I have things. Sometimes I have a lot of things. I like to bring these things with me when I go places. A wallet, phone, an astrolabe. You know, the normal stuff. But I can't, because I have no pockets.
I'm a woman, and I don't know if you have seen the recent selection of clothes lately, but our pants don't have pockets. I think I heard somewhere that women wanted their asses to look good, and to do that they got rid of pockets. It worked! My ass looks wonderful when I drop my shit on my feet because I didn't have a fucking pocket to put it in.
I'm guessing you're wondering why I don't just get a purse. Well, because pants are supposed to have fucking pockets, that's why. For any normal person, pockets are enough.
Not all women carry purses. I know, this is a shock. But it's also true. I don't spend hours in the store trying to find a purse that will match every outfit I own. I'm lucky if I can get my shirt to match my pants. My annoyingly useless pocketless pants.
Since I don't want a purse, and I don't have pockets, I had to do something. So we bought a car. I know, this seems extreme. It also didn't work. Because then my kids shit filled up the car. Their cups, their bags, their extra everything was flowing all over the car like the Red Sea when Moses left *splash*. I feel like the clothing companies owe me compensation for this gigantic mistake. I thought it would be like a really big pocket. And it was! For my kids, who apparently need pockets too.
So we got a minivan instead. And now I feel like a "soccer mom". You know what soccer moms have? A whole lot of shit to take with them and no fucking pockets. The minivan helps with this issue. It's called a "mini"van, but the thing is a fucking beast. It's so much of a beast, it came with its own fucking pockets. Not that it helps, because eventually I have to leave the car.
I guess that's what a purse is for.
*For those who may be wondering. I do not carry a purse. It's a bag. A rustic, not fashionable bag. It even has holes.*
Friday, March 22, 2013
Friday, March 15, 2013
The "Don't Do That!" Pregnancy
I have Baby Specks. So I've been through the pregnancy thing a few times.
You have the aches, the pains, the nausea, the it's-not-just-for-mornings sickness, the doctor appointments, the weight gain, the swollen everything. But I think the one thing that pisses me off most about pregnancy, is the fact that once people find out you're pregnant they feel the need to repeat the age old condescending question. "Should you be doing that?"
I call them the "don't do that" friends. But they don't have to be friends. Hell, you don't even have to know these assholes. Something about someone being pregnant makes random people think that they can give you any bit of advice by pointing to your belly and asking "should you be doing that?"... No, I probably shouldn't. But I also don't give a fuck about your opinion. So there's that.
They will do this about anything.
The second slice of cake - "Should you eat that?"
A cup of soda - "Caffeine is bad for the baby, should you drink that?"
Lifting - "That's too heavy, should you be lifting that?"
But the biggest "don't do that" starters are smoking and drinking. A sip of wine to welcome the New Year will get gasps all around, and a quick smoke after denying yourself all week? Holy shit! You would think you just set a bible on fire.
When I was pregnant for my third child, I had a very hard time quitting. And these "should you?" people are so numerous I had to send my Brother Speck to the store for my cigarettes because the clerk would tell me "you shouldn't be doing that". Every. Single. Time. Do they stand in line to tell you that you're going to die of cancer when you're not pregnant? No. Do they give you dirty looks when you have a small glass of wine at the end of a long day when you haven't spent that day growing another person? Not at all. But something about being your 'glowy' self tells people that they can be farther inside your business than your gynecologist.
Probably even more condescending than "should you be doing that?", are the times you don't get asked. You get told.
Those are the "I would offer you, but..." assholes. Yeah, they exist. And man alive, these people have some balls. It would take some gigantically rude balls to say that to a fat woman "Well, I would offer you cake, but...". So why, in your wildest dreams, do you deem it necessary to say something like that to a pregnant woman? For any reason? Do you feel an obligation to protect her child? If you do, that's fucking creepy, leave her alone. People like you are the reason restraining orders exist.
You never know what being judged is like until you become a parent. Before that baby is even born you are judged by what you eat, drink, say, do, or wear by random strangers. "You shouldn't", "you can't", and "should you?" all grace your ears on a daily basis. But take satisfaction with the fact that sometimes, just now and then, it's okay to shove these people into a tiny suitcase and throw them off of a bridge. Because, hey! You're pregnant, blame it on the hormones. Everyone else does.
*Now, don't get me wrong. Women all know these things are bad for a growing fetus, probably even more so than you (you know, because people like you won't let us forget). Which is why we stop these things during pregnancy as often as possible. But for those that can't, or don't I'm pretty sure it isn't any business of yours. Unless of course you had a friend who knew someone once somewhere who... Oh wait, never mind. It's still none of your business*
You have the aches, the pains, the nausea, the it's-not-just-for-mornings sickness, the doctor appointments, the weight gain, the swollen everything. But I think the one thing that pisses me off most about pregnancy, is the fact that once people find out you're pregnant they feel the need to repeat the age old condescending question. "Should you be doing that?"
I call them the "don't do that" friends. But they don't have to be friends. Hell, you don't even have to know these assholes. Something about someone being pregnant makes random people think that they can give you any bit of advice by pointing to your belly and asking "should you be doing that?"... No, I probably shouldn't. But I also don't give a fuck about your opinion. So there's that.
They will do this about anything.
The second slice of cake - "Should you eat that?"
A cup of soda - "Caffeine is bad for the baby, should you drink that?"
Lifting - "That's too heavy, should you be lifting that?"
But the biggest "don't do that" starters are smoking and drinking. A sip of wine to welcome the New Year will get gasps all around, and a quick smoke after denying yourself all week? Holy shit! You would think you just set a bible on fire.
When I was pregnant for my third child, I had a very hard time quitting. And these "should you?" people are so numerous I had to send my Brother Speck to the store for my cigarettes because the clerk would tell me "you shouldn't be doing that". Every. Single. Time. Do they stand in line to tell you that you're going to die of cancer when you're not pregnant? No. Do they give you dirty looks when you have a small glass of wine at the end of a long day when you haven't spent that day growing another person? Not at all. But something about being your 'glowy' self tells people that they can be farther inside your business than your gynecologist.
Probably even more condescending than "should you be doing that?", are the times you don't get asked. You get told.
Those are the "I would offer you, but..." assholes. Yeah, they exist. And man alive, these people have some balls. It would take some gigantically rude balls to say that to a fat woman "Well, I would offer you cake, but...". So why, in your wildest dreams, do you deem it necessary to say something like that to a pregnant woman? For any reason? Do you feel an obligation to protect her child? If you do, that's fucking creepy, leave her alone. People like you are the reason restraining orders exist.
You never know what being judged is like until you become a parent. Before that baby is even born you are judged by what you eat, drink, say, do, or wear by random strangers. "You shouldn't", "you can't", and "should you?" all grace your ears on a daily basis. But take satisfaction with the fact that sometimes, just now and then, it's okay to shove these people into a tiny suitcase and throw them off of a bridge. Because, hey! You're pregnant, blame it on the hormones. Everyone else does.
*Now, don't get me wrong. Women all know these things are bad for a growing fetus, probably even more so than you (you know, because people like you won't let us forget). Which is why we stop these things during pregnancy as often as possible. But for those that can't, or don't I'm pretty sure it isn't any business of yours. Unless of course you had a friend who knew someone once somewhere who... Oh wait, never mind. It's still none of your business*
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
The Creepy Crawlies
I have Pet Specks. But these pets aren't the normal every day pets that most people have. You know those things you squish when they come into your home? Yeah, those are my pets. Spiders, Lizards, and Snakes. I love these guys for many reasons. Here are just a few.
Antisocial Qualities - I have them. I'm not a huge fan of people, and that makes these pets the best pets for me. You know why? Because no one wants to come over for dinner when there's a snake watching you eat. And if they do, we may actually get along.
They Don't Lie - I'm sure you're saying "My pets don't lie either!". But you're currently being lied to. As we speak, your snugly little kitten, or loving little puppy, is learning your weaknesses. They are plotting against you and one day, you may lose an arm. They're lying little bastards, pretending to be your friend until you don't give them the correct bone. I hope you didn't enjoy having that side of your face.
My pets, they don't fuck around. Eventually they WILL bite you, and it WILL suck. And when that moment comes, you can't be shocked and say "I didn't see it coming!". It was a ten inch spider you dumb-fuck, of course you saw it coming.
They're Low Maintenance - No. Stop right there. The dog you have to walk five times a day just so it shits on your bed at night is NOT low maintenance. Cleaning up cat barf that smells like week old tuna because it ate that weird looking dead thing on the ground, is NOT low maintenance. Low maintenance is giving a bit of food and water, sitting back, and watching the show. Because these guys are pretty awesome when they hunt for food. Have you ever seen a dog or cat eat their crunchy bits? Highly entertaining for the feeble minded I'm sure.
They're A Great Conversation Starter - You're welcome to say that you have a dog or a cat, and even what breed. That's pretty much as far as that topic will ever go. But you can spend hours talking about these pets, because not only are they awesome, they're all different. And you can have more than four before you have to have a kennel license inside city limits.
Last but not least - You Don't Have To Board Them - Yeah, that weekend you were gone and had someone walk and care for your dog? The dog wasn't impressed. So you came home to your couch stuffing spread all over the apartment. That cat you lovingly left plenty of food and water for, the one night you spent away? He shit on your pillow and covered it with toilet paper. How nice of him.
My pets don't even pretend to love me. So if I go away for a bit, they really couldn't care any less than they already do.
My pets are awesome. Shove off.
*Some people don't like my pets. And because of this they refuse to come into my home. I have never understood this. They are caged. Grow a pair. After you've gone to grow some balls, you may realize my pets still bother you. That's okay. But the first time you threaten to squish them, I'll let them eat you. Then I'll step on your cats tail. You know, for good measure.*
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Surgery
Sorry for my absence. I had surgery a few weeks ago and just decided to get off my ass to write again.
Unfortunately though, I'm feeling much better. Why is this an unfortunate thing? Because I'm a mom. As a mom being sick just means more work. It's that much harder to get out of bed and do the things you do every other day. But surgery is like the long lost friend you never knew you wanted to have. When I hurt, I laid down. When I was tired, I slept. These may seem like trivial things to the childless, but they are pure gold to those who know what it feels like to have a toy car shoved up their nose while they're sleeping, and only waking to the faint "beep beep" noise that's being made during this process.
Have you ever noticed how once you get a longer break than normal from... Life... It's hard to get back into the swing of things? It's like a long weekend on steroids. By the end of it you're either praying the car doesn't start the next day, or you're slamming on the gas so hard it turns into some fucked up version of a Flintstones vehicle.
And now that I'm finally back into the swing of things I need a shrink to get over the bill shock. Oh yes. Emergency surgery without any insurance is such a joy. These bastards somehow convinced someone that I owe them money. I'm not sure I understand the process. I thought you "paid an arm and a leg" but these fuckers will take your arm and leg and then make you pay for it.
Ahh well, such is life right? You move on, get well, and write "return to sender" on every scrap of mail you get for the next few weeks hoping someone thinks you died from infection.
Unfortunately though, I'm feeling much better. Why is this an unfortunate thing? Because I'm a mom. As a mom being sick just means more work. It's that much harder to get out of bed and do the things you do every other day. But surgery is like the long lost friend you never knew you wanted to have. When I hurt, I laid down. When I was tired, I slept. These may seem like trivial things to the childless, but they are pure gold to those who know what it feels like to have a toy car shoved up their nose while they're sleeping, and only waking to the faint "beep beep" noise that's being made during this process.
Have you ever noticed how once you get a longer break than normal from... Life... It's hard to get back into the swing of things? It's like a long weekend on steroids. By the end of it you're either praying the car doesn't start the next day, or you're slamming on the gas so hard it turns into some fucked up version of a Flintstones vehicle.
And now that I'm finally back into the swing of things I need a shrink to get over the bill shock. Oh yes. Emergency surgery without any insurance is such a joy. These bastards somehow convinced someone that I owe them money. I'm not sure I understand the process. I thought you "paid an arm and a leg" but these fuckers will take your arm and leg and then make you pay for it.
Ahh well, such is life right? You move on, get well, and write "return to sender" on every scrap of mail you get for the next few weeks hoping someone thinks you died from infection.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
The Snowy North
It's been a bit since I have written. Life happens...
We are moving soon. North. This makes me very happy, because north means snow. I love the snow and the cold. I love it because you can always put more clothes on... But when it's too warm there comes a point in the attempt to get cool that you get locked up for fanning your nude self in the parking lot of Wal-Mart. People don't like that, I hear it's a family establishment.
When I say north you imagine the far snowy north of Alaska or The Yukon where you can get icicles to form on your eyelashes just by stepping outside. But really I mean New Hampshire, which is, aside from Maine, as far north as you can get without needing a passport and an Idiots Guide To French. I don't speak French, and no matter how much I say I like the cold, I definitely don't want to be the moron standing in the street trying to read my Idiot Guide through the icicles on my face because I lost my hotel. Those Canadians can keep their bacon. I'm not interested.
That's one extreme. Then there is the other. Heat. You know what I'm talking about. Searing, cook eggs on a rock outside, bloody fucking burn in hell heat. I lived in Missouri for most of my childhood, there are weeks in the summer there where you can't go outside because the humidity will suffocate you and the heat is like an oven. Temperatures can get to be 115 - 120 degrees. Yes, you heard right. One Hundred and Twenty degrees. I've had ovens that didn't get that fucking hot. Granted that's when I lived in my meant-for-rats apartment, but that's beside the point.
I hate the heat. The only good thing about heat is that you can go swimming. Swimming is such a nice pastime. The whole family will get together and go to the lake, river, or ocean and spend the day getting burnt to a fucking crisp. Then you spend the rest of the week recovering with a bottle of Aloe clutched in your hand like it's your first born son and you forgot to paint your door red. Shit.
So to the semi-north it is. Where the snow is just right and the streets are paved with thermometers that don't raise above 90.
*If you are Canadian, you have bigger balls than I... Also, please send bacon*
We are moving soon. North. This makes me very happy, because north means snow. I love the snow and the cold. I love it because you can always put more clothes on... But when it's too warm there comes a point in the attempt to get cool that you get locked up for fanning your nude self in the parking lot of Wal-Mart. People don't like that, I hear it's a family establishment.
When I say north you imagine the far snowy north of Alaska or The Yukon where you can get icicles to form on your eyelashes just by stepping outside. But really I mean New Hampshire, which is, aside from Maine, as far north as you can get without needing a passport and an Idiots Guide To French. I don't speak French, and no matter how much I say I like the cold, I definitely don't want to be the moron standing in the street trying to read my Idiot Guide through the icicles on my face because I lost my hotel. Those Canadians can keep their bacon. I'm not interested.
That's one extreme. Then there is the other. Heat. You know what I'm talking about. Searing, cook eggs on a rock outside, bloody fucking burn in hell heat. I lived in Missouri for most of my childhood, there are weeks in the summer there where you can't go outside because the humidity will suffocate you and the heat is like an oven. Temperatures can get to be 115 - 120 degrees. Yes, you heard right. One Hundred and Twenty degrees. I've had ovens that didn't get that fucking hot. Granted that's when I lived in my meant-for-rats apartment, but that's beside the point.
I hate the heat. The only good thing about heat is that you can go swimming. Swimming is such a nice pastime. The whole family will get together and go to the lake, river, or ocean and spend the day getting burnt to a fucking crisp. Then you spend the rest of the week recovering with a bottle of Aloe clutched in your hand like it's your first born son and you forgot to paint your door red. Shit.
So to the semi-north it is. Where the snow is just right and the streets are paved with thermometers that don't raise above 90.
*If you are Canadian, you have bigger balls than I... Also, please send bacon*
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Class Rules
This country has a serious problem. That problem is admitting there is a problem...
I'm going to take a minute to talk about class rules. And yes *gasp*, class status still exists. Those who don't believe it does, have enough money to not give a shit.
Class rules are a lot like "the bro code". They are unspoken rules that all classes abide by. The rules that if you don't abide by you could end up punched in the face by a Broke Ass Bitch who would rather be in jail for punching your Rich Ass so they can get three meals a day. These rules are as follows...
1 - "Only poor people can call other poor people poor." - Don't make the mistake of thinking anything else is acceptable behavior. It's not, shut the fuck up or you'll get punched.
2 - "If you make more than 60,000 dollars a year then you have no right to complain about needing to make more money." - It's amazing how many people I find doing this. Bitch, if you get your stupid ass out of your 50,000 dollar hummer you might not fucking need to "make more money". Shut the fuck up, you're a douche.
3 - "Don't think you're poor when you're not" - One thing that really gets me, are the morons that act like they are poor when they are eating a four coarse meal for dinner, but cry because they can't afford their brand new 85 inch television. If you haven't had to wipe your Broke ass with toilet paper stolen from the McDonald's bathroom then shut the fuck up.
4 - "First world problems" - Oh yeah, we all have them from time to time. But it's okay when a broke ass bitch has first world problems, because they know what REAL problems are. But if all you have to worry about is that ding on your Volvo then shut the fuck up.
5 - "Only rich people own homes" - That's right. Worrying about a mortgage is a Rich Bitches problem. If you haven't paid your rent in spare change, or worried about the unwelcome tenants living alongside you in your "meant-for-rats" apartment then I don't want to hear about your "issues". Shut the fuck up, you're pitiful.
I always thought these class rules had no reason to be spoken, but those Rich Bitches don't understand respect. Fuck.
Something you learn pretty fucking quick when you're a Poor Mother Fucker is that class still stands. Rich Bitches don't understand this. They don't see you as any different than them. Until you have a headache and they don't understand why you don't buy a bottle of Tylenol. I can't fucking afford it that's why. But if you want to give me some of the stock you have in it I'll be happy. Rich Bitch.
*If you are a Rich Bitch... Fuck it, I got nothin'*
I'm going to take a minute to talk about class rules. And yes *gasp*, class status still exists. Those who don't believe it does, have enough money to not give a shit.
Class rules are a lot like "the bro code". They are unspoken rules that all classes abide by. The rules that if you don't abide by you could end up punched in the face by a Broke Ass Bitch who would rather be in jail for punching your Rich Ass so they can get three meals a day. These rules are as follows...
1 - "Only poor people can call other poor people poor." - Don't make the mistake of thinking anything else is acceptable behavior. It's not, shut the fuck up or you'll get punched.
2 - "If you make more than 60,000 dollars a year then you have no right to complain about needing to make more money." - It's amazing how many people I find doing this. Bitch, if you get your stupid ass out of your 50,000 dollar hummer you might not fucking need to "make more money". Shut the fuck up, you're a douche.
3 - "Don't think you're poor when you're not" - One thing that really gets me, are the morons that act like they are poor when they are eating a four coarse meal for dinner, but cry because they can't afford their brand new 85 inch television. If you haven't had to wipe your Broke ass with toilet paper stolen from the McDonald's bathroom then shut the fuck up.
4 - "First world problems" - Oh yeah, we all have them from time to time. But it's okay when a broke ass bitch has first world problems, because they know what REAL problems are. But if all you have to worry about is that ding on your Volvo then shut the fuck up.
5 - "Only rich people own homes" - That's right. Worrying about a mortgage is a Rich Bitches problem. If you haven't paid your rent in spare change, or worried about the unwelcome tenants living alongside you in your "meant-for-rats" apartment then I don't want to hear about your "issues". Shut the fuck up, you're pitiful.
I always thought these class rules had no reason to be spoken, but those Rich Bitches don't understand respect. Fuck.
Something you learn pretty fucking quick when you're a Poor Mother Fucker is that class still stands. Rich Bitches don't understand this. They don't see you as any different than them. Until you have a headache and they don't understand why you don't buy a bottle of Tylenol. I can't fucking afford it that's why. But if you want to give me some of the stock you have in it I'll be happy. Rich Bitch.
*If you are a Rich Bitch... Fuck it, I got nothin'*
Monday, November 26, 2012
Chain Updates
I hate chain updates...
They
used to be called "chain mail". Those were the good ole' days when you
could see the subject and delete it ASAP... But now they come in status
updates or pictures. Plastered all over your Social Network. They sit there gazing at you through the depths of
the insanely stupid.
- "Now that you have started reading this you must finish or...."
Guess what? Nothing happens.
But they keep coming. You're just forced to read and shake your head. My neck is kinked...
- "You will be cursed for the next ten years by...."
Your
mom? Because if you don't stop updating your status with bullshit I'm
going to kick you in the face. That may piss her off. So I guess you're
right. Sorry I didn't forward your crap.
If those aren't bad enough you also have the fake statistics...
- "My puppy died! I know 99% of you won't have the guts to re-post this..."
You're
wrong. I have the guts. I just don't give a shit. I don't give a damn
about your random picture of your ugly smelly dog with your random fake
statistic. I am your fake as shit 99%... Deal with it.
Or the
- "Like if you care, ignore if you don't"
Seriously?
I'm pretty sure my mom doesn't give a fuck if I scroll by your stupid
picture that claims I don't love my mom if I don't re-post your stupid
picture about loving my mom. I'm not clogging up my media with your
stupid "like whore" bullshit.
And last but definitely not least you have the "re-post without facts". These ones can be pretty
funny. Especially since they get a beating when it comes to Memes. But they have "chain status" plastered all
over them. Though, to the ones who don't care about facts and only care
about having a false sense of security these are gems of the Social
Network scene.
- "Facebook is going to start making you pay for use unless you..."
^ starts a riot while being a total lie
- "The galaxies are colliding and the end of the world is coming!"
^ starts a riot while missing key information (in four billion years)
But
people keep believing in the shady lies of the internet. And until the
planet becomes more informed we can all continue to have a laugh (or
tear) at their expense. Or we can just wait until the world ends. Which ever comes first.
*If you are a poster of chain updates... We need to talk*
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