ass alien-like morphing and are all summarily disgusted.

My point is, and yes, I do have one, that people should be allowed to rock their individuality without fear of ridicule and taunting by those closest to them. We all have our quirks, oddities, and opinions. We are entitled to all of them. Besides, opinions tend to change over time and the thing you shunned five years ago may be your absolute favorite item of all time today. If you capped on that item five years ago, loudly and publicly, you now look like the biggest douche bag on two feet. Employing a live and let live attitude should be a requirement for being a member of the human race. Not one of us is just like the other, and that self changes over the course of a lifetime. Do your high-falutin' preferences make you better than people like me? Do your champagne tastes while carrying a beer pocketbook create a being more superior to me? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

The ER is the new Urgent Care office

Ever wonder why health care costs so much? Are you disgusted by the horrifically long wait times when you do go to the emergency room for a serious illness or accident? Before you start blaming our current administration and bashing Obama, have a peek into your own backyard. I do realize that in today's litigious world, doctors have to play cover ass regularly instead of simply practicing medicine, like they were trained to do. This puts an undue amount of stress on America's physicians and you have yourselves to blame. Since their insurance costs have been driven through the roof, you must remember that shit rolls downhill. But this is not the issue of which I speak.  It is not the root of the problem by any means.

When you take that backyard peek, think about the last time you rushed your child, husband, or self to the ER. What was the issue? Did someone break a bone? Were you having a heart attack? Did your husband double over from the pain of a burst appendix? Maybe one of you had a raging infection causing the highest, prolonged fever you've ever experienced, and were delirious? None of the above? I know, I know, you were stabbed in the forehead!!! No? Why the fuck are you there? You have a sore throat? A raging headache? The shits? A cold? These are emergencies in your house?!?! Do you know what constitutes a real emergency? It's obvious to me and I am sure to those in your immediate circle that you haven't a fucking clue.

When you decide that eating a bad egg is a reason to speed your ass to the emergency room simply because you've barfed a couple of times and have the hopping trots, you've made a huge error in judgement. Taking up a room and bed in the ER to be seen and hydrated because you are too stupid to chew on ice chips or slowly sip ginger ale fucks over the people sitting there bleeding to death. Did you stop to consider that on the way there? Of course not, you are a big baby who requires coddling and and a hand to hold every time you get the sniffles. Your pathetic inability to deal with the slightest amount of discomfort is the actual reason emergency rooms are clogged and our health care costs are through the fucking roof.

This is not to say that your shouldn't err on the side of caution with your children, especially if you have a baby. They are unable to communicate what is really wrong, and you can usually trust your gut instinct if it is telling you that it is serious. But when your son has a mosquito bite and he's really itchy and crying like a wuss because you've raised a goddamn veal, it is not the time to rush him to the ER because you now assume he is having an allergic reaction to the bite. Unless his arm blows up like a balloon, like my daughter's does, or he is having difficulty breathing, put the car keys down and give the little fucker a popsicle to shut his whining pie hole.

If the injured or ill party is your husband, try to remember that he is still a little boy under that manly facade and he still can't handle something as minor as a tummy ache. That doesn't detract from the fact that his fart bubble isn't a real emergency and shouldn't be treated as such. Telling him to go float an air biscuit and shut the fuck up should work nicely. Well, nicely enough as long as you direct him to the bathroom before such flotation takes place. The same rule applies if he has the shits or the sniffles. Remind him that there are people  with shunts in place for chemo and that if he doesn't plug his yap, you are cutting off access to the love train. Sometimes they need a little dose of reality, offer it to them.

Should you be the one suffering from an unbearable whateverthefuck, stop and assess the situation. Would you rush someone else to the hospital of all godforsaken places for this ailment? Probably not. I understand that when you've been in pain or discomfort for more than a day, it gets old. My migraines last for three days, no more and no less. I am resigned to their consistent and repeated tours of duty in my cranium. I don't whine all over Facebook about it, I go to work like a normal person, albeit hopped up on drugs, and I most certainly do NOT run to the ER begging for a fucking morphine drip. One reason is that IVs suck ass, they hurt more than is absolutely necessary to get rid of what is essentially a headache on steroids. Another is that I wasn't raised to be a withering little priss who can't handle pain. My migraines didn't brake for pregnancy, you know the time during which you can only take basically Children's Tylenol for a headache? So cry me a fucking river, but stay out of the ER.

Obama is not to blame for our health care crisis. He is not to be made the scapegoat for insurance rates rising into the atmosphere nor can he be called to task regarding the overcrowding in our emergency rooms. Look in the mirror and see the fucktard who actually IS causing all of our health care woes. Stop being such a baby every time you don't feel very well. Not every cough is bronchitis.  Not every wheeze is pneumonia. Sometimes the pukes and shits are just that, not a death sentence.  You won't dehydrate if you are a grown ass person who knows how to take small sips of liquid rather than have a nurse shove an IV line in your hand to force feed your body liquid. I know that most of you folks my age were not raised to be such fucking pussies. We are of stronger stock than that! I know for sure that I am strong like a big ugly ass bull. Are you friggin kidding me right now???