Sunday, September 16, 2012

List: Five Reasons Why I Have a Love/Hate Relationship with Fall

1.  Love:  The fact that Girl 15 and Girl 13 are back in school, and I no longer have to worry about filling each of their days with back to back activities to keep them from hanging around the house all day and using every single one of the glasses, dishes, bowls, forks and spoons, so that when I finally come home from work, I don’t spend three hours cleaning up after them.  I also love the fact that they can’t call me 79 times a day asking me stupid shit like, “Do we have any brownie mix?” or, “Where are the Q-Tips?” 
Hate:  The fact that Girl, 15 and Girl, 13 are back in school, and now we all have to get back into the friggen routine!  Getting them off to school is easy enough…it’s when they come home that bites.  The first time I remind them to do their homework happens when I drop them off at home from school (using my lunch hour – why I’m a heffer, I have no idea).  Once I get home from work myself, I will repeat “Do your homework” approximately 382,641 times.  I’m pretty sure they are both telling me to fuck off in their heads each time I say it.  Then, at  about 9:45, one of them realizes she has a project due the next day requiring poster board, and I’m searching the aisles of 24 hour drugstores for the shit.  Poster Board should really have its own love/hate category for me.  One of these days I’ll get smart and stock up on it. 

2.  Love:  Fall clothes.  Cozy sweaters and boots.  

Hate:  The way I look in cozy sweaters and boots.  Seriously.

This is how I wish I looked.

This is what I see when I look in the mirror.  (From Google Images - this is not me)


Yeah.  So that sucks.  My family tells me that I’m not THAT heavy, but that’s what I see when I look in the mirror, so that’s what I’m going with. 

 3.  Love:  Watching the girls play hockey and soccer!  Girl, 15 plays on two hockey teams, and also plays soccer for her school.  Girl, 13 plays on one hockey team. 

Hate:  Hockey practice, soccer practice, weekday soccer games (because I miss most of them since I have to work)!  There isn’t enough time in a day to squeeze it all in.  There are days I wish I was June Fucking Cleaver, staying home all day vacuuming, preparing dinner, and waiting at the door in my dress and pearls to welcome my family home (notice that I didn’t even mention the “L” word).  I’m pretty sure June Cleaver would have a heart attack if she ever smelled either of my kids’ hockey bags. That shit is nasty. 

 4.  Love:  Are you ready for some Football?  Love, love, love, watching the Patriots.  Sundays are awesome – fire in the fireplace, chili in the crock pot, Pats on TV… nothing better!

Hate:  Watching football with Boy, 45.  He yells at the refs, yells at the coach, yells at the players, swears at everyone on T.V., and GOD FORBID you try to ask a question or have some sort of conversation during the game.  I’m not talking about a serious conversation here, just something as simple as “Anyone want more chili?” will put a look of extreme pain on Boy 45’s face, and he will usually respond with an asshole-ish comment like “Um….the game is on….”  Yeah.  So me and the girls usually end up watching the rest of the game in another room.  Another shitty part about watching football with Boy, 45, is the fact that our dog’s name is Brady (he came with the name – we didn’t choose it, for the record).  The quarterback for the Patriots is Tom Brady.  So every time Boy, 45 yells something along the lines of “WHAT THE FUCK, BRADY?” (which he does at least 20 times during the game) my poor dog gets up, runs into the kitchen and hides in his bed for a few minutes until he thinks it’s safe to go back in!  Even the dog hates watching football with Boy, 45!

5.  Love:  The weather.  Love the temperature, and the foliage, and even the smell of the air!  While it’s no secret that I absolutely LOVE the beach, I have to say that Fall is definitely my most favorite season. 
Hate:  The fact that Winter is fast approaching.  Snow.  Slush.  Sleet.  Freezing Rain.  Christmas Shopping. Winter fucking sucks.  I can’t really enjoy the things I love about Fall because I know that Winter is out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce as soon as I start to really enjoy Fall.  Fuck you, Winter.  Fuck you.
What do you love/hate about Fall?

Monday, July 30, 2012

Random Crap That Bugs Me: Vanity Plates

So I've already told you that bumper stickers bug the crap out of me.  But lately, I've noticed a ton of vanity plates, and I'm pretty sure they bug me just as much, if not more, than bumper stickers. The name alone ("Vanity Plates") suggests that the person with such a plate is full of himself!  Here's proof, straight from Merriam-Webster (and that bitch don't lie):  van-i-ty: inflated pride in oneself or one's appearance.  Here is my list of the types of vanity plates that bug me the most:   

1. The Name Game

MELNIE.    OK, so your name is Melanie.  Why do you feel the need to put it on the license plate of your car?  Not for nothing, but you spelled it wrong.  What's that?  "M-E-L-A-N-I-E" was already taken?  So you'd rather have an incorrectly spelled version of your name be what people see as you come bombing down the street in your Chevy Corsica?  I could see if maybe you were driving a Corvette, but seriously, a Corsica?  What if Randy the Rapist is out on the town looking for his next target?  You drive by all "Melnie-like" and BINGO!  Now all Randy has to do is follow you to your destination, knowing you are a female (assuming Randy the Rapist is straight), and knowing you are alone before he makes you his next victim! 

Even better is the douche who does this: MYSTANG.  Yes.  It is your Mustang.  Except for the guy in the F-150 beside you who thought maybe it was your mother's car, everyone can now breathe a sigh of relief knowing that you are driving YOUR OWN MUSTANG.  Thank you for clearing up the confusion.  FYI:  The galloping horse and the word MUSTANG plastered across the hood, the trunk, and both sides of the car kinda already tipped me off. 

Other examples of the "Name Game" are:  JOESCAR, MEGSLEX, ALSTRUK, MOMSVN...I could literally go on all day.   

2.  Downtime

This is the type of plate where the owner feels the need to tell you, on their car, what they like to do in their spare time.  It could be their hobby:  ILVGOLF Good for you. I love walking my dog, going to the beach, and reading, but I'm not all up in your grill (no pun intended) telling  you about it!  Drive your damn car and go play some golf already!

HCKYMOM  So your kid plays hockey.  Thank GOD it says so on your license plate, because if it didn't, and I somehow missed the silver goalie outline decal on your bumper, the name "BILLY #4 Ice Devils" sticker on your back window, or the "Be Kind to Animals - Hug a Hockey Player" bumper sticker, I still would have been able to ascertain that your kid plays hockey.  [Disclaimer:  while I do not have a vanity plate, I am guilty of advertising my kids' sports on the back window of my car.  But hey, at least I can laugh at myself!]

Other examples of "Downtime" are:  RELAXXN (please don't relax while you are driving behind me, I'm not in the mood to have your vanity plate imprinted on the ass end of my car), FSHRMN, TNSLVR ....etc.  Basically,  I don't know you, I don't want to know you, and I don't give two shits how you spend your free time. 

3.  The Comedian

I saw this license plate on a Hummer: IMHUMMN Let me guess...  DCHEBAG was taken? 

GRRRR8 No offense, but there is nothing "great" about your 1998 Ford Festiva.  I'm surprised they even made you register that roller skate!

IFARTED  Really?  Are you twelve?

These drive me nuts! 

4.  Dirty Little Secrets

IPMS247 Hopefully you are married or have a boyfriend/girlfriend, otherwise, you just ruined any shot in hell at getting yourself a man (or woman, if that's your preference)!

ISWALOW I'm sure your parents are proud.  That explains the trail of souped-up pick up trucks following you. 


ILUVAG  I'm speechless.

I should say that I do find some vanity plates acceptable...maybe on a company car, advertising the company.  If you are a car enthusiast and you enter your car into car shows, then a vanity plate makes perfect sense.  Other than that, I just don't get it.  If you have a vanity plate, please do not be offended, learn to laugh at yourself - you mind as well join everyone else laughing at you!

Have you seen any funny vanity plates?  Share them by adding your comment below!

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Random Crap That Bugs Me: An Open Letter to Kourtney Kardashian

Dear Kourtney:

First of all, congratulations on the birth of your daughter, Penelope!  I'm sure she is a beautiful baby and I wish you all the luck in the world!  I've read a few magazine articles this weekend, and it seems as though you could really use some advice.  I'm sure the Kardashian Klan chimes in with their $.02, but I'm going to offer you my views on your situation from a totally different perspective.  I'm clearly not a celebrity, I live on the East Coast, I'm what you would consider pretty much broke, and I live in a house that is probably smaller than your master bath.  We are about as opposite as opposite can be in many regards.  What we have in common, however, is the fact that we are both mothers.  It's for that reason, and the fact that you have your own reality television show, that I feel like I know you well enough to know what you are going through.  I hope you don't mind.

What I find most troubling about your situation is that you are having panic attacks at 3 a.m., worrying about the fact that it is taking you longer this time around to lose the baby weight, and that you really want to be back in a bikini.   You gave birth 21 days ago.  Three weeks.  Less than one month.  It took you 9 months to gain the baby weight - three weeks is not a very long time at all to snap back to your pre-baby weight.  Hell, my "baby" is turning 13 next month, and I'm still a heffer!  Truth be told, I'm actually heavier now than I was when she was born, but I'm as happy as a pig in shit!  Ok, maybe I'm not helping.  My point is, odds are you will fit into a bikini again. Give yourself some time for crying out loud!  A bikini is small potatoes, kiddo.  You have many more important things about which to fret!  (I mean no disrespect, but if I just named my kid Penelope, I'd probably lose some sleep too.  Just sayin'. Major props for not going with a "K" name though.)  I read that you feel "unsexy."  You just popped a watermelon out of your vagina.  It really doesn't get more "unsexy" than that.

Also mentioned in the article is the fact that Scott has been jetting off to party in Miami until 4 a.m. with models and his posse, while you are holed up in your mansion, wallowing in self pity (all things considered, a mansion is not a bad place in which to be holed up).  I, too, suffered from post-partum depression.  That shit is not fun.  Get yourself some meds so you are thinking straight enough to make the decisions you need to make.  You will feel better, and your kids will thank you someday.  With a clear mind, you will realize that you and your kids deserve much better than Pretty Boy Scott.  He is obviously self-centered and I couldn't see him taking a bullet for you or the kids.  The thought that he may get blood on his loafers is probably too much for him to bear.  He's an assfuck, and he needs to go.  All truth. 

This is my cigar-smoking ensemble.  Not my baby feeding outfit. Duh.

According to what I read, you have to get up and do the 3 a.m. feedings by yourself, and you have to keep Mason occupied all day.  It's fucking tiring - I know that from my own experience in having two kids.  Going from 0 kids to 1 kid is hard.  Going  from 1 kid to 2 is way harder.  You need help...Do you really not have a live-in nanny?  Your family helps you - which is great!  You are never alone, regardless of how alone you feel...your family always has your back.  How long are you going to wait until Assfuck steps up to the plate?  He should be bonding with his baby girl.  He should be spending quality time with Mason, who's world has been turned upside fucking down by Penelope's arrival.  You've given him how many second chances?  You guys make beautiful babies together, I'll give you that, but honestly, what else does he contribute?  He acts like a douchebag on the show and out in public, you don't need his money (actually I think he probably needs yours more), he only cares about himself, and you guys aren't married and you don't even sleep in the same bed!!!  The fuck?  You have two children togther and he STILL hasn't put a ring on it.  C'mon, Kourt!  You're smarter than that!

Basically, what I'm telling you is that you have yourself a no-brainer here.  If I was in your situation, the major reason I might try to work shit out would be money.  We don't have enough married, so I know it would be tougher if we were divorced.  You are lucky in that regard.  Money is not an issue.  Your kids deserve a father, but it seems to me he would actually see them more if you were officially apart, and he had set days and times on which to visit with them!

The article mentioned that you didn't take a maternity leave and that you have been working on the new DASH LA store.  Kim's off in Miami with Kanye.  Khloe is "reconnecting" with Lamar in Vegas.  YOU HAD A FRIGGEN BABY! Surely squeezing a basketball out of a pea-sized hole trumps going on tour with the boyfriend or chilling out with the husband!!!  Where are those supportive sisters of yours?  It's a FAMILY BUSINESS!  Let someone else in the FAMILY take over while you recuperate for a friggen month!  You must have an assistant, hell you must have a whole staff of assistants!  There is NO ONE else who can deal with the new store for a few weeks?  For fuck's sake, I have 2 weeks vacation - if you need a hand, let me know - I'd be glad to help! 

Funny Breakup Ecard: Thank you for donating your sperm. Your usefulness has expired and I won't be needing you anymore!
Thought this may be a good way to break the ice with Assfuck!

(a/k/a The "ME" In Crap that Bugs Me!)

Monday, July 23, 2012

Random Crap That Bugs Me: Texting Etiquette

So many of my conversations happen via text message.  Girl, 15 and Girl, 12 rarely answer their phones if they are "voice" calls. Oddly enough, if I call them, they don't answer, but will usually respond with a text message pretty quickly.  The fact that they couldn't answer the phone but can send a text instead really bugs me. Here is a list of the 5 text message faux pas that bug the crap outta me:

1.  Run-on Text Messages!

These are texts that have NO punctuation.  Here's an example:

hi mom can i walk to the store cuz you were supposed to go out and get milk last night but you spent three hours neglecting us while you wrote your blog (2/2) and i really want cereal for breakfast but i cant without milk kae lmk

I get that it's difficult to find the apostrophe. Even I'm guilty of not using them when texting.  But a period, comma or question mark?  There's just no excuse.  Capitalization would also be nice - at least it would make it easier to tell where the new sentence starts!   Don't be a lazy bag of dicks - just use the damn punctuation!

2.  The Convo Killer!

This happens more often than I care to admit.  Girl, 15 is famous for this.  Here's how the Convo  Killer goes:

Me:  Hey, what are you doing?

Girl, 15:  Sleeping.  Why?

Me:  Just wondering...will you do a few loads of laundry for me?

Girl, 15:  Ugh.

And then the convo friggen ends.  Does "ugh" mean "Ugh...Yes..." or "Ugh...fuck off..."  Since we are talking about laundry here, I'm guessing it means eff off.  Another version of the Convo killer is the one word response!  This one really bugs the crap out of me:

Me:  Morning, honey.  What are you doing today?

Girl, 12:  idk

Me:  Are you hanging out at so and so's house today?

Girl, 12:  maybe

Me:  All right, well let me know what your plans are.

Girl, 12:  k

I could have gotten more information out of the roadkill in the middle of the street.  Sometimes having a conversation is like pulling teeth!  Not only did she kill the conversation, I have no idea how to plan my schedule around her schedule for the damn day.  GOD FORBID I ask for her plans the night before!!!

3. Alphabet Soup

I touched on this a little bit above.  This is either a one letter response or a complete message made up of a bunch of friggen letters.  It's hard to follow and you need a decoder ring to figure out what the message actually says!  

smh Idk wht 2 do tmrw 4 mi bday lol lmk if u hav n e plans hmu if u wnt 2 prty    kk ttyl grl tx

Are you shitting me?  It may have saved you time to write this little gem, but it's taking me an hour to decipher! Couldn't you have just sent me a telegram, or even used morse code?  And what's with the kk?  Isn't it just as easy to type ok? Why type k twice? Girl, 12 also uses "kae," which I can't understand, because it would be so much easier to just type the letter "k" instead of making up a word that doesn't exist, and adding two letters!  Here's a little list for you old folks who haven't been schooled  in the language of texting:

smh: shaking my head
idk:  I don't know
jw:   just wondering
lol:   laugh out loud
lmk: let me know
hmu: hit me up
kk:  ok
ttyl:  talk to you later
tx:  thanks

And by the way, don't use these when texting your kids.  It won't make you a "cool parent."  (Although I must admit that I do use lol...but if I'm thinking about it, I try to use haha - it's only one more letter, but if I'm feeling old, I go with it!)

4. Sleepers

Imagine you are having a text conversation.  You're going back and forth at a pretty good pace, rarely waiting more than a minute or two between sending and receiving.  Then, all of a sudden, the conversation ends! 

Me:  What are you doing tonight?

Friend:  Nothing much, you around?

Me:  Sure am...drinks?

Friend:  Indeed!

Me:  Place and time?


And there's nothing.  No response. A minute goes by, then two, then three.  Before you know it, an  hour has passed and you are in your pajamas with a pint of Ben & Jerry's Coffee Heath Bar Crunch, watching Steel Magnolias (my all time favorite chick flick).  Usually within the next few hours, Friend will answer with a "Sorry/had to help with homework/fell asleep/cleaned the bathroom, etc."  Admittedly, I have been both the sleeper and the one who is left hanging!

5.  Phonetically Speaking

Similar to alphabet soup, this is where the texter purposely spells words the way they sound, or in some cases, the texter can't spell for shit, so this is what you get:

Aye wut up wif yu?  Watchu doin 2nite?  Luk at my pics on FB, kae?  There are enuff of the boi u lyk to make u laff!

It is actually more difficult to spell things wrong than it is to spell them right! 

So, what texting faux pas bug you?

Friday, July 13, 2012

Day Twenty Five

What I say:  I'm so glad we have social networking to allow us to be a part of our "friends'" Vacations!  All the pictures make me feel like I'm right there with them!

What I mean:  Enough already, you narcissistic douche.  Updating your status 20 times a day and adding a photo of your current activity several times a day while you are on vacation is completely unnecessary, and I honestly hope you return from your trip to find that every window in your house is smashed and someone robbed you of all your possessions because you were stupid enough to broadcast the fact that you were away to all of Facebook.

I have unsubscribed to so many people lately because they are so friggen annoying!  If you are going on vacation, here's some friendly advice on how NOT to annoy the shit out of everyone on your friend list!

1.  A post or two a day is sufficient whether you are on vacation or not, but especially when you are on vacation!  A pic of the kids at the breakfast table, followed by the next tourist attraction you visit, followed by a pic of the kids at lunch, followed by a pic of the next tourist attraction, followed by a pic of the kids at dinner, then at the pool, then in their jammies in the hotel is COMPLETELY unfuckingnecessary.

How come no one posts pics of their kids misbehaving at the restaurant?

2.  Cut the shit with the Check-Ins.  If you are vacationing in California with your kids, it's a safe bet everyone will assume you are going to visit Disneyland.  No need to confirm it by Checking In.  If you are in Vegas, we will assume you will hit a casino or two.  If I cared about where you were every minute of every day, I would have gone on vacation with you. But then I would have seen your real vacation.  The one where the kids whine incessantly, everyone is overtired and sunburned and bitching at each other, one kid wants to swim and the other kid wants to go to the amusement park (I'm using Girl 15 and Girl 12 as a frame of reference here), husband wants to buy expensive souvenier, and wife doesn't want to spend the money (again, using Boy 45 as the example here)....not every minute of vacation is spent smiling for the camera, is it?  If you are having such a fabulous vacation, why the hell are you spending half of it on Facebook updating  your status, uploading your photos and commenting on them?  That's not really my idea of a good fucking time, but to each his own, I guess.  Go nuts!

I wish there was a button that said, "I Don't Give a Flying Fuck Where You Are!"

3.  Every post doesn't have to include the name(s) of the people with whom you are vacationing.  In case we missed that you were with your spouse and kids the first, second, third, eighth or fifteenth time, we saw it on the sixteenth post/pic.  If you were vacationing with your mistress/lover, I highly doubt you would document it on Facebook - so everyone can assume you are with your family.  Even worse is when the spouse like's the other spouses picture.  WTF?  Buttnuggets. 

4.  You eat breakfast when you are home, we know you are going to eat breakfast while you are on vacation.  No one wants to see your Vacation Omelet or your stack of Vacation Pancakes.  Same is true for lunch and dinner.  I don't care about your Vacation B.L.T. or your fucking Vacation Steak dinner.  The only picture I want to see is someone giving you the Heimlich Maneuver while you choke on your T-bone and your vacation gets cut short, sparing the rest of us from the torture of your Fakebook Vacation. 

Our vacation is so pissah we even have BREAKFAST! 
Eat that BITCHES!

5.  Here's something you can do.  Take plenty of pics.  It's vacation, after all!  Upload ONE each day, if you must (some habits are hard to break).  When you get home, look through your pics and choose a few that you want to share, and post them!  I'm talking four or five here, not thirty or forty!  I guarantee no one will be recommending that you make an appointment to be tested for narcissistic personality disorder!

If you watch Criminal Minds, they refer to the suspects (or unknown subjects) as "Unsubs."  I've decided that I'm going to refer to the people I have unsubscribed from updates on my newsfeed to "Fakebook Unsubs."    Off to do more unsubbing!

Sunday, July 8, 2012

Day Twenty Four

What I say:    I’m not the least bit worried that my kids would ever try alcohol before they are 21.

What I mean:   I'm scared as fuck that my kids will experiment with alcohol before they are of age, and that no matter how much I preach, it won't make a difference!

Two words:  Vodka.  Tampon.  While at a 4th of July cookout, a few friends and I had an enlightening chat about vodka tampons.  Not sure what a vodka tampon is?  It’s a tampon soaked in vodka, then inserted in a female’s vajayay, or up a male’s ass (a/k/a butt chugging), and then the vodka is absorbed into the bloodstream and the tampon wearer is promptly shitfaced, without the extra calories, the need to vomit, or the smell of booze on their breath.  Just one teensy little problem. It can cause alcohol poisoning, which can be deadly.

Doesn't jamming this up your ass or cuca look like fun?  NOT!

Let me make myself clear.  I DO NOT condone underage drinking.  What I want to know is: when the hell did teenagers become so friggen lazy?  They are resourceful, I’ll give them that, but would they really rather stick a wad of cotton up their hoo-ha (which happens to be full of alcohol, and I assume would feel like a lit match inside whichever orifice they happen to be using), rather than chug down a few beers the old-fashioned way?  

Once upon a time, a long, time ago, when I was not quiiiiteeee 21, I was heading to the Vineyard with my friend and her family on the ferry.  She and I brought an empty duffle bag, and actually had the elephant balls to approach older guys with coolers and ask them if we could have a beer for later.  In most cases, the guy was happy to oblige – what was the harm in one?  By the end of the ferry ride, my friend and I had a duffle bag full of 15 or so random beers:  cans and bottles of Bud, Corona (with no lime, since we didn’t know any better-yuck), Busch, Coors, Rolling Rock…you name it, we had one in the bag.  My friend was careful not to jiggle the bag too much for fear of tipping off her parents as to the contents – it was only about 10 minutes to the house, but it felt like hours.  We stashed our booty under a bush and then snuck out after dark to have our own little party!  Here’s the thing.  Warm beer tastes like ass.  But we drank it!  Never once did we try to come up with alternate means of ingesting the vile liquid.  I can honestly say that the words “Hey, lets soak some tampons in beer and then shove them up our pussies!” never crossed our minds. 

WHEN YOU TURN 21, getting drunk is a rite of passage.  You have to do it right in order to get the full experience!  Pounding down several beers, doing a few shots until you can no longer stand up, and then puking it all up while your best friend holds your hair is all part of the experience.  Shoving booze soaked cotton where the sun doesn’t shine just to get a quick buzz is ridiculous, and I’m guessing pretty painful!  Spending a few hours hugging the porcelain throne sounds a lot better to me than spending a few hours with what probably feels like a flaming wad of cotton up your vagina/ass.  

Funny Thanks Ecard: Thanks for always holding my hair back when I vomit.
Friends don't let friends try vodka tampons!

Parents, if you suspect your teen has been drinking, remember to check BOTH ends for the smell of booze!  And if you seem to be going through tampons at an alarming rate, or if you happen to find a box stashed under your son’s bed, now you know why! 

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Day Twenty-Three

What I say:  I can't believe that poor 20 year old kid in need was not allowed to use his EBT Card on cigarettes in New Hampshire. 

What I mean:  Jackie Whiton is my friggen HERO.  Who is Jackie Whiton?  She's the 65 year old New Hampshire store clerk who wouldn't accept an EBT Card (Electronic Benefit Transfer a/k/a welfare debit card) as payment for a pack of cigarettes, and she was subsequently fired.  One of my earlier posts was about people using EBT Cards to buy lobster, so where I stand on this matter should come as no surprise!

So, Jackie asks the kid if he thinks the customers in line want to buy him his cigarettes, and the kid says "yeah."  But Jackie refuses, and the "kid" sends his "foster mother" back to the store the next day to complain. The fact that the "kid" had the plums to walk in and buy cigarettes with the card in the first place amazes me. He wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he is buying cigarettes with welfare money, sadly, because it is legal.  All he really had to do was go to an ATM machine, withdraw cash with the EBT card, and then use the cash to buy his booze, drugs, rim job  cigarettes, and no one would have known the difference.   But why go through the trouble when you don't have to?  Just send your foster mother in the next day to fight for what you are entitled to.  Now before the trolls start chiming in about the fact that I don't know this kid's background, or why he is in need of EBT benefits, I have to say...I don't give a shit.  If he was buying cereal, bread and peanut butter, I wouldn't have a problem.  If he needed a little extra cash to make the rent and hit the ATM, still, no problem.  But buying CIGARETTES?  Why in the hell should taxpayer dollars be used to fund someone's addiction?

I once called the state to complain about someone buying a case of beer and a couple packs of smokes with their EBT Card.  I wrote down the name of the store, and the date and time, thinking they could nab the little shit.  You know what the lady said to me when I called? "I'm sorry, ma'am, but we aren't allowed to tell recipients how to spend their money."  "The FUCK you aren't!  First of all, that's not 'their' money...its 'OURS!' Some of that is MY money that I work my ass off so that someone who supposedly needs it can get shitfaced?  What the hell is happening here?  Those benefits are supposed to be used by people down on their luck, temporarily out of a job, so they can feed their families and afford their rent.  Maybe buy their kids some new shoes or clothes...necessities!"  Needless to say, the woman hung up on me.  But I am right, damn it - I am right!

Why is this allowed to continue?   Why isn't there a time limit imposed?  If the state is going to buy your booze and butts, why bother getting a job?  Why hasn't anyone recommended something along the lines of  "benefits will last up to a two years, maximim, within a five year period of time."  Now that makes sense. Time to find a job and a place to live.  Instead, we are told not to judge - that just because EBT Eddie pulled up to the Seven Eleven in his Escalade, and used his EBT card to buy rolling papers - doesn't mean he's going to buy drugs.  We don't know that the Escalade actually belongs to Eddie.  He may have borrowed it.  He may have been buying rolling papers for someone else.  He may have even plan on rolling his own real cigarettes.  Honestly, NONE of that matters AT ALL. Those are all lame excuses to detract from the fact that welfare money is NOT being used in the manner in which it was intended.

So, back to Jackie.  I understand why she was fired.  She didn't abide by the law, and as such, the store had no choice.  But the fact that she stood up for something she believed in, lost her job and probably won't qualify for EBT Benefits because she makes $4.90 over the threshhold a month makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside!  Good for you, Jackie!  I hope you inspire many citizens to uncover the abuse of these funds!  I'd buy you a beer, but the mortgage is due, and I don't have an EBT card to supplement my budget.

If you want to find out more about Jackie, you can read an article about her here or watch a video clip here.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Random Crap That Bugs Me: Political Ads

Political Ads bug the living crap out of me. As the Presidential Election nears, the number of these ads will only increase.  Being in Massachusetts, we are lucky enough to have to endure not only the ads of Obama and Romney, but also those of Scott Brown and Elizabeth Warren.  While the Obama and Romney ads are enough to make me want to rip my ear drums out, the Brown and Warren ads are even worse!

Elizabeth Warren

She has one ad out there that starts off with a lady on a Boston street, with her Boston accent in full effect, and she says "Her faathah was a janidah.  My faathah was a janidah."   So now we elect people based on the jobs their parents held?  Scarier still, having a father who was a janitor somehow qualifies her for the US Senate?  The fuck?

She also claims to have Cherokee Indian roots.  Suuuuuurrrreeeeeeee you do,  Nocahontas.  Sure you do.

Oh Yeah.  I totally see the resemblance.  

Scott Brown

Last time he ran, his ads were all about the fact that he hit the campaign trail in his pick up truck.  Just a regular guy running for Senate.  This time around, he walks into a diner like an Average Joe and talks about his accomplishments.  At the end of the ad, a waitress comes over with a pot of coffee and says, "You deserve anothah cup."  I'm hoping that the waitress trips and spills the entire pot of  hot coffee right on his mangina.  Clearly, wifey-poo carries his nuts around in her Hermes handbag. We are also subjected to her stories about what a great husband and father Scott is.  Can you believe he got up with the kids and got them ready for school while she worked? News Flash:  Women EXPECT this type of behavior from their husbands. Big effing deal.

I have a mangina. Vote for me!

This is Crap That Bugs me,
 and I approve this message.  

Any political ads that bug you, in particular?  Do tell!

Thursday, June 21, 2012


What I say: Thank God for Air Conditioning!

What I mean:

It was friggen HOT today.  It was so hot, a squirrel stole a bottle of ice water from my cooler to pour on his nuts!  Seriously - there was no way to stay cool.  It was 101 degrees (according to the car thermometer), for crying out loud! It was even too hot to be at the beach (but I somehow muddled through it).  In case you haven't heard, it's day two of a heat wave in New England, and quite honestly, I'm not sure how much more bitching about the heat I can take. It's on the news.  It's on the front page of every newspaper.  Turn on the radio and the DJ's are talking about it.  There is no escaping it.  What drives me especially crazy about the heat wave is the fact that I keep hearing the same shit over, and over, and over again, about how to "survive" a heat wave.  The news channels are interviewing emergency room doctors, they have vans at the beaches and are shooting on location to get people's reactions to the heat wave, and complete strangers (luckily, this time, not in the ladies' room), who feel the need to make small talk say stupid things like " one, huh?"  To which I could only respond,"Gee...I hadn't noticed...."

Don't get me wrong, I know that heat is pretty serious shit.  According to the NOAA, heat is the number one weather related killer in the United States.  People die in heat waves.  I know that the elderly and pets are of particular concern, but is telling people to "drink plenty of water," and "be sure not to leave children or pets in the car," really necessary?  At what point does common sense kick in?  So you can't leave a kid in the car during a heat wave, but it's ok on a regular day?  Another one that cracked me up was the list of symptoms for heat exhaustion.  Sweating, weakness, clammy skin (which I believe is the same as sweating), nausea, possible vomiting, and cramps.  I actually wished this on Boy, 46 (a/k/a husband), just so that he would know what I feel like when it's That Time of the Month!

Here's a list of suggested ways to go about life during a heat wave (just in case you were unsure).
  • Slow down. Avoid strenuous activity. If you must do strenuous activity, do it during the coolest part of the day, which is usually in the morning between 4 a.m. and 7 a.m.
          Yay! Permission to sit around and do nothing all day but eat bon-bons!  Note to Boy, 46 a/k/a husband:  Do not wake me up at 4 a.m.  I know how your mind works.
  • Wear lightweight, light-colored clothing. Light colors will reflect away some of the sun's energy.
         Really?  But my scarf and gloves are so cute...and the scarf really hides Chin Two and Chin Three so nicely! 
  • Drink plenty of water regularly and often. Your body needs water to keep cool.
         Duh.  Water on a hot day.  Hadn't heard that one before.  Thank GOD I found this!
  • Eat small meals and eat more often. Avoid foods that are high in protein, which increase metabolic heat.
        Permission to eat ice cream, chocolate and potato chips all day?  Bring on the heat wave!!!

Just one more thing before I go check the battery supplies, candles and flashlights in case there is a power outage. I've heard many people use the word "humid" over the last few days.  Most of the time, they pronounce the "h," but sometimes they don't.  Instead of "humid" they pronounce it "yoo-mid."  It's kinda bugging me.  How do you say humid?  With the "h" or without?

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Random Crap That Bugs Me: Fakebookers

Since I'm having a bit of writer's block with my Fakebook Status Updates, I thought I'd post another Random Crap that Bugs Me List.   Here are the top 5 types of Fakebookers that literally drive me so crazy, there are times when sucking on a Zoloft still doesn't calm me down.  Enjoy.

1.  The Habitual Poster.   This particular breed of Fakebooker is well known to anyone who has ever logged on to Facebook.  This is a person who updates his or her status at least once or twice a day, but usually several times a day.  Here's a typical day of status updates for the Habitual Poster:

5:07 a.m.:  Couldn't sleep, so I made homemade cinnamon rolls!

7:20 a.m.:  Kids are up...already did 4 loads of laundry and we are heading to the park!  Little Johnny asked me how he got so lucky to have me as his Mommy - God I love that kid!

9:54 a.m.:  Photo Post - Check out this picture of the little injured birdie Johnny found!  Johnny whittled a wing splint out of a twig and put the baby bird back in his nest! My baby is amazing!!

12:29 p.m.: Photo Post - Johnny's reward lunch!

3:02 p.m.:  Back home...Nap Time for Johnny...Time to start dinner!

5:57 p.m.:  Photo Post - Dinner with my true love!  Can you believe I grew these veggies in my own organic garden?  So glad I started composting!

7:53 p.m.:  Jammies on, ready for some family cuddle time on the couch!  Can't wait to watch American Idol!

10:15 p.m.:  Can't believe our favorite contestant got the boot!  WTF?  Time to hit the hay...goodnight Facebook!

If you do this, CUT THE SHIT!  If you do something, or take a picture and immediately think to yourself "I can't wait to post this on Facebook," you have a problem.  You are a Habitual Fakebooker.  In reality, you can't sleep because you are trying to figure out how to make the next mortgage payment, you nibbled on stale Cinnamon Cheerios while you lurked on your ex friend's Facebook Page, Little Johnny told you he hates you, he made a slingshot at the park and shot the annoying chirpy bird out of the tree, he had a REAL happy meal for lunch, but you uploaded the picture of the apples and milk Happy Meal pic from Google Images (like I just did), ordered Chinese takeout, fell asleep watching TV, and don't give a fuck who got voted off Idol. 

2.  The Lovebirds.  Husband goes on and on about his wonderful wife.  Wife replies with an...."awww...thanks, babe...I love you too!"  This literally makes me want to stab myself in the eye with a fork.  You live in the same house.  Tell each other in person - trying to convince people who you haven't seen since sixth grade that you love your spouse is completely unnecessary, and  just plain fucking stupid.  Lovebirds also are guilty of liking every single one of the other's posts. Vomit.

 3.  The Gamer.  Mafia Wars.  Farmville.  Mob Wars.  Words With Friends.  Cityville.  Bubble Witch Saga. I can admit that I am guilty of posting certain updates or requests from games that I play.  If I need a machine gun, the only way for me to get it is to ask someone in my mafia.  Duh. I have no choice but to post that.  However, If I kill Vinny the Meatball, I have the option of sharing or keeping it to myself (which I do, and trust me, you should too).  There's really no need to share the fact that you played "PENIS" on words with friends and scored 90 points.  You know you kicked so and so's ass, and so does so and so.  I don't care how good you are at Words with Friends, or any other game, for that matter.  Get a life.

4.  The Over Achieving Parent of an Athlete. Yet another Fakebook personality that I admittedly possess.  If my kids make a great play during a game,  I'm guilty of including it in my status (if I feel the need to post one) that day.   However, the parents who post the stats from every minute of the game their kid played make me want to get out the white coat and strap myself into it.  I realize that Little Johnny's little league/youth hockey/recreational soccer/youth basketball career is the most important thing going on in your life right now, but honestly, I don't care how many pitches he threw, how many shots on net he had, or how many free throws he made.  A simple "Great game, Johnny," on his wall (if he is old enough to have one), or "So proud of Little Johnny - he scored the winning goal," on your own wall would suffice.  Once in a while is fine, hell once a WEEK is even fine, but if you go on Facebook after every single game little Johnny plays in, it is too fucking much.  I guarantee everyone has unsubscribed to your updates by now, so you probably shouldn't even bother anymore.

5.  The Attention Whore.  Classic status updates include:

"Having a bad Day :("

"Got great news - yeah!"

"Can't take anymore!"

"Why me?"

"So pissed right now!"

If you ever see a status like this...DO NOT TAKE THE BAIT!  I can honestly say that I actually find joy in seeing these posts with NO comments underneath!  Let the Attention Whore wallow in self-pity!  After all, if something was really wrong with a good friend, you'd probably know about it already.

Feel free to add your Fakebook Personalities below!

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Random Crap That Bugs Me: Pajamas in Public

When did it become acceptable to wear pajamas in public?  I see it everywhere - kids getting out of school, adults in the supermarket, Target, the name it, you will see someone wearing pajamas.  It doesn't matter if it is 8:00 in the morning, 1:00 in the afternoon, or 7:00 in the evening.  People wear pajamas all day!

Yup, we just rolled out of bed, ass breath and all, and we are ready to hit the books!

I can't help but wonder, did they just roll out of the rack, throw on shoes and head out?  Did they brush their teeth?  Shower?  Get out of bed, remove the pajamas they slept in and then put on a fresh pair?  If so, why?  Kids who show up to school in pajamas should be sent home.  They won't be able to pull that shit in the real world, so why should it be accepted at school?  Don't get me wrong-I'm all for being comfortable, but if I went to work in my pajamas, all I would want to do is relax at my desk.  Maybe take a little nap. Curl up in my chair with a fuzzy blanket and a cuppa tea and do nothing all day. 

Yeah, yeah. I'll get right on that, boss!

As if seeing students file in and out of school in pajamas isn't bad enough, I have to see grown women in the grocery store walking around in their ill-fitting "Pink" across the ass pajama pants, complete with slippers that they are trying to pass off as shoes (but they are clearly slippers), and ROLLERS in their hair!  Rollers!  You couldn't take the fucking rollers out?  Seriously?  What would possess someone to leave their house like this?  Why bother even putting the rollers in if you are comfortable enough to be out in public looking like that?   Could your hair possibly be so bad that it looks better with the rollers than without?  I'm curious about these PJ wearers.  Do they change into clean PJs when they get home?  Do they go to bed wearing the same PJs they had on all day?  Do they ever wear regular clothes? Is throwing on a pair of friggen jeans really that difficult?  If you are over 35, regardless of how nice of an ass you think you have, you should not wear anything that says something across your fart locker.  Period.  You may think you are a MILF, you may even BE a MILF/Cougar, but you are still too old to be rocking the "Pink" across the bum.  To me, it's just as bad as an adult rocking Disney apparel.  You're too fucking old for Tinkerbell, and you're too old for words on your ass. 

Curlers and Pajamas Offender at Wal-Mart!

The PJs as clothing trend extends to men, too.  Guys wear plaid flannel PJ pants with socks and flip flops.  What fuck?    How is this even remotely acceptable?  Aren't socks and sandals a fashion no-no?   And another thing - I don't want to see your friggen underwear.  It's great that you wear a size Medium in Hanes Boxer Briefs. I suppose if I was a size Medium in anything, I would want to wear the tag on the outside, but I'm not, so I don't, and neither should you!  I don't want to see ANYONE's underwear (except maybe Channing Tatum's....swoon...but that's a story for another blog)!

Don't mind the stain...Damn internet porn!

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Day Twenty One

What I say: I wish I lived in Middleboro, Massachusetts...The no swearing law is such a fabulous idea!

What I mean: That is some fucked up shit right there. Are they friggen serious? In case you haven't heard, Middleboro Town Meeting has passed a law forbidding cursing in public and resulting in a fine. Are you fucking kidding me? I'm pretty sure I remember learning about a little document written a while back called the Constitution!  Now I'm not a lawyer (obviously), but I'm pretty sure that in that little document there’s a right called "Freedom of Speech." Maybe it’s me but it seems that this law would be in direct opposition of that right. Don't get me wrong - is cursing in public rude? Sure. Is it ignorant? Maybe (for my opinion on the use of the "F" word, read this.)  But to tell people it is against the law is a little over the top, don't you think? Last time I checked, it wasn't against the law to be rude or ignorant. Except in Middleboro, apparently. Supposedly the purpose of the law is to stop youths from hanging around in public areas of the town creating disturbances. Isn’t that called loitering? Or causing a disturbance? Aren’t there already laws in place to police that kind of behavior?

In my opinion, this is a perfect example of what is totally wrong with society today. Let's say there's a group of teenagers hanging around the center of town, swearing and yelling obscenities, since that is apparently a teenager's idea of a good time in Middleboro (woo-fucking-hoo).  An officer is in the vicinity, and hears the offending curse words.  Let's say the kid with the potty mouth is only 14.   Who do you think is going to pay the fine for swearing in public?  Certainly not the jobless potty-mouthed teenager.  Let's say the kid, being a typical teenager, isn't very fond of his parents at the moment - wouldn't that be a great way to piss off the 'rents?  Do they charge by the swear? If Billy calls Bobby a fucking asshole, does the fine double, since there were two curse words, even though they were used in one sentence?  What if Bobby calls Billy a twat waffle eating shit nugget?  Since Bobby retaliated with a double curse sentence, will that negate the offense, or will they both get a ticket, or two each?  Holy I'm confused! That'll be one fine. 

What I mean is, the parents will be on the hook for the fine, the fine will probably be unenforceable if it isn't paid, and what does the kid learn?  Nada.  It will probably end up costing the town more money than it's worth in the end.  Printing tickets, going to court if the little ball busters don't pay, parents wanting "proof" that their kid really said what the officer said he said (holy fuck...I confused myself again...but it makes sense, I swear)!  Things must be really great in Middleboro if this is all that is on their radar. 

And what if the police aren't around? If someone is swearing and acting like an asshole in line at the grocery store or while you are waiting to fill your gas tank, can you put a fine in place that is similar to a "citizen's arrest," where the person who hears the swear can just haul off and punch douche bag in the mouth? Really hard? Now that I'm all for! 

What do you think?  Should swearing in public be punishable by fine?  You know how I feel.  

In the meantime, watch your fucking mouth if you happen to pass through Middleboro!  It's close to my hometown, but I certainly won't be going ANYWHERE near it ....unless I hit the friggen lottery!

Thank you, Mike, for helping me with my writer's block (again)!

Monday, June 11, 2012

Random Crap That Bugs Me: Lines

By lines, I mean the line at Dunkin' Donuts.  McDonald's or your typical drive-thru.  A burger joint or sub shop where you order and wait.  I shouldn't say it's the lines that bug me about these places.  It's the butt nuggets who are usually in front of me in these lines that really bug the crap out of me.  Here are some examples:

1.  The Indecisive Nail Biter.  You know the type.  He/She can't figure out what to order.  The fact that the menu is the same as it has always been makes no difference.  She (in my most recent experience, it was a she...sorry ladies) gets up to the counter and has no clue what she wants for breakfast. To stall, she orders her coffee first.  In the three seconds she has bought herself, she still can't decide.  There are 27 people in line behind me, and at this point, I'm wishing I went through the drive thru.  Finally, she settles on a plain donut.  A PLAIN EFFING DONUT.  I'm late for work (again) and this bitch wasted three precious minutes of my life on a decision to get a plain donut?  Live a little!  Have a glazed!  Have Two!  Shove one in your pie hole, and one up your ass, and don't ever wind up in line in front of me again, you indecisive nail biting ass face!

2.  The Purse Shuffler.  This creature bellies up to the counter, rattles off the same order she gets every friggin day, and when the cashier says, "That will $4.39," she seems surprised that she is required to pay for her breakfast.  She just waited in line for 12 minutes.  However, she waits until the cashier rings her in to dig through her pocketbook to come up with enough money to feed her face.  A random dollar bill in this pocket, 6 quarters in the change purse, another few dollars rolled up in a ball at the bottom of the bag.  By the time she finds enough cash, the entire contents of her Wanna Be Birkin Bag are spilled out on the counter, and she uses this opportunity to organize her pocketbook!

3.  The Drive-Thru Clown Car.  This is a car pool consisting of at least 5 people. For the LOVE OF GOD...not ONE of you could get out of the fucking car and order INSIDE the restaurant?  Instead, everyone needs a sandwich, no two coffees are alike, "Bill" doesn't want cheese on his sandwich, "Jane" wants egg whites, and "Brian" wants a separate bill.  COMPLICATED ORDERS SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED AT THE DRIVE THRU!  Everyone should abide by the following drive-thru etiquette:

  • No more than 2 people in a vehicle in the drive-thru.
  •  Have your money ready.  They usually tell you how much it is BEFORE you get to the window!
  •  No more than 2 items per person (if you are playing along, this means a max of 4 items)
  •  If you are ordering more than 2 items for yourself, you could probably use some exercise, so get off your fat ass and WALK INSIDE to place your order! 
  • Once you get your bag and/or beverage, PULL THE FUCK OUT!  Do not ask for ketchup.  Do not ask for napkins.  Do not do ANYTHING that will make me later for work than I already am.  Once you have your items, it's MY TURN!
And for the Drive-Thru Workers:
  • Do not assume that you can keep my change.  If I spent $3.57 and gave you 4 bucks, I DECIDE if I'm going to let you keep the .43 cents.  I may even GIVE you a buck on top of that (If I'm not running late for work).  If you keep my change, I'll ask for it back and give you the dog hair and lint sitting in the ashtray. 
  • Cut the shit with the high pressure sales.  I do not want to try your new 800 calorie heart attack waiting to happen breakfast sandwich.  If I wanted one, I would have ordered it.  I know I look like I don't give a shit about what I scarf down for breakfast, but I'm late (again) and your little sales pitch just added 30 seconds onto my arrival time.   
That's about all for now, but I'd love to hear what bugs you while you wait in line!  Hit that little comment button below and let me know. 

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Day Twenty

What I say:  Nice, relaxing day on the beach...not a care in the world!

What I mean:   Yes.  I relaxed.  Sat my fat ass in the sun and chilled the eff out.  But stupid people drove me crazy, and I'm pretty sure I had a nervous breakdown trying to stop myself from killing someone.

My first complaint is to the biznatch who should have stopped wearing a two-piece bathing suit about 20 years, 100 thirty packs, and 5 (yes, 5) kids ago.  I did not want to see her FUPA (Fat Upper Pu**y Area), belly button hair,  back fat, stretch marks, or the jiggling, deflated balloons that I'm sure were once very perky breasts at one time, but really no longer are.  If the above description wasn't bad enough, I'm pretty sure she may have sharted herself, judging by the lovely stain on the ass of the so-called bathing suit.  Here's a little tip:  A one piece bathing suit or a two piece Tankini would actually be more flattering.  Aside from covering your gunt (gut-cu*t), it will smooth out your back rolls, and contain the front ones.  I suggest maybe a pair of shorts in an effort to avoid chub-rub (thighs rubbing together).  I, too, suffer from all of the above-mentioned nastiness, however, I cover that shit up!  NO ONE wants to see that. 

My next complaint goes out to the parents of little Johnny.  "Johnny, don't go in the water!"  "Johnny, don't eat the sand!" "Johnny, don't get sand on the towel!"  You douche bags did realize you were taking your kid to a beach, right?  Sand......water........B-E-A-C-H!  It's kind of like taking a cake, putting it in front of a fat guy, and expecting him not to eat it.  Cake = crack for fat people!  If you didn't want Johnny in the water or playing with the sand, you should have taken him to a museum. Here's a little tip for Johnny's parents:  Let the kid live a little!  Eat some sand (he will shit it out later, I promise), put his feet in the water, make a mess of the towel - it's part of being a kid!  You may actually enjoy watching him enjoy himself!  And I may actually get to doze off if I don't have to listen to the both of you assholes screech at him all day!

Finally, I have to complain about the lady with the three month old baby.  She had 2 older kids, so this is not a first-time mother I'm talking about.  The infant is strapped into the car seat/carrier, and he starts to cry.  With as little compassion as she can muster, Mommy Dearest rocks the carrier with one hand, while continuing her telephone conversation with the other.  Baby cries louder.  Mother of the Year shoves a bottle in his face, which calms him down for about 10 minutes.  At this point, he has finished the bottle, but Suck Ass Mom still hasn't finished her conversation, so Baby remains in the carrier.  Within seconds, his face is red, and he is doing the scary infant-holding-his-breath-till-he-turns-purple wail.  Shit for Brains Mom finally ends her call.  I think to myself...."Ok, she's gonna take him out and burp him, finally..."  But no, she tries to stick a pacifier in his face.  He wants no part of it.  He is still in the carrier, for fuck's sake! "Pick him up and burp him," I'm screaming in my head.   She finally unbuckles him and tries to rock him!  He's squirming and rolling around like a fish out of water in her arms, and Bimbo Mom tries to give him ANOTHER bottle! I am literally biting my tongue so hard that I have tears in my eyes.  Boy, 45 a/k/a husband is not with me, but if he was, he would be telling me to mind my business over and over again to stop me from butting in (sometimes, I really just can't help myself).  When I can't take it anymore, I decide I have to tell this dumbass that her kid has a gas bubble and he needs to be burped!  Just as I open my mouth, the baby projectile vomits all over Idiot Mom and her cell phone!  Now I have tears in my eyes because I'm laughing so hard that I actually peed a little!

Even if this chick was a first-time Mommy, isn't burping something they go over with you when you have the kid?  Mine are older, so maybe my memory is a little rusty, but I'm pretty sure burping is included in the hospital's Baby 101 class. Ass Clown Mom finally packs the kids up and takes off, but I'm all annoyed and fired up, and I figure the only way to calm myself down is to go back to the Beach House (a/k/a Trailer) and take my frustrations out on the keyboard.  Blogging = therapy!

That's better!  Anyone have any crack cake?

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Random Crap that Bugs Me: Bumper Stickers

Bumper stickers (pronounced "Bumpah Stick-is" here in Boston), bug the ever loving crap outta me!  This is yet another trait I get from my Dad.  He hates bumper stickers and always has.  I remember going on vacation to New Hampshire, or Disney World and always wishing we could get a bumper sticker for the old 1972 Impala!
What I wouldn't give to have this beast now! 

Then, Dad brought home this little beauty.  A friggen Pacer! 

Ours was actually a forest green color.  Imagine going from the Boss Hog Impala to this friggen death trap?
 I remember asking if we could put a bumper sticker on it (the fact that I knew he didn't allow them made us want one even more), but he wouldn't budge.   To placate us, he let us get one of those waving hands that attach to the car window with a suction cup.  Like these, only ours said "Hi!" 
My sister and I thought we were hot shits in the back of the Pacer with that tacky-ass waving hand though.  The only lucky one in the car was my little brother, who was probably still in a car seat.  The rest of us would be dead on impact in that friggen tuna can of a car.
So, back to bumpah stick-is.  There are several that bug me, but here are a few of my favorites:

Kiss Me, I'm Irish (or any other nationality)!  Do I look like I give a flying fuck?  Get the hell out of my way before I'm late for work....again!  By the way, if I did get a bumper sticker, I think it would say...."I'm Italian...Fuck Off!"

Political Bumper Stickers for elections that happened more than 2 months ago.   If your candidate won...good for you. You get a cookie. The election is over, and now your candidate is just another typical politician who I couldn't give a shit less about, especially while I'm driving behind you.  If your candidate lost, you should have scraped that shit off the morning after the election.  You're a loser just like he/she is!

Choose Life, Your Mother Did / Pro Choice! /Against Abortion?  Don't Have One!  I don't understand why people have to advertise where they stand on this issue ON THEIR FRIGGEN CAR!  I am a complete stranger driving behind you.  Announcing your opinion to the world only makes me want to speed up and ram the front end of my car into your ugly bumper stickered ass (regardless of what your opinion is). 

These are the three that bug me the most.  The only thing that bugs me more than bumpah stick-iz these days is the obnoxious testicles guys hang from trailer hitches on their trucks. Truck Nuts are fucking stupid.  If you have them, my only thought is that you are overcompensating for something you lack in real life.  I don't want to see a set of nasty balls hanging from the back of your truck.  Perhaps women with small boobs should turn their headlights into tits.  At least it would be an affordable boob job! 

I'm there any bumpah stick-is that bug the crap out of you?  Comment to let me know! 

Monday, June 4, 2012

Day Nineteen

What I say:  So nice to meet a new friend!  It's as if we've known each other forever!

What I mean:   It is sooo NOT OK to talk to me while I'm in the stall next to you in the ladies' room.  Don't get me need some T.P., and I'm your girl.  Small talk to a complete stranger through the stall wall?  Not cool.

Can I please pee in peace?  I can't pee in peace at home, can I at least pee in peace when I go out?  Is that too much to ask?  Really?  I finally have the opportunity to use the bathroom without having to have a discussion with Girl 15 or Girl 12 on the other side of the door, and now this chick wants to talk about the crazy New England weather, in a public restroom, while I'm trying to pee, and she's.....well....from the smell and sounds of things, pinching a loaf.  Did I mention that we are in a public restroom?  What possesses someone to strike up an unprovoked conversation about the effing weather to a complete stranger while laying friggen pipe? So I decide to take a peek underneath the stall to see if I can determine the level of nut job I'm dealing with here.  I'm totally expecting socks and sandals, or even jelly shoes (from 1980) but nothing prepares me for what I actually find.  Fuzzy slippers.  This bitch is 12 kinds of crazy! It's been raining since Saturday.  I'm about ready to build an ark, and she's traipsing around in what used to be fuzzy, but are now soggy, dirty slippers!

Finally, I'm washing my hands, and she says, with a voice that sounds like she's pushing a Mack Truck out of her butt, "You have a good day sweetie...and stay dry!"

There. Are. No. Words.

And this, my friends, is the crap (no pun intended) that bugs me today!