Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Letter to My Girls If I Drop Dead

I have had an eye twitch since the day I began this blog. I'm not sure if it's excitement, stress or unrelated. But in case it's a blood clot preparing to burst and render me lifeless, I think I should get a few things in order.

My girls are young, but one day they will be teens and eventually women and even wives and mothers. If I can't be there for them, I hope this letter offers comfort and guidance in my stead.

Open Letter to My Young Daughters who will become Teenagers, Women and maybe Wives and Mothers Someday:


You may be young now, but someday you will become teenagers and eventually women who will perhaps want a career, to be a mom or a wife.

As you blossom into teenagers, do so with the dignity and grace I know is within you and not the spasmodic and hygienically challenged behaviors of your childhood. This means not ripping rank farts in public, having a meltdown about decapitated barbie heads or plunking a gigantic deuce on the bedroom floor.

Be kind to your father and do not disgrace him by becoming a teen mom. Unless you find a way to trick Matthew McConaughey into knocking you up and in that case, well done my pets.

Girls can be mean. Don't let the pretty cheerleader push you around. Their boorish attitude usually stems from a miserable home life, most likely due to being raised by a pill-popping lush of a mom-bot who lives vicariously through them. Please know that mean girls often grow up to be bitter, saggy-boobed heifers with beer bellied man pig spouses, stuck at home with five kids and nursing the latest set of twins from the UPS guy while hubby is out smoking cigars and boning strippers.

Work hard at your studies in high school. Stay off of Facebook because no one really cares about TBH or your nail polish color of the moment, nor are they interested in watching videos of you singing Britney Spears' "Oops, I did it again" on YouTube. Unless they are pervy pedophile types who like to beat-off to videos of young girls, which is completely eww. Disgusting, but it happens.

Go to a reputable college and not a party school known for drinking related hazing deaths, but try to get accepted on an academic scholarship. If your grades aren't good enough, fall back on your ethnicity. And if all else fails, sleep with the Dean of Admissions because we don't have a college fund for you. We spent it all on vodka and premium cable. You didn't think all those episodes of Weeds and Dexter you watched were free did you?

If no college will take you, then I might as well let you in on a secret. College is for idiots who have no ambition and didn't learn anything in high school or on the mean streets of suburbia. It is basically an excuse for long haired hippie-poet wannabes to sit around smoking pot or roided out jocks to roofie co-eds. Too bad the roids have shriveled up their man parts making them useless.

Some of the most successful people in history did not finish college, think Steve Jobs and Jenna Jameson. So don't beat yourself up if you don't go...

"You is kind, you is smart, you is important." Do what you love, work hard to be successful at it and don't let anyone tell you can't pull off your dreams or aspirations. Believe in yourself. (What? I'm not a total cynic.)

Please do not be sluts. Everyone makes fun of them. Whores are more highly regarded. There is a difference.

If you choose to marry, do so going into it completely loving whomever you choose, whether it be a man or a woman. Be sure they love you back wholly as well. There is no shame in being gay, but know that lesbians are just as estrogen filled as you are so be prepared for a roller coaster of emotions and the occasional unexpected bitch slap. And if it is a man you choose, make note not to give blowjobs too freely. Husbands will expect them more often than you know and it's absolutely exhausting. Reserve them for anniversaries, birthdays or to secure your girl's getaway trip to Barbados.

If you are lucky enough to become mothers to sweet cherubic babies, I am sorry I'm not here to help you through the tough first weeks. But you should rest assured that many people will offer to help you. They will say things like: "If you need anything, let me know. How can I help you? If you need to get away or have time to yourself for a date night or to take a nap, call me anytime and I will be right there. I mean it, anything you need at all."

They are filthy liars...

People will drop in to see the baby. When you ask if they will hold her so you can take a quick shower because you haven't bathed since giving birth a week ago, they will say "Oh I can't, I really need  to get back to work." Or if you call them while you are being rushed to the hospital for emergency post delivery complications to see if they can lend a hand while your husband waits for you to get out of surgery, they will say "I wish I could, but Timmy has a soccer game, feel better and how about I drop off a bundt cake later?" 

If your mother-in-law offers to come to town for a week to help, it's a trick. She will arrive and tell you the house is a mess, say she can't stay up to help with the baby because she has a hair appointment in the morning and ask what's for dinner all in the same breath. 

Don't let your mother-in-law guilt you into doing everything her way. Or make you feel like a failure as a mother because you can't properly swaddle or choose to co-sleep rather than use the rickety family heirloom bassinette so old that Baby Jesus himself slept in it. If times weren't supposed to change or if we didn't make advances in technology and products, we'd still be squirting out babies in the cotton field with a rag clenched in our teeth and using whiskey as anesthetic. Tell that bitch to suck it. But seriously, a nip of whiskey is good for a teething baby or if you just want to pass out and not hear the crying.

If you choose to breastfeed, fine. It hurts like hell; it's basically tantamount to an atomic titty-twister of sunburned nipples. But it is a good bonding experience and is healthy for the baby as long as you're not on the requisite new mom diet of hydrocodone and chardonnay. If you don't, that's fine too. But if you want to get a table quickly at a busy new trendy restaurant, whip that puppy out at the hostess stand and slap the baby on there and watch them scramble to get you seated at warp speed. People are weirdos. They can watch porn and childbirth videos but one semi-exposed boob in public and they go ape shit.

If you choose to be a working mom, great. If you choose to be a stay at home mom, great. Going to work is awesome because you get to pawn the demon spawn off on someone else to change the shitty diapers while you nap in your cubicle and eat Cheetos. Being a stay at home mom is not all martinis and play dates- think diarrhea slathered pack-n-plays and cartoons that make you want to stab yourself in the eye, like Calliou. (He seriously needs to be punched in the nads.) But at least you get to stay in your pj's all day and pop open a bottle of merlot at noon without being judged by co-workers. Or worse, having to share with them.

Whatever path you choose or wherever life takes you, know that you are loved deeply and I am always proud. Don't worry about me watching and haunting you from beyond the grave. I'm pretty sure I have secured my spot in hell with this letter.

Love always,

Monday, June 25, 2012

Rude People

I'm sure you're familiar with them. The jerk who cuts you off in the parking lot. The kid who tears ass through the mall and knocks your toddler down. Fuckers. They are everywhere.

On the road, at the grocery store, in the mall, at entertainment venues. You cannot avoid them.

Manners seem to have gone by the wayside in the last few decades. (says the lady who tells her husband to fuck-off regularly and often eats with elbows on the table.) This is not a new issue and it has been written about countless times.

For your reading enjoyment I have compiled a list of anti-rudeness rules to follow based on situations I have personally experienced. Think of it as The Snarky Bitch's Guide to Modern Day Etiquette.

1. If someone goes to the trouble of holding the door for you, especially if they themselves are holding a small rug rat, say THANK YOU. (You're welcome, asshat!) Also, perhaps hold the door a few seconds longer for the person with their hands full following you into the store. (Thank you, douchebag!)

2. While at the grocery store, do not park your shopping cart in the middle of the aisle while you browse the shelves so no one can pass you. (move it to the side of the aisle; you know, like you do when you pull your car to the side of the road while stopped to look at something, dummy.)

3.  If you must grocery shop with a gaggle of minions, make sure they stay out of the way of other shoppers and do not push the cart into people. Kids like to play chicken with vehicle related objects. I do not like to play chicken. They will lose.

4. When parking your vehicle, pull within the lines and not halfway into the adjacent spot so the other car that is already there, and perfectly parked, cannot open their door to strap their kid in the car seat or even get in their car at all. (I actually left a nasty note on some chick's beemer convertible for doing this after I 'accidentally' opened my door too abruptly and pushed my ass against it while strapping in a minion...ooops!)

5. If I kindly stop my car so you can cross the street from the parking lot to the store, hurry the fuck up. Walk straight across, not in a weavy or zig-zag pattern. This is not the NFL. You are not being chased. Do not walk with a gangsta limp or pimp swagger. Do not casually text and not even bother to look up and acknowledge my kindness with a friendly half-wave. I will run yo ass down mutha fucka.

6. At the mall, where the dregs of society gather: (I am aware I go there too)  Don't meander aimlessly with your head up your ass. Yes, there are pretty lights and shiny things to distract you. But you are not alone. Stop walking out of stores without looking and run into me with your stroller. Hey buddy, ever hear of looking both ways? It is terrifying to think these people drove vehicles to the mall. Don't stop dead in your tracks. If you can use the steps, use them. Do not take up or block the entire ramp which is the only choice for strollers or wheelchairs or hover-rounds. Simply, I view the mall or any other moving activity as I do driving. People should follow the same basic principles; look both ways, don't slam on your brakes in the middle of the roadway and come to a dead stop, stay on the correct side of the road, do not drive into oncoming traffic, yield when exiting and entering main highway. Get back to basics people!

7. At the community or gym pool, please teach your demon spawn to not jump in the pool nearby others and drench them. Yes, I know it is a pool and I should expect to get wet. (that's what she said) But who enjoys being repeatedly splashed in the face when it is a huge pool and I am purposely tucked away in the corner furthest from the action to enjoy some me time. Plus, I don't want my highlighted smoothed hair to get wet and I forgot my rhinestone encrusted cross hat.

8. When checking out at the grocery store, do not wait until the clerk has scanned and bagged  ALL of your groceries to THEN load them in the cart and THEN take out your CHECKBOOK and THEN ask the clerk the store name and date and THEN write the check and THEN balance your check book and THEN search your purse for 5 minutes looking for your ID. Get with the program people! You know the drill. If you MUST pay by check, at least have it started while they are scanning and load your items in the cart as they are bagged. I'm not even going to give you shit about not having a debit card, but really-- could you please move it along just a little faster if you insist on doing things old school? Just some minor planning ahead, okay? Great, thanks. Meanwhile, devil baby and Fifi have had enough of this place and whining has commenced about being hungry and they are repeatedly yelling 'I want to go bye bye, I want to go bye bye, I want to go bye bye!' Kill me now. True story.

9. In a public restroom, when there are fifteen stalls available, do not take the ONLY large or handicapped stall so the mom with a stroller and another kid has to pick one of these scenarios: A. Squeeze in a small one with all the kids and gear. B. Take a screaming baby out of the stroller, hold it precariously in the air while hovering over the toilet and peeing, wiping be damned. Or C. Leave one of the minions outside the stall. (how do you choose which one to leave behind?) Yes, I know they are not reserved solely for moms with strollers or handicapped people and it is a free country and people can use whichever available one they want. But it's just common courtesy, god damn it.

10. Do not text while driving. Do I need to say more?

You might be asking, who died and made me the queen of etiquette? I have a potty mouth and am a less than perfect parenting role model. No one died, except Emily Post, and I don't claim to be the queen of anything. I just thought someone should point these things out since we have become such a self-absorbed society with no glimmer of hope in sight.

But it begs the question- if even a degenerate like me can get this why can't everyone else?

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Sappy Drivel

Unless you're stupid, you should know that anything you post on Facebook is fair game for being made fun of. 

Two friends- Raquel and Lola- and I group text on a regular basis, mostly making fun of the fucktards who post unbelievably lame and boring shit on Facebook.

Yes, we have the maturity of 14 year-olds and I'm sure there are more important things we can be doing. Like 'logging off Facebook, putting down the phones and being more present with our children.'

But we don't wanna. That does not sound like fun at all.

One of our favorite type of posts to make fun of is when parents post cheesy schmoozy crap about their kid.


"I am so proud of Timmy. He got all A's and B's on his report card, made the soccer team and is on a 4th grade reading level. Mom and dad and sister love you, Timmy!"

Timmy's never going to read that shit. He's in the third grade and right now he's on the playground flinging boogers at his friends.

Or some cutesy banter:

Mom- Timmy, it's time for bed.

Timmy- I don't want to go to bed mom. I'm reading Harry Potter and I'm almost done.

Mom- Sweetie, you can finish it in the morning. That way you'll have something to do before oboe practice.

Timmy- Ok mom. That's a great idea. Hey mom, you know what I wanna do when I grow up?

Mom- What's that honey?

Timmy- I want to go to Hogwarts!

Mom- Aw, Timmy! *smiles + he melts my heart*

Stop fronting for your friends and family. We get it. You love your kid-- great!  He says cute stuff. All kids do. Tell him to his face and stop mucking up our feed with that drivel.

I'm sure there is a good lover's spat unfolding as we speak and I don't want to miss it.

Why not post what really goes on around your house. Here's what happens in mine:

Me- Fifi, go brush your teeth and use the waterpick to get the crap out of your braces.

Fifi- *whines* But I don't want to!!

Me- Do it right now or I'll rip that shit out of your mouth and you can have crooked teeth until you're 18 and can pay for it yourself!

Fifi- FINE!

Maybe that's harsh, but it sure as hell beats reading about Timmy stacking blocks or learning to drink from a sippy cup.

I said good day. 

Saturday, June 23, 2012


You know who they are. The impossibly perky-and-pretty-super-scary-moms you don't dare cross for fear of being ostracized or always pulling the shit job when it comes to volunteering at the school. (And we need you to sit outside in 102 degree temps with no shade and hand out melty ice cream bars to the little snots.) That's why I don't volunteer.

Where I live the mom-bots are a cross between TV's GCB (Good Christian Bitches) and Real Housewives:

Perfectly coiffed saccharin snobby stylistas masquerading as super mommies with uber Christian values.

I live in Texas, so needless to say it's the Bible Belt Republican capital of the world. And there's nothing wrong with either of those things, except when it becomes grounds for the most hypocritical opinions and behaviors I have seen in my life.


A kid from a super religious church going fam pushes my child on the playground and calls her Jewish and mocks her for not going to church.

We are not Jewish.

But what if we were? Why is being Jewish an insult? Jewish people go to synagogue so what does that have to do with anything? Aren't 'love thy neighbor' and 'do unto others' some sort of churchy mantra? WTF are they teaching this kid in church?! That's why I don't church.


Abortion is murder! Except when a governor-senator-congressmen knocks up some seventeen year old, then it's just political strategery. That's why I don't vote. (I jest)

My first encounter with the mom-bots was when I was picking up a friend's kids at the soon to be elementary school of my daughter. She would be starting kindergarten the following fall.

There they were. Sitting outside on the picnic benches waiting for their children of the corn at dismissal. Six or seven of them were chatting away. All had shoulder length blonde highlighted hair with darker undertones, perfectly straightened and smoothed.

They all had on the latest trendy jeans- Miss Me and the like- and some cutesy top: either a rhinestone encrusted number or an elaborately designed scrolly cross t-shirt. In some cases it was a rhinestone encrusted elaborately designed scrolly cross combo. Except for one or two of the skinny bitches in yoga pants and high end athletic shoes. But their hats had rhinestone encrusted scrolly crosses covering their blonde highlighted manes, so the balance of the universe remained intact.

As I approached, I felt strangely out of place. The closer I got I heard a voice in my head say 'We are the collective. Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated.'

I grabbed my charges and fled to the vehicle. The following year I decided the drive up car line was the way to go and I never walked up again. I purposely wear no makeup and a ratty ball cap or crazy Don King hair to keep them at bay and to dissuade them from wanting to bring me to the dark side. 

But sometimes when I'm parked in the school car line waiting for the bell, when all is quiet, I hear a faint buzzing and notice the blinged out hat wearing mom-bot in the gigantic black Hummer or Escalade or Range Rover (they all have these) giving me the evil eye.

The collective hive mind has instructed her to stare me down until I submit and run directly to Nordstrom's for Miss Me's and join them. I will start wearing an aluminum foil hat on my head next year in the car line to thwart their attempts at assimilation. I'm sure I have a few more years left before I become a total embarrassment to my daughter and have to stop.

But until then, I am safe from the collective and victory is mine!

Friday, June 22, 2012

Poor Bastard

Since yesterday's post touched on a ridiculous comment by my husband, I think I shall dedicate this post to a few entertaining stories made possible by him....

Let's start with what we should call him. 'Husband' sounds robotic and a bit Stepford Wives and 'Hubs' is cliché. My girlfriends and I call him Dbag in private- since his name begins with D- and other close friends call him Wiener. I should preface this by saying that the reason his nicknames are hilarious amongst our circle of friends is that they are ironic- he is neither a douche bag or a dick. In fact, he is one of the smartest and most business savvy people I know. Just don't tell him I said that.

He is also a great father and husband...blah blah blah. But he does say completely idiotic things from time to time and I can't help make fun of him. He was raised mostly in Asia and Europe so popular cultural references are lost on him. When he tries to 'get hip' and use the current lingo or slang he ends up getting it wrong or sounding lame. Then hilarity ensues.     

So here we shall call him Wiener. Simple and easy to remember.

Last time I mentioned he once stated "I need to get a pager so my pimps can reach me." This is classic Wiener. Always fucking up a punch line or movie quote. Don't get me wrong- I'm not perfect or always with the quickness in getting a joke or movie line. In fact, I have a friend who is the movie line reference equivalent of Mark McGrath on Rock and Roll Jeopardy. Know not of what I speak? Check it out. Anyway, she's a badass who always leaves me feeling like a dumb-ass.

Now back to the story- so here's Wiener trying to pull off a variant of Eddie Murphy's "Didn't I tell you that the phone in my limousine is busted, and I can't get in contact with my bitches?" from Trading Places. And instead he says he needs to get a pager so his pimps can reach him. This was said mid 90's (or the nineteen's as my daughter calls them) when we did not have cell phones growing out of our ears like today and pagers were the norm. Where do I start?

A. Don't YOU want to be the pimp and have the women at YOUR beck and call?

B.  Shouldn't THEY have the pager so YOU can reach THEM?

C. Why do you have PIMPS?!! I mean if you're going to be man-whore, fine. But why multiple pimps and not just one? Are you that good and are in high demand or do you keep getting fired because you suck or don't suck whatever the case may be?

WOW. Just wow.

Speaking of sucking, let's move on to the next little nugget. Flash forward to the next century, or the twenties, if we're going with the minion's timeline. Now, everyone has cell phones and we have all upgraded to the ultimate production killer and time waster in history- the iPhone.  

Wiener is coming around and sending the occasional text while I am in heaven texting to my heart's content without having to hit the digits numerous times on the old Razr. I think my monthly text average is in the thousands while his are in the tens. A friend texts him and asks if he's coming to an event and Wiener says that he is not. The friend texts back "You suck!" and Wiener replies "I wish!" 

Really? How can anyone get that wrong?

First of all, everyone is stupid...

Thursday, June 21, 2012

To blog or not to blog. That is always the question.

So, I'm trying to put to paper- or keys- some ideas for my first blog and my husband won't shut the fuck up...
This happens a lot. I could be minding my own business doing absolutely nothing important for hours on end with no one wanting anything to do with me. But the second I actually sit down to do something or begin a task or project, a band of minions descends upon me needing something  they could damn well do for themselves or my normally aloof and quiet husband turns into a freaking chatty cathy. Seriously?
Now I am trying to write and appear to be paying attention and being sensitive to his latest mind numbingly boring crisis du jour whilst being productive and insightful. It is probably not working since I keep getting distracted from the task at hand to help him spell random words- "Is 'rain check' one word or two or hyphenated?"  Does it really fucking matter?  I had many ideas of what I wanted to write about today, but it is just not going in that direction...    
A friend or two suggested I start a blog based on a few random jokes and anecdotes they found amusing. A blog? How stupid, I thought. Who would want to listen to me? I hate everyone and everything. Well not really- just most everyone and most things- but the thought of letting people read my innermost thoughts and let them into my head was frightening. Then I realized it might be cheaper than therapy or a defense attorney after I 'accidentally' murder someone who annoys me. But since I don't believe in therapy or lawyers I decided I could just make up a bunch of shit along with the true stories and no one would know which was which and my headspace would be an enigma.        
At any rate, my goal here is to entertain people in some shape or form. I may rant about idiotic situations or people I encounter on a daily basis, I may share stories about my evil minion children also known as demon spawn, I may vent about my husband or the world in general. I like to use profanities, not because I don't have any couth or a better vocabulary, but because it is fun and I like it. So that in a nutshell is what this blog is about: musings of a jaded human-mother-wife peppered with the occasional f-bomb and the like.
As far as the title of the blog goes, I should give credit where credit is due. My husband- aka, my favorite source for delightfully stupid entertainment- said it to my friends and I one day. We were discussing whether he should fly or drive to business meeting a few hours away and weighing the pros and cons of each. Without even listening to what we were saying, he interrupted with "first of all, everyone is stupid" then proceeded to tell us why we were idiots. This coming from the man who once said he needed to get a pager so "his pimps could get in touch with him." Yes, he said HIS pimps. Anyway, 'first of all everyone is stupid,' is my all-time favorite quote from him and I have incorporated that phrase into my everyday life as my new golden rule, so I thought it was quite the appropriate title for my blog.   
So please enjoy, but take it with a grain of salt. This is solely for entertainment purposes and offense is not intended.