Well, she IS an Only Child

How often I have heard that phrase and how often I've wanted to shank someone in the liver after hearing it. What exactly does that mean? Are only children some form of freakish abomination that can only be explained by uttering those words? Before you jump in and say, "Hey, you have a brother, you've mentioned him!" That is true. But we only became aware of each other a couple of years ago. Long story and not applicable to my point here. I was raised an only child, that is the life I knew and to which I am referring. I loved my only child-ness and wouldn't have changed it for all the money in the world, I don't deny that one bit. Did I get all of my parents' attention without having to compete with a sibling? You bet your sweet ass I did. Does that make me a special brand of evil? Um, no. It makes me honest. Which is something I am finding seems to offend a great many people. Interesting. You'd rather I sugar coat the truth and flat out lie to you? Crap, I'm veering off on a tangent which will be discussed at a later date. Back to the issue at hand. Having fond memories of being the top priority in my parents' lives, of being the one and only little person in the house to whom they paid attention, and the only recipient of the majority of the gifts under the Christmas tree doesn't make me a bad person. That was my reality, my life.

But does being an only child make you all the things that people are saying? Let's look at the rumors. We are selfish. And what evidence do you have to substantiate this? Do you think we never learned to share? I've got news for you, since we had to play with other children to whom we were not related and couldn't get away with being greedy pricks with, we learned early on how NOT to be selfish. We didn't come with built in playmates. We had to venture outside the house for companions. We had to behave appropriately if we wanted to be invited back. We wanted so badly to be liked, we'd have shared our kidneys if it meant having a friend with whom to play on a regular basis like our counterparts with siblings. No kidding. When all you have is yourself and adults on the daily, you crave other children like you crave oxygen.

Only children are bossy and aggressive. Based on what? I don't recall ever getting a note sent home or a phone call being made to my mother telling her I've been a bitch to other children or started fights in the school yard. Not that I didn't get into my share, but that's another story...and certainly not started by ME. Being smart can make you bossy because you have a fountain of knowledge not available to most other humans. It's not the fact that you don't have a brother or sister at home that causes you to be assertive with others. It's intelligence and confidence. But aggressive? Seriously. That's learned when you have to fight for every toy in your room and for your mommy's attention. Not because you DON'T have to do that. Aggression can also be something chemical, which is not the issue we are discussing. The nature of the beast of the only child is to be someone who will bend to the situation, who will adapt and enjoy the adaptation because it means we've been accepted.

We are spoiled. I love that one in particular. If only you could have been a fly on the wall in my house to see how absolutely untrue that statement is. They never hear the word NO. That is so funny to me. In fact, I think I have tears streaming down my leg at the very thought. If anyone heard that word so much that they've learned to expect it, even now, it's me. There was no way in hell I was getting everything I asked for and no way I'd even ask for that much knowing the reaction I could get. When I see how many toys and electronics kids today have, kids with siblings, I have to laugh. That was not my house growing up. A play room, what the fuck is that? I had my bedroom. It housed my bed, my dresser, my desk, my bookcase, two night tables...where would all those supposed toys go? I grew up in a two bedroom apartment over a store, not in a giant house with a play room, backyard, and an IPad. Not that they existed, but I wouldn't have had one. I had a manual typewriter.

These children have imaginary friends. Who didn't? I know plenty of people who had siblings who also had some serious made up house inhabitants. If your sister was a bitch, I would think you'd make up a better one to play with on some occasions. If your brother bullied you, wouldn't you make up a great, fun, and kind brother to play with? Not that I would know for sure, I'm just considering the likelihood. Imaginary friends are not created solely out of being lonely. Some are created to take the heat for being a brat. Some are there to listen to the yelling when you can't anymore. Some take beatings for you. Being an only child is NOT the sole reason for having an imaginary friend or two. And it certainly isn't limited to only children.

We are dependent, needy. What the fuck? Who tells you this? That kind of behavior comes from having everything done for you. From having someone speak for you, help you do what you clearly can do for yourself, who fends for you long after you no longer need it. Hmm, sounds like someone with an older sibling. Only children don't have that luxury. We grow up in houses filled with adults. We have to keep up or shut up. We have to learn early on to do it ourselves since there is no other child to learn from or do it for us. Everything we learn and do is because we've watched an adult and done our own version on the theme. No one did it for us. I see siblings speaking for younger brothers and sisters, not allowing them to voice their opinions in their own way. Putting on jackets for a sister who can clearly do it herself but won't complain because why not have a servant? Or on the other end, who will get fiercely pissed off because she can and wants to, dammit!

Another doozy is that we mature too quickly. This is a bad thing? Please explain because I am trying my hardest to see that point of view but I can't shove my head that far up my ass. Being around adults more than children as an only child helps kids develop adult speech patterns, adult behaviors, and superior reasoning skills that benefit a child now and later on in school and in life. So many children do not develop the maturity and coping skills needed to become functional adults these days, and being an only child is actually a distinct advantage over the children with  siblings. We grew up hanging around with the grown ups and being engaged in far more interesting conversations than, "He took my car, Mooooommmm, he took my caaarrrr!" There were expectations regarding proper behavior, manners, speaking in turn, and keeping up your end of the conversation. Bad traits? I think not.

We are anti-social and couldn't care less about the feelings of others. Do you really believe that? Far from being anti-social, we do love the company of others, but we don't NEED it. We've been self-reliant our whole lives. We deal with shit on our own. It's not a reflection on you. We are just really prepared for dealing with life and don't like whining on someone else's shoulders about every little thing. We like you just fine, but as adults, we also have a great relationship with ourselves and can function without someone else attached to our hip all day long. Related to this is the thought that because of that, we also don't care about you. Even further from the truth, we do care enough about you to not argue with you. We know you can't handle the confrontation and will be butt hurt for an unreal length of time over a simple disagreement. Our early maturity and advanced coping skills have taught us that people are people and we aren't always going to agree, so just cut bait and move on. We know you can't. It's called being sensitive to your feelings.

Now that I've debunked all the bullshit you've been brainwashed to believe about only children, it's time to stop perpetuating these fucking stereotypes. Stop attributing every negative thought you have about our current behavior, decisions, way of speaking, manner of dress, career choices, marital status, or parenting style to our having being raised as an only child. That is only a small part of who we are and certainly not a bad character trait. We are sick and tired of hearing that everything we do is because we didn't have a sibling growing up. Do we attribute your neediness, hypersensitivity, inability to make decisions on your own, passive/aggressive behavior on having had siblings in your house? No, we call a spade, a spade. If you are an asshole, it's because you are an asshole, not because you are an older brother. No more snap judgments based on our birth order. Let's agree to judge each other on more important things, like the car you drive or the purse you carry. Think I'm not serious? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

When Did the Oldies Station Start Playing MY Music?

On a recent trip back home to NY, I made a startling discovery. Yes, I said back home. California may be where I live, but NY will always be home to me. But I digress. Something horrifying happened in the car and I still can barely think about it, much less talk about it. Flipping through all the stations of my youth, searching for some good car music, I happened upon some fine tunes from the 80s. Perfect for cruising through Queens on a freezing winter's day, I left it on and began singing along as I am known for doing. In that moment, I was transported back to my youth. I was a teenager, driving around with friends, singing and laughing, not a care in the world. A drama nerd enjoying life, not minding the numbing cold, and wondering where to go next. There I was seat-dancing and having a grand old time. Little did I know the emphasis would be on the word OLD. Partying like a rock star as each song came on, I was rudely interrupted by the voice of a DJ. The voice of pure evil. Telling me that the station I landed on...the station I was grooving out to...was CBS 101. For those of you who aren't from NY, let me explain further. CBS 101 isn't the cool kids station. It isn't even the soft rock station. It's the fucking OLDIES station. The station we all listened to on car rides with our dads back in the day.

The beginning of self-realization, your own mortality, the truth about one's age...it should not happen this way. Not in the car, not on vacation, not at Christmas. But really, when IS a good time? In the shower while shaving and noticing a varicose vein or two have snaked their way across the back of your knee, the spot you always miss while shaving but not this freaking time? While brushing your teeth and glancing in the mirror at the once taut neck you loved and seeing the start of actual chicken neck? Perhaps looking down at your hands and seeing your mother's? No, there is no good time for this to happen. It's a fucking nightmare. I know I am not speaking only for myself when I say that on any normal day, I still feel like I am in my 20s. I can actually trick myself into believing it. I don't act old, I don't dress old, I have energy (most of the time), and if I'm not wearing my progressives, I look fairly young in the mirror from an appropriate distance. So, when did this transformation occur? When did I become middle aged? Who moved my fucking cheese? I mean it. I'm lacking the full understanding of the time lapse and the turning into my mother thing. There's no warning, no preparation, no guide book to give you the actual time frame. What the fuck?

Oldies. Seriously. When you hear the word, does Duran Duran come to mind or do the Platters? Come on, age yourself. Tell the truth. Never in my life did I think the stuff I listened to in high school would become the genre for the "dad" station. However, being a total nerd and doing the mental math only serves to prove that the same amount of years exist between my high school music and now that do between my parents high school music and the time it was on CBS 101. That's right. Somewhere between 25-28 years. Where did the time go? It was only yesterday that I was a carefree teenager. The memories are still fresh in my mind. The friends, the homework, the laughter, the songs that punctuated every moment. Wearing leggings, three shirts layered perfectly, black rubber bracelets, and singing Madonna songs with friends till the wee hours. Wasn't that just last week? Did I miss the memo? The one that says I must grow up and grow old? Yet, I am fully aware that my own daughter is now 19...19 1/2 if we are being specific, and in the throes of the youth I am now missing. She is that girl I used to be.

The question I ask myself now is would I want to be a teenager now? In 2015? Hell, no. I am grateful to have been a teen in the 80s. The era of excess and Boy George. The days of The Breakfast Club, Pretty in Pink, Wham!, Band Aid, Hands Across America, fingerless lace gloves, Garfield, and drinking the most disgusting drink of the time, Tab. Yes, I am a product of the Eighties, the best generation to come across the US. Proud of it. Wouldn't change a thing. Well, maybe one thing. I'd have them come back along with my thick hair, perfect vision, tight skin, and true youth. Not this thing I have falsely imagined still existed. Bring it back along with the feeling of being able to conquer anything, change the world, and do it all with "Bizarre Love Triangle" playing in the background. Am I as young as I think? No. Do I still feel as young as I think I am? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Deck My Balls

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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???