I’z Gonna Be A Lady Someday, Though I Didn’t Know When or How

Recently, I have been researching and working hard on reforming myself and becoming a bona fide lady.  I think I am making major progress! Prior to learning how to look and act like a lady, I would wake up and put on sweats or cotton gym shorts and a t-shirt to prepare for a day spent inside the house, taking care of my litter of children. Now, however, I wake up, do my hair and make-up and put on a nice dress, heels and pearls. Okay, so that is an exaggeration. I just put on my dressy (i.e. not stained or ripped) yoga pants and tank top. If I am leaving the house, especially if I am dropping by the kid’s school, I will put on my dry weave coordinating workout ensemble.  See, the latest in stay-at-home mom/lady fashion is to always look like you are on your way to workout, even if you have no intention of ever breaking a sweat.I have been speaking very softly, like a lady speaks. I try not to think too hard, unless it is about what kind of sandwich I should make, and I don’t do anymore of that opinion having. I am coming to understand that if I want men to say they are interested in my brain, I need to nickname my vagina, “brain”. I’ve also been watching my language, in order to sound more ladylike. For instance, I don’t say I “fuck” my husband anymore. Now, I “make fuck” to my husband.  Like a lady.

Apparently, a lady does not tell others when doing her kegels. With this knowledge, I have stopped announcing to anyone within a 20 yard radius that I am vagi-cizing.

When I drink, like a lady, I drink wine.  That way, when I get totally drunk, I am “lady drunk”, which is classy.  I mean, to be fair, just  holding a wine glass makes you appear 30% less drunk than holding nothing or holding  any other drink container. That is just a scientific fact.

It seems, being a lady requires various cocktails of prescription pills, which I do not yet possess. That is on my “how to become a lady” to do list.

I am kicking ass—I mean, rear end–on the path to ladyhood. I am making lady lessons my bitch—I mean, my female dog. Now, I am going to put on a bra (because, if you can believe this shit–I mean, mess– ladies wear bras all the time!) and get ready to get lady drunk later. *curtsy*

Just Sayin’

Things that puzzle me:

Who coined the phrase “slept like a baby” to describe a restful, fulfilling night of sleep? Did they not have a baby? Had they never met anyone with a baby? Based on my experience with four babies, the phrase makes, absolutely, no sense. “I slept like a baby” should be used to describe a restless night of sleep, that occurred in 2 hour increments that has resulted in complete exhaustion.  I move that we change the meaning of that phrase, immediately!  All in favor, say “Aye”.

My son had told me he wanted a toy vacuum. Has anyone else ever noticed that all of the cleaning toys are in the girls’ toy aisles? Up until recently, Number Three’s favorite toy was a baby doll and a stroller. He loved his baby and loved pushing her around in the little stroller. Others would shake their heads in disapproval and say, “that’s a GIRL’S toy”, to him. A statement directed at me. I know, I know. Letting my SON play with vacuums and baby dolls could have dire consequences. I mean, he could grow up and—dare I say it?–Hold a REAL baby or *GASP* vacuum!?!?! What would become of society?

Then, there is my husband. He showers for any and every plan and event. I mean ANY AND EVERY. If he is going to the store, he takes a shower.  If we are going out to dinner, he showers. If he is going outside to do lawn work, he takes a shower. If he is going to run or to the gym, he showers first. After the doing the yard or working out, he will shower again. Okay, so I get showering before going out and I get showering AFTER working outside or exercising. I have always been thrown, though, by the pre-yard work/running shower. Can anyone explain this to me? Bueller? Bueller? Even though I know it is stupid, when the batteries are going dead in the remote control, I just try mashing the buttons really hard for days, rather than take the time to just change them.

Why are people so grossed out by the very idea of tasting milk that came out of a human being but don’t think twice about guzzling liquid that came out of a cow’s tit?

Now you’re all up to date on what has been running through my mind these last few days. Anyone else have random thoughts like these?

It’s Nice to Have a Husband Who Listens

I’ve been telling Husband for several YEARS that I would like to upgrade my wedding ring. To be fair, since we were first married, we agreed that at our 5 year anniversary I would get a ring upgrade. Well, fast forward 8 years and I have brought up “the deal” on more than one occasion. The week of Valentine’s Day, I thought was the day our deal would come to fruition.  For several days leading up to Valentine’s Day, Husband had mentioned that “one of” my gifts had been something I had been requesting for quite some time. His exact words were, “you have asked me for this so many times”.

On Valentine’s Day, I got one package. It was a gift package of Euphoria perfume, which smells amazing. Husband told me that the gift I was waiting for was yet to come. The next day a package arrived. When I opened the package, I was so excited when the packing peanuts revealed a small velvet box. I just KNEW it was the new wedding band I had been requesting for the last couple of years.

*DRUMROLL, PLEASE*

There it is, folks. He was so proud of the new “dime and ring” he bought me.

 

I’m going to get him a rubber vagina. When I get the real thing, he can have the real thing.

Pop Quiz

Pull out a pencil and piece of paper, boys and girls! It has come to my attention that it is necessary to test your ability to distinguish between literal statements and hyperbolic or satirical rhetoric.

1) If I state, “I am going to kill my husband for not taking out the trash”, should you:

a) Call the police

b) Nod in agreement because you’ve been there

2) If you overhear a mother saying to her child, “I have already told you a million times not to do that”, do you:

a) Think it is weird that she would repeat herself THAT many times, as well as impressive that she kept such an accurate and extensive count

b) Assume she has probably repeated herself but, probably, no more than 3-5 times

3) If Joe says he is going to “slap Jane with a lawsuit”, does he mean:

a)he is going to strike Jane with a stack of court papers

b) he is just planning on suing Jane

4) If I say that letting your thong hang out above your pants is “classy”, do you assume that:

  a) I have very poor taste in fashion and/or a misinterpretation of the definition of “classy”

b) I am being facetious

If you answered mostly “A”, pretty much everything I write will fly over your head. Do us both a favor and move along.  If you answered mostly “B”, CONGRATULATIONS! You have a fully functioning brain!!

Oh, and again, if you are offended by foul language, you are going to fucking hate my posts.

Neat Comments from My Readers

I’m done deleting and inadvertently protecting these kind of assholes:

metaljacket53@yahoo.com says:

Someday someone is going to push your daughter’s head up against a wall and fuck her in the ass.
And she’s going to like it.
Just like you do.

I assume this is a rational response to my blog?

Lessons Learned from Blogging

 

I have been taken to task in the comments section of some of my recent posts.  Here are a few of the things that I have learned, so far, from authoring a blog:

  • A large portion of the population have no concept of sarcasm, satire or hyperbole and will take any statement employing these literary devices as completely literal.
  • Since I have a vagina, I am expected to act like a lady and ladies do NOT, under any circumstances, use words like “fuck”. That makes one “un-ladylike”. Being called “un-ladylike” is interchangeable with terms like “dyke”, “cunt”, “whore”, etc.  (I need to remember to add those titles to my resume!)
  • Making a wish of a violent end to someone or a direct death threat is a perfectly rational response to a blog post you dislike or disagree with.
  • Despite the fact that this is MY blog, that I own and I pay for, I am expected to conform to the standards dictated by the polite police and the “Act Like a Lady or You’re Gunna Die” foundation members that found their way to my blog.  Those guys are neat-o.
  • I shouldn’t be blogging, since it take time away from me being in my kitchen and making sandwiches. From what I gathered from a lot of the responses, making sandwiches should be taking up the majority of my day. I’m not that big of a sandwich eater, nor are the kids—I mean, we like to eat *A* sandwich here and there but it seems like making sandwiches all day, every day would just be wasteful, really.
  • Children should NEVER be picked up from school, for any reason. Not making children walk home in inclement weather is the end of civilization and the very reason that the entire world hate us. It has nothing to do with our foreign policy. Now I want to know which presidential candidate is going to address this glaring issue?
  • If people don’t like a blog, you would think that the logical answer would be that said people just close the tab in their browser window and move on with their lives.  Well, you would be mistaken. Evidently, the expected solution is that the blog be shut down by the author or the interwebz police. If you can’t make everyone happy, the shit must be stopped!

Moral of the story: There are some crazy mother fuckers in the world.

 

 

Your Language is Offensive

After my last blog post and the responses to it, I have done some serious soul-searching. It was mentioned over and again that my use of swear words was offensive to many people, I was  even informed that it wasn’t ladylike.  After reading through most of the replies and absorbing how my liberal use of profanity upset so many people, I have decided to take the advice of these readers and not employ foul language in my blog posts.  I apologize if my use of vulgarities offended anyone. It won’t happen again.

I’m totally fucking joking! Welcome to my muthafucking blog, bitches. If you don’t like my fucking language, feel free to click that fucking “x” at the top fucking corner of your fucking computer screen.  “Fuck” is actually my favorite fucking word. That shit has so many fucking uses. If any of you assholes are offended by fucking swear words, I am going to go out on a fucking limb and assume that my blog is not the fucking place for you. It isn’t my fucking job to shower you with glitter and unicorn piss. If you want to read about puppies and angels, you hit the wrong fucking link.

Just so there is no misunderstanding, here are a list of swear words that will appear in past and future posts on MY blog: hell, shit, damn, ass, asshole, fuck, fucking, mother fucker, mother fucking (lots of variations of the word FUCK), bitch, dick—-well, pretty much, if you can think of it, there is high potential it will appear on this blog.  If you have a problem with that, fuck off.

And, yes, I do kiss my mother with this mouth.

You Didn’t Thank Me For Punching You in the Face

On a somewhat serious note today because of a conversation the other day:

I am sure every girl can recall, at least once as a child,  coming home and telling their parents, uncle, aunt or grandparent about a boy who had pulled her hair, hit her, teased her, pushed her or committed some other playground crime.  I will bet money that most of those, if not all, will tell you that they were told “Oh, that just means he likes you”.  I never really thought much about it before having a daughter of my own.  I find it appalling that this line of bullshit is still being fed to young children.  Look, if you want to tell your child that being verbally and/or physically abused is an acceptable sign of affection, i urge you to rethink your parenting strategy.  If you try and feed MY daughter that crap, you better bring protective gear because I am going to shower you with the brand of “affection” you are endorsing.

When the fuck was it decided that we should start teaching our daughters to accept being belittled, disrespected and abused as endearing treatment?  And we have the audacity to wonder why women stay in abusive relationships?  How did society become so oblivious to the fact that we were conditioning our daughters to endure abusive treatment, much less view it as romantic overtures? Is this where the phrase “hitting on girls” comes from? Well, here is a tip: Save the “it’s so cute when he gets hateful/physical with her because it means he loves her” asshattery  for your own kids, not mine. While you’re at it, keep them away from my kids until you decide to teach them respect and boundaries.

My daughter is `10 years old and has come home on more than one occasion recounting an incident at school in which she was teased or harassed by a male classmate.  There has been several times when someone that she was retelling the story to responded with the old, “that just means he likes you” line.  Wrong.  I want my daughter to know that being disrespected is NEVER acceptable.  I want my daughter to know that if someone likes her and respects her, much less LOVES her, they don’t hurt her and they don’t put her down.  I want my daughter to know that the  boy called her ugly or pushed her or pulled her hair didn’t do it because he admires her, it is because he is a little asshole and assholes are an occurrence of society that  will have to be dealt with for the rest of her life.  I want my daughter to know how to deal with assholes she will encounter throughout her life. For now, I want my daughter to know that if someone is verbally harassing her, she should tell the teacher and if the teacher does nothing, she should  tell me.  If someone physically touches her, tell the teacher then,  if it continues, to yell, “STOP TOUCHING/PUNCHING/PUSHING ME” in the middle of class or the hallway, then tell me.  Last year, one little boy stole her silly bandz from her.  He just grabbed her and yanked a handful of them off of her wrist.  When I went to the school to address the incident, the teacher smiled and explained it away to her, in front of me, “he probably has a crush on you”. Okay, the boy walked up to my daughter, grabbed and held her by the arm  and forcibly removed her bracelets from her as she struggled and you want to convince her that she should be flattered?  Fuck off.  I am going to punch you in the face but I hope you realize it is just my way of thanking you for the great advice you gave my daughter.  If these same advice givers’ sons came home crying because another male classmate was pushing them, pulling their hair, hitting them or calling them names, I would bet dollars to donuts they would tell him to defend themselves and kick the kid’s ass, if necessary.  They sure as shit wouldn’t say, “he probably just wants a play date”.

I will teach my daughter to accept nothing less than respect.  Anyone who hurts her physically or emotionally doesn’t deserve her respect, friendship or love.  I will teach my boys the same thing as well as the fact that hitting on girls doesn’t involve hitting girls.  I can’t teach my daughter to respect herself if I am teaching her that no one else has to respect her.  I can’t raise sons that respect women, if I teach them that bullying is a valid expression of affection.

The next time that someone offers up that little “secret” to my daughter, I am going to slap the person across the face and yell, “I LOVE YOU”.

 

EDIT: One of my readers made a very astute critique of this post and I wanted to include his whole comment, rather than just make the edit.

Love it! Do have one small criticism
“And we have the audacity to wonder why women stay in abusive relationships?” I think could be better rephrased as “And we have the audacity to wonder why abusers are able to keep women in abusive relationships?”

One is a line of reasoning that blames the abused women “Well, she’s the one choosing to stay, I guess she’s getting what she deserves!” The other better illustrates that society’s conditioning may have made them better targets, but someone had to come along to take advantage of that.

Family Lesson #413-The Trash Can and Its Appropriate Use

The trash can seems to be one of the  more confusing household staples for my family.  I have no idea why.  It seems pretty basic: Use a trash bag to line the receptacle and put trash in trash receptacle. When the trash can is full, remove the bag containing the trash and place on curb on trash day.  Repeat.  Somehow, one or more of these steps seem to be overlooked by my dear family on a regular basis.  I have decided, for their sakes, to elaborate on this subject.

  1. If you take the last juice box, pack of fruit snacks or pack of popcorn, THROW THE FUCKING BOX AWAY.  I am not sure if my family is just lazy or if they are operating under the delusion that a philanthropic group of pantry elves are replenishing the items that they empty.  This is something I have to do every. single. day.  I don’t know how to make anyone understand that when it is empty, it is EMPTY!  When you walk away from the pantry and refrigerator, you walk past the damn trash can!  I get that these containers can weigh up to SEVERAL ounces but I think you can manage the extra weight between those 5-7 steps.
  2. If there isn’t a bag in the trash can, do NOT put trash inside.  I know, I know!  To walk the 5 steps over to the cabinet, remove a trash bag, shake it open and place inside the trash can can take up to 30 seconds and who has that kind of time?  If you could just make a little room in your busy schedules, perhaps between fucking off and fucking off, and take that extra step, it would be so appreciated.
  3. If you have taken the extra time to replace the trash liner and you notice that others have disregarded the previous rule, why do you insist on pretending like you don’t see the trash lying at the bottom of the unlined can?  COME ON!  Do me a solid and grab the empty paper cup and fruit snack wrapper and put it inside the trash bag.
  4. When the trash is full, remove the full bag and replace it with a new trash bag.  Do NOT just continue piling trash up to the point of complete overflow.  In the time that it took you to carefully balance that empty juice box on top of the mountain of trash protruding from the top of the trash can, you could have just replaced it.
  5. When you peel a banana, feel free to throw the peel in the trash.  Don’t leave it lying on the counter.  When you are done with that paper towel, throw it away.  This goes for any bit of trash that you are responsible for. 

I am out of ideas on how to make this concept easy to understand.  Especially, since it seems like such a simple fucking concept without need for such extensive explanation.

Please tell me that I am not the only one.

How to Train Your Husband

Eleven years and four children later and Husband has a pretty good handle on MOST things.  He cooks, he helps with laundry, he has no qualms about changing shitty diapers, he even takes no issue with handling all the kids so that I can have a weekly wine night with the girls.  All in all, he is pretty awesome, HOWEVER, at least once a week, sometimes more, I am dumbfounded at some the tasks that he seems to find so daunting or impossible or even downright mistifying.

The other day, it had been raining throughout the day and I had gone to the nail salon to get a much-needed pedicure while Husband stayed home with Number Three and Number Four.  About half way through the pedicure, my phone rings.   I answer Husband’s call and he asks if I am going to be home before the kids get out of school in 20 minutes.  I tell him that I will not be finished before then.  He says, “well, the kids can’t walk home in the rain so we need to pick them up.”

“Okay, pick them up”, I tell him.

“Well, I have Number Three and Number Four with me”, was his response.

Me:  “And?”

Him: “You want me to just take them with me?

Me: “Well, yeah.  You know they are portable. You can  take them almost anywhere!”

Him: “Uhhhh.  Ummmmm.”

Me: “Those fancy seats in the back seats of the van with all the buckles are for them.  Just buckle them in and then drive the 20 yards to the end of our street to pick up Number One and Number Two and come right back home.”

Him (sounding confused): “Um, okay.”

Evidently, Husband has been under the misguided notion that I have been running this operation with a secret nanny or a team of magical fairies to manage accomplishing errands like grocery shopping with our litter of kids.

A secret nanny would be nice, come to think of it.  Actually, I would rather have a secret laundry doer.

I see this subject becoming a series–stay tuned.