Tag Archives: expectations

Other Things My Family is Physically Unable to do

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Every. Single. Day. I am faced with the cold, hard fact that my family is practically helpless to complete the simplest and most mundane tasks.  I am confused because, based on my own unprofessional opinion and observation, they all seem to possess average or above average IQs and all are completely capable on a physical ability level.  For some reason, though, their ability to perform the most basic daily tasks is completely impaired.  It goes well beyond changing the empty toilet paper roll.

  1. Flush the fucking toilet-Seriously.  This one has got to be the one that bothers me the most.  That little handle on the backside of the toilet is not just a pretty silver decoration, it actually fulfills a very important function.  Once you finish “your business”, push that handle down and it all goes away down the magic hole.  Then, I don’t have to dry heave when I walk into the bathroom and see and smell a bowl full of shit.  “I forgot”, by the way, is an unacceptable response when I ask why the fucking toilet isn’t flushed.  Don’t fucking forget! 
  2. When you take the last pop tart or the last bag of popcorn or the last waffle or the last Coke, remove the fucking box from the pantry/refrigerator/freezer and put it in the muthafucking trash.  This is not rocket fucking science.  Simply, remove the last item from the box and then remove the package from wherever it is we keep it stored, walk the 5-7 steps to the trash can and place inside the big hole at the top of the trash can.
  3. When you remove a trash bag from the trash can, fucking replace it with a new one!  If there isn’t a trash bag in the trash can then DON’T PUT ANY FUCKING TRASH IN THERE.  Why is this such a hard concept to wrap one’s mind around?  The trash bags are stored on the lower shelf of the pantry.  Simply, remove one from the box, shake out to expand and then place inside the trash can.
  4. Unless you have hired and scheduled a maid to come here, clean up your own fucking trash.  The floor, by the way, is not a trash can.  The dishes are not going to walk themselves into the dishwasher.
  5. If you pull a load of laundry from the dryer, do NOT pull out one shirt and leave the rest in the laundry room mixed in with dirty clothes!  Get it out of the laundry room and, I know this is going to sound crazy but here goes–fold it and put it away!  For the record, the tops of the dressers, on the beds, on the couch on the floor does not constitute “put away”.
  6. If you go to make a sandwich and, upon removing the bread, realize it is a) stale or b) moldy, throw it the fuck away!  Do not return it to the pantry.  Really?  The trash can and pantry are equidistant from the counter area you were preparing to make said sandwich. 
  7. When you open a bag of lunch meat, a loaf of bread, the bag of shredded cheese, etc CLOSE IT!

We all know that when mama ain’t happy, nobody is happy, so learning how the above will make mama a lot happier.  We will hold weekly workshops on these tasks.  If anyone else is interested in enrolling their own family members into these workshops, we can work something out.

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.

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.

How to recognize people with a death wish:

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  • You ring my doorbell-because only people who want to die a horrible, violent death ring the doorbell of a pregnant woman with a toddler.  You see, you doorbell ringing jackasses, sometimes babies SLEEP!  When you come and ring my muthafucking doorbell, not only does that “DING DONG” reverberate throughout my home but it also causes my fucking dogs to go batshit crazy and whether it was the “DING, DONG” or the yapping dogs that wake up my toddler, your decision to push that doorbell is the root cause of why the closest thing I get to quiet time has been interrupted and why I am staring down the barrel of a really pissy, cranky two-year old that I now have to deal with for HOURS, as he gets pissier and crankier until bed time.  Someone must pay.
  • You call me before 8AM and everyone is alive and well-because the only reason to EVER call me prior to 8AM is if someone is bleeding or dead.  Yes, most mornings I am up prior to 8AM but, on occasion, the baby sleeps past 8AM and I enjoy those days.  May God have mercy on your soul if you happen to call me on one of the days that my little, chubby alarm clock has decided to let me sleep late. 
  • You tell my kids you are going to do something and you don’t-because I realize flaking out on a little kid may not seem like a big deal to you but, for me, it is the seventh level of hell.  I am the one that has to listen to them obsess and prepare for the details of the plans you made with him/her/them.  I am the one that has to make up some bullshit excuse to cover your ass when they realize that you have sold out so that they don’t think you are a complete lying asshole, even though you are.  You will be punished.
  • You critique/correct my parenting -I really don’t give a fuck if you disapprove of me laughing so hard that tears are streaming down my face because I am telling my toddler to say “you fish” and he is complying.  You can kiss my ass.  Truth be told, I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks of my parenting and, frankly, if I want to instruct my kid to say “shut the fuck up, bitch.”, that is my prerogative.  As it stands, however, my youngest child’s speech development just makes some every day, normal words, like “fish” sound like he is saying “bitch” and that is just good, clean fun.  Get the stick out of your ass and wipe that face off your head before I do it for you.
  • You talk during a movie-Seriously.  Shut the fuck up.  I don’t care what your predictions are on any surprise twist, who the murderer is or who is going to die next.  If you shut your fucking mouth and let me watch the movie, I will bet you a hundred dollars we will find out.
  • You come to my door selling shit-If you rang my doorbell, you already have one foot in the grave.  If you are selling shit, you better have made a will before you darken my door step.  You are a perfect stranger.  I don’t want to talk about how you are selling magazines to be the first person in your family to go to college.  I don’t want you to demonstrate your vacuum cleaner.  It is none of your business whether or not I have accepted Jesus Christ as my lord and savior.  You see and hear these kids running around like wild animals, screaming and yelling?  They weren’t taking precedence over the phone call I am currently on or the status update I was in the middle of posting, why do you think I am going to hang up or close my laptop for you?  Keep on walking.

This will probably end up being another series, much like the grammar entries.  It will give you bitches something to look forward to in the future.

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?)

The secret to my happy marriage…

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I often hear people say that the secret to a happy marriage is “trust”, “respect”, “shared interests”, “spending quality time together”, etc.  Well, that is all bullshit.  Ask a divorcee.  Most will tell you that they had (or thought they had) some, if not all, of these characteristics or efforts within their previous marriage(s).  Few will say they thought they had anything but a normal, average marriage before deciding to purchase their ticket to the “Big D”.

Trust-Seriously?  Do you really need someone to tell you that you should trust the person you marry?  If you can’t trust someone, you shouldn’t be friends with them, much less have sex with them and/or commit to spend the rest of your life and possibly raise children with said person.  If you need this explained to you, please remove yourself from the gene pool.

Respect-Sure, you should respect one another.  Respect is such a broad term, though.  My husband can piss me off like no one else can and vice versa.  If I get annoyed and tell him he is an asshole or he tells me to shut the fuck up, obviously we are not being respectful but if you are willing to throw in the towel because you or your spouse lost your cool and called you a name, you need to grow the fuck up.  I respect my marriage, regardless of whether I am pissed at my husband or living in wedded bliss.  I took vows, among those I vowed to love him in sickness and in health, I vowed to love him for richer or poorer, I vowed to be faithful, I even vowed not to step on his blue suede shoes.  I never took any vow not to call him a fucking douchebag when he would pretend to be asleep and unaware of our newest infant awakening for the third time in 5 hours.

Shared interests-You can shove this one up your ass.  I am not going to even try to give a fuck about golf or Nascar.  In return, I will not expect him to give a fuck about my shoe collection or how to improve said collection.  He is also not expected to notice when I have my hair done or when I am wearing a new outfit.  As a matter of fact, it is preferential that he not notice so that I am not expected to answer any questions about spending.  Everyone is happy.

Spending quality time together-This does not take that much effort, people.  Men:  Exchanging bodily fluids does not, in and of itself, constitute “quality time”.

The fact is, people, some of that shit I listed above is important but do you really need to be told not to fuck other people or to spend time with one another?  If you do, you are doomed.  I am going to tell you the real secret.  You want a happy husband?  Here is the key:  LOW EXPECTATIONS.

-Do you have the house spotless and dinner on the table every night when hubby gets home?  Well, stop that shit.  Depending on how long you have been acting like Donna fucking Reed, it may take you a little more time to reset his expectations.

*When you do this shit every fucking day, you and your efforts get taken for granted.  It becomes expected and, most often, your husband’s expectations increase at a more accelerated rate and he has the audacity to begin expressing disappointment, like “I was hoping you would make mashed potatoes and gravy from scratch” or “this would have been better with a little more pepper.” or “is the vacuum not working today?”.  When that happens, I want you to squash the urge to slap him with the chicken breast you have hand seasoned and marinated all day and strangling him with the vacuum cord.  You have no one to blame but yourself for his inflated expectations and resulting insulting advice.  You can fix this, though.  It is not too late.  You have to decide, here and now, that you are committed to retraining him.  Men are like lumps of clay.  They can be molded and remolded.  If you let him sit for a while molded in a particular way, you may have to pound it a little harder or knead it a little longer but, rest assured, he can be reshaped.  Let tears and sex be your sculpting tools.

This house is never spotless.  Damn!  I have three kids and now I have another one freeloading in my uterus.  I pick up the living room, seemingly, just to make more room for these little tornadoes to destroy.  Guess what, if you think that I suck at housekeeping, I don’t give a shit.  If you think my floors could be cleaner, feel free to grab a vacuum.  If you see I missed a spot or 10 on my counters, grab a fucking sponge.  If you expect this place to sparkle and for me to greet you with my hair pefectly coiffed, wearing makeup and pearls, you married the wrong woman.  If I want to look nice, I will put on a bra.  That is dressing up.

If you come home and smell something burning, dinner is ready!  If not, feel free to help yourself to leftovers, make a sandwich or have cereal.

The 2-3 times a week that I do make an actual dinner, it is like Christmas for my husband.  When the kids spend more time outside on certain days and I actually get the house to look really nice, he notices.  You see, I keep his expectations low and he appreciates and acknowledges those things that Donna fucking Reed’s husband takes for granted every day.   He is happy because he has a giant hunk of delicious roast on his plate and I am happy because he can’t stop telling me what a wonderful cook I am.

This, my friends, is the key to a successful marriage.  You can thank me later.  Now, start pounding that man clay.