Thursday, April 30, 2009
That might be the lamest excuse ever for buying a new car.
It has been nearly 6 years that we have been “family” now. And of those 6
wonderful years, you have been a bitch THE ENTIRE TIME. I do not like you. I realize that I married YOUR brother. Something you may not realize is that he is your BROTHER, not your HUSBAND. The next time your taillight goes out in your Tahoe (that you can’t afford but just had to have), ask your husband to change it, not mine. Do not have your 8 year old son call me asking if we can buy your lame ass some milk and bread because you have nothing to eat in your house. The last time I checked, that’s called child endangerment (the fact that you have no food and have your 8 year old son calling asking for some). I will provide for the children because I feel it is unfair to them. However, I will not give you money to support your drug habit. There, I said it. You. Have. A. Drug. Problem. GET HELP!
On another note, stop making everyone feel sorry for you. The next time your loser husband goes out on you, listen to us when we say we have photographic evidence of this fact. Maybe if you get another letter from department of child support asking for a DNA sample from your husband because he may or may not be the father of some 20 year old girl’s illegitimate child that now needs help raising said illegitimate child, you will get a clue.
And finally, when your car is out of gas and you borrow your parents’ vehicle, I DO NOT want to know that you were borrowing their car to make it to your nail appointment on time and will be back home right after you stop and buy some cigarettes!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
I am cheating on you because you won't give me sex. Don't worry, though...there is no emotional feelings I have for this other man. I don't think I can muster up enough energy to feel much any more. I've wasted all my energy on you.
Maybe if you acknowledged my needs (primal and emotional) we would be happier.
But you insist on playing WOW for 20 hours a day. You won't get a job...I guess you figure it is alright for me to pay all of the bills.
Unfortunately, that does not give me any extra money to file the divorce papers.
Maybe some other gamer chick will be attracted to your bitch tits.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
|The quality of the paper product in my office has been on the decline for quite some time. I can handle the printer paper that is only one slight grade above news print. I will tolerate the paper towels that you could read through. I understand why we don't even get paper plates anymore. But what I will not stand for is the fact that the toilet paper in my office is now ONE PLY and SO CHEAP it can no longer support its own weight on the giant roll. Thus, anyone who wants to use the restroom, rather than getting a single long piece of TP, ends up with a handful of teeny tiny scraps of toilet paper. We want toilet paper, not confettie! I know you all are trying to save a few bucks but really this is getting ridiculous. Buy some two ply you cheap bastards! |
If this is not your first time at Starbucks, why are you asking "how big is your medium?" and "do you have bagels?" and a million other inane questions?! Do you not know that the people in line behind you haven't had coffee yet and are mildly homicidal?!?
Monday, April 27, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
So, I just wanted to vent for a moment and confess.
I am in no way shape or form technologically savvy.
I just started to text like 3 months ago. It was pissing off my family that I would call them instead of just ordering them around via text. I actually wanted to hear their voices.... They stopped answering me, and after leaving over 100 messages on various voice mails (note to all: 17 year old boys do not check their voice mails because 17 years girls do not leave messages)
I finally broke down, bought a phone with a key board and began to text. Not that I'm any good at it. I must be sitting still with no distractions, like in a parked car with the radio off for them to make any sense what so ever. God forbid if I try to text while driving! They look like this… "wh34s r u" My kids think I'm cursing at them.
So I have learning to stop doing that and probably save my life and possibly somebody else’s.
But now.. in addition to texting and a blog I have been sucked into the world of Facebook.
I have a very basic understanding of this whole situation. But I really like to see all my friends and their pictures and take some random pointless quiz that tells me what alcoholic beverage I am most like. (By the way I am sitting at work with very few distractions and still spelled alcoholic so bad spell check couldn't even give me a clue.)
So this morning with nothing to do at work, I started thinking about Facebook, and how cool it would be if I could say... Twitter, or check out what everybody is doing with my cell phone. So I thought I might try and set this up. Turns out my youngest son has already set up his Facebook and Myspace pages on my cell phone. He lost his due to lack of homework completion, so stole mine in order to keep in touch. I had hoped this would make it easier for me, the phone already knows how to find this stuff. Not so much.
I can't even sign in, I don't know how to make the phone do a _ then I realize the my phone only has 1 bar left, so not near enough battery left to deal with my stupidity. So I guess I'll just have to live with only getting on Facebook at home, in my tropical paradise, with a glass of wine next to me and lying to my husband telling him I'm doing homework.
I did homework for 3 hours last night. Whew I'm dedicated.
The thing that really pisses me off about this whole situation, the lack of texting ability, the lack of spelling ability, the inability to work the cell phone as well as a 13 year old. Is that it is just one more indication that I'm turning into my mother. Who cannot spell her first name right every time and just this year got a cell phone that actually fits into her purse and weighs less than 5 lbs.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
Me "Everything is the same."
DMV lady "Really. You still weigh 125 pounds?"
Me "Sure. You have a scale?"
DMV bitch "No."
Me "Then it looks like it's my word against yours."
|Dear Co-Workers, Family Member, Friends, Acquaintances, and Complete Strangers;|
I am not pregnant. I do no intend to be pregnant for at least another 2 years. Please stop asking me when my husband and I are going to have a baby. It's a very personal question. That's like asking someone how much they weigh or how much they make. The answer is NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS! I realize that these are my prime baby making years. I realize that you all can practically hear my ovaries vibrating. I know you want grandbabies/ cousins/ nieces/ nephews/ yet another reason to ask me personal and intrusive questions in the grocery despite the fact that you are complete stranger (seriously old woman if you touch my stomach again I WILL hurt you. There is NO BABY.) Husband and I have no money and we've been married for roughly 15.7 minutes. Please stop telling me "Well there's never a perfect time to have a baby" and then winking at me. I am aware of this but perhaps we should put it off a bit until maybe we are not eating ketchup sandwiches at the end of the month until we get paid again. I'm begging you, stop asking me. Just stop. I promise I will tell you, but for now, keep your mitts off my uterus!
is less like Sex in the City and more like Freaks in the 'Burbs. It is akin to searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack but realizing that it simply doesn't exist so instead one the settles for the nearest possible prick instead of the sharpest. It is a revolving door of losers and rejects. Dating is meeting someone attractive and interesting only to find that they are married. Dating at this age, is getting what is lingering or festering at the bottom of the barrel. One finds a nice guy, he has the qualifications to get him to date two ie: master's degree, he taught English in South America, he takes me to an amazing restaurant and spent more money than he should have. Mr. Halfway Decent got in the door because he had hair (and when I say this, I mean, it wasn't purple or receding or really long), he could speak without drooling, spitting, or emitting fumes that could make paint peel, he displayed no symptoms of terrets or narcolepsy, and dressed reasonably well (probably the ex-girlfriend's handywork). After multiple dates including one (ok, a lot more than one, but let's pretend that I was smart enough to figure this out at date 5 or 6) mind blowing sleepover one starts to realize the Mr. Halfway Decent's sheen is a little less lusterfull and perhaps a little more shit shine. Mr. Halfway has turned sour like old milk and the realization is, he too is Mr. Halfwit.
Occasionally Ms. Single Hot-Mama finds a man who is intelligent, funny, likes the same movies, has the same financial expectations and seemingly would be a match. What could possibly be wrong here, you ask? Well, I would rather sleep with Sponge Bob Square Pants, or my dad then him. And believe you me, I am not in to cartoons or incest. Mr. Almost Perfect is all fizzle, no sizzle. Damn.
Eyeballing the Craigslist Killer's fiance it makes me wonder if she is another sap like me. One that means well and optimistically looks at Mr. Wouldn't Hurt a Fly overlooking the redflags flying in her face. Well, I for one am no longer going to ignore the freak phone when it's ringing and for all of you that need a little guide... here you are:
1) If you have no friends OR way too many friends but mainly no friends... then you are a serious loser, definitely suspect.
2) If you hate your family or supposedly have no family or have anger issues regarding either the family or lack there of. ...or if you have anger issues period, here's the door.
3) If you live with your parents. Yeah... 'nuff said.
4) If you take more than a few mind altering or mood enhancing prescription medications or illegal substances. Wait.. perhaps those should be separate. If you are mentally imbalanced in any way, shape, or form I know you will be attracted to me, but please, please, for the love of all that is good and holy, stay the hell away from me.
5) If you have more than one family member in jail or a padded cell, hmmm or if there is more than one that should be, or if you yourself have ever been in either lovely location, don't call me; I'll call you, NOT.
6) If you are unemployed for any reason (sorry). And NO the damn economy is no excuse. Yeah, I am a heartless bitch. Get a job, loser.
7) If you are a super perv (the mild to moderately perverted may still apply).
8) If you cry and no one is dead.
9) If you enjoy long drives with no destination and for whatever reason resist silly things like bathroom breaks and or stops for coffee or food and of course if you neglect to equip your car with some form of navigational system, be it GPS, laptop, On Star, cell, or good old fashioned gas station map then damn it, I am not getting into it with you.
10) If you spend money you do not have, or my money that I do not have, like $50 on grass seed when apparently "helping me with the yard work" (going to the store doesn't count as helping me, shoveling does, just to clarify) while I rake and shovel and bag the crap.
11) If you are radical about anything, and by anything I mean religion, politics, music, computers, I mean anything. I don't want to hear a 5 hour dissertation on your favorite band or your favorite sport.
12) If you are overly moral or truly unethical.
13) If you have ever swum in shit for any reason (don't ask).
14) If you have poor hygiene.
15) If you you are sad and whiney (shut up, this is therapy and not hypocrisy).
16) If you display any of the traits listed below,
Slovenliness. If you don't pick up after yourself, go live with your mom and then refer to number 3.
Selfishness. It's not all about you. Learn it or leave.
A tendancy to hijack remote controls. I like Dancing With The Stars. It's my tv.
Being a leech and sucking time, money, or other commodities I may have.
Being a clinger. Sometimes, I just have shit to do. Deal with it. I do not need to be your "something to look forward to" every moment of every day. Refer to number 15.
Unrealistic expectations of phone calls, texts, and emails after the first month; if I have something to say, you will hear it one way or another.
Habitual talking about something no one on the planet gives a shit about. Please see number 11.
Accidentally allowing your belongings to migrate to my place. I don't use Speed Stick and I am NOT cleaning out a drawer for you.
This one probably falls under the category of selfishness, but if you are unemployed and offer to take my car to the shop for me, get lost on the way because you are high, and then spend a little extra time driving around. Do not under any circumstances tell me (who works over 40 hours a week, has two children, and a house) that you, "took the whole day off for me." Seriously?!! Really?!! Took the day off from what! Your afternoon nap? ...and yes... he did... take a nap every afternoon. LOSER.
Could someone please clone my brain and put it in Matthew McConaughey's body and then send that perfect specimen to me, PLEASE? I can wait 'til Christmas if I must.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
|My co-worker is, as we speak, standing in front of my desk talking AT me. She has been there for 10 minutes preforming this dull ass monologue. Subjects include, skiing (both water and snow), hair gel, knickerbockers (i don't know, I'm not really listening), novelty aprons with the words "I'd trade my husband for a John Deere" embroidered on them, the unsatisfactory dress of middle schoolers with baggy pants, and the COMPLETE life stories of 4 people whom I have never even heard of. I have not engaged this woman in any conversation. Its been 10 minutes and I have yet to utter a single word beyond "uh-hu" and "mmhm" I have not taken my eyes off the screen. I am now TYPING and very clearly not paying any attention to her, yet there she stands, yammering on. Someone maker her LEAVE!|
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
I need to sell my house.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
2. Helping fix the printer. I sit NEAR it. This does not qualify me in any way as a expert. Fucking dig around inside it yourself.
3. The smells from the kitchen. Oh really? You're leftover shrimp fried rice?! TASTY! And soooo fucking refreshing after being nuked for 5 minutes....mmmmm.
4. The air freshener that the receptionist bathes kitchen in POST shrimp fried rice (or really, post anything. I'd MUCH rather smell Philip's apple oatmeal than that sickening, crappy, gets caught in your throat, spray)
5. The constant traffic behind me (see: 1 and 2 - near back door and printer). Let me do some online shopping now and then in PEACE
6. Announcements on where you're going. Umm. If you are leaving go out the FRONT door and tell the receptionist. I do NOT care where you are going especially when it's to the bathroom. Really? Just leave quietly and try not to disturb me.
7. 800 good mornings. I know I know. This is my own anti socialness but really, NO ONE else has to say good morning to EVERY PERSON as the walk in the door. If you want a greeting, I suggest the front.
Monday, April 20, 2009
could you please turn him down? He suddenly gotten waaaayyyy too loud. I don't know how much more I can take of hearing him scream, "MOOOMMMMM! MOOOMMMM! MOOOOOMMMMMM!" at the top of his little lungs. For having such little lungs, he has darn good scream.
P.S. I am thankful to have him, though. Screaming or not.
P.P.S. I am not going to cut his mullet. It's his baby hair and I'm really attached to it. No, it's not your business if my child gets his hair cut, so butt out. And ha-ha on you: I get to run my fingers through his long, silky, golden locks.
Isn't traffic bad enough without you riding my bumper? It's Monday, I'm already annoyed, do I really need to deal with you on my tail? Do you think your lovely little hand gestures I see in my rear view are going to make me hurry up? If you would be so intelligent as to look a few cars ahead you would clearly see a whole lane of cars directly in front of us. Unless you want me to go all Inspector Gadget and get some groovy little car wings, you my impatient friend are SOL. Deal with it, and wait like everyone else. Moron. Oh and BTW, the hand motions make me go much more slowly.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Why do people insist on make stupid comments? For instance: “What are you doing on the computer, looking for the end of the internet?” A response only puts me on the same stupid level and is a waste of breath. Since the comment didn’t get a response. It must be repeated. Why??
It happens all the time. I listen to the comments people throw at me and almost all are just stupid things so people can hear their own voice. Then when they don’t get the laugh or whatever it is they are looking for..they repeat it. Stop repeating yourselves. Really, it’s very annoying.
And I'm like "that's totally redundant" and they're like "YOU CAN'T CALL PEOPLE RETARDED".
And a by the way? If people did what I told them to do the first time, I wouldn't have to nag.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Thursday, April 16, 2009
I’ve had very, very little sleep for night after night, and I ingested WAY too much caffeine today.
I don’t feel very well.
And I can’t go home because I’m out of sick leave.
|Yes, I have cheerios. I have cheerios EVERY DAY. Every single day since you have worked here I have eaten cheerios for breakfast. So why is that every single day you ask me in that slow boorish boring tone of yours "Got you some Cheerios?" YES! A MILLION TIMES YES! I HAVE F'ING CHEERIOS! Today and everyday for the rest of eternity I have cheerios! I do not want to discuss my breakfast with you. I also do not care to discuss the weather, your bunions, or the new color of beige you are painting your already beige living room. You are the most boring person alive (you are alive right? Sometimes I can't tell). Please just don't speak.|
What kind of grandmother loses her granddaughter's hamster while we're on vacation and never calls to tell us, so that my kids are hysterical when they come home to find an empty cage?
My crazy fucking mother-in-law, that's who.
|So, what if I was half running through the lobby of the pediatrician's office because we were late for our appointment? So what if I had a baby on my hip and three others close behind? So what if two of my kids were coated in mud and one was crying because they tripped over eachother running to be the first to push the handicapped button that opens the doors? So what if you heard me yelling at them for running and getting all dirty right before we have to face an office full of stern nurses? Did you have to make that snide remark: "Looks like somebody has their hands full?" kind of under your breath, but loud enough because you wanted me to hear you judging me? You're lucky I'm the kind of mom that didn't want my kids to hear me say to you: "Good thing I've got your tax dollars to feed all these babies and pay for this doctor's visit, too!" just to piss you off because I know that's what you were thinking. You fucking prick.|
I know you can't be bothered to take a day off work to stay home with your kid while she is sick. I know your appointments and meetings and conference calls are so important. I know it's so much easier to bring her over to my house and pay me to deal with it instead. I hope that none of my FOUR kids ends up catching this disgusting diarrhea that you brought over here today, though, because I will NOT be babysitting yours when MY kids are sick, assholes.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
My secret spineless whine is that I am tired of having crazy, psychotic bitches for bosses. I swear that I am a magnet for them. With the exception of my very first boss who was the nicest woman I know, every boss I've ever had has had "issues."
Honestly? I've never been one to wish ill on people. If I really hate someone, I generally just want to walk away from them. I even felt that way about my last crazy boss - who was REALLY crazy. But this one has pushed me to my limit. I've started having vicious fantasies about her death or suffering that range from running her over in my car to making online Wicca friends who can put hexes on her. At the very least, I picture pushing her down a flight of cement steps, oh...every five minutes...
I'm of course, not REALLY serious about the violent stuff - or the wicca - but it does give me some sick satisfaction to think about it. This is what the crazy bitch has driven me to. Thank you for listening to me whine.
April 12, 2009
To: My Midwife
Re: Iron pills
In reference to our last meeting of April 6, 2009, wherein we reviewed my blood test results and you noted that my iron levels were 'shockingly low.' You asked for follow-up regarding the question of why I steadfastly refuse to follow your advice to take iron supplements.
After some research, I have recalled the correct response.
They are constipating as all hell.
cc: My husband
Baby in Utero
My dearest brother and sister-in-law,
I agreed to watch your children because I am a stay-at-home mom and because daycare costs are way too high for your budget to handle. Yet you can afford to go out to dinner 4 nights a week and to a really nice dinner and a movie on Saturday. But that's ok. I love your children. And I love that, because we don't waste money eating out every day, your children eat vegetables and fruits and healthy meals and snacks at my house.
Your children are learning and developing at a greater rate than some other children in part because I spend time reading to and with them, exploring nature, making crafts, running science experiments, taking them to the zoo and the museum and swimming and gymnastics (on my dime) and art classes sesame street on ice and gardening groups and . . . You get the picture. Or maybe you don't.
When my child is sick, I am courteous enough to let you know in case you'd prefer to keep yours home . . . And when you invariably tell me you don't want to take a day off work, I take care of my own sick child as well as your children. And it is not easy trying to keep them apart so yours don't get sick. Yet you actually lie to me when yours are sick (since I've made it clear you may not bring them to me if they are) and then act so surprised (and inconvenienced) when I call to let you know he/they threw up.
When we made our arrangement, I very generously agreed to a schedule of 7:30-4:00. This gives you thirty minutes to drive the six residential blocks to work and another twenty to drive back afterward. So why is it you routinely ring my bell at 7:10? Why do you consistently arrive at 4:15 - or worse, call to say you got busy talking and need to do "one more thing" which inevitably keeps you away until 5:00? And why (dear god, why?!) Do you excuse yourself by telling me, "well, I figured you wouldn't mind, since you're just sitting around at home." um, remember the woman who gave birth to us and who can no longer take care of herself and her house? Guess who does it for her now. And see this small human at my side? He must eat before sports practice. And see this lovely abode behind me? It must be cleaned and maintained.
But what really chaps my a$$? You lied to me last weekend when you said you were both sick and asked me if I could please take care of your kids. Instead of staying home puking and sitting on the toilet, like you told me you were, you were out shopping and "taking a much-needed break from the kids," as you told your coworker. Who is my best friend, you idiot!
There are six more weeks of school and then summer vacation. You don't know this yet, but you have that much time to find another child care provider. Idiots.
Your devoted sister
Stop parking in MY place. I mean, I realize the space doesn’t have my name on it. But, I’ve been parking there for like 8 freakin’ years. So. It’s. MINE!
You young new apartment dwellers just moved here like a year ago and don’t seem to understand the rules. Respect your not so elderly, OCD neighbors who have been living here for years, and will continue to do so long after you have moved on, and park in those spaces over there . . . under the tree . . . that the birds live in . . . so they crap on your car.
When I get home from a long day at the j-o-b, I want to pull into MY space. When I see your car in MY spot, I want to drive into it anyway. But, I grit my teeth and pull into another, less comfortable for me and my routine, space . . . and go to my apt and drink heavily (which is going to happen regardless of where I park).
When you are so presumptuous as to park in MY space, do it right. You’re driving a Hyundai sedan not a tank. You don’t need all that extra space surrounding your vehicle.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
I hate that you ran away, far away, when I was little and my sister was just a baby. You only ever visited us when you happened to be visiting your parents and because your mother made you, you left a scar that not even the world’s best stepdad could heal. No matter how much I try to focus on what I do have and the positive things in my life like my health, etc some mornings I wake up filled with hatred for you. I used to think you were cool but now that I’ve gotten older I am starting to realize that most of the bad decisions I have made in my life relate to men and my own insecurity, and only after getting older have I had time to reflect on the fact that I believe your absence is the cause of the poor choices I and my sister have made in our lives. We were never good enough for you to care about us, to be there for us. We didn’t matter – we were only a responsibility, an inconvenience. You were off playing a world away without a care in the world. We both chose people – over and over again - who were full of problems and abused us. We knew we were better than those people and didn’t really need them and if the bad men we chose left us (because all men leave don’t they) well then, it would be okay because they didn’t deserve us anyway. On the other hand we both felt incomplete without a man, so we’d grab all the derelicts that came our way, just so we wouldn’t be alone. If they did leave who cares because they didn’t deserve us, but maybe just maybe they’d stay because they needed us. So as Loretta in Moonstruck said “I’ll come to your funeral in a red dress”. Or maybe I won’t come at all.
Monday, April 13, 2009
I am sorry. I'm sorry your marrying a douche bag. I'm sorry that you have not expended the energy necessary to uphold our relationship. I'm sorry that you have been neglecting our friendship for about 6 years now. I'm sorry you only call me when you need something. I'm sorry that your douche bag called me and was a complete ass to me. I'm sorry that I refuse to be walked on. I'm sorry that I think he's cheating on you. I'm sorry to tell you that if hes not getting it from you he's getting it somewhere else. I'm sorry I refused to invite Slutty McSlutstein into my home, but I was afraid she would get herpes on the couch. I am sorry that I was forced by your and your d-bag fiances behavior to drop out of your wedding. Mostly I'm sorry that you are writing all of this off as a mental illness on my part. How DARE you tell me to "seek help" Last time I checked, standing up for myself was not a sign of depression. Refusing to let you and that assholl you are marrying walk all over me is not a cry for help. I am sorry that he is ruining your life (and I think that you even know that...yet you continue) I've tried to talk to you about all of this. I've begged you to get pre-marital counceling. The fact that you dont even know how much money he makes or how much debt he has is a REALLY BAD sign. The fact that he comes home drunk with condoms in his pockets at 2 AM is a worse sign. And the fact that he wont talk to you about ANYTHING is the worst sign of all. You can rationalize all you want by saying its my problem but you are headed for a brick wall at about 100 mph. I've tried to slow you down for years and you never listen. Now this. Im not going to feel sorry for you when you finally do hit the wall, and belive me, it's coming. Probably sooner than you think. And the saddest thing of all...I never expected any better from you.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
I'm just shy, is all. And when I'm shy, I just smile and hardly talk.
And I've had at least three people in the last couple months admit to me that they thought I hated them.
I don't, really! It just takes me a while to talk, is all.
What do you want me to do, yell "I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW I THINK YOU'RE COOL! IN CASE YOU THOUGHT I HATED YOU!"
You know what I'm talking about.
Party in the front; business in the back. (a la Kate on John and Kate plus 8)
What is it about ladies (especially blondes for some reason) that would make them want to cut their hair really short in back and leave long pieces up front?
It's as if they're saying, "Look, I only see myself from the front so I'm not going to worry about any other angle. I ain't got the time, ok?"
And then they just spike it up in back with a bunch of hair gel and spray as if to concede, "Ok, so you've seen the back of my hair. Step any closer and my head will shoot sharp quills at you. Move around me so you can see me from the front. That's better."
It scares me. What gives?
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Just sending in this whine to get "Fucking" off my fucking blogroll. Holy fucking shit! I come here to curse since I decided to have a curse free blog (what was I thinking). I've done pretty well so far, with only a few slips...but this is the first time I've got FUCKING up there :)
Friday, April 10, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
|Just because the "in box" is on my desk does not mean that its contents are my sole responsibility. Neither does it mean that you should get things off the fax machine and just bring them over and drop them in the in box and expect me to do them while you go play pong or spend 45 min on a personal phone call or whatever the hell it is you are doing over there. Items treated in this manner will find their way back to your desk. Further more, when I leave in the afternoon and you then proceed to dump paperwork that you could easily do yourself in the "in box" and leave it for me to do in the morning, it makes me want to hurt you. Just do your job and we will all get along fine.|
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
You do not believe how angry you got me when you told me I'm careless, that my friends don't matter to me. Well, excuse me, Mr. I-let-people-drag-me-into-their-problems-because-I-think-it's-the-right-thing-to-do. You are the one who is full of shit because you think you can solve everything. NEWFLASH: YOU'RE NOT SUPERMAN. Sometimes it's just best to stay out of people's lives, Dr. Phil. You probably just make matter's worse.
So for you to tell me, you jerk, that I don't care about my friend's because I steer clear of any type of drama? Is just cold. Grow up and go mow the lawn like Mom told you to do.
Hey Lady in the gold Yukon,
For some reason I seem to get in traffic behind you every day.
Maybe we leave the house at the same time; maybe I’m just drawn to the shiny-ness of your 10-ton mommy-mobile. Nevertheless, there you are, in front of me, driving so maddeningly slow I could rip off my own arm and beat myself to death with it from the frustration.
I’ve read all of your bumper stickers a million times:
“Not your typical soccer mom!”
“I [heart] Sharpeis!”
What I don’t get is the little stick figures you’ve pasted to your rear window. Man, woman, kid, kid, smaller kid, dog, fish. (Seriously – fish).
So, you have a family. Congratulations. So do we all.
What you should paste to your back window is two old people fucking. Because that the way you drive. Now get out of my way.
Monday, April 6, 2009
And then it was because he was forgetting Mothers Day.
And, of course, there's been all the other crap that he's done that he shouldn't have done, and the stuff that he didn't do that he should have done...
And, he forgot his sister's birthday on the 4th April - and, based on the fact that none of his family even sent me a card, I didn't get her anything, but out of shameful guilt, I posted a "Happy Birthday" on her FaceBook wall.... which she didn't even do on my birthday.... I didn't want our mutual friends thinking badly of me for not saying anything, since I went to college with her and we used to be good friends...
Anyway, I digress...
Today's whines are these...
- BIFF today announced that he was going away on a Scout Camp, with 15yr old son.
The issues are this:
He's told 8yo son that "it's not really a camp that he can go with them to" - which is a lie, I know that other Leaders take their kids of all ages.
It begins on Friday 19th June, and ends Sunday 21st June.
On Friday 19th June, it is 8yo's birthday, and he becomes a 9yo. How can a father willfully go away on his youngest son's birthday, and not take that son with him?
The only thing that I can think is that he's forgotten that it's the birthday that day.
- BIFF considers himself to be our sons' "main carer" meaning that he does all the stuff for them both... and he considers we're "role-reversed" meaning that I work to financially support the family, and he does all the "housewifey" stuff...
Except it doesn't work like that.
I've just started 2 weeks off from work, and I'm spending the 2 weeks (that coincide with the kids' schools Easter Holidays) tidying, cleaning & scrubbing the house. Because in the whole time that we've lived here, he's not done it. He's never done anything more than push a vacuum round. My house is a complete tip. I'm ashamed to live here. I'm ashamed of being his wife. I'm ashamed that people look at the house and blame me for it, since it's traditionally "women's work" to keep it clean and tidy, even though they know that I work all day, all week.
So far, I've scrubbed down the porch (including using a stanley knife blade to scrape old, dried cat food off things - gross!) and the entrance hallway, and done half of the kitchen - (I have pics of how he likes to keep the kitchen, and what I make the kitchen look like when I'm in charge of the housework - http://endlesstether.blogspot.com/2009/04/how-he-keeps-kitchen-how-i-like-kitchen.html )
As soon as he goes to bed, I'm starting on the other half of the kitchen.... then when its all done... I'm inviting as many people as possible round for coffee, so they can see how I like to keep the house - making sure that as many of the people who've seen the horrible state that the house is normally in see the change!
It’s not bad enough that every year you get bigger and bigger, also succumbing more to gravity each year as well. While my husband thinks it’s great, I don’t. My back hurts, a lot. And I’d love for him, who bitches about finding pants, to try and experience the joy of bra shopping for 36 I size breasts. Yes you read that right fellow whiners 36 I.
Luckily my favorite bra brand Cacique makes a 38 H which does the job…for now. Till they F’in grow again. But trust me when I say that NO store carries this, and I have to shop online.
Now to top this off, I’ve found a lump, maybe two.
See the OBGYN tomorrow, so he can cop a feel.
The only silver lining I can see is maybe I can get a breast reduction out of this (36 C/D here I come!), which will tick my husband off, who Doesn’t have to lug them around by the way. If his balls were the size of cantaloupes we’d see how quick to judge he’d be about my desire for smaller tata’s.
Have you ever noticed that things like yeast infections come around at the most inopportune times? I mean, it's never convenient, but why don't you ever get one, say, the morning you plan on seeing your doctor anyway?
Why is it that they seem to spring up at a time when you don't have control over your own schedule? For example, maybe it will pop up while you're sitting on a jury. Anyone know the proper protocol for dealing with an itchy cooch when you're in an elevated seat in open court for 8 hours a day?
Or, perhaps you discover its arrival when your children are so ill you don't dare take them out, even for a quick run to the drug store. You try to make a solo run when your husband is home, but the kids cling to your legs, insisting that they need you. You sit there, covered in your children's snot and vomit, suffering from crotch rot because you're not about to ask your husband to pick you up some monistat. Make him buy tampons, sure, but vag cream? That's crossing the line.
Not that he doesn't want the nastiness to pass just as quickly as you do. The longer it lingers, the more time he has to spend alone with a bottle of lotion. But imagining him standing in the feminine hygiene aisle, trying to figure out why you asked for the 3 day box when the 1 day would get him some action just that much quicker, makes you determined to keep him out of the process all together.
As time passes, your cooter feels more and more like a festering petri dish. You finally
"Forget R-O-L-A-I-D-S," you mumble, pants around your ankles. "I spell relief M-O-N-I-S-T-A-T".