I know I've been talking a lot lately about shitass parents, but as I explore and let go of all the ways my own parents were complete and total shitasses, I can't help but notice the same terrible qualities in the parents I have had the great misfortune of knowing throughout the years. This doesn't exclude the total shitasses I know now, mind you. Shitass parents are everywhere. Today's topic isn't parents who abandon their children in a park to go get their drink on or parents whose lack of common sense led to the mauling of their infant by raccoons. It's not assholes who smoke around their kids or mamas who dress like whores either. I'm gonna have a little come to Jesus post about no show parents.
I'm a gonna judge like a motherfu#ker up in this bitch.
Before you go gettin' all butt hurt about this, I'm not talking about single parents who work hard to get it all done. I can't even imagine how difficult it must be to do everything we do with our kids plus work plus take care of a home all on your own. I am soooooo not talking about the single parent who simply can't clone him or herself to be everywhere at once. I get that. Being a single parent makes it hard to be there for every single thing your child is doing and I am not judging you. I get that some folks are single parents on purpose and some folks are single parents on accident, but whatever... the key word here is parent, not single. Do you get what I mean, friends?
And I'm not talking about the parent that has an emergency and there was that one time they were late to get their kid or the one time they couldn't make a performance or the one time they forgot something. That shit happens. That shit happens to me and to everybody else. I understand. No matter how hard we try, life is messy and we end up missing some important stuff, but not on purpose and/or we feel like total asshats about it.
This is the bullshit I'm talking about. You don't know how many times I have had to sit up at school because some piece of shit parent is an hour or more late to pick up their kid after a rehearsal or a football game or anything really. If that bus ain't takin' that kid back and forth to school- awwwww, hell, forget it. Such total and complete bullshit, right? The parents roll up into the parking lot and stop like 20 feet from where we're standing with their embarrassed child and then, wait for the kid to walk out to them. You know why? Because somewhere, deep down, they know they are pieces of shit.
This is what REALLY gets me. The parent who simply won't adjust his or her schedule to accommodate their children's activities. What douchbags. What tools. What shitasses. You can't be bothered to wait in the goddamn parking lot for ten goddamn minutes, so your child can walk right out of rehearsal and get into your car? You would rather make your child wait at school for an hour, holding another family hostage, because you can't get your lazy ass off the couch, off the phone, out of a meeting, out of the salon for your child? Seriously?
This leads me right back to where I always end up when I get pissed at shitass parents. Why did you have kids if you are going to treat them like they don't matter to you? Like the things they do aren't important. Like you have better things to do but be present- even if it means being present in the motherfu#king parking lot on time. Why do I end up being a better parent to YOUR child than you are?
What the fu#k were you thinking when you told your 14 year old daughter to just wait in front of the school as it was getting dark? Who the fu#k would think that this is in anyway okay? Like she's got some invisible force field emanating from the school, protecting her from pedophiles and creepy ass jerk faces who troll schools after hours for just such opportunities. Aren't you always protecting your children from predators who are looking for such opportunites?
Let's assume for a minute that no Creepy McCreepertons are lurking about, waiting to grab your child. Let's just focus on how bad your kid feels because he or she is the last kid to get picked up after calling your sorry ass fifty million times and begging you to please, come on and get them from school. Seriously? They don't ever stop being your child. Y'all get that, right? Just because they look like little grown ups, doesn't make them any less dependent on you. YOU are responsible for your kid. Not me. Not the school. Not the police. Not the neighbors. YOU. Show up on time and get your child. Pretend like you care for just a millisecond about your kid. Now, imagine how he or she is feeling as they stand there, waiting for you. Can you even do it? I doubt it. Piece of shit.
If you could imagine how bad your kid feels when you leave them at school, quadruple that and then, multiply times one million. This is how your kid feels when you don't show up for a performance or a game or whatever else he or she is doing. It could be a spelling bee or a bake sale or a goddamn swap meet, but you wouldn't know because you can't make it to a single goddamn thing your kids do. You are invisible. You're a ghost. You don't even exist in your kid's life.
The problem is these things don't matter. They matter to your child, but that isn't good enough for you. I've had parents tell me they just aren't "into" music. SERIOUSLY?! Well, guess what, asshole. I'm not into soccer, but my 12 year old is. You know where you'll find me when she's on the field? I'll be on the sidelines, cheering her on. Not into what your kids are doing? Fu#k you. That is the most terrible thing I've ever heard. Including baby mauling raccoons.
You know what's heartbreaking? Every year, my husband has to stand in for some piece of shit parent on senior night. Seriously. Every motherfu#king year for the past 15 years. Doesn't that break your heart? The kids walk out under the stadium lights, right on the 50 yard line with their parents, and are recognized for four years of service to football, cheerleading, and band. Can you imagine not having a parent think enough of you and what you've done? Can you imagine making that walk with your band director because your parents are such total losers that they can't be bothered to be there? Wait. The kid is the one who feels like the loser. You know this, yes? You understand that you make your kid feel like something must be wrong with him or her because you are invisible.
What gets me the most about the no show parent is that they do just enough to fly under the radar of social services. They are feeding their kids and housing their kids, but they are doing the bare fu#king minimum. They are more like roommates than parents. I assume that once the kids are at home, they pay just as much attention to them as they do when they are engaged in afterschool activities. I mean, they aren't going to suddenly become involved behind closed doors, right?
I hate your faces for being such bastards to your children. I wish I could smack you every single time you don't act right. I seriously wish I could just walk up to you wherever you are instead of being with your child and bitch slap you. SMACK! and then, I'd tell everybody who'd listen how your kid is playing a concert right now, but you're grocery shopping because you aren't "into" music. Or how your kid is helping earn money for a trip you know nothing about, but you're too busy watching some bullshit show to be involved.
I. Hate. Your. Faces.
I am often reminded of this quote from the fabulously funny and extremely well written movie Parenthood when I encounter shitass parents. Now, it's a line delivered by Keanu Reeves while playing a character named Tod, but don't hold that against me or this movie. "You know, Mrs. Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog, to drive a car - hell, you even need a license to catch a fish. But they'll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father." Indeed.
I'll be back on tomorrow, ranting about shitasses who leave their kids in cars, use their kids as shoplifting mules, and starve their kids as punishment. Peace, B.
April 30- In the trenches
April 28- Being stuck behind this bitch
while she yaps on her cell phone is called EYERONE.
My friend, Bethany, challenged me to list everything wonderful about today after she read yesterday's blog about not losing my shit on a variety of folks. Now, I found yesterday's blog uplifting, because it ended with me not killing any of those ri-goddamn-diculous people as well as not scarring my children with some psychotic episode and maiming my dogs who are still fully engaged in that hallway shit war. Bethany wants a list just the same, so I'm thinking back over my day, reclaiming the bits and pieces of wonderful.
I start thinking of what I consider my seriously uplifting list from yesterday and the list of wonderful I'm gonna make for today when it hits me. I really want to make a list of all the reasons why being fat totally makes me happy. I know this isn't what Bethany had in mind, but I think she'll approve. She's a pretty happenin' chick who will find this act of self acceptance both uplifting and wonderful.
reasons why being fat makes me happy
1. I can eat what I want without thinking about bikini season. What's one more piece of cake going to hurt when you haven't seen your vagina in over three years? Seriously, friends. Even when I was a smaller size, I didn't think about how I was going to look to someone else in anything I was wearing. I'm going swimmin'. I ain't out here for anybody but me. Smokin' hot chicks can take their Tic-Tac lunches and two piece suits on over to the other side of the beach. They'll need to because I'm most likely gonna cast one helluva shadow when I'm sunbathing.
2. One size does not fit all. It never has and it never will when it comes to being me. I didn't learn that lesson while I was sprawled out on my bed with a coat hanger attached to the zipper of the coolest pair of acid washed jeans in the history of 1987, determined that I could be just like everybody else if I tried hard enough. Nothing was ever, ever going to get my fat ass into those pants way back in the day. I was never going to be that girl, wearing those clothes. I rocked what I had, making it my own, and 24 years later, you'll still see me being this girl, workin' this look. Being fat helped me be myself. Go on, have another glass of Hateraid, bitches. I got places to be.
3. People expect me to be jolly. Straight up. It's one of those stereotypes that totally exists no matter what you may think, friends. Fat people are jolly like Santa Claus and Paula Deen. You know you think it. This expectation of general good cheer really had an amazing impact on the development of who I am now. Okay, not now now, but now usually. When I'm not all perimenopausal and fu#ked up about shit better left packed up in one of my fifty million satchels, I am a fount of motherfu#king chuckles; a bastion of goddamn giggles; the source for a shitload of happiness.
4. I get to fly first class. I used to be embarrassed about not being able to squeeze my fat ass into the teeny, tiny airplane seats as well as the chairs in some venues (ahem, I'm looking at you Turner Field), but then I thought, fu#k this, I am NOT ashamed of being whatever size I am. If being this size means I have to fly first class, then hell, yeah. First class rocks. Big ass chairs with all the snacks and drinks you could want plus room to spread out without having anyone get that big eyed "oh, shit, is she coming to sit next to me?" look.
5. My fabulous fatness is worthy of being immortalized by a Master. As I waddle my way through life in the 21st century, I take great pleasure in knowing that I could have been Rubens' Venus. So many fat chicks just don't understand that fat is fabulous. They buy into this magazine cover concept of beautiful and I have to remind my Rubenesque soul sisters that they were once worshipped and desired above all others. I tell them to go ahead and eat that pasta. The problem isn't our rolls of fat. The problem is how we look at them. My fat rolls are fu#king insane. They are smokin' hot, worthy of being frozen in time on canvas and hung in some foreign palace. Jealous? Yeah, you know you are.
6. My people have been celebrated for some 25,000 years. Word. The Willendorf goddess, the earliest known human likeness, is a perfect little fatty who's all of four and a half inches of rotund lovliness. Paleolithic hunter-gatherers made this faboo chika with exaggerated boobs and stomach because fertility and fatness would have been super fu#king sexy to folks still living in Ice Age climates sans L.L. Bean. When I think of a woman huddled by a fire on the banks of the Danube carving this incredible figure, I want to waddle naked through my woods to an alter made of Little Debbie oatmeal pies and bacon where goddesses of my size and stature are revered for their lopsided boobs and big bottomed back sides.
I may come back and add to this list. I didn't even get into the whole idea of fat people being lazy and out of control, so anything I do is looked at as totally above and beyond or how the fu#ked up notion that fat chicks try harder has added to my sexual mystique. I won't pretend it's all red wine and twinkies, but the companion piece to this post (reasons why being fat sucks ass) will have to wait for another day. Peace, B.
You know what sucks about being on these crazy meds? (Aside from being on crazy meds means I'm fu#king crazy.) Not being able to drink even one margarita after this excrement laden day of mine. I don't know how you normal people get through the day without having an episode or twenty, because I'm sitting over here on my crazy meds with all my childhood baggage unpacked around my feet feeling goddamn ridiculous and aching for a margarita with a double-no, triple!- shot of tequila. I don't even need the souvenir glass, y'all. Just sit that bottle of Patron over here by me and let me burn away this totally bullshit day along with the lining of my stomach.
I think I did a good job today with maintaining the facade of the happy, mentally healthy mama. I didn't freak out on anyone. I didn't do that crazy crying thing where I just can't stop and I have to keep going about my day, weeping, weeping like a total lunatic. I only thought about killing myself once. (If you're just tuning in, this may seem alarming, but if you've been with the program for a few months, you know this is a vast improvement from the weepy, melodramatic mess I was sans the medication.) I did a good job, but damn, it was hard.
people with whom I did not lose my shit on this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day
my Littles, the Teenager, and Colin
Seriously? Yes, I know. Every single one of you needs my undivided attention at the exact same moment. Yes, I know. It's tragically unfair I go youngest first in giving my undivided attention. I'm such a bitch. It's amazing someone hasn't called social services to report me for being a total see you next Tuesday to my teenager about how she needs to work on her stops and starts as she's driving and for pointing out that it was NOT her turn to go at the four way stop. Jesus. How dare I? And Shelby, honey, I want to know about how Venus has an atmosphere like Earth's was billions of years ago, but Colin is trying to blind your baby sister with his dirty finger that I swear was just stuck down his pants and I'm trying to peel a banana and drive while searching for the cell phone that ended up in the trunk and keeps ringing, ringing.
the annoying kid at the library and his invisible parents
Okay, I get why you tried to lose him in the stacks, because his voice was so high pitched folks were looking around like an alarm was going off every time he spoke. And he spoke often. And at the top of his lungs. And to no one in particular. But seriously? That little shit is ALL yours. I already had a toddler who didn't understand the concept of whispering on my hands. I don't need to listen to your screeching pteradactyl kid while I'm trying to find a god damn Thomas the Tank Engine book at the god damn library.
slow moving parents at the GCA testing site
Seriously? I get it. Y'all don't get out in the big wide world a lot. That's why you do this whole Georgia Cyber Academy thing. BUT this is called a "drop off and pick up lane." It's where we, you know, DROP OFF and PICK UP our children. Holy fu#k. Just let your precious angel babies walk into the god damn building already so the rest of us can get about the busy-ness of our god damn shit-filled day.
asshole parents who smoke at the fu#king playground
Seriously? God damn it. Stop smoking around me and your god damn kids at the motherfu#king playground, you white trash pieces of shit.
my jerkface dogs
Seriously? They count as people, damn it. Stop having a shit war in my god damn hallway. You are making me fu#king insane.
an unnamed Atlanta news station who kicked OFM
to the curb for an upcoming couponing story
Seriously? She said it was because they were going with the footage they had because I couldn't meet them today when really I could I just thought I couldn't when I first talked to them last week but I forgot I changed my crazy doctor appointment to Friday from Monday but how do you tell the news people who have called you to film a segment on how real people coupon that you were confused about when your crazy doctor appointment is? Ugh. I know it's really because after the senior producer spoke with me last Friday, she nosed around this website some more, saw this blog, and said, "Hell, no. That bitch is too crazy." Well, all I gots to say to that is duh.
stupid teenage girl
and her stupid mama who should know better
Seriously? Okay, I understand posing for pictures in front of the new library because it really is pretty, but making the stupid ass duck face for your mama who is playing with a god damn camera she can't figure out and has no business operating? Jesus. Just stop that shit right now. That mama was all jacked up with her frosted tips and too tight acid washed jeans that showed off her unfortunate thong. I have bad eyesight, y'all, and I could see her tramp stamp as we walked in the library. When young girls wear pants that low cut, it makes me nervous. When bitches older than me wear them, it makes me want to vomit. And the bitch must own stock over at Vagisil, because ain't no way that she can wear shit like that without a habitual yeast infection.
lameass McDonald's bitch and her Fakey McFakerton smile Seriously? And that smile was just for me, because that bitch knew I heard her talking shit when I walked up. Talking 'bout all the "white folk up in here" like a fat, white bitch isn't standing right behind you. Damn. Just give me my fu#king fries and get back to work. For the record though, she was seriously correct in her observation. There were a shitload of Caucasians gettin' their supper on up at the Mickey Dees tonight.
I made it through the day without losing my shit on anyone. I know, I know. Most of y'all do that and more every day and you don't come home and blog about it like you did something worth a motherfu#king cookie, but in my world right now, not losing my shit is worth applauding. Breathing is worth applauding. Being real and being honest is worth applauding. So, STFU and don't judge me. I'm trying over here. Sans margaritas, for Christ's sake. I'm etch-a-sketchin' this bitch and callin' it a day. Peace, B.
April 24- Happy Resurrection Day!