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