Month: February 2014

The Pussification Of America

No one wants to do jack shit anymore.  We are raising a bunch of whiney jerky cry babies.  In fact many of us are whiney jerky cry babies.

Remember the days of ole when someone acted like an asshole and they got their butt kicked? You can’t do that now, because you will go to jail and then get sued.  Asshats have all the power.

Remember when you had to go to school even when it was cold out?  Not anymore.  I live in Texas and we had one day of ice and for the next week the city periodically shut down because it was a little wintery out.  I mean, it is WINTER, and shockingly enough it is going to get cold out.  School boards were so scared of getting bitched out (or sued; it is, after all, the American way) by parents, they were calling bad weather days for cold.  Just.  For.  COLD!   I may have seen one teeny tiny icicle, but there were not even two flakes of snow, not even one.  How about we just cancel school for all of January and February?  God forbid little Suzie gets chilly on her way from the warm bus to the warm school.  When I was a kid I had to walk barefoot in the sand both ways and I even got a SUNBURN!  Ok, ok, I grew up in San Diego, but you get the picture.

Remember when you actually had to win to get a trophy?  Not anymore.  The fact that my kid gets a participation award for just being on a team pisses me off.  Honestly, that’s not the message I want to send to our youth, or particularly, my son.   Just show up, you don’t even have to try.  I want my kid to know he has to kickass and be awesome. Be a badass!  In the grown-up world, they aren’t going to get promotions and raises just for showing up (unless they work for the Government).  Our kids will be expected to do shit, shit that counts.  Or they can just live in your basement forever and you can continue to do shit for them…

Remember when America led the industrialized world and made everybody’s shit?  Not anymore.  Now China makes all of our shit.  Wonder why?  They do shit over there, they’re willing to do shit. People here don’t want the shit jobs anymore.  The blue collar jobs.   The jobs that may break your back, but make you stand tall.  Everyone wants a cushy job with a nice office.  No one wants dirt under their nails.  No one wants to plunge a toilet; we’re all too good for that.  Listen, I live w/ two men, I plunge a toilet at least once a week and I clean them too.  Why?  Because if I don’t do the shit, the shit won’t get done.  Shit will be everywhere…

Remember when hard work was something to be proud of?  Not anymore.  Now everybody thinks it’s their right to have a job they love.  Another myth we’ve spoon fed our youth.   It’s called work for a reason.  NOT everybody gets to love what they do.  If you manage to have a job you love, you are very, very lucky.  It’s not your God-given right.

Remember Reading, Writing and Arithmetic?  When using a calculator was cheating?  Not anymore.  Jeeze, in school they don’t even need to learn to write, like with their hands, anymore.  Why waste time learning when a computer, calculator or Government can think for them?

Speaking of the Government, it owes me.  People with more money owe ME.  Everybody OWES ME!  ME.  ME.  ME!  Nobody owes ME jack shit.  I owe myself.  Pride, dignity, respect.  Go work for what you want.  I hear kids graduating from college complain that it’s the previous generations fault they can’t get jobs, we’ve ruined it for them.  NEWS FLASH:  There have been recessions and depressions and economic slowdowns since the beginning of time.  They aren’t the first to endure this.  There are jobs out there and shit that needs doing.  If you don’t like the way things are, get out there, work hard, and change shit!  Start a revolution!  (Oh shit! That’s hard work!)  Complaining- won’t change shit.

I’m not going to tell anyone how to parent.  Ok so maybe I am, a little bit.  BUT I think we can all agree that if we focus on loving our kids, teaching them good core values (you know, right from wrong, The Golden Rule and such silly things), and set real boundaries with real consequences (so life’s consequences don’t include you bailing them out of jail at 3am someday) it would be a good thing for them and for us.  I think we are so busy not wanting to spank or yell or traumatize our children that we have forgotten consequences are part of real life.  Not teaching that to our kids is doing them a disservice.  If time out is what you like, great use it. But how about not saying something like this: “Jimmy if you do such and such again I’m giving you a time out.” Then Jimmy does again. “I’m serious; don’t make me count to 10! One, two, three.  I’m serious… One, two, three…  Don’t make me say it again…  One, two, three”.   And he does it again and again and again because he knows you never will reach Ten and there is no consequence.  The only consequence is he has to listen to you practice your numbers over and over.

Couples therapy, psychotherapy, counseling.  Depression, anorexia, anger management.  The lists go on and on.   Psychological and emotional trauma is a luxury for us 1st world inhabitants.  Hunger, rape, war, genocide.  These are the troubles facing people in Ethiopia, Yemen and the slums of Mexico.  When you’re agonizing over having to sell your 8-year-old daughter into marriage so your other children won’t starve, you don’t have time to take stock of the booboos your parents inflicted upon you and point fingers at everyone else for the problems in your own life.  No time for therapy when you are praying the guerrilla war doesn’t bust through your mud-hut door.  They don’t give a shit if their kid gets a participation award at school; they just want their children to survive.

Being born in America is winning the birth lottery and if we don’t start appreciating it and being grateful, like fall on your knees and kiss the ground grateful. Like willing to work hard and do SHIT to keep our country great, then I guess we will get to see how the other half lives. Then we will really have shit to complain about.

Writing About Why I Am Writing (insert eye roll)

Blogging, the internal selfie. Look I am smart, witty, ironic, LOOK. AT. ME!

Why I am blogging?? Silly question, but it seems necessary to explain.

First of all because I’m effin’ hilarious. At least periodically I am, definitely when I’m drunk, which makes it more than periodically, but less than daily. Not to worry, I am more often sober than not, which makes me sad. Boo, it would be way more fun if we could drink all the time. But alas, that isn’t socially acceptable.

Second because I have important shit to say. At least it’s important to me and really isn’t that what blogging’s about? People thinking the shit they have to say is so important that other people will take the time to read it? But seriously all my closest friends tell me I should blog or write a book and we know they wouldn’t lie. Right? RIGHT!!!

Third, I am fabulous.

Deciding to write a blog was a big decision. You are opening yourself up and letting the world know things that would otherwise be private and quite possibly better off that way. Moreover, in telling your story, you inevitably tell the stories of the people closest to you, which they might not well appreciate. But I do have a big mouth, err, uhhh… I mean a gift for gab and writing and furthermore I am occasionally hilarious, in case I forgot to mention that. I crack myself up constantly. Maybe in sharing myself, it will help others? Not in some monstrumental earth-shattering way, just by making them laugh or by telling a relatable story. I am not setting out to change the world. I am setting out to make people smile. Whether that is because they laugh or because they relate, so be it. And if I am going to do this, I’m going to be real and authentic. Otherwise, I would annoy myself.

It is also intimidating having an audience listen to your inner dialogue. What if they don’t like me or what I have to say? What if I am dull? If you are going to write a humor blog, it better damn well be humorous! I got performance anxiety just thinking about it. Consequently I started looking around at other peoples blogs to get a feel for this thing I am about to do and let me tell you, I can’t possibly be any more dreary than the person who writes about the entire day of their cat. Over and over and over. Lady get a life, we don’t care that Snickerdoodle took a poo in her litter box @ 1am. Or how about the Asshat who thinks he is being droll and tells you ALL about his relationships with the people in his life while referring to himself in the third person. Does someone actually have sex w/ you? Are you shouting out “Oh baby, yeah that’s how Dan likes it”?? Gross.

So I decided to just do it and see where it goes.

Before we start this journey (now I am assuming a stranger is actually reading this and not just all my closest friends who have to follow me otherwise I won’t drink with them anymore – no more drunkish fun for them), let me tell you a wee bitty about meself. Sorry, I just let my inner leprechaun out for minute, let’s get on with it.

I am an awesome, sexy, funny (did I mention that I am funny?) 38-year-old woman with obvious self confidence issues. I have a tween son and I’m married to a firefighter (sigh, swoon- yes, ladies he is hot). I’m originally from Southern California and we transplanted to “The South” for the opportunity to raise our child in a more suburban environment. OK, fine, it was for cheaper housing, WHATEVER! I have a job that allows me to work from home, so if you don’t like what I have to say, there is no boss to send a screen shot to, just suck it up and go away. Or you can leave a rude comment that will give me something to giggle about, but if you are going to do that, please be creative. I am sure I will reveal more along the way, but that’s more than enough for now.

So to wrap this up, I hope you will be amazed whilst simultaneously repulsed by the weekly internal selfies I provide you. One week it may be my new pedicure up on the table beside a fantastic plate of cheesy chili fries (selfie level EXPERT, my food and my feet!) Then another day I may be in my bathroom mirror, clad in a bikini, with my Granny standing next to me and Vagisil on the counter. I am speaking metaphorically of course, I may attach some pics now and again, but the essence of it will be my prose. At the very least, I hope I entertain you at times. Stay tuned, next time I will actually write about something, rather than writing about writing…