Archive for » 2009 «
Dear Asshole in the SUV,
I would just like to take a moment to THANK YOU for providing my 16 year old daughter a Valuable Driving Experience this weekend. You see, if not for you deciding that her RIDICULOUS adherence to local traffic law was incredibly offensive to you and completely unnecessary, she wouldn’t have learned that a trip to Wal-Mart had the potential to be deadly. She wouldn’t have known what it felt like to be completely terrified just because someone else was an impatient DICK. She also wouldn’t have known what it was like to have someone swerve around her while blaring the horn before cutting her off in the turn lane.
So thank you, you worthless fuck, for deciding it was time to Teach a Lesson to the girl in the minivan who obviously deserved to be run off the road and into the curb so that you could get that one last piece of credit card debt from the Wal-Mart toy section. If not for that lesson, she may have done something so idiotic as to ever get behind the wheel of a car again. She may have even FINALLY *GASP* taken her drivers test after a year and a half of parent supervised practice.
I would also like to thank you for providing all of these lessons to my child while my husband was in the passenger seat and not me. It’s the only thing that saved your life and kept me out of prison. I hope that crumpled SUV on the news last night was you.
Truly,
Bitchy Momma
Don’t you just love how even the fast food places have tip jars on the counter now? Why the fuck would I tip you for putting bread and cheese on a bun and wrapping it up? Isn’t that why your boss pays you to be there? And yes, I know working fast food sucks. It also sucks that your boss only scheduled YOU alone during the 5:00 PM dinner rush. But guess what… also something you’re paid to do! It’s Subway, not Top Chef. You suck it the hell up and get through it.
Do you want to know WHY I’m not tipping you? Let me just tell you:
- You glared at me during my order (even though I’ve worked in food service for years and was nothing but polite to you) and were a cunt to the woman in front of me when she didn’t speak loudly enough to suit you.
- You gave me attitude when I actually expected you to *GASP* put some fucking vegetables on the sandwich. I mean, how the fuck dare I ask for LETTUCE!? Not even extra lettuce. Just some.
- I thought you were going to pop a vein in your forehead when I asked you for an extra sandwich wrapper so that I
Mine looked NOTHING like this!
didn’t have to be the asshole customer who holds up the line in order to separate half of one sandwich (so my child who stayed after school, in the land of Stripper Shoes Wearing Step Dancers, could have dinner before her show).
- Everything you said to me, and every other person waiting in line, was said with such venom and indignation that it was a blessing for you that the sneeze guard was between my fingers and your throat.
So.. HELL NO I’m not tipping you for doing your job badly. Want to make more money? Try being nicer. Try treating your customers with some fucking dignity. Or get an IT degree so you can be a dickhead and people just chalk it up to being in IT. But do NOT treat me and everyone else like we’re dirt on your shoes, and then look meaningfully at the tip jar when you swipe my debit card to pay for the sandwiches (with 4 olives and a half a slice of tomato).
It’s finally the end of the semester for the kids. Of course, this means that I’ve spent more of my evenings at their schools watching performances than I have spent at home. As if that isn’t enough to make me cranky, I also get to see all of these tweens/teens running around dressed as though they should be offering $10 lap dances at the Pink Pony.
I thought that the high school girls were the worst. When I attended the post-concert party last week and saw all of the 14/15/16 year old girls in dresses that plunged to the navel and barely covered their ass cheeks, I wondered if I was supposed to bring $1 bills. Has it really come to this? If you’re a teenager and you’re not fat (hell, sometimes even if you are) you take every opportunity to dress like a hooker? Where are the moms? OH YEAH… they’re wearing the same shit. Seriously! Stop teaching your daughters that the streetwalker look is “in”. It’s not. Unless, well… you know…
Last night, I got to the middle school for their holiday performances and almost had to get up and say something to the girls step team teacher. WTF! Every one of the 12/13 year old little girls were WOBBLING down the aisle wearing black shiny 4 inch spiked heels stripper shoes! Diary, in case you don’t know what a step team is (IT ROCKS) or why this would be significant, I’ve brought a YouTube video to show you.
REALLY? We’re expecting our little girls to DANCE in stripper shoes? They don’t need extra practice! This is not a career path we should be encouraging in middle school! Not to mention that I thought they were going to fall on their faces during the entire dance. I love that the girls worked so hard and that they do such a good job… but when I found out that the teacher said they are required to learn to dance in heels as part of the SCHOOL’S program, I wanted to punch her in the mouth.
Please… please can we let our children be children? Can we stop showing them how to prance around and show off their body parts to any and everyone before they even have body parts to show? They have the rest of their lives to struggle with body image and society’s fucked up message about what is supposed to be beautiful.
As much as I would love for it to be different, I’m a working mom. I’d love to bake and clean and do all of my errands while there aren’t dozens of (or 3) kids under my feet all the damned time. But, that’s not my life. I leave the house at 7:15 AM and I get home at about 4:55 PM.
Conveniently enough, this means that the kids are all home when I leave for work in the morning. They are also home 10 minutes before I arrive home after work. You do the math. That means I get exactly NO down time unless you count my hour round trip minute commute.. during which I usually get at least one phone call coming and one phone call going.
In the afternoons, they’ve got exactly 10 minutes of time to get completely ramped up on whatever sugar laden snack they grabbed as soon as they get in the door, make all of their “ZOMG… guess what happened to me today at school, on the bus, at lunch, here’s a million fucking papers for you to sign… they were due yesterday” declarations to their dad, who works from home. He, of course, is trying to finish up his work day and says “tell/show/give this to your mom when she gets home”. LUCKY ME! I seriously don’t even make it inside the house… most times they meet me on the porch yelling “Mommy, guess what?????!!!!”
Inside my head, I’m screaming “Please, for the love of Pete, let your mom have just 5 fucking minutes to get in the house before you unload. That’d be GREAT. You know what? 10 minutes would be better. I could take my shoes off. I could set my purse down. I might even be able to get to the medicine cabinet and pop a Xanax before I have to start dinner. Then you can tell me anything you want.”
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