Did I Just Step In….

26 Jan Lil' Man's tush looks more like #5 :)

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 :)

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Ah….Ummm…..Er….WTF?!?!?!?!

25 Jan

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!

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Bitchin’ in the New Year

6 Jan

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

26 Oct

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

18 Aug

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

16 Jul

*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

20 Jun

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!

6 Jun

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!

Oh Hai! U Memba Me?

14 May

Bitch of the Day:

Lately, I have not been blogging as much as I had planned to when I started this bitchfest that you know and love. :) With sickness, spring break and now summer on the horizon, I’ve just not had many moments to sit and gather my thoughts. I could always whip something up real quick to make myself feel like I’ve stuck to my plan and provided my loyal subscribers (all 10 of my sexy, sexy subscribers) with at least something to tide them over, but that seems chintzy. My heart wouldn’t be into it and you’d know it was just fluff and noise. I don’t wanna be the bitch that bitches just for the sake of bitching.

Another problem is that my ADHD has reared its ugly head agai -

SQUIRREL!!!

I have managed to keep it under control the last few months with medication but it has come back full force over the last two weeks. I don’t know if my meds have leveled off or what. I just know I’m getting on my own damn nerves. I must be driving everyone else crazy.

I actually spent most of last week working on one blog. You read that right – one blog. I spent many hours reading, researching and verifying information to write a blog on Birthers. The more information I gained on this “movement,” the more pissed I got, causing the word count to skyrocket. At last edit, I was over 2300 words and it was nowhere near complete. No one comes here to read a freakin’ research paper so I knew I needed to quit before I had a stroke. There is just too much to fit in one blog and I have felt like a lunatic attempting to do so (and it was sucking a huge amount of time that could have been used for something more productive – like sleeping.) The Birther blog will probably never see the light of day. Well, that’s not true. It may wind up being a guest post on another blogger’s site. If so, I’ll let you know. If not, I may post it here later on. In either case, it will definitely be a condensed version and not the lengthy manifesto it is currently. For now, it’s on the backburner, simmering in unadulterated loathing for this group of asshats.

Once I waved the white flag on that blog, I started a new one. Yes. Another blog I haven’t posted.

ADHD is a mofo.

The jest of the second one has to do with bin Laden’s death and how I feel about it. So as not to leave you in suspense, I’ll go ahead and tell you I’m quite fucking happy about his demise. The blog will tell you all the reasons why – that is, if I ever get around to publishing it. It really sucks not being able to get your head out of your own ass. Hopefully, when I see my doctor next week, we’ll be able to figure out why I’ve suddenly regressed back to the stammering, disorganized spaz I was before starting meds.

It was awesome having the ability to focus on tasks and complete them quickly and efficiently. My house was the cleanest and most organized it has been since we moved in. I had stopped procrastinating on starting tasks because they seemed too daunting – taxing chores such as cleaning out the fridge. Seriously, my ADHD is so bad that de-funking the fridge seemed the equivalent of trying to climb Everest at times. In my head, I would say to myself: there is no way I can: clean the fridge, do ALL the laundry at once, sweep the floors, pull that toy out of Lil’ Man’s mouth, potty-train the girl, water the lawn, sneak in a nap, etc., etc., etc. A “normal” person realizes these things can’t be done all at once so they prioritize their to-do list and happily go about their day. Not me.

I get anxious because all of it has to be done NOW! Instead of prioritizing the list so I can start on the first, most important task (like throwing away that shitty diaper I changed an hour ago,) I start all the tasks at once. I’ll have water running in the sink, half a basket of clothes strewn across the couch somewhat folded, a mop in the middle of the kitchen floor and a load of laundry in the washer that I haven’t bothered to push the start button on. NOTHING gets completed. It’s 11:00 at night when I realize I haven’t started the washer and every one of my son’s school uniforms are dirty, inside it. Now you know why I’m up past 1:00 am every night. My fridge is a biology student’s wet dream because I can’t get my shit together.

I had more patience and control of my temper after the meds kicked in. Therefore,I was not yelling or freaking out as much. Don’t get me wrong, I still had my blow-ups every now and again, but I was definitely more mellow than I had been previous to starting my medication. Now I’m back to being a ragey bitch. I listen to the venom that shoots out of my mouth aimed towards my kids and/or husband and I hate myself. I can’t stop it from coming out. I have no edit button. Some of my past co-workers can tell you all about my awesome editing skills, or lack thereof . I was constantly creating shit storms at work, now I create them at home.

What could my family possibly do to incite such wrath, you may ask? Here’s a few examples of their heinous crimes against me humanity (after which, I’ll explain what really happens and why I’m a dumb ass for getting angry):

1. My son leaves his “big boy” cup on the counter, full of water, so his sister can get a hold of it and spill it everywhere. He’s been told a million times to move it by the sink, out of her reach, but he knowingly and purposely leaves it there so I’ll have yet another mess to clean up. This must be the thought-process going on in my head judging from the way I react to it. It’s water, not battery acid. He’s 5 years-old, not a typical teenager doing defiant shit just to make me miserable. He’s SUPPOSED to leave crap lying around because that’s what kids do. I’m a total douche for thinking he should behave any differently.

2. My daughter is the most obstinate child I have ever met. She does exactly the opposite of what I ask out of spite, no matter the consequences. Well, duh. She’s two. Two year-olds are obstinate. They are learning their boundaries and pushing limits. All humans go through this phase. To think my daughter is the only toddler behaving this way AND that she would purposely put herself in harm’s way just to defy my requests is completely absurd. She has no cognizance of cause and effect in most situations. I’m ashamed to say, when she does wind up hurting herself doing something she was told would harm her, my first response is not always concern over her well-being. Sometimes, it’s more like ‘Dammit. See! I told you you would hurt yourself.’ Like I’ve been inconvenienced by her pain. Now, if she’s obviously really hurt or bleeding, I respond as a “normal mom” would and scoop her up to comfort her. But if minor injuries are the result of her actions, she’s more likely to get sent to her room than get a hug. I am a complete and utter shithead.

3. My husband can’t be bothered to do anything around the house. He treats me as a maid, expects me to do everything for the kids and then doesn’t appreciate me at all. Ok, we do have issues with the distribution of chores in our household. However, we have been working on it and the load has definitely gotten lighter on my side. That aside, sometimes when this batshit nonsense starts running through my head – turning me into a ticking time bomb – it’s usually for an innocent offense. Something as benign as leaving his clothes on the floor after a shower can set me off. Of course it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love me or appreciate what I do for him. It means he forgot his clothes on the floor. It has nothing to do with me. He can’t help it that I’m a psycho who assumes socks on the floor equal a misogynistic display of control. I am fucking looney tunes.

ADHD can make you blurt out rude or hurtful things before you have time to think about the impact of those words. Thus, the missing edit button. This is why I advise friends to not tell me secrets. Usually, I can’t keep them.  ADHD can make you talk incessantly, even more so in social settings (sound familiar?) When you talk as much as I do, shit slips out that shouldn’t as you try to pull more material to gab on about. I never intend to hurt anyone or to violate trust bestowed in me, my mouth just gets away from me sometimes. And I definitely don’t want to be mean or cruel to my family, which is why I sought help in the first place.

I saw the light at the end of the “Hot-Tempered” tunnel for a little while. Now, it’s like someone blew the candle out again. So, until we can figure out why my train to Focused Town has derailed, I apologize for my inability to put together a proper bitching. I really want to blog often, helping those who read have a laugh here and there, even at my expense. I’m just not able to do it with any consistency right now. With the amount of time I spend writing these days, I should have a thesis at the end, not a blog.  But alas, coherent sentences seem to elude me, due to: being too easily distracted by kids making noise, getting hyperfocused on researching material, zoning ou -

SQUIRREL!!!

Bitchin’ Moment of the Day:

There’s been a few things happen lately that have totally rocked.

As of this week, I have officially lost 60 pounds since Lil’ Man was born last May. 60 pounds. That’s like losing the equivalent of Nicole Ritchie from your person. I’m happy to be rid of that bitch. The last time I saw my current weight on the scale was 2004. While seven years seems like a long time to get back to your “happy weight,” I’m not going to bitch at all. Some women never get back to their “happy weight” again. I feel extremely fortunate right now.

My sister and her family surprised me with a visit during Mother’s Day weekend. I hadn’t seen them since January so I was very excited to have them here. I got to take them around to see a few sights and we ate tons of food. For Mother’s Day, we got our beignets and crawfish on! Nothing makes me and my sister happier than good food. It’s surprising we don’t weigh 400 pounds each.

In other news, I now only work at the retail store one weekend a month. With us being extremely busy this summer and the hubby having to travel a lot out-of-state, it wouldn’t be fair to my boss and co-workers if I was constantly calling in or requesting off. It’s going to be so nice spending time with my family on the weekends, not missing special events or festivals and having the opportunity to sleep in every once in a while. I would have just quit all together, but as I’ve said before, I loves me some savings. I would hate to lose my discount as I’ve grown quite attached to it. Plus, I would miss my girls as I’ve grown quite attached to them, too. Well, some of them anyway. This way, I can keep in touch with the ones I like. :)

To make up the lost income from cutting my hours, I will be babysitting two little boys during the week while I’m home with my kids. Some may think I’m nuts taking on two more kids when I have three monkeys already. But trust me, five is no more work than three. It will probably help me, more than hurt me, having the two extras here to entertain and distract my kids. Also, as bad as this may sound, having two extra sets of ears around will force me to think before I speak, keeping my ADHD-fueled word vomit in check.

The girl LOVES the two year-old I will be keeping. She talks about him all the time and it is the cutest thing ever. The other little boy is a little over 4 months-old I believe and too cute. They are both extremely sweet and kind of reserved. Something I’m definitely not used to. I hope they rub off a bit on my kids. I can dream, can’t I?

Thanks for sticking it out with me, bitches!

I Don’t Want No Scrubs

19 Apr

Bitch of Every Day:

I abhor laziness. If you want to get on my really bitchy side, be a shiftless layabout. You can call me a lot of things, but lazy isn’t one of them.

Here’s a little background on me for those that aren’t in the know. My Mom is the hardest working person I know. Currently, she is 59 years-old and she works in a junkyard. Yep, you read that right. My Mom sorts scrap metal Monday through Saturday and she is almost a senior citizen.

Growing up, I had a scrub for a stepfather. He only worked during the spring and summer doing lawn work which he was able to do on a huge riding mower (that my Mom paid for) so he was lazy even then. Not to mention the fact that my Mom would go with him most weekends to help and she was the one weed eating the properties he took care of. During the winter, he did dick. He sat around the trailer, smoking cigarettes and pot when he wasn’t verbally or physically abusing one of us. He has about 20 spots reserved in Hell right now, if he isn’t already there. After years of trying to escape from him (he’d always find us,) we finally were rid of him when I turned 15. Since then, we’ve only seen him a handful of times and last we heard, he was living under a bridge somewhere supposedly wasting away from cancer. I’ll be nice and say I hope he met his end quickly if he is, in fact, already dead. That’s all I can offer in the way of compassion for the douchebag.

Watching my Mother work at a plant to make enough money to support all of us while putting up with his deranged ass instilled a very strong work ethic in me. It also taught me what to look for in potential life partners so I, and any children I might have, wouldn’t have to put up with that nonsense. I’m not going to take shit from any man, ever. I’m not what you would call a feminist per se, but in that area, you can call me a Femi-Nazi. You can’t work, tend to your home or even LOVE your children? You have no place in my life.

My loathing of laziness isn’t only directed toward life mates. It is applicable to family, friends and co-workers.

Most family members that I don’t associate with are the ones who have nothing to offer society in any way. They can’t hold a job, can’t man (or woman) up and take care of their kids, won’t kick their drug habits or if they have duped some poor, unsuspecting soul into being with them, can’t seem to stop abusing them in some way or another. To me, blood is NOT thicker than water. I will cut a family member completely from my life with no guilt at all. I’ll give them a few chances to straighten up and see their error of their ways; I’m not a total bitch. But too many chances, and I become an enabler. If you’re a shitty person, I’m not going to condone your unforgivable behavior just so you can feel warm and squishy. Blood or not, if you’re a scrub, you’re out.

I’ve disassociated myself from lifelong friends for the same things. Some have been so close that I would refer to them as family instead of friends.  It killed me to do it but I can’t let people like that affect me or my family. They will drag you into that mess and it will either break you financially, emotionally or even physically. I know many who succumbed to pressure and began using drugs, stealing, etc. from the influence of scrubs. I don’t want my kids emulating those types of behaviors in the future. And they will. How do you think most of my family and friends wound up going down that road? They saw it in their homes every day growing up. Luckily for me, I’m was pig-headed enough to fight those urges because I wanted to do something with my life – to have a better life than I had. They weren’t as driven, I guess.

Where my disdain for laziness has affected me negatively, perhaps, has been at work and home. I have definitely alienated a few co-workers (and boyfriends/spouse) when it was apparent I didn’t approve of their work ethic. If you don’t do YOUR part and I have to take up the slack, I’m going to be pissed about it. I do enough. I don’t like work or chores either but I know it has to be done so I do it. If you do your part, everything gets done faster and you don’t have to endure me being a bitch. Deal? Screw around on your own time, not mine.

Where I currently work, we are usually so busy no one has the time to even consider being lazy. There are a few exceptions. When the flow of customers finally ceases or is sporadic, I don’t sit back and relax or chat. I start hanging clothes, cleaning the desk area that is now trashed due to the frenzy of customers or straightening racks. I know if I do it NOW, then I won’t be staying late after work doing it when I’d rather be at home with my family. Lazy co-workers prevent that from happening some nights and it chaps my ass. Messing with my family time is like messing with my emotions. You will incur my wrath.

One of the biggest and longest running sources of contention with my hubby has been his initiative to do things around the house (or school when he was still in college.) He is a habitual procrastinator. I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard, “I was gonna do it tomorrow/later/when…..” If I wanted it done a week from when I asked him to do it, I would have waited a week to ask him. I don’t expect my husband to jump when I say so like some über control freak. I have gotten more forgiving lenient in my old age and will let my requests slide until the next day without being a bitch to him. But, I don’t think expecting something to be done on the SAME DAY I ask is that big of a request. I sometimes think he procrastinates just to demonstrate his control in those situations.  Trying to show he’s the Man and not bowing to the Little Woman’s demands when she reminds him to take out the damn trash. Which brings up the other (bigger) issue.

Why is it, after thirteen years together total, I still have to remind him to take out the trash? That’s HIS job. Shouldn’t he know when it goes out? Now, this past Sunday I didn’t have to tell him. But usually, it gets to be around 11:00 p.m. on Sunday night and I’ll notice the trash is still full throughout the house. When I ask when he’s going to take it out, he’ll usually mutter something about forgetting it was trash night. It’s the same day every week, even on holidays. Why is it that hard to remember? His other job is to empty the dishwasher. I’ve told him a million times, if the sink is full of dirty dishes, it’s because the dishes in the dishwasher need to be emptied. But does he notice? When I tell him it needs emptied, it will be the next day if not the day after that before he gets to it. And I refuse to empty it. Again, I do enough shit around here. There will be maggots in the sink before I empty the dishwasher. I’ll hand wash a dish here and there that I absolutely have to have before I empty the damn thing. I told you before I was pig-headed.

I can’t fully blame him for his lack of initiative around the house. See, growing up, he had chores he had to do, well, a few anyway. After he would complete his chores, his mother would go behind him and redo it. When he got to be a teenager, he’d finally had enough. If she was just going to redo it anyway, she could do it in the first place. If you are so anal-retentive (as I am and she really is) about your house that you will go behind someone and “fix” what they’ve cleaned, then you haven’t properly trained them. Also, beggars can’t be choosers. If you want the help, you can’t expect the helper to be as neurotic as you are – unless you’re paying them, of course. Your kids need guidance from you on how you want things done, but only to an extent. So his mom had to do everything because she wouldn’t let him do anything. So, he honestly was accustomed to not helping around the house when we got together. He didn’t know how to work a washing machine for Christ’s sake. I took the time to show him how to do certain things I could use his help on and thought that’d be that. Not so much.

I still have to ask for help all the time. He doesn’t notice the filth, nor does he really care about it. If I left for a month to go on a trip and came back, my house would probably look similar to some of those on TLC’s Hoarding. Instead of copious amounts of ceramic cats and old newspapers, my house would be filled to the brim with Dr. Pepper cans and shitty diapers. There’d be paper plates littering the counters, floors, the stove, everywhere. Everywhere except the garbage can. Seriously, you’re 10 feet from the garbage can. Why the eff are you laying it on the counter for ME to throw away? It bothers me because it shows a lack of respect for my time, the hard work I put into our home  and my feelings. He knows how important it is for me to have a clean house and that things be organized. Yet, he makes no effort to help keep it that way. I pick up after him as much as I do my kids. Maybe more than my kids. So, we butt heads about it every few months (really, I just talk at him and he mutters and nods. Things get better for a few weeks then revert back to the same old shit.) He is the bread-winner in the home; I only work weekends in a department store. I, however, take care of at least two, if not all three kids all day by myself the entire week-long. It’s more draining than any “real” job I’ve ever had. I still manage to clean, pay bills, fix things and cook while caring for them. I’ll trade his “real” job for my “playing house” any day. He wouldn’t last a week and he knows it. So why he doesn’t step up to help is beyond me.

Don’t get me wrong. He’s an awesome dad to my kids. He has a great job that he actually likes for once and seems to be well-respected there. He and I still find new things to talk about everyday so we’re never bored together. And it doesn’t hurt that I still find him to be very, very cute. :)  He is definitely not a SCRUB. He just needs to SCRUB around the house a little more often.

Bitchin’ Moment of the Day:

My kids are funny as hell. I wish I could remember all the things they say on a daily basis but anyone that knows me, knows my memory is shit. I blame it on brain rot from all the Diet Coke I’ve been drinking over the years. I need a little recorder I can carry around so I can save it verbatim when the funnies happen. Here’s just a couple from the last few days:

Via the oldest:

“My name is Penguin Man. I can freeze people, launch fireballs out of my butt, and make mountains crumble!” Someone thinks he is a superhero whose superpower involves farts. Awesome. I truly do have a boy.

Conversation today with the girl:

Me: “Who is that on your shirt?”

The girl: “Da Princesssssss.”

M: “But what’s her name?”

G: ” I dunno.”

M: “That’s Cinderella.”

G: “Cinner Grella.”

M: “No, Cinderella. Cin-der….”

G: “Cinderrrrrr.”

M: “Rel-la.”

G: ” Gorwillaaaaaa. Cinderrrrr Gorillaaaaaaa.” Runs off laughing maniacally.

Another shining example of how well my children listen to me.

Later Bitches!

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