On Flags and Country

9 Jul

Flags. Man, have we seen a lot on flags lately. Of course, I’m referring to two flags in particular, both of which that incite feelings of hatred, discrimination, division and/or exclusion. One was created purposely to incite those feelings; the other was created to show solidarity among one group of people being excluded and discriminated against.

In this blog, I’m going to address the controversies surrounding the Confederate Battle Flag. While the Supreme Court ruling confirming gay Americans have the same rights to marry as heterosexual Americans is very important, I’ll have to save that for another day. There’s just no way to fit both in one blog.  In this blog, I will not be advocating the total ban of the Battle Flag, removal of Confederate monuments, changing street names, etc. Don’t go getting your panties in a wad before we even begin, okay? I will be addressing only FACTS, my favorite of all the f-words. I will include source material so all of you can look this stuff up for yourself if you think I’m bullshitting.

Buckle down, this one is going to long. There will be material used that should be offensive to you. I will not edit facts just to be politically correct or downplay what happened here in my beloved south. The rewriting of history is how some of us have been misled to believe in false ideologies. You have been forewarned.

Bitch of the Moment:

I am as southern as it gets. I have lived in the south my entire life, with the few months here and there that I lived in a small town in Illinois. I was born and raised in Little Rock, Arkansas and currently live in the Baton Rouge, Louisiana area. All I have to do is speak, and people instantly know what part of the country I am from – I have a truly horrendous, southern accent. I love sweet tea, gossip and crawfish boils. The food, the weather, the landscape and the flora of the south are all very near and dear to my heart. I even love the humidity (yes, I’m odd – I can’t live without humidity as my eczema-ridden ass would dry up completely without it). I could not imagine living anywhere else in the U.S.

Here in the south, I have seen the Confederate Battle Flag displayed prominently and proudly more times than I could ever count. When I was young, many people I knew displaying the flag in and around their homes, family or otherwise, were racist. That’s not an assumption, it’s fact. Some friends couldn’t even go to a friend’s house for a sleepover if that friend’s mother was married to a black man. Where at all possible, separation of races was not encouraged but demanded in these white, southern homes. This wasn’t the 50’s or 60’s, folks. This was the late 80’s and 90’s. There is a portion of this nation’s 30-somethings who were raised this way. Unfortunately, some are now passing that legacy of hate down to their children.

Some of you may be thinking, ‘Well, that’s not how I was raised. I’m not a racist. I display the flag to show my southern heritage as I’m proud to be from the south! The flag is a symbol of states’ rights and not racism.” Great. I’m genuinely ecstatic you didn’t grow up around those types of people. If you see all people as equal, without any prejudgments based on skin color or that race’s culture, you are a phenomenal human being. I, too, am proud to be from the south as I stated above. However, the Confederate Battle Flag and the Confederate Flag (yes, they are two different flags) are not symbols of states’ rights. Even if they were about states’ rights, what was the biggest “right” that the Confederate states were fighting to keep? They both absolutely represent racism, and the only heritage they symbolize are the southern heritage of racism and slavery. There is a reason the Battle Flag was/is flown during lynchings and KKK rallies and was adopted by those defending segregation in the very same states that fought for slavery.

Stay with me, here come the FACTS. When you see a (*), there will be a link taking you to the source material.

First, we have to have a little history lesson before we can get to the actual design of the Confederate flags and their intended meaning as told directly by those that designed them.

What caused the Civil War?

Abraham Lincoln was elected President on November 6, 1860. He was known to the slave-holding states as an abolitionist and hostile to slavery.* Lincoln’s first inauguration was held March 4, 1861. Before Lincoln took office in March 1861, seven states had already seceded from the Union to form a new “permanent federal government”, the Confederate States of America (South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana and Texas). On April 12th, South Carolina (the first state to secede from the Union), fired on Fort Sumter in Charleston, which was held by the Union. The attack on Fort Sumter initiated the Civil War. Four additional states would join the Confederacy shortly thereafter (Virginia, Arkansas, Tennessee and North Carolina).

Why did the Confederate States secede?

Only four of the eleven seceding states issued formal declarations of causes for secession. Those four were: South Carolina, Mississippi, Georgia and Texas.* The other seven states issued ordinances announcing their secession from the Union. Those seven were: Florida, Alabama, Louisiana, Virginia, Arkansas, Tennessee and North Carolina.*

I cannot list every single declaration or ordinance of secession in this blog as it would make it an unbearable read. However, the four states that issued formal declarations of causes for secession make it explicitly clear their reasoning for abandoning the Union (soon after ruled illegal*), and those reasons were the preservation of slavery and the superiority of the white race.

Of the seven remaining states that seceded, Virginia and Alabama reference aligning with slave-holding states in the Confederacy to end the slave-holding states’ “oppression”*. That oppression being the abolishment of slavery.

Louisiana did not reference slavery in their ordinance, but they did in their letter urging the state of Texas to secede from the Union*.

Arkansas, like Louisiana, did not reference slavery in their ordinance. However, my home state tried to have the U.S. Constitution amended to end the “hostility to the institution of African slavery, as it exists in the Southern States, …”*.

Florida apparently drafted a declaration of causes but the committee formed to draft it was dismissed before it was completed. Only an untitled and undated draft remains in the State Archives of Florida*. If this is truly a genuine draft of Florida’s declaration of causes written sometime in February of 1861, it definitely references the preservation of slavery and the inferiority of Africans to whites, stating, “Their natural tendency every where shown where the race has existed to idleness vagrancy and crime increased by the inability to procure subsistence”. As a bonus, this draft also refers to President Lincoln as “an obscure and illiterate man…”. Florida – Keeping It Classy Since 1861.

North Carolina and Tennessee are the only two Confederate states that simply withdrew without mentioning causes.

For those not keeping count, nine of the eleven states that seceded from this country and by their actions caused the largest loss of American soldiers’ lives to date (620,000*), did so to protect the rights of slave owners. Their main objective was to maintain control of their “property”. Slaves were so dehumanized that they weren’t even referred to as people.

In the very likely event that some of you can’t be bothered to click on the (*) links I have so painstakingly provided for you, here are a few gems from those sources (these are all verbatim – I will not correct spelling, grammar, etc.):

Excerpts from Declaration of the Immediate Causes Which Induce and Justify the Secession of South Carolina from the Federal Union, adopted December 24, 1860:

“But an increasing hostility on the part of the non-slaveholding States to the institution of slavery, has led to a disregard of their obligations, and the laws of the General Government have ceased to effect the objects of the Constitution. Here is where the states’ rights argument falls apart. If the seceding states were FOR states’ rights, they wouldn’t have protested other states enacting laws that protected people from degradation and entitled them to the basic, human rights that all Americans are guaranteed. But again, the Confederacy didn’t see slaves as people, they were “property”.  The seceding states were acting against OTHER states’ rights.

It goes on to state: “Those States have assume the right of deciding upon the propriety of our domestic institutions; and have denied the rights of property established in fifteen of the States and recognized by the Constitution; they have denounced as sinful the institution of slavery; they have permitted open establishment among them of societies, whose avowed object is to disturb the peace and to eloign the property of the citizens of other States. They have encouraged and assisted thousands of our slaves to leave their homes; and those who remain, have been incited by emissaries, books and pictures to servile insurrection.” OMG! They gave them books! The horror!

Lastly: “A geographical line has been drawn across the Union, and all the States north of that line have united in the election of a man to the high office of President of the United States, whose opinions and purposes are hostile to slavery. He is to be entrusted with the administration of the common Government, because he has declared that “Government cannot endure permanently half slave, half free,” and that the public mind must rest in the belief that slavery is in the course of ultimate extinction.” That statement says volumes. South Carolina did not want slavery to become extinct so they said, “Fuck you, guys! We’re out!”

Excepts from A Declaration of the Immediate Causes which Induce and Justify the Secession of the State of Mississippi from the Federal Union, adopted January 9, 1861:

Our position is thoroughly identified with the institution of slavery— the greatest material interest of the world. Its labor supplies the product which constitutes by far the largest and most important portions of commerce of the earth. These products are peculiar to the climate verging on the tropical regions, and by an imperious law of nature, none but the black race can bear exposure to the tropical sun. These products have become necessities of the world, and a blow at slavery is a blow at commerce and civilization. This statement isn’t buried in the declaration. It’s starts with the second sentence. Fearing they would have to expose themselves to the tropical sun and actually get their hands dirty OR god forbid, hire workers that would be treated humanely and would receive actual payment for their labor, Mississippi seceded to ensure the prosperity that slavery afforded them.

That we do not overstate the dangers to our institution, a reference to a few facts will sufficiently prove. It advocates negro equality, socially and politically, and promotes insurrection and incendiarism in our midst…. It has enlisted its press, its pulpit and its schools against us, until the whole popular mind of the North is excited and inflamed with prejudice.  Equality? Well we certainly couldn’t have that, could we Mississippi? I think it’s hilarious they complain about prejudice against them.

Excerpt from Communication submitted by Geo. Williamson, Commissioner from the State of Louisiana to the Texas secession convention, written February 11, 1861:

Louisiana looks to the formation of a Southern confederacy to preserve the blessings of African slavery, and of the free institutions of the founders of the Federal Union, be­queathed to their posterity…. Louisiana and Texas have the same language, laws and institutions. They grow the same great staples—sugar and cotton. Between the citizens of each exists the most cordial social and commercial intercourse…. both States have large areas of fertile, uncultivated lands, peculiarly adapted to slave labor; and they are both so deeply interested in African slavery that it may be said to be absolutely necessary to their existence, and is the keystone to the arch of their prosperity. Sounds a lot like what Mississippi had to say, huh?

Louisiana remembers too well the whisperings of European diplomacy for the abolition of slavery in the times of an­nexation not to be apprehensive of bolder demonstrations from the same quarter and the North in this country. The people of the slave holding States are bound together by the same necessity and deter­mination to preserve African slavery. Nothing needs to be said here.

Excerpt from the draft of Florida Declaration of Causes:

By the agency of a large proportion of the members from the non slaveholding States books have been published and circulated amongst us the direct tendency and avowed purpose of which is to excite insurrection and servile war with all their attendant horrors. A President has recently been elected, an obscure and illiterate man without experience in public affairs or any general reputation mainly if not exclusively on account of a settled and often proclaimed hostility to our institutions and a fixed purpose to abolish them. It is denied that it is the purpose of the party soon to enter into the possession of the powers of the Federal Government to abolish slavery by any direct legislative act. This declaration is by far my favorite. The whole thing just rambles on aimlessly and it’s the only one that directly insults Lincoln. “Oooooooh, sick BURN! We really stuck it to him.” I can just imagine them giving each other high fives and slapping each other on the ass.

Now class, what have we learned from our little history lesson? After reviewing the materials outlined, what seems to be the prevailing cause for the secession of Confederate states that led to the Civil War? It’s okay, you can say it. Slavery. That’s right, A+ for all of you.

On to the flag(s)! I can’t link to an electronic source for this part. So here is the source material that you can look up if you wish. The part on the Confederate flags starts on Page 383: Our Flag: Origin and Progress Of The Flag of the United States of America with an Introductory Account of the Symbols, Standards, Banners and Flags Of Ancient and Modern Nations By Captain George Henry Preble, U.S.N., 1872. 

The Flag(s) of The Confederate States of America

All Three Versions of the Flag

The Confederacy had several issues with the design of their flag.

The first version, the “Stars and Bars” was meant to look similar to the Union flag. They were essentially stripping the United States flag of “their stars and bars”. The issue with this flag was that it looked too similar to the Union flag. During battle or in undesirable weather conditions, it was too hard to tell the flags apart. It proved problematic during the First Battle of Bull Run.

The second version of the flag sought to end the confusion and to completely separate the Confederacy from the Union. The man who designed the “Stainless Banner” was William T. Thompson, Editor of Savannah Morning News. As he was the Editor of the “News”, he had the free reign to publish his intent with regard to the flag’s design. I’m very glad he did. Directly from the man himself:

Our idea is simply to combine the present battle flag with a pure white standard sheet; our southern cross, blue, on a red field to take the place on the white flag that is occupied by the blue union in the old United States flag or the St George’s cross in the British flag. As a people we are fighting to maintain the heaven ordained supremacy of the white man over the inferior or colored race a white flag would thus be emblematical of our cause. There it is in black and white. This isn’t conjecture; this isn’t a broad interpretation – this is directly from the man who designed the flag that was to represent this new government. This is the heritage he sought to convey.

But again, the Confederacy had issues with this version. As it was on a predominantly white sheet, when the flag wasn’t flying at full mast, say on a windless day, it looked like the flag of surrender or truce.  You can see why that would cause problems.

The third and final version, the “Blood Stained Banner”, kept Thompson’s original design but added a vertical red bar to the end to prevent it being seen as a flag of surrender. Mr. Thompson, once again, took up his pen to state:

Such a flag would be a suitable emblem of our young confederacy, and sustained by the brave hearts and strong arms of the south, it would soon take rank among the proudest ensigns of the nations and be hailed by the civilized world as THE WHITE MAN’S FLAG. By the way, I didn’t capitalize that last bit. That is exactly as it was published. There shouldn’t be any confusion over what he meant. He emphasized it for us.

The Confederate Battle Flag

The Southern Cross

This is not the flag of the Confederate States of America. This is the Confederate Battle Flag. It was designed by Colonel William Porcher Miles. Col. Miles doesn’t say much in as far as what he wished the flag to convey. He mainly spoke of preserving the red, white and blue in the flag and avoiding religious objections by having the cross displayed diagonally instead of upright. However, he did write this with regards to getting recognition for designing the Battle Flag after the war was over: It is certainly not worth while for us vanquished Confederates to contend among ourselves for the honor (if there be any honor in it) of having designed it and cheerfully would I yield my own pretensions to any merit whatever in the matter. The very man who designed this flag said he would gladly give up any claims to it. If the creator of this flag found no honor in it, why should we 150 years later?

Even Robert E. Lee distanced himself from this flag or any other divisive symbols from the Civil War that his side lost. He declined invitations to be honored from the Gettysburg Battlefield Memorial Association, stating, “I think it wiser moreover not to keep open the sores of war.” Even in death, Lee abstained from promoting the Confederate cause. There were no flags flown at his funeral, Confederate or otherwise.

This was the flag flown during battle by the Confederate soldiers. It’s the banner under which men fought and died to enact secession, with the ultimate goal of preserving slavery. It’s not a symbol to be proud of or one that should be used to express our southern heritage. It definitely should not adorn any state or federal building in this country, as that flag does not represent the United States of America. It represents separation, not unity.

If you bothered to click on the (*) links above, you’d know that no state may secede from the Union (U.S. Supreme Court case, Texas vs. White, 1869). Therefore, this is a flag of treason. Sugar-coat it anyway you want, that’s what it is. If a large group of individuals today decided to shed allegiance to the U.S., and carried out an attack on a U.S. military installation, would they be called heroes or domestic terrorists? If you are a proud to be an American and love the freedoms you enjoy as a citizen of this UNITED country, this flag does not represent that sentiment.


Now, I said in the beginning that I do not advocate the total ban of the Battle Flag. I believe this flag does have its place.

It belongs in museums and textbooks, so that future generations can learn from our past transgressions. Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. I don’t believe the flag or what it represents should be white-washed or revered as some sacred artifact from the South’s glorious past (Texas, do you hear me?). It should be represented as what it was and still is, a symbol of degradation and oppression.

It also has its place in Civil War reenactments. These are historical demonstrations and they provide valuable learning opportunities. These reenactments are a way to remember the 620,000 fallen soldiers and they provide a historical perspective on the turbulent times during the Civil War. Not all soldiers who fought for the Confederacy were bad people who advocated slavery; many were there unwillingly (look up the Confederate law of national conscription if you want more info on that). They died fighting a war they did not volunteer for and as such, they deserve to be honored along with Union soldiers who died in battle.

It also has a place in individuals’ homes if they wish to display it. We, as United States citizens, are free to express ourselves. If someone wants to fly this flag on their property, they have every right to do so. I don’t want to live in a country where personal expression isn’t allowed. However, just know if you do decide to fly this flag in or around your home, you are being judged. Anyone displaying the Confederate Battle flag will be judged in the same manner as those judged for flying a Nazi swastika or an ISIS flag (again, they have the right to do so if they wish). All three flags symbolize genocide, oppression and discrimination. If that’s what you wish to convey, go ahead and fly the Southern Cross. If it’s not, I beseech you to reconsider and find a flag better suited to represent your “southern heritage”. The only flag I plan on using to display my “southern heritage” is a New Orleans Saints flag. Can I get a “Who Dat?!?”

I’m proud of this flag. Who Dat?!?

Bitchin Moment:

I can’t leave without saying at least one thing about marriage equality: Love won!

Liberty & Justice For All

Liberty & Justice For All

Later Bitches!


A Simple Plea for Help

3 Mar

Unlike my usual posts, this one will not be filled with humor or expletives. Instead, I’m reaching out to my followers, beseeching them to help a family truly in need.

I have a beautiful niece that I don’t get to see nearly enough. Her mother, while no longer with my brother, is someone I hold very dear to my heart and still consider a “sister”. She recently got married and had a beautiful baby boy just after Christmas. She was the happiest I’ve seen her in many years. It seemed each day was better than the last. That was, until last week. Last Thursday, this beautiful woman was devastated by the sudden loss of someone very close to her. Her uncle David was killed in a single-vehicle accident. He was only 41 years-old.

David Parker

David Parker

While technically her uncle, he was more like a brother because they were relatively close in age. As a girl, he was her playmate. She jokes that as a child, he was her “first love” and that she thought she’d marry him one day before she knew what love was or the rules associated with it or marriage.

David & K

Her uncle David feeding her as a newborn

Into adulthood, though they lived a ways apart, they remained very close. He was also close to his great-nieces. They adored him as my friend and her siblings had growing up. David was single and did not have children of his own so he cherished the time he spent with them.

David and his great-nieces

David and his great-nieces, H & T

David and H

David and H

David never got the chance to meet his great-nephew. The last time my friend saw him, she was near the end of her pregnancy with baby K. My friend is heartbroken that baby K will never know David and how wonderful he was.

David, my silly friend & baby K performing tricks

David, my silly friend & baby K performing tricks

David, being a single man with no children of his own, unfortunately never planned to die unexpectedly at such a young age. He never thought his family would be left behind without the financial means to lay him to rest. But that’s what happened. Even though they only arranged a modest burial service, the cost is far beyond her family’s monetary resources. There is no insurance money to help – not even from the auto policy as the vehicle he was driving had liability insurance only. The small amount of savings David had has been exhausted and barely put a dent in the costs. The family is beside themselves.

The loss of someone as special and wonderful as David was, has been devastating enough for this family. They shouldn’t have to worry or stress over how they are going to bury someone they loved so much. They should be allowed to properly grieve him and make their way towards healing the terrible wound that his loss has made in their hearts. Instead, they are having to contemplate financial ruin just to pay for this. That’s not an exaggeration. We’re talking about family members having to drain every cent they don’t have to bury their family member. No one should ever have to make these kind of decisions.

I know a lot of us live paycheck-to-paycheck. We have vacations we are saving for, budgets we adhere to so we can one day be out of debt, kids that seem to always need something for school, and the list goes on. But, if there’s anyway you can spare a little in order to help this heartbroken family, I’m begging you, my followers, to help if you can.

There has been a GoFundMe account set up for the family. They are trying to raise $3,500 just to pay the balance of the funeral costs but to be honest, they need more. At least one family member has already drained their account to put towards the funeral. They actually need $5,200. So far, the GoFundMe account has only raised $800. While the family is extremely grateful to have raised even that much through the kindness of strangers, the balance they need is overwhelming.

Please, if you can, give. If you can’t give, share. I beg you all to share. It only takes a second to post this on Facebook or other forms of social media. The more people we reach, the more likely this family will have peace of mind knowing they were able to provide a proper burial for this beloved man without financially crippling those left behind. I have the link to the GoFundMe account below. On behalf of me and the family, thank you in advance to those of you that choose to give and/or share this. You have no idea what a difference you’ll make from this one small gesture. In closing, I’ll leave you with a quote that reflects how I try to live my life. Oh, what a world we would live in if everyone strived to live this way.

“I don’t want to live in the kind of world where we don’t look out for each other. Not just the people who are close to us, but anybody who needs a helping hand. I can’t change the way anybody else thinks, or what they choose to do, but I can do my bit.” ― Charles de Lint


Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Reader Participation: Guilty Pleasures

27 Dec
We All Have Them.

We All Have Them.

I presented the idea to all of you about writing a blog based off your responses to a random topic that I would pick. I received enough positive feedback to try and give it a go. So here is the first installment of this little experiment of mine. The topic: Guilty Pleasures.

I asked my readers and followers on Facebook to submit their guilty pleasures privately to me so that they may be included in this blog. I ensured complete and total anonymity to those with balls big enough to share their secret shames with me. However, I was very surprised at the number of responses I received through comments instead of private messages, displaying their “secret shames” out in the open for all to see. So it would seem they aren’t that guilty about their pleasures and have way bigger balls than I anticipated. To be completely truthful, ALL but one of the respondents said they really didn’t care if everyone knew their identity and what they were “confessing” to me. I either have the most honest and confident readers EVER or the most shameless readers ever. I’m going with the latter. 🙂 My sincerest thanks to those that participated – I love you shameless bitches! Onward.

Musical Guilty Pleasures

Several entries fell into this category. These might not be that funny at first glance but I’ll elaborate after.

  1. I freely and openly admit that bands like A-Ha and Yes are frequently on rotation in my playlist.
  2. Reader: Does singing loudly (and poorly) in a car by yourself count as a guilty pleasure? Me: Not unless you are singing Britney Spears. Reader: It’s usually Disney shit.
  3. Regina Spektor. I love female singers and she has my number.

Now why should you find those funny? Because they were all submitted by DUDES. Big, burly, dirty, manly men.

Read #1 again. Now picture a grunge kid that I used to hang out with listening to Korn. Now picture him singing, ♫“Take on meeeeeeeeeeeee, take me onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. I’ll be goooonnnnneeee, in a day or twoooooooooo!”♫ To this day, I have no idea how that guy hit those notes without his nuts shriveling up completely.

Read #2 again. Now picture a very tall, burly, ginger-headed man who introduced me to a little game called Cards Against Humanity. Now picture him bellowing ♫“Let It Go”♫ in a car with no children in tow. It’s kinda frightening now that I think about it. Ha!

Read #3 again. Now picture a guy with Pantera tattoos and a camel cigarette hanging from his lip who once pissed all over a car parked next to us as we were leaving a bar. Now picture him singing, ever so sweetly, ♫“And it breaks my heart. And it breaks my heart. And it breaks my hear-ar-ar-ar-ar-art.”♫

Food Guilty Pleasures

I actually expected more submissions regarding food but only received one. But it was a good one.

I like to eat saltines mixed in a glass of milk. I eat fries in my ice cream. I eat sweets pretty much all day long. If I buy a bag of candy, I can eat it in a day or two. Oh, and I eat sriracha sauce on almost everything. I even had a sriracha whoopie pie once.

I’m not gonna lie. The crackers in milk thing makes me puke in my mouth a little. And while I get the fries in ice cream thing, I prefer my ice cream all by its lonesome…in mah belly. I can attest to the fact that this person can eat. I’ve seen them in action. This is not a large person by the way – unless you count her boobs – which may be full of sriracha from the sounds of it. Brings new meaning to the phrase, “She’s so HOT!”

Old Lady Guilty Pleasures

My guilty pleasures are boring as hell and basically show that I’m an 80 year-old woman at heart. I love to watch Golden Girls while I crochet and cross-stitch.

The funny thing about this one is that the person who submitted it is one of the most fabulous and hip people I know. She knows all the trends and latest fashions. She knows all the happenings going on. She’s a football-lovin’, beer-drinkin’, badass bitch. Who can’t get enough of Blanche, Dorothy, Rose and Sophia apparently. And for the record, if you don’t love Sophia then we can’t be friends. If you do love do love Sophia, ♫“Thank you for being a friend!”♫ Yeah. I went there.

Child-Like Guilty Pleasures

I must admit, I guffawed when I received this next one. This is truly a guilty pleasure, hidden away from family and friends. And it’s fucking hilarious.

Ok, so Dora the fucking Explorer was banned in my house because I got tired of her asking us ‘where are we going?’ – it’s her show, she shouldn’t have to ask. Well back in August, they launched a new grownup Dora. She’s a teenager and lives in the city. No Boots the monkey and she doesn’t ask where we are going. Instead of lifting the ban on the bitch, I secretly DVR the show and watch it by myself while taking a bubble bath. Apparently, I like the teenage Dora and by hiding and watching her by myself, the kids won’t replay it over and over and over.

You come home after a hard day’s work, light some candles, pour yourself a glass of wine, disrobe and climb into a nice hot bath. As you breathe in the aromatic vapors from your favorite bubble bath, you just need one more thing to help ease that last bit of tension from your shoulders:

Instant Stress Relief

Instant Stress Relief

Apparently, kids’ shows are a popular guilty pleasure. Another reader responded with Spongebob Squarepants. Honestly, I think Spongebob is secretly for adults. Have you ever watched that show? Some of the double entendres and innuendo I’ve heard while watching it have made me blush – and that’s saying something. I don’t want to explain why crusty crabs are living in bikini bottoms to my four year-old thankyouverymuch.

Naked Guilty Pleasures

Yep. I’ve got naked readers – plural. Doing naked….things.

Reader: I still rock out to the Spice Girls when I’m alone. I love dancing naked. And I sing to my dogs. Me: But do you sing to your dogs while dancing naked to the Spice Girls? Reader: Sometimes.

This reader gets bonus points because she was the very first to respond. She gets even more bonus points because I now have a mental image in my head I’ll likely have until the day I die. I’ve seen her dance fully clothed and it can be pretty provocative. Those doggies are getting a show most men would pay for.

But hands down, the award for the naughtiest guilty pleasure by far goes to:

I masturbate ALL the time. In the library, waiting in rush hour traffic, in my bed. You’re welcome.

I love the “You’re welcome” added on the end. Now I ask you, is that from a guy or a girl? If we were placing bets, which gender would you put your wager on? I would have bet on a male. I’m a horrible gambler though. That was from a girl. A totally HAWT girl. Guys, next time you’re sitting in traffic, take a look around. You may get a little show while you’re waiting.

BitchinMommy’s Guilty Pleasures

I promised to confess two of my guilty pleasures if enough people responded to this and they did. So, as promised, here they are:

  • I work downtown. In the evening, it can take a long time to get home due to rush hour traffic (which I’m going to pay more attention to from now on!) I usually have just enough time to get across town to pick up the kids from daycare. However, every now and again, something magical happens. The sea of cars dissipates and I get a clear shot home, sometimes with 30 to 45 minutes to spare before the daycare closes. I could go ahead and pick up the kids, go home and start dinner, laundry, baths, etc. But I don’t. I covet that small gift of “alone time”. I usually drive to the Walgreen’s just down the road from the daycare and sit in my car in the parking lot. I feel guilty that I’m not overjoyed with the prospect of spending that extra time with my kids. Some mothers would look down on me for this. Well, fuck those moms. I need a moment, every now and again, just to sit in silence. A moment not filled with never-ending to-do lists. A moment where I’m not assaulted with a million questions as soon as I pull up: What’s for dinner? Can I get on the computer? Who has to take a bath first? All followed by whining, bickering and crying. If that makes me a horrible mom for enjoying this guilty pleasure, then a horrible mom I be.

That leads us to the second guilty pleasure. You may ask what it is I do while sitting in the Walgreen’s parking lot. And no, it’s not masturbate. Sometimes I just listen to the radio. Sometimes I scroll through Facebook. But mostly, I do this:

  • I play My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Yep. I play a game made for little girls and Bronies and I play it religiously. I play the game so freakin’ much that I’m at level 88. My Little Pony has made me their bitch. My heart is overjoyed when new objectives are unveiled, when I level up yet another pony or when I earn another trophy. I completely zone out and my inner six year-old takes over while playing the game. It’s a nice little break from reality. As an added bonus, I can hold my own in conversations with the girl when she wants to talk about Pinkie Pie (our favorite pony), Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash (Daddy and the boys favorite pony) or any other MLP characters. I’m the coolest mom ever, for at least five minutes until she gets distracted by something else. If this isn’t proof that I need more adult interaction in my life then I don’t know what is.
Mommy Crack.

Mommy Crack.

That’s all, folks. I hope you’ve enjoyed this. I certainly did. I would love to do another reader participation blog. I have a few ideas for topics but I’m VERY open to your suggestions if there is something you think would make for a great blog. Just leave any ideas you have in the comments or you can message me on the BitchinMommy Facebook page.

Thank you to those that made this blog possible by trusting me enough to share this information about themselves.

Later Bitches!



Well Hey There, Sexy Bitches

25 Oct

Whenever I’ve gone on a long hiatus from blogging, I usually come back with “I know it’s been a while…” or “I know I suck for not blogging but I’ll do better….”. After saying it so many times, it doesn’t come across as sincere. You all know by now that:

  1. I have three kids (four if you count the hubby) that I’m constantly cleaning up after, nursing through another pukefest, chauffeuring to yet another birthday party or trying to get fed, bathed and in bed.
  2. I have ADD and anxiety so keeping me focused on anything beyond what I absolutely have to do is a feat of monumental proportions.
  3. My job was getting real shitty there for a while and just plain sucked all the funny out of me.

Let’s all just agree that I’m a sporadic blogger at best and be thankful when the occasional blog actually comes to fruition. K? Alrighty then. Moving forward!

Here’s a few items of note that have happened in my absence.

The Girl is Growing Up

Little Miss started kindergarten in August. She has lost not one but two teeth in the last couple of months. We celebrated her 6th birthday this week. She is growing up WAY too fast. It’s cliché but it’s true. I caught myself staring at her the other day just in awe at how much she has changed this past year. She has gotten taller, her facial features have changed a bit, the olive skin she inherited from her father is still beautifully bronzed from spending the summer at our aunt’s pool. *Let it be noted that I, too, spent the summer at the pool and did not come away beautifully bronzed. Does “ruddy” qualify as tan?  I know we all think our kids are beautiful but I gotta say, my girl is downright stunning at times, when she’s not covered in dirt or something sticky. When I meet other parents for the first time at birthday parties she is invited to, they always comment on how beautiful she is. Strangers stop us in the grocery store to tell her how pretty she is. It amazes me that made that. So sometimes I just sit and stare at her. Occasionally she’ll catch me staring, look at me with a smile, then fart. Giggling, she’ll say, “I farted, Poopy Mommy.” Yep, I made that.

My Job No Longer Sucks

For the better part of two years, my work life sucked. A job I once LOVED had become a source of stress and anxiety that took every ounce of willpower I had just to get out of bed and show up for. I was chronically late due to procrastinating every morning by sitting in my car. I had to talk myself into walking into the building. And those that know me, know I loathe being late. Why did it suck so bad? Lemme tell you.

I essentially had been doing two full-time jobs for two years. For two different bosses. On two different floors. Both bosses were demanding, in different ways.

“A”, who was my “original” boss, is the quintessential “Tiger Mom”. She is a perfectionist to a fault, unable to congratulate a job well done, and always has unrealistic expectations. I started working for her as a reporting specialist. Basically, I would create various accounting reports for the firm showing budget variances, productivity numbers, client averages, etc. I also edited SQL queries, created Crystal reports, automated manual reports, learned how to write macros in Excel, etc. Mind you, this is not anything I did before working at this firm. I learned all this on my own by absorbing any training material I could find, researching online and just by trial and error. I got really fucking good at it. And I loved it. While she irritated me to no end most days, I learned a lot working under her in that role and she pushed me to get a better understanding of everything I worked on. Then they fired the administrative assistant.

Since it was near year-end and some partners felt we (the accounting department) were already overstaffed, I was asked if I could step in and help with the administrative tasks until they could hire a new admin after the new year. I say I was asked, but we all know I didn’t have a choice – I couldn’t say no. Plus, I naively assumed they were being honest with me about hiring a new admin eventually. Once that happened, I would go back to being a reporting specialist and continue on my path to becoming the financial analyst for the firm. Then they hired the new Executive Director.

I was told a week before the new director, “D”, started that I would need to help him administratively as well. I was already struggling my workload from reporting and assisting “A” with her menial administrative tasks. Now I have to add this dude’s menial tasks to my ever-growing to-do list? My anxiety level rose to 11. From day one, “D” acted as if I was his – and only his – admin assistant. I was befuddled. I was just a fill-in until they hired the REAL admin. Right? Wrong.

In less than two months, I was relocated to his floor, typing meeting minutes and memos from pages and pages of handwritten notes (seriously, this dude has never used Dragon and cannot type using more than his index fingers), setting up endless meetings and lunches, slowly dying on the inside. Even worse, we did not gel at first. In fact, only a week after moving to his floor, he told me I pissed him off because I didn’t immediately respond to an email he sent me. Never mind the fact I was uploading time for every attorney in the firm that morning so we could bill clients millions of dollars, but no, I should have totally stopped what I was doing to respond to your email asking me for something you could have totally looked up yourself. After a brief meeting with HR, a meeting was set up between me, “D”, “A” and HR. I was told it was to smooth out the edges, lay out all my current responsibilities and define my responsibilities going forward. I was going to use the meeting as a chance to inquire as to when they planned to hire the REAL assistant so I could go back to my job and continue on the career path I was told I would be on when I was hired. Then they ambushed me.

There would not be a new admin assistant – I was and would always be the admin assistant. Since accounting was overstaffed my former position could no longer be justified. However, just because I’m so awesome, I still get to keep all my reporting responsibilities on top of supporting two executives at the same time. Yay! Did I say two full-time jobs? I meant three.

Can anyone blame me for hiding out in my car every morning? Juggling three different roles (without any extra pay by the way), being as ADD as I am, just drained me. I disappeared from here, from Facebook, from my friends. The thought of doing ANYTHING after I go off work was too overwhelming. I jumped into the hermit hole with both feet. Then someone in accounting got demoted and moved out of the department.

I was told repeatedly accounting was overstaffed so there wasn’t a position for me in that department even though I still had accounting responsibilities. So when I found out a position in billing was opening up because someone was being demoted, I immediately threw my name in the hat. It also helped that I am close with the billing supervisor and I was already her back-up for several tasks when she’s out. Of course, both of my bosses didn’t like the idea that they’d have to find a new admin, but they conceded and I got the job. All I had to do was wait until they hired my replacement and then train them. I wound up waiting two months. TWO FUCKING MONTHS. “D” took that long processing applicants to fill my job. I could take that as a compliment – that it was that hard to fill my shoes. I know that’s not why it took that long, but it’s better for me to pretend he wasn’t being an immense, nit-picking douche. Luckily, his nit-picking paid off. The new admin catches on quick, is a self-starter and a pretty cool chick.

My anxiety level has already decreased exponentially. I have only been in my new role for a few weeks now, but my work life no longer sucks. I don’t hide out in my car anymore and I haven’t been late. Life at work is good, definitely on the way to being bitchin’.

Pukefest 2015

All three of my kids have been puking on and off since the beginning of September. You don’t truly realize just how many stuffed animals your kids have until they’ve puked all over their rooms and you have to wash and dry every single last one of those bastards – twice. If any of you ever buy my kids a stuffed toy, I will hate you for a hot minute.

It started with the Oldest who puked every day for two weeks. He went to the doctor a few times, though nothing they gave him kept him from puking. He only puked at night and it didn’t seem to be caused by any foods he had eaten. The doctor put him on reflux meds to help control stomach acids but the puke continues. Over the past year, the Girl has sporadically puked and then been fine the next day. Again, only at night and not associated with any foods. The doctor also put her on reflux meds some time ago. Lil’ Man didn’t want to be left out, so he has joined in on the upchuck games occasionally, too. There’s no fever, no other viral symptoms – just puke. Lots and lots of puke. The only other symptom is headaches. The Oldest had to go to the doctor for the headaches and they suspect he is developing migraines.

At a loss as to what is wrong with my kids, and unwilling to accept that all three of them have spontaneously developed reflux, I started asking around to see if anyone had heard of this. Our aunt (the one whose pool gave the Girl her glorious tan) searched until she came across something that seemed like a fit. CVS – Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome. It only happens in 1 out of 100,000 children, but they think it may be caused by an inherited gene which could explain why all three of my kids would have it – if that’s what they have. Kids eventually tend to grow out of it, but tend to develop migraines later on. I have emailed an association set up for this syndrome in hopes they can give me contact info for someone close to here that can evaluate the kids to see if this is what they have. Until then, wish me luck and a strong stomach for the next time I have to clean up yet another puddle of puke. Also, don’t buy any stuffed toys for my kids – EVER.

That’s more than enough for now. Thanks for sticking around and asking for more blogs. It fills me with more happiness than you can ever know that someone out there wants to read about what’s going on in my life or my opinion on this, that or the other. I love you all.

Later Bitches!


I am Woman, Hear Me ROAR!!!

27 Jun

Bitch of the Moment:

One should not be fuming after a relaxing soak in the pool. But I am. Some dipshit has gone and riled up the Feminazi in me by saying something in a sad attempt to be funny, coy, what-the-fuck-ever.

After he bitched on a friend’s Facebook post how unfair it is that gay men are lumped (by other gay men) into all sorts of subsets based on appearance and preferred sexual positioning before being deemed date-able or not, this guy then decided to share his observations (as a gay man) on how women decide if men are dating material: “Last I checked women don’t decide a guy is not date material based only on specific physical criteria. They’re more worried about their annual income ;)”

First of all, if he thinks women don’t base whether of not a man is date-worthy based on specific, physical characteristics they possess, well then he obviously doesn’t know ANY fucking women. I’ve heard my fellow ladies stipulate that in order for them to date someone, that person: Can’t be bald, can’t be short, must be tall, must be blonde, has to be skinny, has to be built, so on and so forth. Women are just as shallow as men, gay or straight, in this area. Women are more likely than men to overcome any physical objections they might have about a possible mate if they get to know them and have come to like/love them as a person. All this is moot since that is not what gave me a case of the red-ass.

What pissed off the usually quiet feminist in me is the “annual income” remark followed by the little smiley face. I’d like to punch this shithead in his smiley face. First of all, while there may be a group of women who do base a man’s “dateability” on his bank account, they certainly aren’t the majority. To lump all women into the gold-digger pot is absurd, insulting and just fucking stupid. I don’t know this guy (gladly so,) but it makes me wonder what type of women he surrounds himself with. Again, I’m convinced he doesn’t know any – none worth a shit anyway.

Most women who have decided to be with someone couldn’t give a shit less about their monetary worth. If a woman decides not to date a man, it’s because he falls in one of her “subsets” based on physical/personality criteria. Example, the “Schmuck Subset”: Douchebags, Girly-Men, Frat Boys (interchangeable with Douchebags,) Momma’s Boys, Metrosexuals (not to be confused with Girly-Men,) Assholes, Meatheads and on and on. Or, likelier than insufficient funds in his account, she might have decided not to date him because he was a lousy lay. We womenfolk can be just as harsh as men in that arena which has absolutely NOTHING to do with fucking money. What a fucking twatwaffle. ARGH!

To add insult to injury, as the comments were flying back and forth, he retorts to one of my comments with this: “… but I do think money matters more. A lot of women will date a guy that is everything they hate if they can convince them they’ll spoil them. Let’s take a douchebag frat-boy who isn’t very doable then make him CEO of Giant Douche LLC and see how his prospects change.” Who the hell is this guy hanging out with??? Do any of you know a woman who would be with someone they abhor just for monetary spoils? Are there enough shiny new cars or diamonds that would make being with a complete cock-knocker tolerable for you or anyone you know? I just cannot fathom the kind of women this guy is referring to. It would take an awfully ignorant woman to be with a man who represents “everything they hate” just for the sake of nice shit. Well, considering how stupid he is, it shouldn’t surprise me that he’d associate with cunts women like that. He and those women (if they actually exist) should go play in traffic. Grrrrr!!!

*Since this was an impromptu blog, fueled by seething anger for someone so ignorant, I do not have a Bitchin Moment prepared at this time. I did not want to put off posting this for fear that the anger would wane, therefore losing the “need” there was for me to introduce you all to this whiny bitch. I’ll try to make the next Bitchin Moment really good to make up for it.

Later Bitches!

Broken Booty-Butt

25 Jun Peed a little!
A bit out-of-date but appropriate nonetheless.

It’s funny because it’s true.

Bitch of the Moment:

Booty-Butt. That’s what the Girl calls her ass. Not a behind, butt, booty, keester. Booty-butt. The Hubby and I tell her all the time to just say one or the other but nope. Booty-butt is her preferred term for backsides. I must admit, when she says it in her high-pitched little voice, usually with a smile on her face and giggling (because butts are funny,) I can’t help but laugh.

I even laugh when she refers to my ass as a broken booty-butt. It’s about to get all T.M.I. up in here so if you’re squeamish or a dude that doesn’t like to hear or read about girly-part problems, you may want to skip this one. Those that know me in “real” life know of my past medical dramas, to some extent anyway. You’re about to know the full extent. A week and half ago, I had yet another major surgery. Here’s why:

Seven years, five months and nineteen days ago, I welcomed a beautiful baby boy into my life. I was so overjoyed and overwhelmed with love for this little guy who was finally in my arms after trying for so long. I was also very, very drugged – happily so. I’ve always said women who give birth au naturale intentionally must be gluttons for punishment. Hate on me if you want, you Queens of Granola Land, but the pain of childbirth is a badge I did not want to earn. I have a high threshold for pain, except when it pertains to hoo-hahs and medical procedures (I once almost passed out just from having an IUD placed in my cervix – not one of my stronger moments in life.) Anyway, thankfully the epidural was in full effect when my precious 8 pound, 9 ounce, bouncing, baby boy was delivered and stayed in effect for a while after. I am thankful because it hid the fact that all 8 pounds, 9 ounces of baby caused me to have a fourth degree tear. He literally tore me a new asshole. I had asked for an episiotomy beforehand but my dipshit nurse had told me, “Oh honey, it’s better to tear naturally” smiling smugly while walking away. Ladies, we know our bodies, we know what we’re capable of and I knew I was not made to have babies naturally or tear naturally. But, being timid and figuring my doctor and nurses knew better than I since this was my first medical rodeo, I deferred to them. I was a fucking idiot.

Once the drugs wore off, I was in the most pain I’ve ever been in. I thought it was par for the course and that I was just being a big puss because of my known hoo-hah cowardice. So what if I could barely walk and the pain meds seemed to be nothing more than sugar pills? I had a beautiful boy and I’d heal……someday. It wasn’t until after about three weeks that I knew something was really wrong.  Here’s where it gets gross so you have fair warning to back out now. I had to…..go. Due to the pain of bowel movements after childbirth, I was already cringing at the mere thought of having to go but this time it really hurt. But not where it should  have hurt. It hurt up front. I immediately called my doctor and got his cunt of a nurse. I told her that I thought things were coming out of the wrong area as delicately and discreetly as I could. I could not bear the humiliation of actually saying what was happening to me – I was morti-fucking-fied. She basically told me I was mistaken, that couldn’t be happening, but since I insisted she guessed she’d make me an appointment (I really fucking hated that nurse.) My doctor saw me the next day and after inspection told me that there was a “communication error” between my va-jay-jay and ass. Seriously? A communication error? What the fuck does that mean? It meant that the stitching he did on the wall between my vagina and anus that had been decimated by my child’s huge head and shoulders had fallen apart. Excuse me? Apparently, my ass had decided to take a vacation and leave the dirty work to my Miss Priss and she wasn’t having it, and neither was I.

I was referred to a specialty surgeon to correct my communication error. I found out he mostly did surgeries on cancer patients and the type of fistula repair I needed wasn’t one he performed that often – especially on patients not riddled with cancer. Ummm? And his bedside manner was…. it sucked. If he used that same demeanor in his personal life I’m sure he never got laid – which could explain why he was such an asshole. My Hubby is a self-proclaimed asshole and HE thought this doctor was an asshat. He did my first official reconstructive surgery and much like his sex life I’m sure, it was a complete failure. On to the next one.

I was finally referred to someone who specialized in asses. He actually referred to himself as “The Butt Doctor.” I mean, if you have to deal with assholes all day for a living, you might as well have a sense of humor about it. And of all my doctors (and there have been many – I guess I’m a doctor-slut) he is my all-time favorite. He listened to me, cared about me, and took my age and lifestyle into consideration before he tried anything. You see, he could have started out drastically with major surgery which meant wearing a bag to divert “things” while letting my repaired ass heal. Knowing that was not something a 29 year-old, new mother wanted to deal with physically or mentally, he tried several different approaches that weren’t as evasive. Unfortunately, my ass is an asshole and was still on strike. Four surgeries later and I was still having communication errors. Time to take evasive action.

Hello, I’m BitchinMommy, and I had a colostomy bag. They’re all the rage. With an array of powders and adhesive patches, you too can feel utterly disgusting and humiliated. Everyone wants to buy clothing two sizes too big to conceal the latest in shitbag attachments. Let’s not forget, you have no control over the noises that emit from it because you cannot feel when things are “moving” so you have the added bonus of providing your own personal soundtrack wherever you go. I wore that fucking thing for four months. Worst time in my life and I’ll tell you, that’s saying something. But, it worked. On December 27th in 2006, I had the bag removed and my ass was finally put back to work, the bum that she is (ba-dum-dum!)

Don’t feel sorry for me. I lived. I pretty much got to stay home the entire first year of my son’s life while getting paid by short-term disability. Silver linings and whatnot. My stomach is scarred and I’ll never wear a bikini again (even when I got really skinny last year) but hey, I got something even better in return for my troubles. I got a brilliant, unbelievably handsome little guy out of the deal who I love to the moon. Who needs a fucking bikini?

Much to the amazement of most everyone I know, I still chose to have two children after that debacle. It’s because I knew that the doctors would be forced to deliver via c-section (like I wanted the first go round) and my ass would never have the opportunity to go on strike again. I already had so many scars you could play connect the dots on my stomach so the idea of more incisions wasn’t even a remote concern. Though, having two more kids jump around on my bladder did its damage. Jumping on trampolines, running, and even sneezing could potentially create embarrassing instances for me so I cut the two of those out that I could (no love lost there anyway.) Also, due to being pregnant three times in the span of four years and nursing all three babies thereafter, I didn’t notice anything awry in the period department because I wasn’t having them. Boy, oh boy, did I get a rude awakening after I finished nursing Lil’ Man.

Boys, here’s a T.M.M. moment so you can avert your eyes (Too Much Menstruation.) When my periods returned, they brought new meaning to “Crimson Tide.” We’re talking the biggest pad you can buy AND a super plus tampon and still having breakthrough bleeding. I would have to change out every two hours. This went on for about five days and then it would stop. I could almost live with that, my panty supply not so much, but if I set a timer and slept on towels I could manage. But Aunt Flo was a real cunt and would return after only a day’s reprieve and go on for another week, week and a half. That’s right, almost two and a half weeks worth of that raging bitch ruining my body, clothes and sanity. But did she wait another 28 days before showing up uninvited again? Of course not. She would show right back up a week and half later. I should have bought stock in Always pads and O.B. tampons.

During my birthing and nursing stint, the absence of my period hid that fact I had developed two massive polyps in my uterine wall which caused the excessive bleeding and abnormal length of my cycles. Eureka! We have found the problem. This shouldn’t be too hard to fix, right? Wellllll….. kinda sorta. My first option was to take birth control pills – the ones that let you go three to four months without a period – which just seemed so wrong considering I had a tubal after Lil’ Man and thought birth control was a definite thing of the past. My second option was to take a prescription that would lighten my periods considerably but would do nothing to lessen the amount of time I spent enduring them. Using either of those options meant taking pills until I reached menopause which is not anytime in the near future. The last option was a hysterectomy. Great, another fucking surgery. As much as it pained me, I went with the first option.

I tried to put a positive spin on taking birth control again by thinking Hey, at least the adult acne I have recently developed might clear up. Not only did that shit not happen, but I gained twenty (20!) pounds in two months. Alright folks, I have been a lot bigger at certain times in my life than I was at this point, even after the 20-pound gain (I got especially large during the “communication error” era when I had to eat a low-residue diet. Low-residue = foods that don’t make you shit like vegetables, you know, HEALTHY DIET FOODS.) Just a few months before the hellacious periods began, I was thinnest I have ever been and was tired of people telling me I looked sick or older. It also pissed me off when I was informed that people thought I had become anorexic or bulimic. I could deal with putting on weight and honestly, I welcomed my once fabulous ass back as she had flattened out a lot when I got skinny. What I could not deal with was no longer fitting any of my clothes and having no money to buy a new wardrobe. With each passing month I was bloating more and more from the damn periods and packing on ten pounds a month was a no-go for me. Since option number two did nothing to lessen the length of my periods, I skipped right on over that one and started the hysterectomy discussion.

I had to do several tests before they discovered the polyps, one of which lead them to also discover that I had a prolapsed bladder. Ah, so that’s why I pee a little when I sneeze. Time to see yet another surgeon who could correct this at the same time as the hysterectomy. I like this surgeon almost as much as my butt doctor. He is a Urogynecologist and has the same kind of sense of humor about what he does so he’s a keeper. If you can make me laugh and feel somewhat comfortable while I am almost upside down with my feet in stirrups, half-naked and bleeding, you’re alright. He also does the same surgeries as my butt doctor so he can help me with my upkeep ’round the corner (and yes, there is substantial upkeep – it’s a battle against the bag for the rest of my days unfortunately.) Anyway, once he determined the level of severity of my prolapse (ever peed on an electronic toilet with an audience? No? Well I can cross that off my bucket list thankyouverymuch,) he gave me my options to correct it.

I needed a bladder sling. There’s a very long, technical name for the actual procedure but I can’t be bothered to remember what it is called nor could I spell it if I did remember it. Basically, they use one of a few different materials to raise the urethra up and away from the wall of the va-jay-jay. This allows better control and hopefully no more “I peed a little” moments when I cough, sneeze or pick up anything heavier than Lil’ Man. The different materials they use for this shocked me a bit. The first option is having parts harvested (creepy) from me. They harvest tissue from the lower abdomen to create the sling. This causes longer recovery time and more evasive surgery. No thanks. The second option was to harvest tissue from a pig or cow to create the sling. Ummm, a sphincter says “What?” Look, I have enough body issues; I don’t need to add being part pig or cow on to that long, self-deprecating list. The final option was a sling made of fine, yet very strong, mesh. The only downside to this sling is that it could lead to erosion of the vaginal wall if placed too close. However, the fix for that if it should happen is a five-minute, outpatient procedure that would have little-to-no down time. Sold! I am no longer in danger of emitting oinks or moos from my person.

So, back to the point of this long post of ickiness, I had both surgeries done on the 14th of this month. Luckily, I only spent one night in the hospital and my husband took over a week’s vacation to stay home and tend to me during recovery. I did come home with a catheter that had to stay in for a week. If you ever get the chance, I’d pass on that. I was confined to sleeping on the couch due to how the catheter bag had to be set-up. It was horribly uncomfortable and I actually developed a slight bladder infection. I’m fortunate that I was able to get it out after only a week. Some people who have this bladder surgery can go up to a month with a catheter. Shit on that shit. Also, just like after childbirth, no sexy business for six weeks. I should be okay but the Hubby may just die, poor guy. I should be back to work on Monday so all-in-all, recovery has gone well. I’m looking forward to never giving Always or O.B. another dime of my money, that is, until the Girl comes of age anyway. Here in a few weeks I’m gonna take a stab at jumping on the kids’ trampoline just to be sure the bladder surgery worked. I will say, I have sneezed quite a few times and didn’t have to change clothes. This makes me so happy I could pee (but only when and where I’m supposed to.)

Bitchin Moments:

The Hubby and I are coming up on 14 years of marriage. I know he loves me and he knows I love him, although we don’t always show it in the best way or often enough. There are  moments, though, when I am completely taken aback by a display of kindness, thoughtfulness or sacrifice on his part to make my life better. They are usually really simple in nature, but to this bitch, his efforts are monumental and make me love him even more which I didn’t think was possible. Here’s just a few tidbits over the last couple of weeks that made my bitchy heart melt and made me laugh when it physically hurt to do so:

* During my night in the hospital, they changed my pain medication to a less potent variety and I started to really hurt. When they came in to give me another dose, I told them it wasn’t working and my pain was increasingly getting worse. The night nurse was not as understanding or as pleasant as my day nurse had been and tried telling me I was suffering from gas pockets. Yeah, gas pockets that just coincidentally fell right around all five incision points from my robotic hysterectomy. Uh huh. She left me writhing in pain and crying. It got so bad that the mere act of crying made the pain worse because I kept contracting my stomach muscles when I sobbed. My Hubby finally had enough and made the nurse come back in the room. He told her there was no way I was going to be able to sleep hurting as bad as I did and that she needed to do SOMETHING to alleviate my pain. She finally got off her ass, called the doctor on duty and got me switched back to my original pain meds for the night at least. Funny how the more potent pain meds helped me finally get rest, but the nurse assured me pain meds wouldn’t do anything for gas pockets. I think it’s safe to say they weren’t gas pockets. I seem to attract cunty nurses. My man stood up for his bitch and came to her rescue.

* I’ve always had issues with catheters not draining on their own. I have to do this roller coaster type deal, lifting and lowering the damn tube to get the pee to go into the bag. Through many hospital stays, the Hubby has taken it upon himself to do this for me. This time was no exception, at the hospital and the week at home with the catheter. Not many men will volunteer to reroute their wife’s piss, so kudos to him for taking on such an unsavory task and making me so much more comfortable.

* Being confined to the house (re: couch) for a week and having very limited mobility and flexibility meant that when I did take a shower, they were short in duration and for the purpose of hygiene only. Meaning: there was no extra stuff going on like shaving. You have to bend and twist to shave and that wasn’t happening. Since I was due to see the bladder doctor the next day to get the catheter out, I was a bit distraught about the condition of my legs; I had become part yeti. Without hesitation, the Hubby rolled up his sleeves, sat on the side of the tub and shaved my legs for me. Ladies and men alike know, this takes a huge amount of trust on our part to allow our partner to shave any part of our body. He was very careful and took his time and I did not have one nick when he was done. Sure, he missed a few here and there because he may have been too gentle but I’ll take stray hairs over nicks and cuts any day. I also got a few laughs (although pained) from the experience. Listening to him say, “How do y’all shave like that? If I did that, my face would be butchered!” or watching him feel around for hairs instead of just noticing where shaving cream was still perfectly intact to find remaining stubble. I think he was just copping a free feel personally, but he definitely earned it. I should have milked it a bit more and conned a toenail painting out of it. 🙂

* In an effort to get up and around and prevent those dreaded gas pockets from actually occurring, we ventured out of the house once the catheter came out so I could walk around. I’m a bridesmaid in a wedding taking place next month so I wanted to look for shoes to go with my dress. My rugged Hubby trucked along with me to several shoe stores in search of the perfect pair of silver heels. This is not so easy we found out as silver shoes can go from sexy to garish to old lady real quick. Yeah, a lot of men begrudgingly tag along with their wives to shop for shoes. But remember, I cannot bend and twist due to my stitches and bruising. The Hubby had to put the shoes on my wide, hobbit-like feet, fumble with straps and buckles, then give his opinion on each pair I tried on while I strutted around the aisles. “Do you like them? How do my legs look? How does my ASS look? I only wear heels to improve the appearance of my ass so make sure it looks good.” Many other asinine questions and prerequisites were thrown at him as he sat there, dutifully answering each one. And for the record, he picked the ones that eventually won out over all the others. And my ass looks fantastic in them.

* He still, after all the disgusting things he has seen and had to help me clean up and bandage, the crying, pity parties, mood swings, weight gain, scars, sleepless nights in hospitals, and on and on, thinks I’m a sexy motherfucker. His interest in me has not waned and there’s not a day when he doesn’t let me know that. On days I feel I look like utter dog shit, he has never reinforced my feeling that way nor will he put up with me saying that I do in fact, look like a huge, steaming pile. I get perturbed sometimes when he gets “grabby,” especially if I’m cooking, dealing with my three monsters or whatever else is distracting me at the moment. When the estrogen runs high, the inner-feminazi will sometimes come out and scream (in my head, of course,) “I’m not a piece of meat! You do not own this! I am more than a walking vagina!” But you know what, the day he stops will be the day I’ll have something to scream about. His efforts to be close to me reinforce everyday that I am still loved and desired. Even if I have dried snot on my shoulder from this week’s sick kid or I’ve gained 35 pounds, this man wants only me. Folks, you can’t pay for that kind of reassurance.

He has done many things throughout this recent medical drama, and our marriage for that matter, that require commendation but I cannot possibly list them all. You’ve all been here long enough as it is. For my dear Hubby (who also dutifully reads his wife’s blogs though never comments on them directly or indirectly,) you are my everything: my rock, my bitch,  my provider, my best friend, my biggest pain in the ass, my human dictionary and grammar coach, my resident asshole, my lover, my life. Without you, I could not be me. Thank you for all you have done, are doing and will do. I love you more than you think probable and then some. (Everyone else look away, this is private – HA!)

Hugs and kisses on all your pink parts,

Your Bitchin Wife

Later Bitches!

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

8 Dec

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)

2 Aug

Bitch of the Moment:

By posting this, you're telling everyone, "I am an amazing douche nozzle!"

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.govIf 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….

26 Jan

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 🙂


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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