Being a Potential Juror Sucks the Big One: Part 1

When I got my summons in the mail, my heart dropped into my lavender toenailed feet. The horror and sense of dread that filled my soul was almost visible to my family as I opened the envelope and saw that I had, indeed, been summoned to serve on a jury. Oh. My. God. The last time I had seen one of those evil pieces of tan paper, my daughter was an infant and I had an airtight excuse not to serve. Almost 19 years later, I've got nothing! No excuse, no legitimate reason, Jack Squat. There was nothing preventing me from having to show up on June 9th, 2014, barring death or natural disaster. Fuck me sideways, I had to show up.

The night before, I did my civic duty and called the number they demanded I dial to find out if I actually had to be present the next morning. Of course I did. Was I imagining any different? Bad luck being my middle name, I knew that I was going to hear that awful recorded voice telling me to show up at 9am. Sure as shit, I did. Working myself into a lather, I mentally prepared myself for the inevitable...being selected. Going through all the potential reasons why I would be the worst possible candidate, I began the process of coming up with all kinds of non-PC answers to questions I imagined they would ask me. "Yes, I'm a racist." "All Mexicans are illegal." "People who live in trailer parks always steal and do drugs." What did I know?

Monday rolls around and I get myself prepared to head out the door, grabbing a bag filled with quarters to stuff into the ten hour meter they provide three blocks from the courthouse for all of us poor suckers doomed to be there and making sure my Kindle was charged so I could have reading material for the waiting period. Driving there, I am freaking out. What if I get picked? What if I have to serve? What if I can't get out of this??? Park the car and begin the walk to the courthouse. UGH. I arrive and find a long line of other sad sacks waiting to find out their upcoming fate. As I approach the door, I see what looks like airport security. They take my purse, my phone, and my keys, then demand I remove my belt. WTF? My pants will be around my ankles, but okay, here ya go asshole.

I make my way to the Jury Assembly room and stand on another long assed line. Only this time, I notice that there are six old school fans blowing and no AC! This was a hot fucking day to begin with, now I was stuffed into a room with 200+ people and no air conditioning. Fabulous. The lady at the desk takes my summons, gives me my juror badge and a questionnaire and instructs me to fill it out, place it in the filing thingy, and wait to hear my name. I sit down and fill out the stupid paperwork and shove it into the archaic filing system and sit back down. Pop open the Kindle and try to kill time. Except time was killing me. I was sweating so profusely that my hair was dripping wet. I piled it on top of my head in a ridiculous but functional ponytail and go back to reading.

Forced to sit through an old lady give a speech about why we were so lucky to be summoned to the fine city of Martinez to serve as jurors and then, my personal favorite, a video about how fortunate we are to be able to serve on a jury and that it is the best thing since sliced bread, I start to lose my mind. How long have I been sitting there? Oh, long enough to be excused for lunch! I meander my way through the streets of a very cute downtown, I must admit, and find a Mickey D's to get me a salad so I don't pass out from starvation. Well, I had no idea how long this was going to take. I take it to go so I can go refill the meter. I fill the meter, fill my belly, and head to Starbucks. A venti vanilla macchiato with an extra shot, please. I chug that bad boy in record time and head back to the courthouse to hear my fate.

Sit and wait, sit and wait. They call one group after the other, just not mine. Fine, fuck you, see if I care. I've got my Kindle. Holy shit, was that my name you just called? Oh fuckity fuck. We file out into the hallway and are told to head upstairs to Department 4. Oh, did you think I went directly into the courtroom? Nope, we were told to wait in the corridor and our names would be called. Naturally all the men sat on the limited number of benches provided for us and I wound up seated on the dirty carpeted floor. Thanks, gentlemen, I didn't want a real seat. Dickless schmucks! Reading until my eyes got so heavy I feared I would fall asleep on that disgusting floor, I found myself next to a woman who brought, of all things, nuts. Yes, nuts. She crunched and cracked and chomped away 6 inches from me. Are you serious, lady? I thought for sure I'd be next defendant needing a jury in about 3 minutes.

Shoving my mind back into the trashy novel I was reading I attempt to tune her out. Until she started counting on her fingers. Really?!?! You are a grown ass woman, dressed fairly nicely, and you are counting on your fingers. Stifling a laugh, I look away before my mouth betrays my common sense and I blurt out something insulting. Thinking if she's my competition, I am definitely getting selected, dread fills my gut. Just as I force myself to calm down, I hear my name called. Time to line up and meet the judge. We file into the courtroom and take our seats. Ahhh, a real chair with cushions. So far, painless. The judge goes over the rules, the nature of the case, and informs us that this particular trial will last until August 15th. Are you out of your fucking mind? That's all summer!

Let me tell you something, there was no way in hell I was serving on this panel. No fucking way. Not just because it was almost two months long, although that was a major deterrent. After hearing the nature of the case, I was done. The kind of done where you want to shank the defendant in the throat and slice his balls off with a rusty butter knife. This rotten piece of shit, this pathetic excuse for a human being, this slimy motherfucker was accused of lewd and lascivious acts against children...and he is a teacher. I'm sure you must know my stance on this by now. As a teacher and a parent of a girl, I was furious. So furious I couldn't see straight. You want me to sit on this jury and be fair? Did he consider what was fair to these children? Nope, I can't do it.

The judge asks us if we have any real impediments to serving on the jury. Does hating child molesters count? Of course not. I would have had to be a caretaker to someone elderly, an infant, have no means of transport to court, or be unable to pay my mortgage if I served. Shit, shit, shit. I have no fucking excuse! Oh, this is it. I'm getting picked. They tell us to go down to the jury office and get yet another questionnaire and fill it out in the jury assembly room and then hand it in. Sure, I got this. Maybe the questionnaire will have a disqualifying question and I'll get booted. Maybe I'll ride a unicorn home while rainbows shoot out of my ass. These questions appear to be totally in my favor. There's no way, no fucking way they will want me. I fill that bitch out with complete honesty and walk it over to the jury office. Handing it in with confidence that I'm so out, and then being handed a slip of paper that instructs me to appear the following Tuesday for jury selection knocks the wind out of my sails in the blink of an eye.

The ride home was miserable. Running through my mind, haunting me, was the sheer volume of the charges being levied against this cocksucker and how I was going to have to listen to the testimonies of children...children and maintain my composure and be FAIR. How the hell can someone be fair in light of those kind of offenses? Me, of all people, Judgmental Jesus? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

This Stuff Really Bugs Me...and I Know It Shouldn't

You'd think at my age, I'd be able to tune most of life's little annoyances out. Wrong! As I get older, I truly believe that I am noticing more and more things that I cannot stand to see, hear, or be around. There are actually things that can drive me to distraction causing me to focus on nothing else. Maybe it's a wee bit OCD, perhaps peppered with a touch of misophonia (read Do Not Smack Your Food Anywhere Near Me), and possibly a touch of holier-than-thou. Regardless of the source, I have become almost completely intolerant of certain traits that most of you don't even notice. So, while you are happily going about the business of your day, I am gritting my teeth and trying not to stab half the people in my proximity. Even Zoloft isn't enough to stop the stabby feelings that course through my veins on any given day.

Let's start with toe thumbs. Oh, you know exactly what I am talking about. Don't pretend that you don't. Those horrific-looking fucking appendages that do not, under any circumstances, belong on a hand. Our baseball season tickets have me sitting right next to a perfectly lovely woman and her husband. Perfectly lovely until I look down and to my right and see those things...those bulbous, freak-like, blobs at the end of her thumbs. My skin begins to crawl and I get physically ill looking at them. I have a hard time the rest of the game NOT looking at them. Why? Because I am human and will poke at the sore tooth until I feel soothed by the action. Because everyone loves a train wreck. Because I am an asshole. I will keep looking over, getting progressively more paralyzed by her defect. Something over which she has no control. Sure, that makes me a terrible person. I never told you I was Mother Teresa.

Moving forward to bottom teeth talkers. Not necessarily the chin-jutting, wealthy snob bottom teeth talkers. Just those people who refuse to lift their upper lip enough for us to see that they even have top teeth. Why does this bother me? No fucking clue. But, Christ on a crutch, it does. These bipedal bulldogs drive me insane. Where the hell did they learn how to speak, an animal shelter? While I am perfectly aware that the bottom jaw does all the movement for speech, there's no reason whatsoever to only showcase the bottom row of teeth. They are generally your uglier teeth. Don't believe me? Go look in the mirror. Look first at just your top teeth. Okay. Now cover them with your upper lip and look at just those lower choppers. Scared the shit out of yourself, didn't you? They are friggin uglier than a bag of assholes, and I'm being kind. All I'm asking you to do is work on it. Sit in front of a mirror and practice, see a speech therapist, don't talk to me...do something. It grates on me like fingernails on a blackboard and I will walk away from you if you try to engage me. Give it a try, see what happens.

People who breathe like they are dying when they drink kill me. This is usually more prevalent in the bottled water drinkers. For some reason, those folks like to drink like they just crawled across the desert in a parka and are thoroughly dehydrated. Glug, glug, glug...that I get, if you are really thirsty. But that sound, the sound babies make when they drink because they actually can breathe while they suck, where it sounds like something like a cross between a loud exhale and a grunt...yeah, on an adult sounds more like an animal in the wild. Slow the fuck down. Most people drink bottled water at their place of work, in the supermarket, in public. If you are at the gym and do this, I have a much higher threshold for the sound provided it isn't extended for an eternity. All other times, it becomes unacceptable and is just as bad as those of you who haven't the manners nor good sense to to chew with your mouths closed. Nobody wants to hear you eat or drink. Ever. Drink in sips. Even large ones are fine. Nobody is chasing you...except maybe me with a baseball bat, ready to plow the head off of your shoulders when you drink like that.

Up talk. Never heard of it? Guess you don't live on the Left Coast. There's been a lot of research and discussion about the spread of this manner of speech. If you haven't heard it, consider yourself lucky. Let me demonstrate for you? It's the kind of speech? Where you end every sentence with a question? Mostly done by women? But some men are guilty as well? Are you irritated yet? Looks completely fucktarded in the typed form, in the spoken form it makes you sound like a fucking idiot. I often ask when spoken to this way, "Are you asking or telling?" If you are telling me something, I want to hear the period. How can you be constantly unsure of yourself? Can you be that dumb? Is it possible? Speak with confidence or shut the fuck up. Why bother having a conversation if you haven't a clue if anything out of your mouth is true? If you doubt it, why should I believe it? Get a grip, grow a pair, and speak like you mean it.

These are just a few things that drive me out of my fucking mind. There are so many more and I simply don't have the time today to share them with you. If you are one of these people, if you see yourself in any of these descriptions and you can fix the problem, do it. Do it soon, do it now, do it long before you come into contact with me. I may not comment on your physical abnormality but the moronic behavior is completely subject to my barbed tongue. Doubt me? Don't think I'll say anything? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Parental Failures

As I sit here with my drink, pondering life and why kids today are little fuckers, I am struck by the similarities in all the parenting. By similarities I mean their complete and total fuck-ups. Many of the parents I speak of today are my contemporaries because they waited longer than I to start a family. Perhaps this is part of the reason they raise their children the way they do. Maybe they are just idiots. But someone needs to get to the bottom of this quickly. On the heels of the Santa Barbara shooting spree, I feel the need to address poor parenting now more than ever. We are seeing a rise in teenagers going bat-shit crazy and nobody is taking a moment to figure out WHY?!?! Gun-control advocates are up in arms and NRA supporters are responding in kind. Is this really the issue? Partly. However, what I am seeing, what you should be seeing, is a bunch of kids with untreated, improperly treated, and/or undiagnosed mental illnesses and really crappy parenting.

Parents in denial. While it's very difficult to accept that your child isn't perfect, you are not doing your job as a parent if you ignore red flags. Nobody wants their child to have a disease. For some reason, it seems to be easier to accept that a child has diabetes or celiac disease than it is to wrap the mind around bipolar disorder. Yet all are diseases, all can be diagnosed, treated, and managed to help a child live a fairly normal life. So, why are parents afraid to open their eyes and truly see their children? Why is it so hard to say, "My child has a mental health issue" out loud...or in your head? Mine has anxiety disorder. Yes, my child suffers from panic attacks, just like dear old mom. Sweeping it under the rug would have made her life miserable. She'd have floundered in school, been unable to properly socialize, unequipped to cope with the stresses of daily life as a teenager in today's society. My love for my child was all I needed to make sure she got the help she needed.

But it isn't just diseases of the mind that cause children to go full-asshole. I blame shitty parents. Oh, you know who you are. The under-involved jackasses who use overindulgence to assuage their fleeting feelings of guilt for being unavailable to their children. The dumb shits who think they can be their child's friend and decide that treating a four year old like an equal, giving them more choices than they can emotionally handle and more power than they should ever have is a fantastic idea. The fucktards who use technology to entertain their little annoyances effectively rendering them brain-dead because they've only learned two things from this: instant gratification and zero attention span. The ass hats who never let their kids learn coping skills because they step in and rescue them at every turn, never teaching them accountability. What does this do to the developing little minds of children? Creates fucking monsters.

But you don't think so. You think you are doing a bang-up job. Kids raised this way are completely unequipped to handle life. The jackasses who try to buy their children's love are only turning them into greedy, entitled little shits who think that the world owes them something and can't accept no for an answer. Those kids grow up and think they'll get executive level jobs right out of college, and when they don't...they come back and live with you because life threw them a curve ball they couldn't catch. Good job, moron. The dumb shits who allow their kids to rule the house should start preparing now for the hell that is going to rain down on them when these bossy fuckers reach their glorious teenage years and decide they don't have to listen to you...their decisions have always been the driving force, why shouldn't they be now? And heaven help you if you think you are going to start lowering the boom at that point. They will laugh in your old ass face and do whatever they want to.

Now let's discuss my two favorites. The fucktards who jam iPads into the hands of two year olds to keep them quiet and out of their hair. Instant gratification isn't possible 24/7. But they expect life to be like the screen they stare at for hours and hours. It sure as shit ain't! Their lack of attention span will do them no favors in school when they get diagnosed with ADD or ADHD, but really, we all know it's because they've never had to sit down and do a task from start to finish. Tap the screen and a new game pops up, hit restart and do it over again. Never learning how to make mistakes and learn from them. Never acquiring the patience it takes to see a project through. Nice. And of course, the The ass hats who take on their child's stresses for them, berating teachers for giving too much homework or God-forbid saying their child is somehow imperfect. They will blame others, make excuses, and tell the teacher she is dead wrong. They don't let children take their punches. Kids can't fight anymore without parents stepping in and having discussions with the other child's parents to try to fix it. How will they ever learn disappointment? How will they figure out how to deal with anything negative? Oh, right, they won't. But are you willing to follow them to college and beyond, shielding them from life's blows?

This kind of ridiculous parenting is what is creating the monsters of today. The kids who have no impulse control. The ones who can't deal with the basics of life. Teenagers who think life owes them and get really, truly angry when they don't get what they believe they deserve. Frustrated and angry, they go through the day without the faintest clue as to how to feel better about themselves. They turn to drugs, alcohol, self-mutilation, eating disorders, risk-taking behaviors, sexual promiscuity, and taking it out on others...all in the name of gaining some kind of control over their world. Because they've never learned how! Thanks to your horrific parenting, these kids are drowning in a sea of their own shit with no way of getting out. Thanks to you, they are hurting themselves and others. Does your method still work for you? Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Playground Rules for Adults: Part 2

You didn't think I was done, did you? The behavior I've witnessed requires me to continue where I left off...and just as pissed as I was yesterday. If we didn't have the shield of our computer screens or smartphones to hide behind, perhaps many of us wouldn't be such rotten human beings. It's when you take the bravado felt when typing away and bring it out of hiding and into the public eye, we start to have real problems. Cyber-bullying is bad enough, it breaks down the resolve of fragile young men and women who are just beginning to come into their own, figuring out who they are and who they want to be. But when people feel ballsy enough to come face to face with another human and treat them like shit, our world starts deteriorating to the point of no return. But this isn't just about being mean, because I'm sure many of you think I'm mean, too. What I am, what you're not..is honest and straightforward. Remember, I'm from NY...according to you, I have no filter, no feelings, and no class, right?  Dancing around that aside, and moving into the meat of the matter, I'd like to continue to point out where you are going horribly wrong.

4.  Condescending:  Don't even try to deny it. Hell, there are times I am condescending. Shocking, I know. But I can admit my guilt in this area. There are times that people are just so incredibly fucking stupid, I start to wonder if they need reminders to breathe. Breathe? Shit, there are some that I'm convinced could and would drown in the rain. So, I have been known to speak slowly and possibly in a mocking fashion to those with whom I am having a particularly challenging conversation. I hate having to explain the basics to anyone but small children. If you've reached a certain age, one in which you can successfully care for yourself, earn a living, and stay relatively healthy...I shouldn't have to speak in monosyllabic sentences, defining words as I go along. However, I'd like to address the folks who do this ALL the fucking time. People who think everyone is a step away from window-licking idiot and needs long-winded explanations of every topic under the sun. Going through life assuming everyone is stupid and you are the only person with an education beyond the third grade is not only presumptuous but absolutely untrue. Most people have advanced degrees these days and aren't blathering morons, bumping into walls and apologizing. We don't need to have things explained...as a matter of fact, it pisses us off. How about attempting to just have a normal conversation? You be amazed at our ability to not only keep up, but also drive the conversation forward.  Most people are not as smart at they think they are...which is likely why they keep trying to convince us of their genius.

5.  Exaggeration:  This has to be one of the most annoying forms of dishonesty I encounter. Story-telling is an art, I am aware. Many people are not adept at getting and keeping the attention of others long enough to actually tell a tale. But when you try to do so by adding and padding the actual facts with bullshit, I lose my fucking marbles. It's not difficult to pick out the pantloads from the actual events. Don't think that the folks listening aren't mentally picking your story apart and counting down to the moment they are able to pick YOU apart to the other people listening with them. Of course, these buttwads are only outdone by their counterparts who pad a story by using one of the characters as comedic relief by making them out to be bumbling, drooling morons. While I'm certain SOME of the facts may be somewhat true, most people aren't as completely fucking dumb as the stories told about them.  I went to school with a girl who told stories like this and I can't believe she still has teeth after I was forced to listen to them. I must have been able to thrust myself into a state of Zen tranquility while enduring yet another story where I starred in the role of Jackass the Clown. Today, I'd probably cut her down to size so deftly she wouldn't have time to bleed. Here's the take away from this, if the story doesn't have legs of its own, don't attempt to sew on prosthetic ones. The enemies you'll gain from a moment of laughter aren't worth that moment.

6.  Bragging:  Christ on a crutch, I feel like I've beaten this topic to death. Yet, here I am revisiting it yet again. And why? Because it doesn't stop! People still feel the need to shove what they believe is their good fortune into the faces of others for no other reason than to make those folks feel like shit. Not everything is worth sharing. Trust me, your life is no better than the lives of most, and no one cares enough to have to hear, read, or see photo montages of the minutiae. You got flowers? Great! So did thousands of other women today...and I've not heard a peep out of them. Love your job? Awesome! So do countless others, but they are too busy actually doing that job to bore us to death about it. Bought something new that you just adore? Fanfuckingtastic! Many people buy things they like because buying things they hate is waste of fucking money, douchebag. Your kids are great? Thank God! Because no one else has children they love and adore and think are pretty fantastic, too....right? The difference between you both is that they are enjoying their children in the moment instead of looking for ways to make them seem better than yours. Now who's the asshole?

Now that I've pointed out a few more of your faults, I'd like to make a suggestion. Knock it the fuck off! Unless you want to die alone, surrounded by cats, lying in a pool of your own filth...you have to start acting like a human being. Treat people with respect. Be considerate of someone else besides yourself. Stop being the person that everyone dreads seeing because what comes out of your mouth is either poison, bullshit, or meant to make them feel like less than you. Here I am holding out high hopes that you'll listen to me. You won't because you can't. Once an asshole, always an asshole. Doubt me? Look in the mirror. Are you friggin kidding me right now???

Playground Rules for Adults: Part 1

It's a damn shame that this is even necessary, but you've forced me to compile yet another list to help you act like a person instead of a fucking buffoon. When did the world become all about you? Did the memo bypass my inbox? Who died and left you Queen of All? I've sat by and watched people become more arrogant, more self-absorbed, more entitled, and far less compassionate about others than I've ever seen in my entire life and it sickens me. You, sir, sicken me. Aside from all the bleeding heart TV commercials trying to make us believe that there are humanitarians and selfless volunteers on every street corner, which as we all know is bullshit, what I see and witness on a daily basis is a bunch of selfish assholes making the lives of everyone with whom they come in contact, miserable. Why? Why the hell are people such douche bags in 2014? I don't know, and frankly, I don't care. I do care about the poor schleps that have to deal with the shit spewing from the mouths of jerk-offs. So, I've put together a list of some of things you are clearly doing wrong, and advice regarding how to check yourself before your wreck yourself.

1.  Arrogance:  Nobody likes people who behave like angry know-it-alls.   You know exactly to whom I am referring. Those lovely folks who traipse around making sure you are aware of just how truly knowledgeable they are while neglecting to acknowledge that someone may, indeed, have another viewpoint, opinion, or God-for-freaking-bid, more facts about the topic. They don't give a rat's ass what you think because they *know* that they are right, their opinion matters more, and you are a dumbass, anyway. Ever notice that these geniuses are often less educated, less informed, less eloquent-sounding, and dare I say it, at times, less attractive than the person at whom they are railing? Yes, I do believe that there is a tad bit of jealousy deep in the rotting hearts of the arrogant bastards of the world. Most people who feel the intense need to blow their own horns, pat their own backs, and kiss their own fat asses...are the most insecure people you'll ever have the misfortune of meeting. Sad, but not sad enough to waste your pity on these asshats.

2.  Rudeness:  The rudeness of which I speak is the mistreatment of service people. While I realize that their job IS to serve you and do it with skill, swiftness, and a smile...it is not in their contracts to kiss your ass, be run ragged, or to allow you to treat them like day old crap. They are first and foremost human beings which affords them certain dignities, not the least of which is being treated with respect. How many of you have forgotten to say "please" and "thank you" to your waiter or waitress? Can you recall the last time you told your dry cleaner what a great job they've done with your 3,000th coffee stain on your dress shirts? When you speak to the cashier at your local supermarket, do you bother to make eye contact? Starbucks employees are generally among the friendliest...do you reciprocate in kind or do you just bitch them out about the temperature of your drink? Imagine for a moment having to brew your own cup of coffee, you lazy prick. You no longer need to do that thanks to the nice barista who is more than happy to do it FOR you. There is a reason we have service people...we want to be served! They are thrilled to do the things you don't want to do for yourself. How about being nice to them for a change? Picture life without them...scary, isn't it?

3.  Moodiness:  I don't mean the inevitable shift in your personality due to hormonal ebbs and flows, ladies. Oh and fuck the men who can't handle it. I am referring to the folks, male and female who just can't seem to get their emotions in check. Everyone has problems, frustrations, and hard luck every now and again. We are all entitled to express ourselves in the manner in which we see fit...to a degree. To a degree is the operative phrase here. We can confide in a friend, scream into a pillow, sing sad songs till tears soak our shirts, run until we are out of breath, or even write about it. What we are not permitted to do, and I know many of you aren't aware of this, is take it out on other people. There are scant few occasions that the person who is taking the brunt of your lack of emotional control is the actual cause of your angst. And even if they are the reason, they don't deserve abuse. I say abuse because yelling, sniping, insulting, dirty looks, the silent treatment, passive-aggressive communication, and acting like an ass can all be forms of emotional and verbal abuse...and no one on this planet deserves it. Even people who suck.

These are merely a few of the things I've caught you doing when you thought no one was paying attention. Maybe you didn't care. The people with whom you came in contact did. When you ruined their day, made them cry, or just frustrated the fuck out of them...I noticed and so did they. Stop being a total fuckwad and start treating people the way you believe you should be treated. Unless you don't mind being treated like shit...because one day, one fine day, you will get what you dish out returned to you. And you won't be able to handle it.  Are you friggin kidding me right now???

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???