Tag Archives: couch

How to be annoying on Facebook:

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  • Post every random thought or move you make, no matter how mundane.   

1:15pm-”Going to store!”.

1:28pm-”Yeah!  Fish sticks are on sale!”.

1:44pm-”Standing in checkout line.”.

2:02pm-”I used $10 worth of  coupons and made Krogers my bitch!”.

I don’t know what is worse.  The fuckwits that think anyone should care about this random bullshit or the fuckwits that actually do and take the time to comment on this bullshit.  I don’t have a life and you are boring the shit out of me.  Congratulations.  You win at sucking at life.

  • Post cryptic messages (aka “vaguebooking”)

“Done crying!  I am over it!”

-(comment)-”I’m sorry.  You need to talk?”

-(response)-”no.  This is personal.

Okay, fine.  If it is so fucking personal, don’t post it on facebook.  If you are going to put it out there, don’t be surprised when you illicit concern or confusion from your friends who have had this blasted on their news feeds.

  • Post your workout regime and results.  CONSTANTLY.

Do you really think anyone gives a fuck what body parts you worked today or how long you were at the gym or if you are soooo sad that you didn’t make it to the gym today?  I don’t care about how many ounces of bland, boiled chicken you ate and how many calories you consumed and burned.  If this is your only contribution to my news feed, you are most likely going to be hidden, at minimum.

  • Posting love notes to and/or about your significant other all. the. time.

1:23PM  “Hi baby!  I love you so, so, so much!”

3:59 PM “2 weeks, 10 hours and 14 minutes ago, we met and fell in love.  Happy two-week anniversary!  I love you, boo!”

5:32 PM “I have the greatest boyfriend in the entire world.  John Smith, I love you so much.  I can’t wait until you get home from work!  I miss you.”

7:10 PM “We just finished Glee!  I have the most amazing boyfriend.  He got me a bowl of ice cream.  Awwwww!  We are so in love, like Rachel and Finn.”

Who are you trying to convince, me or you?  If you have to constantly validate one another and/or inform the world that you do, in fact, love your boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse, I am probably going to think you are on some pretty shaky ground.  Well, it is either that or you are 14 years old (in which case, it just goes with the territory).  If you can’t go an hour without proclaiming your love for him/her, do us all a favor and put it in an email, mmmmkay? No one is buying this bullshit anyways.

Also, calling your significant other “boo” should stand on its own on this list because that is super annoying too.  What the fuck does that even mean?   I have about 10 people on my friends list that constantly refer to their “boo” and it makes me want to punch them.  “BOO” is said at the climax of a rousing game of “peek a boo” (which is often startling to babies) or something shouted to intentionally scare/startle someone.  At what point did this catch on as a pet name?  Does the sight of your loved one scare or startle you?   It makes no fucking sense but I digress…

  • Ask questions about subjects that can be easily searched

“Someone told me that dogs can’t eat grapes.  Does anyone know if that is true?“

You obviously have internet access but, hey asshole, let me google that for you!  I love it more when you point out that this information is easily found via a quick internet search and they reply “Yeah, I know but I just didn’t feel like taking the time to look it up.”.  Are you fucking kidding me?  In the time that it took you to type that status, you would have had your answer.

  • What’s for dinner?

I don’t remember having Gordon fucking Ramsey on my friends list so why is my news feed clogged daily with descriptions and pictures of what you made/ate for breakfast, lunch and dinner?  I don’t really give a fuck.  You marinated a chicken for 6.5 hours, baked it with (insert spices/herb) and then made some reduction sauce or glaze and you picked peas from your garden, shelled them and steamed them?  Now you want to post those specific details, along with a picture and I am supposed to do what?  Unless you are delivering me a plate, I don’t get the point.  I can forgive the occasional “look at what I made” post but I don’t need to see this every day for every meal.  Entertain me, bitches!

  • I do not want to be your neighbor in Farmville!

If I wanted to play Farmville or Yoville or join your mafia or your sorority, I would have probably accepted your invitation one of the first 50 times you sent it to me.  If I didn’t accept your invitation to play, please don’t send me messages to my inbox or write on my wall telling me that you need this new cow or plant and you could get it if I join.  I don’t give a fuck.  Newsflash:  it isn’t real!  If you want to play, good for you but don’t try to make me give a rat’s ass about your pretend farm or job or mafia.  It won’t work.

  • Having no grasp of the English language and having no shame about that

“Wut iz up?  Iz hangen wit ma peeps n da mall.  Den gona partay at dis club wit ma homeez.”

Shoot me.  Please.  Right in the face.  This shit is like kryptonite to me.  For your sake, for my sanity, for the love of society, please go back to school.

  • Tag me in embarrassing or ugly photos

Yes, we went out Friday and I had more than a couple of jager bombs and it was 100 degrees outside.  I don’t mind that you took pictures of our girls night at the bar but what the fuck would possess you to post them on facebook, much less tag me in them?  If they are funny, horrible, shoot them to me in an email so we can laugh about them.  You’re either an idiot or an asshole.

Just stop it.

Dang, Anything Else?

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I’m hungry!  I’m not hungry!  I’m tired!  I’m not tired!  I’m hot!  I’m cold!  Pick me up!  Put me down!  Fix me some food!  I’m thirsty!  I want ketchup!  I didn’t like it because it had ketchup on it!  I need to potty!  I already pottied!  I peed in my pants!

BREATHE!  1…2…3…4…5…fuck this counting shit.  It only takes me 3.5 seconds to open a bottle of wine.

These three curtain climbers can be the source of my greatest joy and my greatest stress.   I know that there are those sanctimonious martyr mom bitches that say “Children are gifts from heaven.  I like to spend every waking second with my children and any mother that takes two seconds to herself is selfish and she should have thought about that before she had kids.”.  Well, to her, I say: fuck the fuck off.  I love my kids but I don’t have to like my kids 24/7.  Any parent that says they do is either A) Lying or B) Full of shit.  You see, I don’t think admitting that makes me a bad mother.  I would give my life for any of my children and there are days when I feel like my children are trying to kill me themselves, with a plan they have secretly concocted to make my fucking head explode.

My husband works out, pretty much everyday.  Whether he runs or goes to the gym, that is his daily time to blow off some steam.  For some reason, some group of uptight bitches got together and decided that squeezing a kid out of your vagina suddenly rendered women impervious to stress.  These are the same bitches that decided that admitting that being a mother was hard or a mother needing her own personal time out was a sign of failure.  They got the word out and it spread quickly.  Women are so fucking afraid to admit that they aren’t perfect mothers or that they don’t ever feel overwhelmed or that they want to be able to have a little time to themselves.  Well, guess what?  I’m not.  At times, my kids make me want to stand in the middle of the street and scream a steady stream of expletives.  I want to pull my damn hair out!  I think to myself, “I wonder why kennels for kids never caught on?”.  So, I make sure that I get my own “time outs”, at least once or twice a week.  If that means that one or a few of my friends gather on my patio or on one of their patios, as God as our witness, we are going to gather, dammit!  And, there will be wine!  Oh yes!  There will be wine.  It is our therapy.  We bitch and vent and then we end up laughing about all those things that we thought were going to push us over the edge a few hours earlier.  Thankfully, I have surrounded myself with a group of friends that are equally as honest about how imperfect they are as mothers.  There isn’t any judgment, just wine.  You have to have wine! 

I jokingly tell my husband that I am going to the gym when I have plans for a girls’ night in.  Becoming a mother doesn’t make your needs suddenly irrelevant.  It doesn’t mean that you are no longer entitled to or in need of some personal time.  If anything, it makes it even more necessary.  Adults need to interact with adults.  Adults need to have conversations  in which the words Caillou, Sprout, poopy diaper and Toy Story are not brought up.   Adults need to have times when they are not required to break up fights between preschoolers.  Adults need to have friends to drink wine and bitch with because drinking alone is frowned upon.

If you want to hole up in your home and immerse yourself only in your children and their interests and topics of conversation, be my guest.  My money is on your future admission into a mental hospital. Good luck with that.

I love my bitches.

Can’t Talk to a Psycho Like a Normal Human Being

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Have you recently found yourself saddled with a knocked up wife, girlfriend, sister or friend?  Men:  If you put the baby in there, you have  no one to blame but yourself.  You didn’t talk her into the abortion.  Suck it up, buttercup.  You pulled the trigger, you finish the race.   Here are some tips and warning signs to help you get through these nine months alive.

You may ask yourself, “what the fuck is her problem?”.  Let me tell you a few of her problems:

  • She has, most likely, been forced to disregard the slightest degree of germaphobia the moment her body decided to reject the Taco Supreme with extra sour cream it had been screaming for only moments earlier, forcing her to embrace and shove her head into a receptacle that has hosted almost as many asses in its career as Richard Simmons in his.
  • Do you enjoy being stabbed repeatedly in the pubic area?  If so, you would LOVE round ligament pain.
  • Not having a period is one of the touted benefits of pregnancy.  Don’t put those tampons in storage just yet, you can still find a use for them now that your nose is going to be the one with a period!  If you are like me, it will be almost daily!!
  • Weight gain!  Because nothing says “I’m bringing sexy back” like elastic waistbands.

If you are interacting with a pregnant woman, don’t ever assume you are safe.  Always consider her armed and dangerous.  Even if the only weapon in her arsenal are the countless hormones surging through her body, be afraid.  Be very afraid.  Signs you should abandon your mission and run:

  • Tears.  Even if it just looks like her eyes might be watering, take no chances.  Run.
  • She suddenly stops talking or responding to you and only stares, even if she is being directly addressed or questioned.
  • Her only response or contribution to the conversation is a flat “whatever.”.
  • Her stomach growls.

Dads:  Are you feeling neglected?  Left out?  Have you tried to give her the business only to find she has closed up the shop?  Maybe she wants the business but the realization that her vagina is soon going to transport a tiny, screaming human larvae into the world has rendered you impotent.  Either way, you can revive your sex life.

Are you being rejected?  You are going to have to play a little hardball but, remember, all is fair in love and war.  You have to make her want you to want her and that is going to mean you have to hit her in the ego.  It is kind of like high school:

  • Strategically but noticeably  place stretch mark cream amongst her beauty supplies.
  • When you both get in bed, pull out the latest issue of “Hotties with Vacant Uteri” and your favorite lotion and go to work.  If she interrupts, take your tools into another room and tell her that she is spoiling the moment.
  • Look at older photos and compliment her pre-pregnancy hips.

If the problem is that you can’t get the soldier to salute, there are a couple of solutions:

  • Admit that you are gay.  I mean, seriously.  Pregnant or not, most men won’t turn down an available vagina.  Not to mention, her boobs have, at least, doubled in size.  That is nature’s distraction.  If this is the case, get her to pull her hair up in a baseball cap and roll her over.
  • Medicine

You are welcome.  This could end up being another series.

How to be a good parent with good kids:

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  • Use your resources.  The TV, for instance, is better and cheaper than a nanny.  You turn it on, it keeps the kids quiet and occupied and, in most cases, it is even teaching them something.  Then, at the end of the day, you don’t have to hear the television tell you about where you are falling short as a parent. 
  • There is nothing wrong with a little healthy competition.  Make a ranking chart and put on the refrigerator.  You can call it the “Mommy’s Favorite Board” or something to that effect.  At the beginning of every day, gather the children around and rank them from top to bottom on the chart.  Explain that the top spot is mommy’s favorite and go on to explain why/how they made that position (they did this favor, they didn’t talk back, etc).  Let all the children know that this order can change at any moment, without notice.  Make sure to take any reason to go switch the order and appoint a new favorite.  This is even more effective if the favorite gets some sort of privilege.  It really gets the kids in line.  Sure, the experts will rag on and on about damaging their self esteem, long term damage and blah, blah, blah but fuck that noise.  If they maintain the “mommy’s favorite” position, their self esteem will be fine.  It is a long term goal to teach them to strive for along with the short term reward.
  • Drink.  If you haven’t already, after having children is a good time to take up drinking.  Don’t listen to these fuckwit sanctimommies that go on and on about it being irresponsible or that the minute your piss makes the line on the magic plastic stick, you are no longer allowed to be remotely selfish.  I like my “me time” and I like it a lot better when there is a bottle of wine to keep me company.  You thought alcohol was important the day after you turned 21?  It is a requirement of a good parent.  They should hand out bottles of wine and liquor to parents in the hospital. 
  • Force your children to subscribe to gender stereotypes from birth.  Do not let little boys like pink or even touch your purse or a doll, regardless of whether he is 6 months or 6 years old.  If he does any of the above, he will most likely grow up and want to fondle and marry other boys.  If he shows interest in a toy kitchen, for instance, slap his hand, tell him that cooking is woman’s work and make him look at a Playboy magazine, while holding a truck in one hand and a hunting rifle in the other.  If your daughter wants to play with her brother’s toy tool set and you let her, you might as well go buy her a wallet chain and a Melissa Etheridge album.
  • Do not talk to children about sex.  That is sick and inappropriate and it should never be discussed.  If your children express any curiosity or ask questions regarding sex, tell them that sex is bad and thinking about sex, talking about sex or having sex before marriage is a one way ticket to hell.  Discussion over.  
  • If your children yell at you or talk back or are disrespectful in general, buy them something and apologize for angering them. If you tell your child to clean his/her room and he/she screams back “NO!  Fuck you, mom!  You clean my fucking room!  I hate you!”.  Obviously, you have done something to upset or offend your precious angel and it must be resolved.  In order to make amends, you should clean his/her room and/or go buy a present for your disgruntled child/teen and beg for forgiveness.  This can also apply to incidents when teacher call to discuss your child’s behavior.  You know that bitch probably has a vendetta against your precious little baby and/or is jealous of you and is taking it out on him/her.  When she tells you that little Junior told her to shove her book up her ass, you make sure and ask her what she has against your child and what she did to provoke his/her response.

This is parenting, people, not rocket science.  Now, go have a drink.

Bonus day!

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It is like nails on a fucking chalkboard.  Seriously.  It is so frustrating that it has compelled me to write another post for today.  You are welcome.

Lesson 1:

Loose: not tight; ill-fitting; not firm

Lose: to misplace; to cease or fail to retain

Get that shit straight!

Lesson 2:

To: a destination or ending point (He went to the store./He grew to seven feet.)

Too:  also; furthermore; as well OR to an excessive degree; more than specified. (He needed milk too./The pants were too tight.).

Two: a number (2).

This really isn’t difficult!

Lesson 3:

It’s is a contraction of “it is”. (It’s beautiful outside.)

Its is possessive.  (Where is its lid?)

Your pissing me off with you’re stupidity.

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For the love of zinfandel, we are talking about homonyms, not rocket science.  Why is it that people can’t get this shit straight?  I would be more sympathetic if the consistent offenders only had a 3rd grade education because their Ma had been killed by a rabid bear and their Pa had been kidnapped by savages and they had no choice but to drop out of elementary school and get a job at the local sweat shop, making $.04/hr to support their 12 brothers and sisters.  That, however, is rarely the case.  More often than not, it is adults with college educations that confound homonyms.

“You’re” is a contraction of “you are”.  “Your” is possessive, as in “belonging to ‘you’”.  There indicates a location, as in “over there”.  Their is plural possessive, such as “that is their dog”.  They’re is a contraction of “they are”.

Since we are on the topic, here are some other mistakes that make me want to punch myself in the face:

WhAt TeH FuK iZ ^ wIt ShIt LiK dIz?  Seriously.  It took me forever to type that shit.  Why would anyone put  such effort into looking like a completely incompetent fuckwad?  Text speak, in and of itself, makes me want to punch kittens because it escapes me how: “Txt me wen u r hom” is such a time saver.  Seriously.  How much time did those seven omitted letters really save you?  I have seen and received messages that required the use of a special decoder ring to read.  That 2.5 seconds you saved typing that out, took me an extra 5 minutes to decipher.  Thanks, asshole.  Not only do I think you are annoying but I now think you are a fucking idiot, as well.

This Annoys And Confuses Me.  Why?  Why do you capitalize the first letter of EVERY word?  Who the fuck taught you that this was necessary?  You got the first word right but, unless they amended the rules of what constitutes a proper noun, none of those other words need to be capitalized.

What you mean to say, dipshit, is “I could NOT care less.”.  If you “could care less”, you are saying that you do, in fact, give a shit.

Literally: actually; without exaggeration or inaccuracy.  If you use “literally” figuratively, like: “I LITERALLY blew up.”, I will kick you in the taco.

I leave you with this:  Using the word IRREGARDLESS makes you sound like a complete fucking idiot.  It is not only ignorant but it is completely redundant.  Regardless means “without regard”, the prefix “ir” means “without”.  Irregardless is the equivalent of saying “without without regard”.

Take my advice and avoid looking like a complete and total idiot.  You can thank me later.  You will probably see similar rants to this in the future because shit like this tends to really piss me off.  Take notes.

I’m a very tolerant person. No, not really.

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It is hard to come to grips with the fact that there are so many stupid people walking among us. I mean seriously stupid fucking people. My normal bullshit tolerance is fairly low but when I am pregnant, it is almost non-existent. I don’t know if pregnant people make the stupid people reveal themselves more freely or if I am just a total bitch when I am baking tiny humans. If you take a poll, I am sure most people would vote the latter but I disagree. I am fairly certain that I am a ray of fucking sunshine during the months when I am crying over things like dog food commercials, peeing every 5.5 mins, fighting the occasional urge to vomit and developing a figure similar to many large sea dwelling mammals,

1.) I would really like to know what it is about a pregnant belly that compels perfect strangers to approach and start rubbing on it, without so much as tossing a Snicker’s bar at me first. I can’t imagine these same people would appreciate me randomly approaching them and just running my hands all over their protruding guts.  Being pregnant does not negate my need for PERSONAL SPACE!

2.) Why the fuck do you think that it is a good idea to tell me about your friend’s -cousin’s- brother’s -best friend’s-wife’s-sister in law that carried to (enter my gestational stage) and gave birth to a child that was a rare genetic anomaly with two heads and a hump that died 6 minutes later. If you could keep that to yourself, that would be great.

4.) I don’t give a flying fuck if you heard or read somewhere that I shouldn’t drink the Dr. Pepper I just opened. Kiss my ass. If you see me cut a line of coke, intervene. Otherwise, shut the fuck up.

5.) Yes. I am getting huge. Thanks for, not only, noticing but for announcing it to the entire fucking world.

6.) Yes. I also know what causes this. Although, I must say, you are the FIRST person to have made that joke upon hearing I was pregnant with our fourth child. If you only want to have 0-2 kids, good for you. If I want to pack a small army into my uterus, that is my fucking prerogative. Mmmkay?

If this message stops just one person from being a complete asshat when encountering a pregnant woman, I will feel like a success.