Wah, I'm an Ass Today Because I Went to Catholic School!

Please tell me you don't use this excuse in your everyday life. Via the beautiful land of social media it has come to my attention that people who attended Parochial schools back in the 70's are damaged goods. That's right, they are scarred for life and haven't recovered yet. So much so, that even today, they are forced to create groups for themselves where they can publicly whine and grouse about all the supposed horrors that took place in their classrooms. A place they can humiliate their old teachers, if they are still alive...otherwise I'm sure the surviving families appreciate the "homage" being spread far and wide across the internet. The vicious accusations and the criticisms for those who still send their children to Catholic schools...from people who haven't grown up since 5th grade! If you are still stuck back at ten years old, perhaps therapy would be more helpful than maligning a bunch of dead nuns?

Before you jump ugly with me and remind me of all the crap the sisters put us through back in the day, let me assure you, I remember them just as well as you do. I would never deny the fact that they did smack our asses and yell at us. Nuns in the 70's were cranky old bitches who were allowed to teach small children, of this I am painfully aware. Shiny-faced squat elderly broads who delighted in making young children quake in fear, these were the women who taught at my school. We truly believed they were sadistic little penguins put on earth to torture us. I'll go out on a limb and say this was probably true for the entire nation back in those days. Perhaps even worse for those who lived in the Bible Belt, where things aren't so different right now. That being the case, I can sort of understand wanting to put them on blast for the way they treated us. To shout it from the rooftops as a cautionary tale, shielding the innocent from the alleged abuse we suffered at the hands of the evil nuns.

Here's where it falls flat, in case you are too young to have had this experience...all teachers in the 70's used corporal punishment. Let me narrow the playing field a bit and say all teachers in the tri-state area and in the bible belt, including much of the southeast, hit unruly, disrespectful students. Did you catch those last three words? The part where I lay some of the blame on the children? Back then, teachers were allowed to discipline exactly as our parents would have in the same situations had they caught us behaving that way. As a matter of fact, many parents went down to the schools and let the teachers know, without hesitation, that they could smack their out-of-control, mouthy little shits because they wouldn't be there to do it themselves, and assured them that if they had done so that day, the child could expect a similar punishment when they got home, too. Because back in the 70's, parents didn't jump to their children's defense and make excuses for their poor behavior, they held them completely accountable and trusted that the teachers were doing their jobs in disciplining the out of control and rude.

Back in the 70's, parents actually parented. They didn't allow children to talk back and sass them, cursing like drunken sailors and threatening to call CPS. Back then, the police would drag a delinquent child off the street corner and back home to get a spanking from their parents. There were no laws against disciplining children back then. Certainly you couldn't beat the shit out of your child, nor should anyone. This is not what I am talking about. But a whack on the ass to jolt some sense and respect back into a brat, is not abuse. It's called tough love, baby, get over it. And that's what the nuns were doing, too. They were trying to knock some of the rocks out of the heads of those children who may have wound up in juvie had they continued behaving like little douche nozzles. Adults wanted the best for us, and at times may have gone about it in some weird ass ways, but the intent was honorable. Again, I say, a smack here and there isn't abusive. Neither is an elevated voice telling you exactly what you've done wrong, that you won't be doing it again, and why if you do, your life is going to go down the toilet.

Another thing the whiners are forgetting, is that we gave as good as we got. The nuns may have hit us, but we weren't the darling little, sweet little angels the bitching pussies would have you believe. I remember shooting spitballs across the classroom, aiming for the spot right next to where Sister Mary Heartburn was writing on the blackboard. My friends and I would make the oddest sounds right when she would turn her back, making her jump and spin around screaming for the culprit to come forward. We'd just sit and snicker. Can any of you recall the fun activity we used to engage in...you know, waiting until the nun was writing a long line of shit on the board, silence enveloping the room, and shoving the gigantic textbook off the side of your desk in unison with the rest of the class, creating a sonic boom??? Oh I do. It was fun...it was also rude, disruptive, and disrespectful. But we did it anyway, didn't we? There was a teacher who had a particularly poisonous way of speaking, and could have been considered racist, verbally abusive, and plain rude. But guess what else, she used to demand her water cup be refilled by the children...who would leave the room with her cup, fill it at the water fountain, and spit in it before returning it to her. Little angels, huh?

The point is, none of us are any the worse for the wear after attending Catholic school in the 70's. We have hysterical stories to share with our children and our public school friends. We can laugh at how easy the kids in Catholic schools have it now. But what we really came away with, is a sense of discipline, respect for elders and authority, really neatly organized notebooks, and the ability to memorize large amounts of information and spit it back...which as you may have experienced, helped you out in college and later on in life. So, instead of whining about how mean the nuns were in St. Holy Jehosephat's Catholic Academy for the Angelic, and blaming them for what a huge lame ass weenie you are today all over Facebook, Twitter, and anywhere else you can type your sob story...thank your lucky stars that someone stopped you from becoming worse than you already are today. You are probably the little shit that would have wound up in jail. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Let's Talk Turkey

With Thanksgiving a memory, we are being thrust into the anus of the Christmas season with brute force. Why? Because this is a very short Christmas season and retailers want us to hurry the fuck up and shop. And shop most of you will. This is not to say I won't be shopping, we have many small children in our circle who only know the holiday to mean tearing open gifts on Christmas morning. Really, it IS for the children. The look on their faces when evidence that Santa has made his yearly visit is worth all the effort and tiptoeing around after midnight, taking bites out of cookies and pouring out milk that's been sitting out for hours. I have no issue with this portion of the holiday program whatsoever.

Here's what chafes my hide...people who race out after shoving vast amounts of turkey into their faceholes to go wait on ungodly long lines at big box stores to buy crap in the hopes that the recipient of the crap thinks they are a fucking hero. What they are, what they represent is all that is wrong with the world today. Commercialism has grabbed us by the nutsack and tightened its grip so firmly that we are powerless to its demands. Kids who have iPads want the new one this year; kids who have cell phones want them upgraded; wives who have Tiffany jewelry want more! Seriously, this is out of control and nobody can see it. Gimme, gimme, gimme...hands outstretched, pouty faces, and the demands don't stop. Why do we kowtow to this materialistic shit every year?

I'll tell you what the problem is...we teach our kids that things matter. Things, stuff, acquisitions, possessions. Emphasis being placed on the gift and not the giver. I want, I need, give me. Fuck you. No, really, fuck you. Is that the world you are trying to create for our children and theirs in the future? Christ on a crutch, your priorities are beyond fucked. The thing is, you teach your children by example. Your constant shopping; buying; coveting the belongings of your friends; the race to catch up and go ahead with the bigger, better, faster version...sickening! To what end? In case no one ever told you, YOU CAN'T TAKE IT WITH YOU! That's not just the name of a play, it's a cold hard fact. The dead have no possessions. Your family rifles through the piles and boxes of crap, takes what they believe they deserve and the rest goes in the trash...unless your family is nice enough to donate it to charity. In which case, some other family gets your crap. Not how you pictured it, is it?

Allow me to assist you, to help you help yourself. Stop being such a materialistic douche bag! Remember what really matters...people, people matter. Create memories with your family, go out and do things, stay home and talk to each other, play with your kids. I'll let you in on a little secret, they won't remember anything you bought them. Sure, they'll remember their favorite doll or their first bike, but the mass quantity of shit you've wrapped and shoved under the gigantic trees each year will be but a blip in their memories. What they will recall fondly, look back upon with love...the time you spent with them. That's it, that's all...time. The fact that you stopped racing around doing shit for you and took a moment or two to really listen, to really hear what they had to say. The day you spent laughing so hard, your coffee shot out your nose holes...that's the day they will recount to their children, not the 80 foot pile of shit under the tree. Think about it. My memories of my mom, my daughter's memories of me will be of the TIME spent, not the cash. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

The Double Standard in the Media: Enough of the sexist bullshit!

In today's news, outcry over this commercial (seen at the bottom of this post), touting it as "offensive and disgusting" is one of the top stories on my news station. Are you fucking kidding me right now? When women wear next to nothing on many TV commercials and/or fellate their fingers while eating a goddamn burger, that isn't offensive? When the media stops objectifying women and the viewing public stops accepting it and enjoying it, then and only then can we be outraged about fully dressed men shaking their asses like bells to a Christmas song! These men are wearing more clothing in this commercial than the Victoria's Secret Angels who do nothing but flounce around and pose seductively like mindless whores.

By the way, Vicki's Secret,  who are you marketing to exactly? I buy my own bras since they have to actually fit my boobs...therefore requiring a regular fitting and actually trying them on in the store. 
Does Carl's Jr. think that men will eat more of their hamburgers if they see a woman licking the drippings off of her fingers as though they were a leaky schlong? Because on the flip side, they give us a lumberjack eating like a fucking slob, causing us to run for our Tide Stain Sticks from force of habit with our husbands who also eat like this poor schmo. And, it doesn't make me hungry or crave a burger in the least. 

When are the television media execs going to realize that women spend the most money after watching commercials and we hold the key to the family's bank account? Showing us scantily clad women acting like brainless skanks doesn't make us open our wallets and start forking over cash. I have an idea, entertain us with a memorable jingle that we are going to hum later on in the day. If you can't do that, if your level of creativity has sunk so low, then prove to us that your product is far superior to all the others on the market. We have brains and educations and would like to be treated like rational, thinking human beings. Can you give that a whirl? I know, just as doubtful as Santa finding his way down my chimney this Christmas. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

In the meantime, enjoy this hilarious commercial!!!

A grand start to our holiday season!!! 

Getting Old is NOT My Cup of Tea!!!

We're all getting older, day by day. Some of us more quickly than others. Looking in the mirror loses its appeal, unlike when we were in our prime and would turn toward any store front window that would reflect our image for our viewing pleasure. Now, I avoid those same windows. Who needs Macy's and their pointy-nippled anorexic mannequins reminding you of each and every flaw? Not me, no thank you. Wrinkles are just the icing on the cake. Visual deterioration can be masked, plumped, and serum-ed. Hell, for the brave and uber-vain, there's always Botox or plastic surgery. That's a route you won't find me taking in this lifetime, but if it's your thing, have at it. The art of disguising them has become my new talent. Those nasty little worry lines that's I've more than earned as a parent for 18 years, are easily camouflaged by all forms of bangs. Side bangs work if you aren't ready to commit to a full-on pin-up girl bang. Think about it, a slight change in your hairstyle can erase years...years, my friends! I am all over that shit like white on rice. Anything that keeps me miles away from anesthesia and scalpels is fucking A-ok in my book.

Gray hair can seriously suck the life out of a youthful-looking broad. Luckily for me, I only have about four...two on each temple. Be jealous if you need to, that's fine with me. I'm sure it's not the only thing you envy about me and others you encounter on a daily basis. That's your cross to bear, not mine. However, even having four gray hairs is too much for me. That's my personal appearance peeve. That and white trash roots. There's really no excuse for letting your hair age you prematurely. There are rows and rows of hair color in the stores, no need to spend a fortune, particularly if you are a cheap fucker like I am. This is not your mother's Miss Clairol, there are fancy, higher priced, better for your hair options now. Get on them and stop looking like a haggard old witch. Any improvement that can be done in the privacy of your own home and provide life-changing results in under thirty minutes is worth your effort, so get off your ass and make it happen.

The issue of boobs that need a forklift is not a pleasant one, but not insurmountable, either. Victoria's Secret provides a plethora of beautiful and sturdily uplifting brassieres for even us aging beauties. Those of us who had ta-tas that stood up on their own, proudly defying gravity and saluting the sun every morning...are now feeling the cruel pull of middle age boob-droop. That doesn't mean we have to put up with it! Go shopping, spend the $45, and get the ladies off your lap. While you're at it, remember, with droop comes the opportunity to not only shove them up...but together. That's right, cleavage! Work it, own it, and show it the fuck off. The last time I had decent cleavage before middle age was during pregnancy...over 18 years ago. I am due and am not going to let this ship pass me by before I get too old and it becomes tacky instead of sexy. Wrinkly cleave is a frightening sight in which I will not partake.

Beyond appearance, getting older has seriously unpleasant physical side effects that I'd rather not deal with, but am being forced to every morning. Yes, the random and frequent aches and pains. We can blame our mattresses and pillows for only so long before we must admit, it's not the padding in our beds but the less-than-lubricated, creaky old joints in our bodies that plague us. Becoming intimately acquainted with the merits of Tylenol and Advil is inevitable. Feeling like you can't stand straight or move your hands is unnecessary, drugs were invented to eradicate that kind of bullshit. Embrace them, they are your friends. I have and am not apologetic in the least. Call me an addict if you'd like, but I don't bitch and moan all day like you do. And you annoy the shit out of me.

Let's not forget the eyesight...or lack of youthful ability to see without doing the old broad stretch to see a fucking menu. Close up, distance, they are both starting to go and for fuck's sake, it's frustrating as hell. In the beginning of the decline it was manageable. Squint a little here, elongate the arm a bit there. All was swell. But when I seriously considered asking the closest person in the room to walk the reading material a few feet back so I could see it, I knew it was a losing battle. That and losing my ability to drive effectively at night. Independence is hard to maintain when you can't drive past 7pm. It kind of sucks balls, to be completely honest. So, I found myself at my annual eye exam explaining my vision difficulties to my optometrist to be told that at my age, at MY age, it was to be expected and how did I feel about progressives?!?! Holy shit! Progressives are for old people, why are you asking ME about them? Well, if you want to read and see far away and drive at night, you'll want one pair that does all that...you don't want multiple glasses, do you? Jeez, when you put it that way, do I have a choice? Good thing I look cute in glasses or I'd be squinting like a motherfuck.

Sweaters are great, but tell me why I now need one even in the summer time? I've become THAT person. Always cold, except for the random hot flash, I've now turned into one of those old ladies I used to laugh at when I was younger. Racing around the house to close windows my husband has left open yet again, wearing fuzzy socks in the house, and wrapping myself in a giant crocheted blanket in order to watch TV because I fear I'll freeze to death...this is my existence. Let me assure you, it's not all in my head. My skin is actually cold to the touch. So much so, my husband often tells me I'm dead but I just won't admit it. He's even been so kind as to offer to buy a shovel to make me a comfy resting spot. Admittedly, there are times I wonder if he may be right. But then I remind myself that I'm not THAT goddamn old! I prefer to blame it on my intermittent anemia. The uterine residents should be blamed here, not my advancing age. Yet, I know better. Nobody I know is getting any younger...nor am I. Some of us are just racing down that road to old age faster than others. One race I'd like to lose, thank you very much.

There are days I feel as though I am losing my mind. Not because I've gone crazy, but because I've walked into yet another room and forgotten why! My world has become a sea of yellow sticky notes, texts to myself, and other assorted forms of reminders so I can get through an average day. How on Earth did I become this person? I used to have an amazing memory...in school I didn't study, I memorized and got straight A's. So explain to me how this same person can't remember to turn off a light or put something back in the fridge. It's frustrating as hell and I simply don't have time to sit around holding my head, eyes closed tightly trying to remember basic shit. My long-term memory is still sharp as a tack, the short-term is slowly flying out the fucking window. Ask me about my childhood and I can regale you with story after story. Ask me what I had for breakfast and I have no friggin idea. Good times, good times.

Believe me, I am not complaining. Feeling this way, experiencing all the creaking and cracking, seeing the four gray hairs, working on disguising the wrinkles...all of those things means I've woken up and been given another day to enjoy. It means I am beating the odds, I am otherwise healthy and alive. Regardless of the "gifts" of the aging process, I'm still here and I can still kick your ass. Are some of these things annoying? Of course they are, who said they weren't? Do they slow me down? Here and there, naturally. Would I rather enjoy a few more years of youth? Of course, who wouldn't? But, the real question is, would I want to go back in time to grasp at those years? Fuck, no! I wouldn't be who I am without all of this and as I was once told, it sure beats the alternative. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Put it in Perspective, for Christ's Sake!

I've had it up to here with all the whining! Those of you who knew my mom know exactly where *here* is, those of you who didn't, sucks for you. so let's move forward. Everyone has a problem lately. My throat hurts; my shower wasn't hot enough; there was a line at Starbucks this morning; I'm too fat; I got my period; the cat threw up again; my husband forgot to take out the trash; my ass itches...these are the kinds of things plaguing Americans today. We hear it on the street, we see it on TV, we read it on social media. Life is so fucking hard. Yeah, it's rough. Waking up, going to work, making dinner, taking care of the kids, and falling asleep next to the person with whom you chose to spend the rest of your life. Damn, allow me to pass you the box of Kleenex and hold your hand. Your world sucks gritty donkey balls. If I sound sarcastic, congratulations on your ability to read my tone.

For those of you who had less than satisfactory showers, ask yourself if you'd have preferred taking a bum shower at the local gas station. Think that would have been warmer, more relaxing, and had a massage option? So, of course, I'm totally sorry your morning routine didn't meet your expectations. When my boiler broke and we took ice cold showers for three days until we were able to get someone to come fix it, I wasn't screaming from the rooftops about how miserable my life had become. Shit happens, I knew there was an end in sight and it wasn't worth my time or effort to bemoan it all fucking day long. It certainly wouldn't have repaired the damn thing. Yet, the second someone's shower head leaks or drain doesn't function properly, it becomes a media circus. Get a grip.

A long line at Starbucks? OH. MY. GOD. You actually had to wait for your venti four pump non-fat tuxedo mocha with the extra shot? Christ on a cracker, what is this world coming to? An extra five minutes has been sucked out of your oh so hectic day. I'd be furious...maybe you should write to someone. Hell, I'll help you compose a scathing letter to the CEO of Starbucks right now. Your time is precious, goddamn it. You have to race to Nordstroms before your Zumba class and get to your child's day care on time so you won't be charged a penny more. Priorities? Have any? I should begin by asking why someone who has nothing better to do than shop and work out has placed their child in day care? But that would open up a can of worms that you don't want to unleash. But what I really want to know, what really sticks in my craw...is the fact that you have no ability to experience delayed gratification. Yet, you expect children to wait without fussing. I feel sorry for the person with whom you currently making the beast with two backs.

"My ass is too fat." Trust me, if your ass is fat, chances are, there are many other body parts that have joined it in all its Rubenesque glory. Not that I am being critical in the least. I'd like to think that by now, you all know my opinion about weight and size. Rock the body you have and you'll always look fabulous. Dress it up with sexy clothes, slather it with expensive lotions, spritz it with beautiful perfume, and shake that curvy ass up and down the fucking street. However, if you are somewhat dissatisfied with the condition of your body, shut the fuck up about it and do something. Don't go on some ridiculous crash diet that you couldn't possibly maintain for more than a week without either passing out or alienating everyone around you because you've become positively demonic. For God's sake don't become that annoying gym rat that suddenly goes seven days a week, three times a day, and waxes poetic about the merits of spin class and Pilates. This is yet another thing that you will never continue for any length of time and will poison you for any further activity in the future. One bit of advice, it always works and alienates no one. PUT THE FORK DOWN. It's called portion control, try it.

Aw, crap. You got your period? Your uterus is working properly for yet another month? Dammit all to hell. A cramp, a twinge, a backache. Yeah, I get it. But please don't preach to this choir about how heavy your flow is and moan and groan about how many super tampons you've used. Until you have a uterus that is described by your very own Ob/GYN as a bouncy house of fibroids...and that children's ride that rests inside your body causes you to bleed through Ultra tampons and pee-pee pads and turns your bed into a crime scene...you've not had a bad period. We've discussed my issue before, so I won't belabor it. What I will tell you, is that every time you get your period...on time...it means your body is functioning correctly. Complaining about a working reproductive system seems almost bitchy. Think of the women who have bodies that betray them and their desire to have children. Their uterus doesn't work like yours, does it? Still want to complain?

The cat barfed, that's one of the most frequently utter sentences in my house. But you know what? I wouldn't trade my bulimic baby for anything in the world. Sometimes it's a hairball, sometimes it's her inability to exercise portion control and slow the fuck down. To me, it means that my little old lady is still alive and kicking! Instead of looking for shit to whine about, think of all the wonderful things your feline child gives you. Unconditional love, head butts, snuggles, loudly vibrating purrs at the sight of your face, company in the bathroom...can you really complain about someone who provides all that, unselfishly? And only asks that you feed, care for, scratch in all the right spots, and once in a while clean up a little puke? Come on, find your heart...if you have one.

Holy shit, your husband forgot to take out the trash? Maybe you should just beat him with a stick to teach him a lesson about responsibility? He came home from busting his ass at work all day, helped you finish dinner, set the table, played with the kids so you could watch your favorite show uninterrupted, and opened that stuck jar lid for you...yet he forgot one little thing and you spend the next day bashing him to anyone who will listen. Of course, you won't mention all the things he did do for you. It doesn't prove your point about what a lazy asshole he is and how he can't remember to do a simple task that you've asked him to do a million times. Couple of points I'd like you to ponder: you CHOSE him as your life partner, what does this say about you if he is an ass? The other point I'd like you consider, the question I'd like you to ask yourself is...does he hurt you? Does he hit you, twist your arm, pull your hair? Does he make you feel badly about yourself, scare you? If you can't answer yes to any of those...he's a good man and you are a ungrateful harpie.

Should your ass be itchy, there are creams for that. The real issue here, is that people today don't know how good they've got it. They don't appreciate what they have and who they have in their lives. As I think about my next phone call to my aunt to ask about my Godfather, uncle, second father...whatever name I assign him today...when I am calling her every night after work to ask if his condition has changed, if he has woken up and been lucid, if the doctors are offering any hope today, if the feeding tube surgically implanted in his stomach is working properly...I can't help but hate you and your First World problems. When I dread the sound of my cell phone ringing because it may be her and it may be the news I fear the most, and then I hear you whining about your kids fighting with each other or the price of gas these days...I want so badly to punch you in the throat, shake you until your brain beats around in your thick skull so hard that you have a concussion, and tell you what I really think of you and your *problems* once and for all.  So, the next time you feel a whine about to erupt from your lips, stop yourself. One day my restraint will fail. Feeling lucky? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

She's From NY...Ohhhhh.

What the fuck does that mean exactly? Those of you from any other state have undoubtedly said this in conversation with your friends at least once. Don't bother trying to deny it. Attempting to explain away something you don't understand or fear is more than slightly offensive. Are you trying to justify your own skewed opinions about a particular type of person who you assume is that way due to their state of origin? I'll wager that most of you spouting off about New Yorkers have never even stepped foot on a Manhattan sidewalk, never even hopped on a bus in Queens, or driven through Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. Have you? I didn't think so. Yet you are certain you know us, inside and out. The way we speak, the way we dress, and the way we treat other people. Hell, I'm sure you think you could write a book.

Allow me to step right in and stop you from making a gigantic ass out of yourself in public one more time. You do realize how goddamn ridiculous you sound every time you drone on about what you believe to be facts...about people you've never met?! Even if you've had the privilege of meeting one of us, your opinion has already been set in stone, with no prior knowledge other than what you've watched on television or in the movies. Let me tell you something about Hollywood. Their perception of us is also a tad jacked up. This is not to say that they haven't a clue about our speech patterns or behaviors...some of the Hollywood bigwigs were actually born on the Right Coast. So, some do have a definite feel for us and the minutiae that makes us who we are. But, in general, they are trying to portray one side and one side only. The side that both intrigues and entertains you.

Are all NY Italians in the Mafia? God, no. But if you watch enough TV or film, you'd start to believe that it's a hardcore fact. Badabing, badaboom...whacking, being made, Consiglieres to right, Capos to the left. Men in the "waste management" business having basement meetings about who insulted "the family" and the proper course of action (who is whacking and how) and women tottering around on heels after them asking if they want baked ziti or stuffed shells tonight because they have to go buy more ri-gutt, while ignoring the fact that he was headed to his goumadas apartment, for which he pays the rent, for a nooner. Come on, seriously. I grew up a NY Italian and I don't recall anyone being in "waste management" in my family. We may have had ri-gutt (ricotta for those of you whiter than whites who don't understand bastardized dialects) in the fridge, but that didn't make us part of the *Family* that made the newspapers every so often.

While I am aware that our accents are different than yours, that doesn't make it bad or wrong. The way we pronounce most words can be considered more phonetically correct than some of the folks who hail from the Left Coast. That's right, it's an AH-range not OR-nge. Our accent is closer to British and therefore more proper than the rest of you boneheads. Clipped endings, absent "r" sounds...that's right, we are classy as fuck. Beyond that, I'd like to emphasize that just because our accent sounds a bit harsh, doesn't mean that we are an uneducated bunch of dumbasses. Some of the best doctors, lawyers, scientists...come from NY and boast the same accent as the rest of the residents. Now southern accents...those don't sound very bright, but that's a different topic altogether. My point is, our accent is just a minor part of who we are, just as your oddball way of speaking doesn't define you.

Moving on to a pet peeve of mine, our attitudes and manner of dealing with others. We are different, that's true. However, we are not inherently bad or mean. What we are is honest. Pulling no punches, not holding back unless absolutely necessary, never hiding behind a veil of insincerity...we are the most up-front and forthcoming people you will ever meet. Don't ask me if your outfit makes your ass look fat unless you really want to know. This honesty has been translated in some circles as mean and angry. Let me clarify, the truth isn't always pretty. If you can't handle it, don't ask. The next item I'd like to address regarding our demeanor is the fact that we are always angry or impatient. Blatantly untrue. We grew up in a city that moved quickly, time waited for no man, and we had to push to get a seat on the bus. Does this make us terrible people? No. It means we've learned to adapt to challenging situations that would flatten the rest of you on your asses and have you making an appointment with your doctor to increase your dosage of Xanax.

The way some of you portray us to friends, you'd think we were the meanest motherfucks on the planet. Don't tell me you've never lost your temper, screamed at someone, or said what was really on your mind with no filter present. You'd be lying through your teeth. The difference is when you do it, it's because you were pushed, backed up against a wall, or had enough of the bullshit. When I do it, it's simply because I'm from NY and that's just how we are...isn't that what you'd tell your husband over dinner? Yeah, makes perfect sense to try to prove that your opinion about people you don't know is correct by recounting one moment in time and using it to define us as a whole. Who's the asshole now? My daughter is still learning how to deal with people who think they can explain away one of her outbursts or unfiltered honesty by the aside, "She's from NY," and the other person acknowledging that disclaimer with a knowing, "Ohhhhh." It pisses her off...and instead of just realizing that they are ignorant and possibly jealous of her ability to handle things they cannot, she tends to prove their point. She's my kid...was there ever any doubt? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

She Said NO to Me!

This is the plaintive cry of today's children. "She said, 'NO' to me!" Indignantly stomping their little feet, crossing their pudgy arms across their chests and letting out screams that would curl your hair and having you call 911 thinking it was a medical emergency. Sweet baby Jesus! How dare that little fucker say no to you? Doesn't he know who he's talking to, that bastard?! I have a good mind to kick his ass from here to next Tuesday. Yeah, right. No is an essential part of life. Yet these kids today react violently when they actually hear it.  Why is that, you ask? I'll tell you why...their parents are giant pussies who are afraid to disappoint their little out-of-control angels. Parents fear being disciplinarians, making their children cry, having them, God forbid, say, "I hate you!" once or twice. Not realizing that they are setting these little shits up for failure, they cater to their every whim, bowing and scraping before their baby royals, and never letting them experience disappointment.

Life is full of disappointments, get over it. These assholes know that, they've all lived long enough to know that you can't always get what you want. Yet, they are teaching their kids that if they stomp hard enough and pout long enough, they actually can. Because that's all it takes. A little fussing and that toy, that ice cream cone, that puppy is all theirs. Sadly, this delusional way of thinking and behaving carries out into other parts of their lives. With other people who, frankly, don't love them quite as much as their doormat parents do. And this is where the issues begin. Without basic life skills, without the knowledge of how to interact appropriately with others, and without the ability to cope with disappointment, they thrust these semi-formed humans onto the rest of the world, sending them to school where the teachers have to attempt to undo all the damage these parents have done. And you know what? We don't appreciate the extra work. It's hard enough dealing with children of decent parents and their ups and downs, quirks and oddities, mood swings and bratty moments...but seriously, do you think we are miracle workers?

There's nothing like being in a store and listening to a child order a parent to buy them something, then hear the idiot parent try to reason with the child...which is only a stalling tactic because inevitably the little one wins. For some, all it takes is the sight of tears forming in their baby's eyes to reduce them to a bowl of mushy dumbassness. For others, they seem to delight in pushing it to an all-out tantrum, complete with screaming, sobbing, items being thrown, and either foot-stomping or rolling around on the floor. I say delight because at that point, you are involving everyone in the store around you. Now, instead of enjoying a little Target shopping and picking up a few cute items for my kitchen or bath, I am thrust into your mistakes. Your fuck-ups as a parent permeate the entire building and I am forced to share my Jedi Death Glare with you. Sometimes, not all, I will offer indirect parenting advice in the form of loud musings in your general direction. "Exactly who is the parent here?" and "Are you really reasoning with a 3 year old?" Some days, I've less patience and it turns into, "Grow some Goddamn balls!" I'm filled with suggestions, just ask me.

Again, this is why children today cannot fathom a reason for another child telling them NO when they ask for or demand something from them. They've never heard the word! Perhaps they simply don't know what it means, but they recognize that they don't like its connotations...they aren't getting the desired result. No is bad. No is evil. No is not bueno. No starts mini-riots on the playground...Lilliputian throwdowns. The ones who are fully aware of its meaning, yet still won't accept its use as it applies to them, somehow find it perfectly acceptable to fire it at other children...out of spite. I've seen it, so don't try to tell me that spite doesn't happen till middle school. If you really believe that, I have a lovely bridge to sell your clueless ass. These spoiled, indulged spawns of hell have the capacity for malice aforethought. Ask anyone who has seen a child pull a toy out of another child's hand and laugh manically while the injured party cries. I'm entitled to whatever my little heart desires and you, most certainly are not. Nice, huh?

Read carefully, oh ineffective parents of today, stop what you are doing! These brats are tomorrow's assholes, jerk-offs, bitches, back-stabbers, and verbally abusive shit heels. These little ill-mannered shits grow up to be someone's employee, boss, husband, or wife. The lessons you've ingrained into them will follow them for life. Treat people like shit, demand what you want, and have a fit when you don't get it. You've told them that the world owes them a favor for simply being alive. Is it any wonder the country is in the condition it is today? Now do you know why our government shut down? Seems like their mommies didn't tell them no, either. Are you friggin kidding me right now???