Momma, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Douchebags

Bitch of the Moment:

Now I know what you’re thinking: “She’s not going to call children douchebags, is she?”

Yes, she is.

Admit it, you’ve all thought it. Kids can be douche-y sometimes. There is no age minimum on the ability to exude douche-like behavior.  Sometimes, just sometimes, you witness a kid doing or saying something so abhorrent or tasteless that you say to yourself (or aloud like I do,) “What a douche!”

I want to tell you about the little douchecanoe that inspired this blog. I do not know this child. I’ve never laid eyes on this child nor heard him speak. With all that said, I know he is well on his way to becoming a Class A douchenozzle. I know this because of what he told my child.

About a week before the election, the Oldest came home from aftercare quite worried. As I was making something resembling dinner, he told me in a very concerned voice that we just HAD to vote for Romney. Now, this took me back because the Hubby and I never talk about politics with our son. I wasn’t aware that my son even knew that Romney was running for President. You all know by now who I was voting for but my son did not. I have not and will not push my political agenda/opinions on my children because I do not want to indoctrinate them into my way of thinking. I want my kids to think for themselves, to be capable of critical thought. I know, the horror!  Besides, the fucking kid is 6 years-old! Why on Earth would I tell my kid who they should want to vote for 12 years before it’s even a possibility. I digress.

I got my wits about me and asked him WHY we just HAD to vote for Romney. Again, looking very anxious and concerned, he says, “Because if Obama wins, he’s gonna kill all the white people!”  What. The. Fuck? My kid was sitting in front of me about to cry, thinking if the current President won the election he was going to die because he was white. This bitch went RED! What racist, piece of shit told my son this nonsense? Who was going to incur my wrath and be on the receiving end of a right and proper bitch-slap?Gathering all the restraint I could muster, I asked him where he heard that statement.

I was expecting an adult’s name. I don’t know why but I did. Children (at least kids I surround my family with anyway) usually don’t emit such derogatory sentiments. We live in the deep south. Good ol’ boys are alive and well and…..well, stupid. It’s not uncommon to hear the “N” word thrown around carelessly at all-white functions that involve alcohol, football or spicy, boiled crustaceans on a newspaper-lined table. Luckily, I haven’t heard it dropped around my kids by anyone I know otherwise they wouldn’t know us anymore. BitchinMommy don’t play that. Back to the douchehat at hand.

My son tells me that a kid that he talks to at aftercare warned him what would happen if Obama won. I had to sit and explain to my child that his President was NOT going to kill him simply because he was white. That the President had already been in office for four years and so far had not killed one white person because they were born white. I explained to him that the kid who told him that did not know what he was talking about. I told him the kid was stupid. Yeah, I told my kid that another kid was stupid. If he’s “grown” enough to be handing out political advice to my six year-old, he’s grown enough to be called an idiot. Finally, I told my son that when he’s old enough, he would be able to form his own opinions on who he should vote for and should never let someone else’s fear-tactics and prejudice influence his decisions. He should seek FACTS (you know how I love those) and then choose the candidate who represents his views the best. He said, “Okay, Mommy” and then went about playing Angry Birds, waiting on his pseudo-dinner to be finished.

This kid may not be a full-fledged douche yet, but he’s well on his way. He could wind up turning into a decent, unbiased man who loves all people equally. I’m not going to hold my breath. And who’s to blame for this boy’s ignorance now and the possibility that he will fall off into the Douche Abyss as an adult? You know who. His parents/guardians/mouth-breathing bigots, etc.

Even if you are a shitty parent, your kid wants to be just like you. “Mom” and “Dad” equal God on the lips of children. At the end of the day when everyone else thinks you’re a complete twatwaffle, your kid loves you. They hang on your every word and emulate you at every given opportunity. They are watching you, studying you, soaking it all in. They truly are sponges. Once they’ve absorbed enough, they are going to start wringing it out all over the place, regardless if it’s appropriate to do so. Any parent who has dropped F-bombs in front of their kids can attest to that as fact. I’ll never forget the first time my kid yelled “Motherfucker” across a playground. A word he had learned because he had sat too many times in traffic with Road Rage Mommy.

This kid is learning to be a bigot at home. He’s regurgitating sentiments he hears from the adults he trusts the most. Sentiments that may get him a good ass-beating if repeated in front of the wrong audience. To instill hatred of any kind in your children is despicable on a level that can’t be measured. You are limiting their possibilities, their growth as people before they’ve even had a chance to really experience the world and wonder where life will take them. You are ensuring the next generation of douchebag-backwash, because honestly, they are what’s left of you in the end.

I was nice this time by only saying the kid was stupid. The next time my son comes home repeating shit from this little sponge-of-hate, I’m going to send him back with a few gems to repeat for the whole Douchebag Family to enjoy.

Bitchin Moments:

Today was pretty bitchin’. It was Free Food Friday at work. The first Friday of every month, my firm caters breakfast for everyone in the office. Good breakfast, not hard biscuits and day-old donuts. Also, for the first time in a long time, I got to enjoy lunch with the Hubby. I got to meet some of his co-workers and enjoy a delicious Five Guys burger. Dayum, Dayum, Dayum! (If you don’t get it, go to youtube and type in Dayum. It’s worth it.) Lastly, Santa Clause made the rounds in the office and left us all a very nice CASH Christmas bonus which was sorely needed as bills took most of our paychecks this week.

We have most of our Christmas shopping done so that’s a relief. I braved the Black Friday crowds and actually scored some really good deals. It really wasn’t that bad this year. I cheated a bit, though. I didn’t go right when everything opened up. I waited about two hours. The crowds had died down, there was still plenty to choose from and I didn’t have to wait in line to check out. So all-in-all, I kicked Black Friday’s ass. Woot!

I’ve started couponing again. I had been slacking for a while and my checkbook definitely showed it. Since I’ve started back, I’ve made some of the best scores I have EVER made. One trip to Walgreen’s netted me $30 in products for 15 cents plus tax. The next day, I nabbed $60 in products from Rite Aid for 18 cents plus tax. I couldn’t believe it. You’d have thought I won the Powerball. I was that stoked. I need to post the pics and contents but that shit ain’t happenin’ tonight, this morning, whatever. I’m doing good just to publish this blog. I’m not going to push it.

Later Bitches!

Welfare Recipients Want My Money (all $4.74 of it)

Bitch of the Moment:

I prefer my tasteless ecards to contain typos and punctuation errors. It adds to the credibility.

Does this look familiar? Have these insulting, derogatory pieces of garbage been cluttering up your Facebook news feeds? When I don’t have anything of substance to say and I’m not busy wiping snot, cooking dinner that no one eats or wondering what I’ve stepped in, I too post ecards on my news feed. The difference is: mine are funny, this one is not. It’s mean. It’s belittling. It’s kicking those that are down. Even if its intent is to criticize only a select demographic on government assistance, it is hurtful to ALL those unfortunate enough to require help.

I am starting to avoid Facebook. The constant stream of hateful, nonfactual and racist sentiments that constantly invade my attempt to escape reality are honestly depressing me.  I am struggling to find good in those around me. I was clueless as to the number of my “friends” that are incapable of critical thinking. The sheer amount that will believe anything they come across because it feeds what they think they “know” is astonishing. Get your facts from credible sources, folks. Someecards.com, Fox News, CNN and the I_wanna_blow_a_teabagger.com ain’t it. And so help me, if you take any cues from Rush Limbaugh, make yourself an appointment ASAP because you’ve been eating lead paint or have suffered a brain injury.

I think it’s safe to say you all know which way my political dick sways. I’m as liberal as they come. I’m so far left, it’s amazing I don’t have sex with trees. I look within myself to determine what is right and just and that’s the path I take. My path is just a little more green than most, maybe even rainbow. Having said that, I do not berate those who do not share my views and opinions. You’ll never hear me say, “I hate Conservatives,” or “I hope all Republicans die.” (BTW, I’ve had several of my “friends” post statements such as those about Democrats and Liberals.) We all have the right to our opinions and to voice them. That’s what makes America great. What I have a problem with is when opinions are passed off as truth when they have absolutely no basis in fact. Political strategists selectively edit and twist information (or just plain make shit up) and feed it to the masses like mother’s milk because they know people will latch on to the tit and suck it dry. No one bothers to check where the mother’s milk comes from, however. Turns out, mother is “the man” and they’ve been sucking his dick for years. So THIS mother is going to lay down some facts for you. They’ll be hard to swallow at first, but it’s good for you. Better than the “milk” you’ve been getting from the man at any rate.

I will cite all my sources for those of you who doubt what I’m going to say here. I will not be getting my information from blogs, party-specific websites or someecards. http://www.IwannahaveObamasbabies.com will not be referenced either so have no fear. Here goes:

What is “Welfare”?

Do any of you know the definition of Welfare and what it entails? You do? Well, just for shits and giggles, I’m going to lay it out for you anyway:

Welfare: Statutory procedure or social effort designed to promote the basic physical and material well-being of people in need. (http://oxforddictionaries.com)

What it entails:

*Unemployment (Unemployment Trust Fund, Unemployment Recovery efforts, Railroad & Federal Unemployment – this is mainly Federal unemployment extension benefits – not regular benefits provided at state level and covers all federal civilian and MILITARY unemployment benefits [http://www.policyalmanac.org/social_welfare/archive/unemployment_compensation.shtml])

*Food and Nutrition Assistance (SNAP, WIC, Commodity Assistance [food banks,] Child Nutrition Programs [school lunches,] Funds for Strengthening Markets, Income & Supply [something to do with the purchase of fresh fruits & vegetables for distribution to schools and service institutions by the Secretary of Agriculture]) If your kid gets free or reduced lunch at school, you are on “The Welfare.”

*Housing Assistance (1st Time Home Buyer’s tax credit, tenant-based and project-based rental assistance, grants for states that opt for housing projects in lieu of low-income housing credits [that's fucked,] home investment partnership program, housing for the elderly) I now know I was on “The Welfare” when I received the 1st Time Home Buyer’s credit when I bought my first home.

*Earned Income, Making Work Pay, and Child Tax Credits (various tax credits for people who WORK or have EARNED INCOME, and/or have children)  Most everyone I know is on “The Welfare” since they receive one or more of these tax credits.

*Supplemental Security Income (support for low-income elderly, blind or disabled people which includes expenditures for administrative costs and RECOVERY efforts. Also covers survivor benefits http://www.ssa.gov) If your spouse has died and you receive SSI benefits because you are raising their child, you are on “The Welfare.”

*Civilian Employee Retirement and Disability (part of Worker’s Comp) (just what it says – government employee retirement funds – but you don’t hear of folks bitching about this) 

*Child Care, Foster Care, and Adoption Support (Adoption tax credits, foster care payments, Federal share of child support payments, child care assistance programs, early education and afterschool programs) If your child attends Head Start, you are on “The Welfare.”

*Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (time limited assistance for needy families) I do not know anyone currently receiving TANF benefits, none that have told me anyway.

*Railroad Retirement and Additional Income Security (part of Worker’s Comp) (retirement pensions, social security equivalent and unemployment for rail workers, District of Columbia Federal Pensions, Black Lung Disability & disabled coal miners benefits – seriously WTF?) If you have Black Lung and receive benefits, you are on “The Welfare.” Again, WTF? Who the fuck has Black Lung these days?

(Breakout of how Income Tax is distributed from http://www.whitehouse.gov )

How many of you thought it was just free checks, food stamps and WIC? But guess what, it goes beyond that. Each one of those categories consists of MANY sub-categories, some of which I listed. How many you ask? Total, there are around 117. Don’t believe me? I’ll even throw the conservatives a bone. You can see all the sub-categories that make-up Welfare at http://www.usgovernmentspending.com. This is a pro-teabagger, conservative site but they have government budget and spending information that dates back to 1902. I do not take into account any numbers they list as estimates or guesstimates, and you shouldn’t either. If it’s not an actual statistic, it’s ignored.

So, of those numerous sub-categories, which one makes up what most people define as Welfare that robs hard-working Americans of their money to give to those that “refuse” to work? Here you go:

TANF (Temporary Assistance for Needy Families): Cash assistance program providing assistance to needy families. (Department of Health & Human Services) This is what a lot of people commonly think solely makes up Welfare. This does not include food stamps. (Food stamps will be covered in the next blog.)

• How long can recipients draw assistance? Some people think you can sit back and collect cash as long as you want, living the high life on all that free money. FALSE. There are time restrictions. An adult can only draw funds for a total of five years in their lifetime, and that’s only if they meet requirements. (DHHS.gov)

• What are the requirements? A family of four can only make up to $1,178 in gross monthly income (remember folks, that’s before Uncle Sam takes taxes and you pay premiums for whatever insurance benefits you may or probably don’t have.) There are also countable resource amount restrictions. CARS ARE NOT CONSIDERED COUNTABLE RESOURCES! More on that later in the food stamp blog. (DHHS.gov) Oh, just an FYI: If our needy family is a single parent household and is fortunate enough to collect child support, states can count that as unearned income and does factor into eligibility requirements. (TANF Ninth Annual Report to Congress)

• How much will recipients get? The benefit standard for a family of four is $500 a month. (DHHS.gov) Math time. Yay! If your gross income is $1,178 a month, after a standard deduction rate of 25% is taken for insurance premiums (if they have benefits) and taxes, your take home amount will be around $884. Add in the possible $500 benefit and your needy family has a monthly income of $1,384. That’s $16,608 a year to support four people. I’m sure they’ll use that exorbitant amount of money to furnish their mansions.

• Who are the recipients? There seems to be a running consensus among my “friends” that only African-Americans are on “The Welfare.” Why would I say that? Maybe it’s the thinly-veiled, racist sentiment shown in all those oh-so-funny ecards. I guess they could be implying the rims, Kools and 40′s were bought by Sissy Lynn from the mountains of West Virginia using our tax dollars…but I doubt it. Regardless, the consensus is FALSE. The Ninth TANF Annual Report to Congress (http://www.acf.hhs.gov/programs/ofa/data-reports/index.htm) was released in May of this year for FY 2009. As of 2009, 33% of 1,726,560 families receiving TANF were African-American. 31% of those families were white. The number of African-American families utilizing TANF assistance has decreased every year since 2004, while the number of white families has increased. Here’s another fun fact: The African-American numbers include African-American and white bi-racial persons. The white numbers? Nothin’ but crackers. We wouldn’t want to sully our demographic by including half-breeds would we? Even with that information taken into account, I’m willing to bet that whitey has bypassed the African-American/bi-racial demographic since 2009 (we already have in SNAP recipients – info on that later.) We’ll find out next year when the Annual Report is released for FYE 2010.

Also, when you hear people wailing about all the good-for-nothings living it up on the taxpayer’s dime, it’s always referencing   someone at the grocery store dressed to the nines, with a Coach bag and the latest electronic gadget buying soda and doughnuts with food stamps or TANF money. You know who they don’t mention? The largest demographic receiving assistance from the government: children. The 1,726,560 families that made up TANF recipients in 2009 consisted of 4,041,344 people. 973,580 were adults and 3,067,764 were children. For the math-challenged, that’s 76%. What a bunch of lazy, little shits we have in America. Why don’t they pick themselves up by their bootstraps and become honest, tax-paying members of society like the rest of us? Isn’t there a sweatshop somewhere they can work at in order to support their families instead of wasting more of our tax dollars attending public school? We all know Welfare kids aren’t going to graduate high school anyway, right? If someone is going to post snide, demeaning commentary on Welfare recipients for the world to see, I want to see them ball up and post something in that vein. Let’s see how many “likes” they can get on that ecard – which I’m positive they would get many. At least you’d know who you can clean out of your friends list that week.  At the end of the day, you can infer all you want about the adults utilizing the TANF program even if you are completely full of shit. Whether you think it’s laziness, irresponsibility and/or greed that got the adults there – kids didn’t fucking ask to be born into a poor family. They didn’t make any financial or personal decisions that resulted in them requiring government assistance in order to have the bare essentials most of us take for granted. Toothpaste, diapers, clothes and shoes are luxuries to most of these kids. As a former child recipient of government assistance, I can state that as fact.

• What are WE paying for TANF? “We” don’t care about those needy families, do we? What do “we” care about? ME! That’s who. So how much does it cost ME to “support” these lazy freeloaders? Spending for FYE 2012 is budgeted at $3.729 trillion (usgovernmentspending.com.) Of that astronomical figure, $17.2 billion is budgeted to be spent on TANF. That’s .46% of the total spending budget. Less than half of 1% of MY tax dollars helps ensure someone less fortunate than ME can keep their lights on or put gas in their cars so they can get to (or look for) the jobs everyone says they don’t have (or don’t want.) If you do nothing else with the information I’ve spent hours collecting for this blog, do this:
  • Go to http://www.whitehouse.gov/2011-taxreceipt.  You can enter information from your last tax filing on this site and it will tell you where your tax dollars went. Or, you can do as I did and take your last pay stub and input your YTD tax withholding to see where your money would be allotted  this year. Wanna know what MY contribution to TANF is so far this year? I’ve got nothing to hide. So far, the big, bad, Socialist, Obama government has allotted $4.74 of my tax dollars to help those less fortunate than me. Well, fuck! I guess that means I’ll have to skip that grande, half-fat, no foam, caramel mochaccino this month so the 2 million+ needy families on TANF don’t freeze to death this winter. I’m so fucking oppressed. *side note: $53 of my money has gone to Research, Development, Weapons and Construction. Nice. Can’t wait for you all to see how much of your tax dollars are going to Defense and Pensions. It’s AWESOME.

We all know how bad it is out there these days. Things are getting better, not by leaps and bounds like we’d like but the mass layoffs have died down. The jobs, however, haven’t been raining down from heaven. People can’t find work. Most of the people affected by the Recession of 2008 where people like you and me. People with good jobs, a mortgage, 2 cars and kids. We weren’t rich but we were stable and happy. In the blink of an eye, people lost everything. First their paychecks, then their homes, then hope.  They didn’t give up and decide to live on government assistance. They looked for work, some are STILL looking for work. What about Taco Bell? Why can’t they go work at fucking Taco Bell? Because Taco Bell won’t fucking hire them. FedEx won’t hire them to drive a truck. Why? They’re overqualified. No one likes hiring folks they know aren’t going to stick around if they find a job in their field of expertise. Also, the 20 year-old manager at Taco Bell doesn’t like it when the help is smarter than he is. Might show him up and take his job. Also, if they were lucky enough to get hired on at Taco Bell, they’d still need (and would still qualify for) TANF benefits. You can’t support four people on $8.50 an hour. Ask me, I should know. I can regale you with childhood stories of sleeping in a car for more nights than I care to remember because we couldn’t afford a place to stay, not even a hotel.

My husband was laid off on February 20th in 2009. He had worked for the world’s largest retailer in IT for seven years, had a degree and was young. He should have had no problem finding a job right? It took four months. We are still recovering from the hole we fell in during that time. We were lucky. He did get a severance package, all of which was used to get us out from under our house we had to sell so we didn’t go into default. A lot of people laid off didn’t get severance packages. Still playing catch up, we decided last fall that I had to go back to work provided I could find a job that would cover the cost of daycare and still help pay the bills that were starting to overwhelm us again. I, too, worked for the world’s largest retailer as a contracts administrator and as a VP assistant. I should have easily found a secretarial job, data entry position, something. I applied everyday for three months. I only had three interviews that entire time. I was applying for receptionist jobs towards the end. When I did find work, it was a temporary position. No benefits, no long-term guarantees and not a whole lot of money. I was fortunate enough to get offered a permanent position and I’m thankful everyday for it. Others out there have not been as fortunate. One of my friends was laid off in California in February of 2009 as well. She worked in sales. Again, nothing too technical or specialized, so it should have been easy for her to find work. She was out of work for ten months. She didn’t find another job until she moved back to our home state.

Don’t make assumptions. You don’t know these people receiving assistance. You don’t know how they got to where they are or what they had BEFORE they required help from the government. The fact that someone drives something other than a piece of shit does not mean they are scamming the system. It could mean it’s a family member’s car or that they had a nice car before they lost their job, or their spouse died or they got divorced. Just because the girl buying groceries with an EBT card has an iPhone doesn’t mean she used her Welfare check to buy it. She could have been given that phone as a gift or got it as a hand-me-down. Every time I upgrade my phone, I give my old one away to someone who could use it and most times it’s a really nice phone. Don’t assume anything. Take the time to get to know some of these “freeloaders” and see if you really ‘know” anything at all.

Some people abuse the system. I won’t ever deny that. There’s always going to be people out there that take advantage of any situation. This isn’t happening with Welfare as often as some like to spew it is, but it does happen. If you know someone who is taking assistance under false pretenses, REPORT THEM. You wanna do something about your $4.74 being squandered? Do your part as a citizen and make a fucking phone call instead of bitching from your porch. I’ll do you a solid, here’s the number:  1-800-447-8477. That’s the Inspector General for the Department of Health and Human Services. Be part of the solution by doing something. Posting snarky ecards and Rush Limbaugh soundbites doesn’t make you part of the solution … I’m too nice to say what it really makes you.

That’s all for now. I really hope that some of you have learned at least one thing from all this information I have gathered. I know I learned a lot more than I expected to. Have questions or want more information on something specific? Leave ‘em in the ol’ comments section. I’ve already started the food stamp blog. I should have it out next week. Hopefully, there will still be some of you around to read it.

Later Bitches!

Did I Just Step In….

Bitch of the Moment:

This might be a first world problem, and I know there are so many things that could happen that would be way worse….but. Would it be possible if I could go through one damn day without stepping in something disgusting?

Kids are messy. They have no respect for the time and energy it takes to clean a house. Especially one covered in tile flooring. I get that. I’m okay with that. Normal kid messiness isn’t what is bothering me at the moment. The pile of shit I almost stepped in this afternoon is what’s bothering me.

Yup. Shit. S-H-I-T.

It’s not enough my wonderful Lil’ Man throws every bit of food he’s been served in the floor when he’s officially done eating. Here Mom! I’m done! You can have these scraps, you lowly peasant! No amount of scolding, training, begging or pleading will keep him from doing this every single meal.

This. Goes. Here.

I would just feed him myself, but little Hitler won’t eat if you try to feed him. He’s Mr. Independent all the sudden. He will turn his head while throwing his hands in the air, close his eyes tight and scoff at you. You have the audacity to try feeding me, woman? I’m a MAN! And since my eyes are closed, you cannot see me so bugger off. I know that’s what he means with that scoff.

Next time you try to serve me that slop, you're gonna get a knuckle sammich!

Back to the shit. Mini Man has decided he will take off his diaper whenever he so damn chooses. I’ll look up and see jiggling, dimpled ass run past as he giggles hysterically. Now, I love baby ass as much as the next mom. I just want to pinch it until I can’t pinch it anymore. And as unbelievably cute as his ass is, I KNEW that one time soon, the diaper he has tossed to the side would be full of presents.

This afternoon at 4:00 was that time. My oldest alerts me by going, “Ooooooooh!” I look up and see Lil’ Man in his diaperless glory, very proud to be displaying his pickle for all to see. At first, it appeared I had gotten lucky once again. That was until my toes came within centimeters of landing on top of a nice-sized nugget of joy. It was all I could do not to have a complete and utter meltdown. I had to hold him where he stood while the oldest scampered off to get wipes. After wiping him down from head to toe (how the hell do I know what he did and didn’t touch in the short amount of time that diaper was off? He’s quick!) I readied myself to clean up the disgusting gift I had been left. My oldest looks at me and says, “They look like rabbit turds. It could be worse,” and walks off. I laughed so hard I almost forgot I was cleaning up a pile of shit. Almost. Indeed, son. It could be worse.

I want to know the most disgusting, funniest, weirdest thing you’ve ever stepped in. You don’t even have to have kids to play along. If you own pets, you are well aware they leave as many gifts as kids do. Hell, if you have a husband, you’ve probably stepped in something completely gross. Leave it in the comments for me. I need laughs and lots of them to get through this trauma.

Bitchin’ Moment:

Hey, hey, hey. I blogged more than once in a two month period! It’s a miracle. I think I’m getting my bloggy groove back. And it’s all thanks to you, my sexy subscribers and readers.

Yesterday, I had a record day here on the ol’ blog. Period Parties are hawt shit, apparently. Also, I got a little help. Not only did I have a few very popular Facebook friends share the link with their masses, but an awesome blogger who gets hella-traffic decided to help out her fellow bloggers.

First, if you’ve never been to peopleIwanttopunchinthethroat.com, punch yourself in the throat. Second, go! She is hysterical. Her blog exploded after this little ditty went viral. As a way to give back and help expose other’s blogs to new readers, she asked everyone to link their blog on her page. So I did, thinking I’d get a few reads, maybe even a couple of new subscribers. Holy shit. I haven’t gone viral by any means, but my subscriptions have doubled and my blog is still getting hits as I type this. Thanks again, Jen! I’m as happy as a pig in shit….wait. Maybe I should find a different simile. I don’t want to associate myself with shit anymore than I have to after the day I’ve had.

Later Bitches!

P.S. Mr. Nudey Pants took his diaper off four times as I typed this. I shit you not.

Lil' Man's tush looks more like #5

Ah….Ummm…..Er….WTF?!?!?!?!

Bitch of the Moment:

It’s happened. I’m finally come across something that is so COMPLETELY fucking ridiculous, I have no words. It has left me dumbfounded and just, WHAT THE FUCK?!? I….uhhhh…..yeah. Read THIS and then come back. I’ll wait.

Someone please tell me this is a gag. I read this aloud to the hubby because, well first, I wanted someone’s else’s brain to melt from the absurdity. But I kinda had to say it out loud to believe this is something really going on out there. The hubs was just as taken aback as I was. He said it couldn’t be real; it had to be a troll. For the love of Prada, someone tell me he’s right. My fucking eyes are bleeding from having read it.

What psycho-mom does this? My mom didn’t handle the whole “starting” thing well when my time came* but I infinitely prefer her response to this, this….fuck, whatever kinda response this is.

* Exact conversation that occurred when I discovered I had become a woman (a euphemism that still crawls all over me):

” Mom!” I yelled from the bathroom.

“What?” She yelled back.

“I, uh, I started.” 

“Pads are under the sink.”

End of conversation.

My mom didn’t sit down with me, explain how or what to use, ask how I was feeling or if I had any questions. She left me to my own devices because she knew I could handle it on my own. She sure as shit didn’t dare suggest I invite all my besties over to play deranged tampon games, thereby humiliating me and scarring me for life. I have no hang-ups on periods. I don’t feel I was deprived of a “special” moment or bonding experience because my mom reacted the way a lot of moms react. She didn’t take my experience and turn it into her experience. She knew that if I had questions, I’d come to her on my own as I did with everything else in life.

Maybe I’m the weird one. Hanging out with my girls, discussing the bane of our existence ad nauseam and trying to convince ourselves that it’s butterflies and rainbows coming out of our hoo-has instead of just uterine lining is not my idea of a fun night. I bitch about my periods just like everyone else and then I move on. I don’t reflect on the beauty of it or how it makes me “special” because guess what? It doesn’t. There’s a billion other bitches out there bleeding, too. Other bitches that didn’t need a “Period Party” to cope with a basic biological function. Jeebus Krizzle! People are stupid!

Bitchin’ Moments:

I still feel dirty from the stupid that I am now covered in from having read that. Something has to replace it. Like now.

So without further ado, here are some of the gems that we have uncovered recently. I like to call them “WTF LULZ!” Enjoy:

You know you’re jealous of their legs. Also, I want to take the turn they do in this video and work it into a line-dance. So. Not. Kidding.

“Come on now and take a chance! Come on please, do that booby dance!”

“Honey badger don’t care. Honey badger don’t give a shit. Honey badger just takes what it wants.” It wasn’t until our own “Honey Badger” didn’t take what he wanted in that game (puke) that I was finally introduced to Randall. My life wasn’t complete before.

I was introduced to Marcel at a party (all parties lead to YouTube I have found) by one of my favorite college students. At first you’re all like, “Huh? Wha?” but then you find yourself thinking about it hours later laughing to yourself. Come here….Come here….I love you…. Lulz!

Later Bitches!

Bitchin’ in the New Year

Bitch of the Moment:

Let’s all just agree that I suck for not blogging regularly and leave it at that. Okay? Okay.

So it’s a new year. Am I excited? Not really. Did I make any resolutions? Nope. I can’t seem to follow through on any of the shit I have going on now, so why would I add another goal/task/lie onto the pile? That’s just setting myself up for failure and I need further disappointment in myself like I need a hole in the head.

Please excuse my lack of enthusiasm for 2012. I know it’s supposed to be about new beginnings and letting go of the past, so on and so forth. My demeanor is probably influenced greatly by the fact that my father-in-law died the day after New Year’s last year. So from December 5th (his birthday) and up until the anniversary date of his death, that’s all we thought about at my house. It’s astounding to the hubby and me that it’s already been a year. The wound is so fresh that it feels like it was just yesterday. How can it be a year already? It makes me wonder if my kids (the older two anyway) have any concept of how long it’s been since they last saw their Grandpa.

It kills me to think about them forgetting him. Forgetting how much he loved them, how funny he was, how talented he was and how passionate he was. Lil’ Man will never remember his Grandpa as he was only seven months old when he passed. I’m pretty sure the girl will soon forget if she hasn’t already. I have no memories from when I was two which is how old she was when it happened. The only one I hold out hope for is the oldest. His 5th birthday was four days after his Grandpa died. Was a big enough impression made in the short time he had with his Grandpa for him to remember?

I know a lot of people will say that we can ensure they remember by talking about him, showing pictures, etc. but it’s not the same. My father-in-law was a force of nature. Pictures can’t convey that. Stories help, but we have so few from recent years since we lived in another state until 2009. Ties to the old stories that would paint a good picture of who he was have been somewhat severed. The family hasn’t really come together since he passed, not even over the holidays. Some have just plain cut ALL ties with us which just digs the knife in a little further. Not only have we lost him, but we’ve lost them and their stories and memories of him. Stories my kids will never know and why? We have no fucking idea. It’s heartbreaking to say the least. Especially when my kids ask to see those family members and don’t understand why they never call or come over anymore.

During the grieving process, sometimes my sadness turns to anger as it does with everyone who goes through this. He is missing out on so much by not being here. Lil’ Man finally started walking and is banging on everything like it’s a set of drums. He is the spitting image of his Grandpa some days which would have made my father-in-law grin from ear to ear. The girl, though completely an ass most of the time nowadays, is so stinking cute that she’d have him wrapped around her finger. He’d get a kick out of her singing every song she hears. And how he would have loved being here Christmas morning when the oldest got his very first set of REAL drums. Knowing that he may have a little drummer following in his footsteps would have delighted him to no end. Not to mention how the oldest loves to draw and paint just like his Grandpa. It really pisses me off he’s not here to take credit (which he totally would have) for any of their talents and interests. Why couldn’t he stop smoking? Why didn’t he change his diet? Why didn’t he just go back home when he first started getting “winded”? I know there’s no way to know if any of that would have made a difference, that’s it’s probable he would have passed away regardless but I still wonder anyway. At least if some changes were made, there wouldn’t be questions now. Somehow, I don’t think I would feel like my kids were being cheated as badly if he could have at least done one of those things considering his previous heart attacks.  Fifty-two years-old is just entirely too young to die.

I hope with this new year we heal a little more. I hope we find ways to ensure our kids “know” their Grandpa and how special he was. I hope bridges that have collapsed within the family start to rebuild. I hope to be able to think about my father-in-law and smile instead of cry. I don’t have any resolutions but at least I have hope.

We miss you, Chuck.

The Oldest & Grandpa's 1st Jam Session

The Girl & Grandpa at our family reunion.

Lil' Man & Grandpa on Christmas Eve

Bitchin’ Moments:

Okay. Enough melancholy. My damn mascara is running all over my face, making for a scary looking bitch indeed.

There have been several awesome events since the last time I blogged. As I stated above, Lil’ Man FINALLY started walking. I know most parents dread this step of child development but seriously, I was starting to get worried. He was 19 months-old for cripe’s sake. The other two weren’t very early walkers either, but neither came close to the year and a half mark. We knew he COULD walk, he just WOULDN’T. I guess that’s the trade-off for having an easy-going kid. He is also saying a few more words now, though not many. “Thank you” is by far the cutest even if no one else on the planet can tell what he’s saying but me. Since he wasn’t keen on talking anything other than his own personal “blickum-blickum-blickum” language, I finally taught him how to sign “eat.” And boy, does he use that one. The kid must’ve been starving before.

The girl, well, is the girl. I truly have no idea where the Diva gets her attitude from but I don’t think I would have made it past the age of five if I talked to my mom or dad the way she talks to us. Her balls are the size of melons. What can I say positive about her……Oh! I haven’t been able to record her doing yet, but I promise to post it if I can ever catch her without her noticing. The girl sings her ass off to the birthday song covered by the Ting Tings on Yo! Gabba Gabba! So. Awesome.

The oldest turns six years-old today. It’s amazing how quickly they grow. He still surprises me everyday by how smart he is. We finally got with his school to see what we could do to challenge him since he was so bored in class and therefore, a distraction to other kids. He now goes to the 1st grade class to study reading and math while his class works on their reading. He is definitely more interested now and it seems his behavior at school has improved. I’m just so very proud of him. We’re throwing him a birthday party this weekend and I hope most of the family shows up. If not, oh well. That just means I can keep more of him all to myself. : )

Later Bitches!

P.S. Since I feel guilty for not providing my usual humor-laden blog, here’s a little something to make you giggle. You’re welcome.

And the dragon comes in the Niiiiiiiiigggghhhhhht!

Whoever Coined “Silence is Golden” Had a Son Like Mine

Bitch of the Moment:

I love my son. I love my son. I LOVE MY SON. No, really, I do.

The kid has so many wonderful qualities, I could honestly go on listing them for days and still have more to add. Why, then, does it take so very little to make me forget that long list of attributes completely?

I’ve said this before and I’ll probably say it a thousand more times before this blog disappears into the abyss, but, my kid NEVER shuts up. His talking is relentless. It drains the very life-force from me  and the hubby. It’s physically exhausting trying to keep up with/tune out the endless stream of babble that spews from this kid.

If he thinks something he saw on t.v. is funny, he’ll repeat it literally 50 times a day. And not even the whole joke, unfortunately. Just the punchline, usually. Then he laughs robustly at himself and looks to us to confirm that he is, indeed, the funniest human being on the planet. Better yet, he makes up his own jokes (which usually make no sense whatsoever) and expects a reaction from us other than the dazed and confused look we are prone to responding with. I want my kid to have a great sense of humor. I want him to think of himself as funny and entertaining. I’d just like him to learn what IS funny *and that yelling BOOGERSUCKER at random isn’t, when telling jokes is appropriate *and that screamed across the doctor’s office waiting room at poor, unsuspecting patients isn’t and once a joke is told and the punchline has been delivered, there is no need to tell the SAME people the SAME joke again *as if the big, red, rock-eater joke is going to get infinitely funnier or have a surprise twist-ending the millionth time I’ve had to sit through it.

I’ve sat in this very spot at my kitchen bar and observed my son watching t.v. in the living room. His mouth is constantly in motion. There is no one else in the room and yet there he sits, talking, babbling, squealing, driving pins into my eardrums. He cannot NOT talk. He is a constant source of noise. His incessant chattering sometimes prevents him from hearing me when I speak to him and actually WANT him to speak respond. Therefore, OTHERS can’t hear me because of his mouth and HE can’t hear me because of his mouth.

This obviously causes him problems at school. His teacher’s only real complaint about him is his talking. He doesn’t raise his hand and wait for her to call on him. He’ll sit there and repeatedly say, “Mrs. D? Mrs. D? Mrs. D?????” She told me that she explains to him that she can’t answer him because he didn’t raise his hand and wait to be called on. If she asks the class a question, even if she calls on another student, my son blurts out the answers. I tried explaining to him that yes, he is very smart and we are very proud of him for knowing the answers. We’re happy he is so eager to participate during class, but he needs to wait until he is called on because he’s preventing the other kids from participating and he’s making it hard for them to learn. I told him that he wouldn’t feel very good if he made it impossible for the other kids to learn and they grew up not knowing anything *and then I may have muttered something under my breath about there being enough stupid people in this country that we have to deal with already. His response? “Nuh uh, Mommy. I don’t want them to learn anything. I want to be the SMARTEST KID EVAH!!!!!!!!!!!!“  Ummm. Alrighty then. I got nothin’ for that.

When he is tuned into something, he is amazingly quiet. Specifically, anything scholastic. He has these Puzzle Buzz activity books that he will sit and work on for hours. He can finish the whole book in one evening if I let him. Sometimes I let him just to have a few blissful hours of silence.  The damn things are only delivered about every 3 weeks so I can’t use them to my advantage everyday. I totally would if I could. WHAT? He’s learning, dammit. I’m helping his mind grow. No, really!

If anyone has any tips, methods, torture device recommendations on how to get my kid to just stop talking and listen, please, for the love of all that is holy, comment below. If I don’t find something soon, my kid is going to be kicked off the bus by his bitch of a bus driver (that’s another story) and constantly in trouble at school.  That’s the worst part, in my opinion, because he is so bright. I don’t want him being prevented from showing his full potential or being labeled a bad student because of his constant yammering.

*NOTE: I seriously wrote this blog two fucking months ago. August 28th to be exact.

I know, I suck.

The only part that was unfinished was the Bitchin’ Moments section. And it was pretty much complete. What a suckass blogger I am.

Since I left this hanging, my son DID get kicked off the bus for three days. Then, the bitch of a bus driver decided one day that she wasn’t going to let my son off the bus because I wasn’t at the end of driveway (I was momentarily up to my elbows in a shitty diaper and couldn’t get outside at exactly 3:38 p.m.)

She calls me AFTER she has already left my street and informs me that I will either have to meet her several blocks away OR I’ll have to pick him up from school. To which I eloquently replied, “Ummm, huh? Wait. You have a phone? You can call me from several blocks away but you can’t call me while YOU’RE STOPPED DOWN THE DAMN ROAD FROM MY HOUSE? Why didn’t you let my kid off the bus?” *I didn’t scream at her or even use the word “damn” but in my head, I was ready to shoot her in the face. She then tells me that “we don’t let Kindergarteners off the bus if no one is there to get them.” Which is exactly why I, and the other mother on my street, threw a damn fit when this lazy bus-driving bitch (we’ll call her LBDB) decided to change the bus stop from directly in front of our houses to the end of the street because she didn’t want to have to turn around where every other bus driver has turned around for the last 10 years. When I told LBDB and the school Vice Principal (VP) that I had a house full of kids whom could not be left unattended just so I could walk all the way down the street to get him, LBDB told me that she would watch him walk to my house before pulling away if I wasn’t out there. So imagine my surprise when this isn’t what happened. “Where is my son?” LBDB hung up on me.

This is when BitchinMommy’s head imploded.

There is a reason I don’t own a gun, or missile launcher. I called her back and she wouldn’t answer. I was seeing stars. Big, RED, fucking stars. I texted her asking where my son was and still got no response.

I called the school and demanded that the VP get on the phone since she had been in cahoots with LBDB on changing the bus stop. When I informed her that LBDB had not let my son off the bus and that I had no idea where he was or where he was going to be let off, she was appalled. I told her I had four kids in my house, three years-old and younger, that I could not fit in my vehicle in order to come pick up my son, wherever he may be let off and had no way of getting him home. I was very civil with her, not yelling or anything, but she could tell how upset I was. She told me she’d call LBDB immediately and inform her to return my son to my house. LBDB wouldn’t answer her calls either. LBDB dropped my son off, unattended, at the school. Luckily, he had sense enough to go to the office and people were still in there. The VP had to bring my son home that day, an hour and a half past the time he is usually home. I now want LBDB’s head on a platter. But it gets better…

LBDB texts me back an hour after my son is home and informs me that she was going to tell me she was dropping my son off at the school but because I was screaming at her, she hung up. *This bitch hasn’t heard screaming, yet. Plus, she can’t talk on her phone and drive, implying I’m a dumbass for expecting her to do so. I told her matter-of-factly that I never screamed or even raised my voice to her, that this never would have happened if she had just called me from that phone of hers while she was still STOPPED on my street instead of after she was already a half mile down the road. If she hadn’t changed the bus stop when she took over the route or if she had done like she had told me she was going to do and watched my son walk to the house, all of this would have been avoided. I told her that the school VP was in agreement with me that my son should have been let off the bus and that I would be at the school first thing in the morning to get this all dealt with. I also threw in that if I still wasn’t happy after that, I would be going to the transportation and school boards. LBDB being the uber-bitch that she is, tried to get in the last word.

She texts me back and pretty much said that none of this would have happened if I hadn’t been such a shitty mom and had been out at the end of the road like I was supposed to be. LBDB tells me it’s a LAW that Kindergarten-aged children aren’t allowed off the bus without an adult being there to receive them.

Is it just me or is this woman fucking retarded? Laws can be verified, you simple bitch. I’ve already told you the VP is on MY side in this matter and you’re going to tell me via WRITTEN communication that I’m a shitty mom? The amount of stupid that lives in this woman cannot be measured by means we possess today. Even though I was ready to go to prison, I damned near bit a whole through my tongue and explained in the simplest terms I could manage that we were done discussing the matter and we would let the higher-ups decide what was to happen.

After a lengthy meeting with the school VP and the Principal, I was informed that there is no law stating the nonsense she was spouting, that LBDB would drop my son off directly in front of my house from then on (and the other little Kindergartener would be dropped at his,) and if I wasn’t able to be outside, LBDB would be required to let him off and wait until he got to the door. When I expressed concern of retaliation against my son (since he’s already been kicked off the bus for stupid shit – not even his mouth if you can believe it) I was told not to worry, that they’d make sure that didn’t happen. I haven’t gotten a note, call, anything about his behavior on the bus since. In fact, LBDB has been driving the bus far less than before the incident. I can only hope I had a little to do with that. Next time she tries to step up, I’ll have the bitch’s job – if not her head.

Bitchin’ Moments:

Again, this was started months ago so anything I had here is old as hell now. So we’ll sum up the awesome:

I have had several glorious instances of girl time lately.

1) I made a trip back home recently and got to spend quality time with some of my favorite ladies. I got to go shopping with my mom and my baby sister which is always a blast. I also got to hang out with two of my best friends in the whole world. It was badassity. Four days of unadulterated laughing sans kids. Mommy needed a break. Here’s a couple of gems from my trip. I’ve omitted names to protect the innocent ; ) :

During girl’s night at a popular local bar:

H: “I have to go pee but I don’t want to walk across the bar by myself to go.” 

Me: “Just go to the bathroom. You’ll be okay.”

H: “But I don’t know where it is. I don’t want to walk around looking stupid in front of all these people.”

C: “If you don’t go, I’m going to make you laugh until you pee. Hey! Think of it as a treasure hunt! You’re searching for the porcelain prize. If you find it, you don’t go home with wet panties!” 

I almost went home with wet panties from laughing so hard.

During a random conversation about toenails:

G: “I refused to cut my husband’s toenails for him anymore after one of the damn things flew into my mouth while I was clipping them.”

Is it possible to laugh and gag at the same time? If so, I did.

2) I got a last-minute invitation to an all-girls game of Cranium one night. When women, wine and board games come together, you are guaranteed an evening worth videotaping. Watching me trying to mime “Walter Cronkite” is apparently comedy at its finest. I’m surprised no one left that night with wet panties.

3) I made a trip to New Orleans with a couple of friends to hang out on Bourbon and watch the Saints play (ok, this wasn’t an all-girl day, but we’ll say he was one of the girls.) I was very much inebriated by the time the clock struck noon and you know what, it was awesome. It was a totally carefree day, the Saints won in a game so close that it made one’s ass pucker and I got to show the city of New Orleans my new, sexy hairdo. I’m sure they’re all still talking about it. Heh, yeah…..maybe not. But it is pretty sexy, to me anyway.

4) I got to throw a bachelorette party, albeit small, for one of my friends here. Six of us hit up downtown Baton Rouge (2 of us almost didn’t make it due to our extreme lack of direction and attention to our surroundings) and shook our asses.

I learned these things from that evening:

a) If you want to dance to techno, you don’t need glow sticks. All you need is an iPhone in each hand.

b) If you are ever in a situation where you need to learn how to “Dougie,” Justin Bieber on YouTube works in a pinch.

c) If you want to hear some of the funniest catcalls in your life, put a blinking tiara on the bride-to-be. Example: “I just love that shit in yo’ hair. I gots to get a picture witch ‘choo.”

d) If you ever have the need to photograph every single second of an event, contact the bride’s co-worker and friend, R. Just bring a back-up camera. She’s going to take so many photos, she’s going to drain her camera battery completely … and then yours.

I’m afraid to even look at what’s on that camera.

Later Bitches!

If This is Southern Hospitality, I’ll Take Yankees, Carpetbaggers, Etc. Any Day

Bitch of the Moment:

As I obviously don’t blog everyday – so sorry for the long spans of time between posts – so I’m changing the format a bit. We’ll now have the “Bitch of the Moment” instead. I always seem to finally post my blogs days after the irksome events have taken place anyway, so this is more appropriate. On to the bitch.

Most times I am in a store/business here, I actually have to bite my tongue to prevent from asking, “Do you want my damn money or not?!?” Customer service here is practically nonexistent.  With the economy being in the crapper and no one being able to even get a job at Mickey D’s, you’d think businesses around here would be doing every thing they could to hold onto customers. I may not have a lot of money, but what I spend in their stores would at least ensure that some of these “associates” keep their much-hated jobs.

I’ve told you all before, I have worked in retail and other service industry jobs for the better part of my working days. I know those jobs suck. I know customers suck. Managers suck. But as a retail worker you accept the suckdom and go about your day. Your attitude vastly changes the way the suckass customers are going to treat you. It’s not rocket science, folks.

How hard is it to smile at a customer? Or when you’re through taking care of them, to say, “Thank you.” 9.9 times out of 10, I, the customer, say, “Thank you,” to them and it’s hardly ever reciprocated. What the hell am I thanking them for? They are supposed to be serving me. I am ensuring there is a need for them to be there. I have been pleasant, even trying to engage them in polite small talk. I get nothing in return. I mostly get scowls or complete disinterest if I get acknowledged at all. Then there’s the whole fraternization between “associates” that I get to sit and listen to instead of them paying attention to me or what I’m purchasing. I honestly don’t need to know how pissed off Dominique made you by pulling you off the floor and making you check when she knows you have 2 pallets to unload before midnight. And HELL NO you ain’t working 2 seconds past your break time no matter how many of these customers are waiting in line. Screw her. *Actual conversation I sat through while trying to check out.  Tact is apparently lost in the dirty south.

And God help you if you need help finding something or something rings up incorrectly. They will not lift a finger to research the item or find what you are looking for. I have been in a store here where exactly 7 “associates” walked past my obviously lost ass and not one offered to help me find what I needed. I counted because I’m that type of bitch. 10 Foot Rule? Right. They wouldn’t know or care what that meant if you slapped them up side the head with a tape measure. *Maybe I’ll do that next time.  I always have to walk through the store and pull someone aside to ask for help and I’m usually told that it’s not their area so they have no idea if they have what I need.  This is where you’d expect them to call someone from that area, right? Wrong. They just walk off. Dubya Tee Eff. No customer service at all.

The cashiers are the worst. They don’t say “Hi,” “How are you?” “Screw you and the horse you rode in on.” Nothing. If I have a coupon, I get loud sighs and it literally takes forever for them to verify if my coupon is exactly what I purchased, if it’s been copied, if it’s expired, yadda yadda yadda. You all know how I am about my coupons. I am precise in which ones I use. However, I really don’t think a $0.35 coupon is worth five minutes of their, my or the 15 customers behind me’s time (who are all now ready to kill ME when it’s not ME being the douche canoe.) I’m not part of some mad coupon-counterfeiting ring. I’m not here to steal from Ralph, Leblanc, Albertson or Mr. Walton. I’m just trying to save as much money as I can here and there so I can spend MORE MONEY in YOUR fucking store later on. Imbeciles.

The one that really makes my blood boil is when something rings incorrectly and how I get treated.

Here’s the proper way to handle the situation if you are a cashier:

“Ma’am. The item rang up wrong. It’s ringing $5.99 and the sign/ad said $3.99,” says the customer. “Oh, really. I’m sorry about that. Let me check on that for you real quick.”  This is where the lovely cashier either calls someone from that department OR if they know the department well enough, they run and go check on it. Not drag their feet or piss and moan, but briskly walk to the area in question to verify the price. Once verified, they briskly walk back and inform the customer that either the sign they read was for something else OR they override the price. NOW. In MY retail store, if the customer says something is ringing up wrong and it’s a difference off two measly dollars, we just override it automatically. We WANT our customers and aren’t willing to lose them over $2.00. If they come to me to check out and something rings up at a price exceptionally higher than what the customer says it is and it’s from my department, I will run – RUN – my ass to where the item is and check it out. I’ll even bring back the sign if they read it wrong. That’s the kind of cashier I am. If the customer was right about the price difference, I apologize for the inconvenience, override the price and thank them. I then call someone in pricing to correct the sku so other cashiers and customers don’t have to do what I just did. Again, that is the kind of cashier I am. These other mofakkas around here aren’t as bitchin’ as I am and it sucks.

Here’s the improper way to handle the situation if you are a cashier (this is another of my recent experiences and completely true):

“I’m sorry. Those are ringing up wrong. They were on the clearance aisle. They were supposed to be $1.50 each. They are ringing $2.50 each,” I say. “No, they ain’t. The wash cloths are $1.50, the hand towels are $2.50,” says the bitch of a cashier. “No, the wash cloths were $1.00 each. I checked the UPC on the shelf and it matched these for the $1.50 price,” I say, still being courteous. *Loud huff* “Pam, how much these towels ‘sposed to be?” bitch cashier asks the cashier across from us that works in that department. “You just gonna hafta walk down there and check yo’self. They got me here checking so I can’t do nothin’,” says 2nd bitchy cashier. (My cashier makes no movement whatsoever to even pretend like she may go check it out even though the aisle is literally 3 aisles away.) “Well they ain’t ringing at that price,” says my bitchy cashier. (She starts ringing the other hand towels. When she gets to one of another color but the same style, it rings the $1.50 price.) “See. Those are ringing correctly. That’s the price they are all supposed to be,” I say a little exasperated. “Well. That must be for that color only,” says the c*nt cashier. “Listen, there is an entire row of these hand towels in all different colors but the same style. They are all marked $1.50. There is absolutely no sticker on ANY of the shelves that say $2.50. The wash cloths that coordinate with these in the same style but all different colors say $1.00. I’m not trying to get over on you. If you could just check I’d appreciate it. I’m buying a lot here so $1.00 extra on each of these towels is going to add up,” I say as politely as I can manage. *Glare* “Pam, do you know if they all ‘spose to be $1.50 or just these here brown ones?” worst cashier in the world says. “I can’t help nobody, they got me checkin’!” says the 2nd worst cashier in the world. (My cashier just stands and looks at me. No intention of checking herself or even picking up her little phone to call for assistance.) …… “Fuck you,” I say as I leave my cart and its entirety there for her to deal with. Do I feel bad about my reaction? No. I was polite even when I was treated with disdain, I did not raise my voice and made it clear that I was sorry to inconvenience her even though it is her job to check on things of this nature. She did nothing but disrespect me and the other customers waiting behind me by refusing to provide service to me, the customer. If you hate working with people, DON’T WORK WITH PEOPLE! Plain and simple. I actually boycotted this store for a while refusing to give them one cent of my money. Unfortunately, my options for groceries are limited unless I want to sell my car to finance them. I have started shopping there again but if I can buy something anywhere else affordably, I do.

It really doesn’t take a lot to make a customer happy, even when you have to tell them they can’t have what they want. It’s how you finesse them. “Hey. How are you today? Thank you for waiting. Did you find everything, ok? This is such a cute shirt. I’d buy it but I can’t wear white. I have three kids with dirty hands. Is that all for you today? Any coupons? Your total is ….. We thank you very much. Please take our survey if you get a chance – you get a coupon for it! You have an awesome weekend!” Ask anyone I work with. They’ll tell you that’s how I am with EVERY customer verbatim. I don’t care if they’re old, fat, ugly, poor, stinky, whatever. I treat every customer with respect and 9.9 times out of 10, they leave with a smile on their face and that’s why I get good customer service awards at work all the time. And you know what, it took almost no effort at all. Smile. Be polite. Pretend to care. Say thank you. Or get the fuck out. Mmmkay?

Bitchin’ Moments of Late:

Even though I really would love to throttle him most days, I have one of the sweetest little boys on the planet. He started his first week of Kindergarten on Monday. He also rode the bus all by himself for the first time. As we were waiting for the bus to arrive, he asked why I had my camera. I told him I planned to take a picture of him getting on the big boy bus. Once the bus arrived, I took a picture of him stepping onto the bus. Once he got on, he turned to face me. The driver was telling him where to sit and he just stood there. I told him to go take his seat but he just stood there. I asked what he was waiting for. He said, “I’m waiting on you to take the picture, Mommy.” He then stood next to the driver, smiled and waved. It was precious. He then said, “Bye Mommy, I love you.” It’s the first time I’ve ever been teary-eyed sending him off to school.

Yesterday, when he got home from school, he told me about a little girl he had met. He said that she had been bullied and had been crying. I, of course, interrupted and told him to make sure that if he or anyone else around him was being bullied that he needed to inform the closest adult so they could take care of it. He told me that someone had stepped in but that the little girl was still upset. He tells me, “So I gave her a big hug and told her it was going to be ok. Then, when I got back to class, I drew her a great big heart to make her feel better. I’m gonna give it to her next time I see her.” Isn’t that the sweetest thing? He may be a wild child most days, but I’m so glad he has a kind heart and is empathetic to those around him. I’m a very proud mommy indeed.

In other news, the girl is potty-trained! Holla! It is such a relief not to be buying diapers for two kids at the same time. She’s still in pull-ups at night but we’re slowly weaning her off those as well. Her reward for going poop is a sucker. I swear, she makes herself poop just to get a sucker. She LIVES for suckers. It’s hysterical. I can’t even clean her up before she squeals,  ”I want sucker. I want a pank sucker!” No, my child doesn’t have a southern accent at all. I hope I don’t pay for this reward system with a mouth full of cavities.

She also went to her very first movie yesterday and sat all the way through it like a big girl. She saw the “Snerps” as she calls it (re:Smurfs for those of you without children.) Then she got to spend the day at the mall shopping and playing, and getting spoiled rotten by the best Aunt on the planet. We love you, Aunt G. I don’t know what we’d do without you.

So, yeah. I think that’ll do. Thank you once again for tuning into my profanity-laden ramblings.

Later Bitches!

*Badassity

*This is a “Special” of sorts. No Bitch of the Day this time. Fret not, a good one’s coming.

What is badassity, you ask? Until tonight, I thought it was just a word the hubby, I and a few close friends used to describe something completely awesome, tubular, ridiculous, etc. Apparently we’re not the only ones, as it is out there on Urban Dictionary. Some bitch done went and submitted it before I did. That’s okay. No one will ever say it as well as we do (sung to the tune of No Diggity by Blackstreet.) I know, you yearn to be as cool as me. Anywho.

Here’s the definition for those of you not in the know:

1.	badassity
	Of or having anything to do with kicking ass or generally being badass.

I’ve run across a few things in the past couple of weeks that I’ve been dying to share. Everyone needs to see, hear and know the awesome that these little diddies are. Some of these I stumbled upon on my own and some I’ve totally stolen from other bloggers (who I will most certainly credit.) So sit back, relax and get schooled on what it takes to be badassity in this bitch’s book.

1.  This is, without a doubt, one of the funniest/creepiest/absurd things I have ever seen. I am stealing this from another one of my favorite bloggers, Kim at Let Me Start By Saying… It seems she knows someone living in Paris (that’s France, not Texas) who found this gem. As if the French don’t have enough disdain for us, geez. I don’t particularly care for other countries seeing something this ridiculous and associating it with my country. Most of them think we’re stupid enough already. You know the saying, “Some people will buy anything”? It’s fucking true. Not only did someone think this was a product that people just had to have, but they were able to find investors willing to financially back them! This is American ingenuity at its finest.

Wait. I’m not supposed to be bitching. Moving on to the funny!

Watch this, you won’t be disappointed. Afterwards, go by Kim’s site and read her post on this. Hysterical doesn’t come close. Tell her how badassity she is and that I sent you. Also, check out her post on How Being a Parent is Like Being A Rock Star. All of you mommies out there will become one her groupies after reading it. It’s funny because it’s true. Here is The Happy Hot Dog Man:

Go ahead. Watch it again. You know you want to. Is that not the most we.todd.ed shit you’ve seen in a while?

First: I spend most of, if not all, my time during meals trying to get my kids to NOT play with their food. This tacky piece of plastic would only serve to create more mess and distraction in my kitchen. Mommy cannot handle more chaos. I will wind up in prison.

Second: Did you see how they accessorized all of those “food toys”? They even suggest having a contest to see who dresses their wiener the best. Yeah, like I need to buy even more food my kids won’t eat. ‘But Mommyyyy! I have to have an onion! No really! My Happy Hot Dog Gal needs a skirt. Puh-leeeeassse!’ It would take the girl all of 10 seconds to break out her Barbie clothes and accessories and we’d have the prettiest hot dog you ever did see. Then she’d ask for chicken nuggets since there’s no way in hell she’s eating her Prom Date hot dog.

I won’t even start on the ketchup and mustard things. We’ll be here for days.

2.  Lily Allen. How the hell have I not bothered checking her out before? I’ve seen the name for years and figured I’d probably like her music (being the grrrl rock lover that I am) but I was apparently too busy cleaning up other people’s crap to take the time to listen. This song is my new anthem. From now on, when some small-minded person says something completely asinine, I’m just going to post this on their Facebook page or leave it on their voicemail. Without further ado, I present Lily Allen’s “Fuck You”:

Have you ever heard those words said/sang in such a pretty manner? You almost want her to say them to you over and over. She can curse me out anytime. If you liked this one, go check out “Not Fair” by her as well. I laugh my ass off every time I listen to it.  And just so you know, my hubby loves her music too. See why I married him?

3.  Him:

He can bite me anytime.

I do like those blondes. Which is why I married a brunette. LOL!

4.  I’m totally going to be an advertising whore for a minute.  Some of you well know that I have severe eczema. Finding skin care products that don’t irritate, infuriate or just plain set my ass on fire is next to impossible. Everything aggravates my skin. Hell, I’m allergic to Baby Magic, a freaking baby lotion. Sunscreens and bug repellent may as well be battery acid. The thought of trying out one more useless lotion/cream/oil/voodoo concoction makes me cringe, not only because of the effect it may have on my skin, but also because I’ve once again wasted money I don’t have on a product that doesn’t work. Well bitches, I’ve finally found products worth laying down dough for. Here’s just a couple of my favorite finds:

It gets the burn out.

Occasionally, my eczema will just self-ignite. I’ll be fine one minute and then suddenly, I’ll be a burning, itching, clawing mess. I am ALWAYS scratching. One reason is: folks with eczema aren’t supposed to sweat. You read that right. I live in south Louisiana and I’m not supposed to sweat. Right. So when I do sweat, my skin begins to burn and I scratch until I bleed. Nice visual, huh? This stuff makes it all stop. Seriously. I can’t live without this shit. I spray it on the areas that are inflamed and within minutes my skin is calm and I’m no longer alienating strangers who think I’ve been chasing the lice around. Also, it is awesome for stove and oven burns. The last few times I’ve burned myself while baking, I’ve sprayed this on and it stopped burning immediately. Everyone should have this in their first aid kit.

Best. Exfoliator. Ever.

This stuff would make an alligator smooth. I should know, since my skin is usually compared to an alligator’s. ‘Girl, you ashy. Why don’t you use lotion?’ was something I heard daily in high school. Thank you, Captain Obvious. I would have never thought of using lotion before you mentioned how shitty my skin looks in front of the whole cafeteria…..again. I don’t know what’s in this stuff, all I know is I use it on my legs before I shave and I get the closest shave I’ve ever had and my legs shine for hours afterwards. My legs are so unusually soft after I use this, that my clothes feel odd against my skin. My only complaint would be that they need to make it in a bigger size.  These little tubes don’t last me very long so I need to start buying them in bulk.

And before you ask or assume, no, I don’t sell BeautiControl. I just love their stuff. But I do know someone who does, obviously, so if you want to try some of these goods, let me know. I’ll hook you up with one of my favorite bitches who will make you so glam, you’ll piss glitter.

5. If they were to do a blood test on me today, instead of blood, they’d find these two things running through my veins:

Chocolate. Caramel. Ice Cream. It's the trifecta!

I will seriously mourn when Ronald McDonald stops making these sinful treats. I wish they defined “Limited Time.” Do I have three months left? Three weeks? THREE DAYS?!? I want to know so I can be sure to gorge myself with as many as I can before they go the way of the Campfire Blast. *sheds a tear* Hello. My name is BitchinMommy and I am a Rolo McFlurry-aholic.

OMFG! So damn good. Finally, a Snickers that satisfies!

I don’t know how this works exactly. I’m not really a Snickers fan. I’m also not a peanut butter fan to the extent that I only eat one kind and it’s loaded with honey. But you put the two together and it’s a total mouthgasm. Yeah, I said it. This is a sexy candy bar (?) square, whatever. If I pass by these in a store I have to buy one (or three.) Snickers purists and PB fans will hate them, I’m sure. Maybe that’s why I love these since I love neither of them separately. They can stick their peanut butter in my chocolate anytime. And yes, I totally meant ALL that innuendo.

So there it is. My list of what’s Badassity right now. I’m sure next week it’ll be something completely different. Until then….

Later Bitches!

*Please note: None of the images or videos shown in this blog belong to me. I totally ganked them from Google searches and YouTube. Nor am I affiliated with The Happy Hot Dog Man, Lily Allen, Alexander Skarsgard (if only), BeautiControl, McDonald’s or Mars, Incorporated. So don’t sue me!

The Itsy Bitsy Spider My Ass

Bitch of the Day:

Fucking. Bugs.

For those that don’t know, I live in south Louisiana. It has to be the bug capital of the United States. I’d even say the world but I think Ethiopia has us beat with all those flies. *Side Note: Does anyone else watch those “Feed the Children” commercials and find yourself saying to the t.v., “Please kid, just swat that fly off your eye. I’ll send you 30 cents a day if you’ll just knock those damn flies off your head. Please. It’s really freaking me out.” No? It’s just me? Oh. Nevermind. Point was, we have a lot of  damn bugs here and I hate every single one of them.

Where I’m originally from, we have bugs. You know, mosquitoes, ticks, fleas, etc. If you go hiking through the woods, you can pretty much bet on your ass getting covered in ticks. Or worse, seed ticks. Those little bastards get all up in you. While these may be annoying, they are not dangerous per se. Brown recluse spiders on the other hand, are abundant there. As I type this, I have an old friend there recovering from a bite. They are nasty business, for sure. But even they don’t hold a candle to the shit crawling, flying, lurking down here.

We have mosquitoes the size of pterodactyls here. I’ve never seen them as big anywhere else. And they will chase you. I shit you not. My first trip to Louisiana was in 1996 with a couple of friends. We stopped at this state park because it was called Corny Lake. Finding that an extremely hysterical name (we were obviously easily amused back then,) we wanted to check it out. Why it was called a park, I still do not know. After driving for a while through what can only be referred to as Deliverance Country, there was nothing there but one crumbling dock that led out to the “lake.” The “lake” was a big mud puddle. A few weeds, mud as far as the eye could see and about a gallon of “lake” water. We were no longer amused. As we were turning to leave, I started to feel things bounce off me. When I realized they were mosquitoes, I hauled ass to the car. When I slammed the car door shut, several mosquitoes actually hit the window and bounced off. They were flying so fast in pursuit of me, they could not stop from slamming into the car. You could hear them smacking into the glass. I couldn’t make that up if I tried.

I can’t come inside my house at night without being pinged by a million moths, gnats, junebugs, who-the-fuck-knows-what repeatedly. You wanna see me freak out? Watch what happens when a bug flies in my face. You’d swear I was battling an invisible ninja. Someone should videotape it. That shit would go viral.  It’s not any better during the day. Wasps, hornets, yellow jackets, anything with a stinger in its ass is after us. I’ve bought more wasp spray in the last three months than I did in fifteen years where I’m from. I should buy stock in that crap. To give you an idea of how bad they are at my house, one of the tasks on the hubby’s weekly chore list is to search around the house and fence and knock down all the nests. He always finds new ones – plural. The really bad part of this (besides getting stung sucks ass) is: the hubby is allergic to stings. We’re talking full-on anaphylactic suckfest. My kids probably are, too. Maybe I should be buying stock in EpiPens….

I saved the best/worst for last. Spiders. Fuck spiders. They are everywhere. Spiders I’ve never seen before are all over my yard and more than likely, in my house. When I walk into my backyard, I can see dozens of little spiders sprint away from my feet. These aren’t dangerous to me by any means, but that fact doesn’t make them any less creepy. Wanna shit your pants?  Walk around the corner of your house and come face-to-face with a banana spider. Studies show they won’t kill you if you get bit by one but who the hell wants to find out for sure? The damn things are huge and nasty looking. Nothing good can come from them. The winner though, by far, is the black widow. That bitch is rampant around my house. If a spider freaks out the hubby, you know it’s bad. I’ve seen black widows before, but never the size they are around here. They are so big, you can see the red hourglass on their backs from quite a distance. These bitches earn an automatic death sentence on sight. If I can find something to spray, throw or shoot them with from a considerable distance, I will obliterate them. Even their egg sacks are scary, of which, I’ve found many in my shed. I’ve personally carried out many spider abortions in there. Again, fuck spiders.

Here’s the shitastic thing about spiders. You can’t just lay down poison and wait for them to die. See, spiders are nasty fuckers that don’t clean themselves. So walking through liquid or powdered poison has no effect unless they have to swim in it and accidentally ingest it. You have to directly spray them to kill them which means getting near the damn things. Doesn’t leave you with warm fuzzies, does it? I have a huge jug of poison on hand when I’m lucky enough to run into one of my uninvited guests. But it doesn’t do you a damn bit of good if you lose the spider.

My inspiration for this blog was a big, bulbous, black spider that lovingly jumped at me when I was pulling clothes out of my hamper. I was trying to multitask by doing laundry while watching five kids, aged 5 years-old and younger. Yes, I’m stupid. Of course, when I yelped because of the lunging spider, four of the five kids ran towards the laundry room. In trying to run interference so no one would get bit, I lost the spider in the hamper. After hogtying securing all of the kids at a safe distance away, I tried to find it by carefully pulling clothes out of the hamper from three feet away using my son’s “grabber” toy. When I couldn’t find it, I beat all the clothes as much as I could with the “grabber.” If someone had walked in at that moment, they would have thought I was completely nuts and removed the kids from my house. The hubby came home hours later and found the beast. It wasn’t a black widow as I had thought, but he didn’t know what it was. This incident has forced me to call in reinforcements. The bug lady will be here first thing in the morning. *Another side note: The girl is so cute. She keeps referring to her as “The Ladybug” no matter how many times I correct her. LOL!  Anyway, I honestly don’t care what chemicals she sprays around and in my house as long as all of these bastards die. I’ll take a toxic fume-induced horn growing out of the back of my head if it means I can sleep soundly at night knowing a creepy crawly isn’t going to climb in my gaping mouth as I snore the night away. Fuck. Bugs.

Bitchin’ Moment of the Day:

I’ve done my first guest blog! One of my favorite bloggers, Mrs. Hyde over at A Bitch Called Mom was gracious enough to let me fill in for her over at her site while she’s studying like a mofo for her PhD. She used one of my previous posts We Need a Clean-Up on Aisle U, which you can view on her page here. I fucking love this woman. She thinks exactly like I do, but has the balls to put it out there for all to view. Please go by and check out her blog if you get the chance and show her some love. Tell her bitchinmommy sent you.

Later Bitches!

Completely Useless Information on Moi!

Bitch of the Day:

I am devoid of any original ideas at the moment.

Since the Rapture didn’t happen and it seems we’ll be around a while longer, I thought I’d share a few useless insights as to who I am. Plus, I can’t think of anything else to post that’s not political or mundane. I stole this from Erik at Gambrinous with Griffonage, whom I absolutely adore. If you are in NW Arkansas and need a tattoo, he’s your man. Or, if you need a new ‘do, his husband is your man. They make the world a more beautiful place, one person at a time.

4 Things

4 Things I need to spend more time on in my life:
1. Having unadulterated fun with my children and husband;
2. Getting my finances under control;
3. Finding a passion for something, anything. I don’t think bitching counts;
4. Relaxing.

4 Things I need to spend less time on in my life:
1. Facebook;
2. Resentment;
3. Trying to keep my children clean;
4. Worrying about money.

4 Things I wish I could spend more time on in my life:
1. Traveling to somewhere besides Walmart;
2. Family and friends;
3. Laughing (I concur, Erik);
4. Sleeping. This should be number 1.

4 Things I love about myself:
1. My sense of humor;
2. I am as loyal as the day is long;
3. My compassion for others;
4. My ability to talk to anyone – and talk and talk and talk.

4 Things I hate about myself:
1. My temper;
2. At 34, I still have body image issues;
3. My inability to let shit go – I hang on to it like luggage;
4. I let others control my mood; like the shitheads at Safeco Insurance.

4 Things I love that I used to hate:
1. Spicy foods. The ol’ taste buds must be dying;
2. Flip flops. Seriously. I cringed at the thought of them before because they raped my feet. Now they’re pretty much all I wear;
3. Speaking in front of others or anything that drew attention to me. I must love it now, I write a frickin’ blog;
4. Taking naps. Man, I was dumb before kids.

4 Things I hate that I used to love:
1. Miracle Whip. Foods aren’t supposed to have a “wang” to them. Unless there’s a wang in it;
2. Bikinis. ‘Nuff said;
3. Shopping. The kids have sucked the Shopping Diva right out of me;
4. Extremely loud music/tv (except at concerts, of course.) I have to nag the hubby all the time to turn shit down.

4 Things I look forward to:
1. Watching my children grow up, go to college, get married, have children, etc.;
2. Vacations. And lots of them;
3. The kids’ bedtime;
4. Any opportunity to hold conversations with people over the age of 5.

4 Things I dread:
1. Watching my children grow up, go to college, get married, have children, etc. It means they won’t be with me everyday;
2. Losing anyone close to me. I have panics attacks at times due to my anxiety over death;
3. Paying bills. I’d rather clean a toilet than deal with my lack of funds;
4. Hurricane season this year. With all the devastating tornadoes this past month and the shit winter everyone had, I fear we’re in for a rough ride.

4 Things I once believed in but no longer do:
1. Complete trust in any one person. Humans can and will fail you, eventually;
2. With hard work, you’ll go far. Hard work don’t mean shit in a recession;
3. You can save someone from themselves if you try hard enough (or give them a thousand chances or loan them money or put a roof over their head or try to reason with them, etc.);
4. My ass will return to its former glory after I lose the baby weight. I miss my pre-baby ass.

4 Things I believe in that I didn’t use to:
1. Forgiveness is possible, no matter how greatly you have been hurt;
2. No matter how much I bitch, my hubby will never put his damn clothes in the hamper instead of on the floor NEXT to the hamper;
3. Saving for a rainy day;
4. Counseling/therapy. Sometimes you need a mediator. Sometimes you need someone to call you out on your shit.

4 Things I love to do but I’m bad at:
1. Sing. Even if I can keep pitch, I don’t know half the words to the songs I’m trying to sing;
2. Art projects with my kids. My OCD doesn’t leave a lot of room for creativity, which sucks for a five year-old;
3. Being photographed. I always want to be in pictures (since I’m usually the one taking them) but when I do make it in one, Quasimodo stands in my place. Photogenic, I am not;
4. Keeping up on this blog. I gotta carve out some more time to focus on it.

4 Things I hate to do but I’m good at:
1. Cleaning. I’d rather the hubby do it but I know it’d be half-ass and I’d wind up going behind him anyway;
2. Organizing files, rooms, photos, etc. I like the idea of an organized house or office, but I think I’d rather eat paint than have to do all the work;
3. Deal with certain people because I’m related to them or bound to them in some way;
4. Apparently I’m good at being a bitch. Without trying most days. While I hate for anyone to think badly of me for me being – well, me – all I can say is that I won’t sugarcoat the truth to make anyone feel better nor will I ignore facts or logic to validate someone’s views/opinions/beliefs. I call it like it is and if they can’t deal, they can grow thicker skin or get the fuck out.

4 Things I did that I am ashamed of:
1. Played with someone’s heart that didn’t deserve it;
2. The later half of the 90′s were filled with a lot of drug use. Luckily, I was able to walk away from that lifestyle easily with no lasting repercussions;
3. Let a secret slip that led to someone’s divorce;
4. I used to watch Rush Limbaugh regularly. In my defense, I was 15 and not fully capable of understanding the level of his doucheocity. I watched it because the “grown folks” watched it.

4 Things I did that I’m proud of:
1. Managed to still be married after 11 years in a marriage NO ONE thought would last;
2. Had 3 of the most beautiful babies (in my opinion LOL) when I wasn’t supposed to be able to have any;
3. Sold my last home in an unsellable market in under 30 days because of my mad staging skills – WHAT?!;
4. Conquered my fear of speaking in front of others.

4 Things I didn’t do that I regret:
1. Finish college;
2. Keep a better eye on her;
3. Save for a rainy day because it’s been pouring like a mofo for a while;
4. Insist on a c-section with my first-born. That would have saved me from a huge pain in the ass. Literally.

4 Things I want before I die:
1. Travel the world. There’s way too many places for me to list. Although, it’d be nice to get some use out of those Japanese lessons;
2. Learn to play the violin again;
3. To just be content. Happy with who I am, where I’m at and what I have;
4. See my kids achieve success and happiness in whatever it is they do with their lives.

Bitchin’ Moment of the Day:

A lot has been going on since I last posted.

Lil’ Man turned one year-old on the 26th. It’s amazing how the time flies by. He looks so much like my oldest son but completely different at the same time. He’s so sweet it makes my heart squeal. And he loves him some Mommy. He forsakes all others for me and while it can be a nuisance when I need to do something, it secretly makes me feel like the most special person on Earth that he chooses me.

His party was a success. We had a great turnout of family and friends for the festivities. I believe it was the first time we’ve all been together since the funeral in January. Looking around the room while everyone was here, I was saddened because of the one missing. He loved being with his grandkids and he always made it to their parties when he could. It’s still unbelievable that he’s gone. As strange as it sounds, I sometimes forget he’s no longer here. If there’s a question I have or advice I need about gardening stuff or household projects, I instantly think, ‘Oh, he’ll know how to do that…….wait.’ The void left is still expanding months after his passing. I really miss him and the relationship we were finally building after so long.

In happier news, the Hubby and I have made strides in the race against debt. We consolidated some of the bigger bills at a ridiculously low-interest rate so more money is going to the balance rather than interest. We also have set up a budget plan. It will take a few years, but we will be debt-free sooner than we ever imagined possible. I can now breathe. Can I get a “Hell Yeah!”?

Another item of note: I now weigh the same as my hubby. That has NEVER happened. I’ve always weighed more than him. I’m currently wearing a size I haven’t seen since 7th grade. That fact brings about a feeling of euphoria I cannot even describe.

I think that’s enough for now. I’ll try to post an actual blog by week’s end. To all of you still reading, thanks for hanging around. I promise, something will piss me off soon enough to write a proper bitch.

Later Bitches!