Pretty Little Liars photo courtesy of www.abcfamily.com
During another extremely boring day of work I decided to look on Craig’s List hoping to stumble across someone dying to publish a novel, my novel, Concrete Boots.
Unfortunately, there was no posting for “funny, witty, snotty Italian chick who wrote a book about all the drama she entailed working for her rich, handsome albeit complete douche bag boss.” I did, however, stumble upon this:
Need funny&smart writers for TV/Fashion blog (USA)
Seriously! Does this sound like me or what? This is where you all need to comment and say how much you love my blog and how much you love me despite all my flaws; that I’m the heroine you read about hoping that I somehow manage to prevail despite all those (blog readers or otherwise) against me; and that http://www.youknowyoulovefashion.com/ MUST – I mean MUST – hire moi.
“Hire” is a funny word as this is an unpaid gig – but we writers have to start somewhere. And here it is. Here is my window opening. Is that the saying? Rather, my big opportunity. This is my chance to carpe diem.
… maybe this will be my new future that I’m always dreaming about. I won’t need to escape to Vegas and star in Peepshow with Holly Madison after all.
I can be … a writer.
So, folks, here it is. I’m interviewing to write for www.youknowyoulovefashion.com(go ahead, click on the site and check it out. I guarantee you’ll like it, if you like me, that is.)
I want to write for the website about the new teen show I absolutely lllloooovvvveee. No, not The Secret Life of the American Teenager, although, ahem, I do love that show. Don’t judge. But, I want to write about ABC Family’s Pretty Little Liars.
Have you seen this show? This show is the Desperate Housewives for 20-30-year-olds. Who wants to watch a bunch of has-been old ladies sleeping around Wisteria Lane???? Not me friends. Pretty Little Liars has class and humor, hot girls and cool looks, and an element of mystery….so sit back with me and a glass of wine and watch ABC Family’s Pretty Little Liars. Hopefully after this blog post I will be writing up all the deets of this trendy new show.
Go to abcfamily.com to watch full episodes before Season 2 starts January 3, 2011.
It’s not my nose that’s growing. I’m way too honest for most people. I’m one of those people that can’t tell a lie.
Sure I can fib, when necessary: “Yes, Officer, I’m speeding because I have to go to the bathroom sooooo bad.”
OR — “No, honey, of course I didn’t buy myself a pair of shoes!”
But, lies….I can’t seem to tell lies. And any time I try to I completely screw it up. Lies complicate things. I always forget my lies and end up telling the truth anyways! I’m a simple person. What you see is what you get.
So, I’ve given up telling lies. Especially when I’ve been drinking. Give me just one glass of wine and it is like truth serum that compels me to tell the truth. Like diarrhea the truth pours out of my mouth.
It’s not that I can’t keep a secret – when it’s bad news. Tell me bad news, and I try to forget it. I want nothing to do with bad news. Tell me good news, and I want to shout it from the stars! Yayyy good news! I love good news! I’m so excited!
The truth is good. We’re all taught as young as 2 to tell the truth. But, sometimes lies are good. Lies protect us. Lies protect others.
Some people just can’t take the truth. They would rather be lied to.
And I’m not talking about the 300 pounder who asks if her butt looks big. Of course it does, but I’m not going to be the asshole who says, “Yeah fat ass, get on the treadmill!”
That’s where fibbing is necessary; a necessity in life.
Another place where fibbing must be a necessity, but I haven’t yet received that memo is on mommyhood.
All my mom friends lied to me.
They’ve all told me how great it is to be a mom. And it is great; don’t get me wrong. I love my Boo. I love when she coos. I love when she laughs. I love when I talk and she stares at me like ‘that’s MY mom’ with adoration in her big blue eyes.
But I’m not going to lie to you people. Being a mother has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Ever. In my life.
And I’m terrified I’m going to fail at it.
For one, I need sleep. I’m a sleeper. I could sleep 12 hours every night and still take a nap the next day. Becoming a mom means losing sleep. It means sometimes getting no sleep at all. And that is pretty fucking hard for someone who needs to sleep.
For two, I’m selfish. Yeah, I am a bit of a princess. And now I have a princess who needs everything from me who I need to cater to 24/7. My needs and wants are no longer #1. I’ve grown up my whole life being #1 in my own eyes, and now, my daughter is my #1. It’s a hard adjustment, having to put down the Juicy Couture panties for Huggies Leak-Guards.
For three, I don’t deal well with change. And my life has completely changed. From the days of working during the day, drinking wine at night, sleeping in on the weekends, buying myself Starbuck’s everyday …. To work all day. Get the baby. Go home. Feed the baby. Cook dinner. Put the baby to bed. Completely pass out from exhaustion at 9 p.m.
And no one tells you this. Or they might tell you, but maybe I was never listening? Or maybe it doesn’t bother them as much as it bothers me? It’s not that it booottttthhhhersss me. I’m not complaining. I guess I just wish someone told me the truth of what to expect and didn’t just tell me how wonderful it is. Everyone paints a Hollywood happy ending of getting married and having kids.
And it’s lies!
It’s all a bunch of lies!!!!!
I just drank the truth serum. I want to tell you the truth. That being said, I’m going to get hate messages from people telling me how horrible a mother I am, how my daughter doesn’t deserve me. How I’m a terrible wife, and my husband “must be a saint” because I sound like such a horrible person.
Maybe that’s true.
Maybe I am one bad mother fucker!
But, I don’t think so.
I think I just don’t paint the rosy fucking sunshine picture that you all want to look through.
You don’t want to see the rainy days because you’re too busy pretending life is perfect.
Not me.
News flash (and this isn’t a news flash really, I’ve told you all before) I’m not perfect. I don’t try to be perfect. In fact, I’m far from perfect. I’m flawed and vulnerable. But, I wake up every day and try to be a good person. And now, I wake up every day to be a good mom. I’m sure some days I fail, like the day I forgot Boo’s diaper bag – with the bottle in it – at home. Whoops. Or the day I banged Boo’s car seat (accidentally!) against my car. Whoops.
What I am good at is telling you how I feel. Despite the hardships I would never trade my Boo in for anything. Are there days that I hate her father? Yeah. Are there days I wish I was single and could run off and do whatever I wanted? Yeah.
But, even if I think that for 1 hour out of a 24 hour day the rest of the 23 hours I’m thanking my lucky stars that I managed to do one thing right.
I managed to bring this baby into the world. I did that. ME. Well, not alone, but I mean, I delivered her despite my intense fears and anxiety about child birth. Despite the fact that I almost died a month later of blood loss I came back for her. Despite the Post-Partum Depression that made me want to give it all up, I’ve still fought back. I’ve fought back for my daughter. And now, the new obstacles I face, the feelings of fear and loss and uncertainty, and failure, I will fight those, too.
I have no one to depend on in this world except me. My daughter has no one to depend on except me. And I guess what kills me, what absolutely pisses me off, is that despite my realness people just want to talk about my negatives. People just want to look at the ways in which I’m lacking as a mom. They stare at me with wiiidddeee eyes when I truthfully say, “Yeah, Eva’s awesome, but I can’t wait until she’s like 5 and a little more independent.”
Or the horrified look I see on their face when they ask me how mommyhood is, and I don’t goo and gush about how wonderful it is. Instead I tell the truth. It’s fucking hard! Why do I have to pretend it’s easy? Just because I say it’s hard doesn’t mean I don’t love my daughter! So please, wipe that look off your face! Understand that I am a real person with real feelings, and I’m not going to lie to you like Hollywood and all your perfect mommy friends!
Why can’t other moms support each other instead of pointing out the moms who have fucked up? Why can’t other moms be there for each other and teach their daughters that being a strong woman is being real and honest. It’s being there for people that need you. It’s taking care of you. It’s remembering that being a good mom is being a good person. It’s that mistakes happen. It’s that you will prevail. It’s that you can’t give up. You can’t let people talk you down.
Is there no one else in the world like this?
Don’t fall into their trap.
Don’t let them do it to you.
This is a very real and raw post for me. Most of my posts are well thought out, re-read, edited, etc., but this one I simply wrote. I wrote it for me. I wrote it from the heart. I needed to write a journal entry telling myself it’s OK to be me. Telling myself it’s OK to make mistakes. Letting myself vent.
I have a fear of being a fuck up. I constantly say to my husband, “I’m just a complete fuck up.”
I’m going to start reminding myself, it’s OK to be me.
Image courtesy of tim442003 on www.photobucket.com
So I got busted. Totally busted this morning. Like I get the asshole of the year award.
Damn it, I hate when I’m the one who gets the asshole award! It’s normally everybody else who’s the asshole. But, yes, on occasion, albeit very rarely, I, too, am the asshole.
And today I was.
I have to rewind back to when I was pregs, and I lost my shit over the parking situation at work. Remember my blog post titled, “The Parking Attendant?” If you don’t, click here to read it.
Very briefly though, at my work at Fifth Avenue Station in Naperville we have a parking lot in front of the building. However, employees are supposed to park across the street. I would get very annoyed when the attorney bitches would park in the front lot in their brand new Lexus because they are too fucking lazy to walk across the street.
Meanwhile, I was 9 months pregnant waddling across a busy street in Jessica Simpson wedge heels that no one bothers to drive 25 mph on…..let alone slow down for the pregnant girl trying to cross the street.
It used to drive me crazy! I know the attorney bitches have cankles. I know they have to wear ugly business suits. But, hello attorney bitches??!! You’re not above anyone else. I mean, really! Those are the rules so why don’t you follow them?
So I went on strike. I said FUCK THIS! I stopped parking across the street. I swore that as soon as I came back from maternity leave I would go back to parking across the street. You know, when I wasn’t waddling anymore carrying 33 pounds of extra weight.
And I meant it.
Until I actually came back to work. What can I say? I got too comfortable parking in the front lot. I didn’t feel like parking across the street anymore. Now I’m the bitch who thinks my shit don’t stink. I pull up every morning and park my Benz right out front.
I know it’s wrong. But, being wrong feels oh so right.
I look at it like this. I’ve been with my company for over three years now. I’m moving up the totem pole. I deserve to park in the front lot! Let the newbies park across the street and walk their asses over in the minus 20 degree Chicago winter weather.
Uh-uh folks. Not me. Not anymore. I’m no sucker.
And then it happened. I envisioned this day in my head many times, but didn’t think it would actually happen. I usually hide out in my car and see who’s walking in. If I see someone I know then I sit in my car, and I wait. I don’t want anyone to see me – the Parking Attendant – actually breaking the rules and parking in the front lot.
Today I pulled up at 8 on the dot. Thinking solely about getting to my desk on time I didn’t look around to see who’s coming and going. I jumped out of my car, grabbed my Juicy Couture bag and my coffee (NOT Dunkin, thanks a lot Dunkin Bitch), and started to run to the front door.
And as God is my witness I was caught.
I was caught red handed.
Not by the attorney bitches, good God, who cares if they caught me. I was caught by my office neighbors. Eeeeekkkkk! Shit! Shit whore! I thought.
I felt that I needed to address the situation.
“Morning!” I exclaimed, ever the cheerful chick first thing in the morning. It’s people that piss me off throughout the day and make me turn into such a crab ass.
“Good morning!” Chad and Marissa exclaimed.
Tangent, they are so cute, Chad and Marissa. They are a sweet married couple who happen to work for the same company, Cog Med, right across the hall from me. We see each other throughout the day and always wave or stop in the hallway to say hello. Marissa friended me on Facebook when I was pregs because she wanted to know when I had Eva and went on maternity leave since she wouldn’t see me at work for 6 weeks.
Anyways, they were walking in together with their Starbuck’s and big smiles. Oh. My. Gosh. I’m such an asshole.
I decided to just dive right in. “Yeah, I parked out front this morning. It’s too cold to walk across the street…..” I nervously laughed….
Chad and Marissa laughed, too. They were probably thinking, “You Bitch!” But, they’re too nice to say that.
See, let’s back up here. Chad and Marissa used to park in the front lot. I never said anything about them parking in the front lot because they’re nice to me. See, be my friend and I let you break the rules. Be like the attorney bitches and you’re toast!
Anyways, because Marissa had friended me on Facebook she found my blog. And started to read it. And they happened to read my blog “The Parking Attendant” and started to park across the street because of it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Holy shizzzzzzzzzzz, I’m laughing my fucking ass off. How sweet are they? What a fucking asshole I am! OMG.
How do I know this you ask? Let me continue….
“It’s too cold to walk across the street…..” I nervously laughed….then continued, “But, I see you guys did. Way to go!”
(For the record, don’t read this like I was saying this like a bitch because I totally wasn’t! I was saying it like I was the kid who just got caught with his hand in his pants in kindergarten. Shhheeeeiiiiitttttt. BUSTED. That’s how I said it.)
“Yeah, we park across the street now,” Marissa said.
I smiled.
“Well, after we read your blog we were like ‘Holy shit! We don’t want to be the bitches who park out front!” Marissa said.
We all laughed. What a good sport!
“I know, I know, I should be parking across the street, too.” (Tail between my legs) “Ijust said ‘Fuck it’ this morning.”
(Little did they know – until now – that I’ve been parking in the front lot for months now!!!!!!) Again …. Tail between my legs!
“No way!” Marissa yelled, “Don’t be silly. You get special mom parking.”
Is she serious? Special mom parking? I don’t bring my baby to work! It’s just me. Why should I get special mom parking?????? I can park across the street and walk over. I’m just too lazy. It’s cold. And I have a bunch of shit to carry. And the dog ate my homework.
But, this was a good lesson learned for me. I need to do as I write. I can’t write a blog bitching about other people and then do the same thing I bitch about??!! Who does that?
Well, lots of people do that, and those people are assholes.
Regardless of what you all think of me, I am not an asshole. I will be parking across the street from now on. Starting tomorrow…..
Or Monday….
Special thanks to Chad and Marissa. Hope you’re not mad I told our story!
Ignorance is Bliss. To Some. And to others you’re just a complete A-hole.
Where do I begin? At the beginning I suppose. Back when I was pregs my morning coffee was like a million dollar bill shoved in my rear. If I didn’t have it – look out man. Look out. So, as you know if you’ve been reading my blog, every morning I went to Dunkin Donuts and indulged in an iced coffee. And my kid is fine, so please spare me the comments about drinking caffeine while being pregnant. I did it. So kill me.
I would walk in everyday with my Juicy Couture bag and a big smile. I’d go up to the counter to place my order – usually with the cutest blonde chick ever that I see often and absolutely love. And for the record she makes my iced coffee absolutely perfect. “Good morning!” I’d exclaim. “I’d like a medium iced coffee please!”
Within the snap of a finger she’d have my order, PERFECT! and I’d have the money sitting on the counter – down to the dime – and I’d be yelling “Thanks!” as I was off on my way.
I would then say good-bye to my stalker, hop in my Benz and drive to work.
Side note – I haven’t talked about my stalker in a while. It’s because I hadn’t seen him. I know. This pained me as much as it pains you. But, I did finally see him last week. See I’ve been trying to be more fiscally responsible – LAME! I know – and make my coffee at home. Dunkin Donuts could possibly go out of business because of this. Luckily for them my laziness has come back, and I’ve been back to going to Dunkin’ to get my cup of morning java. That said, I ran into my stalker in the parking lot two weeks ago and was actually excited to see him. (I know, a strange concept really, but do you remember my blog post about my stalker becoming the stalkee????)
Anyways, I said good morning to him and asked him if he got a new car (he did.)
He asked me if I dyed my hair (I did.)
I asked him if he liked my hair better blonde or black (OK, brown, it’s not black). He said he liked it better blonde.
He asked if I had a boy or a girl (A girl.)
That was the jist of our convo and now I went off on a tangent. Back to getting my morning Dunkin’.
So, one day, back when I was pregs, I went in to Dunkin Donuts to get my iced coffee. The gal behind the counter was not my cute blonde friend. She wasn’t really very nice to be honest. I blew it off, was my uber-polite self, and asked for my iced coffee.
Then, I got in my car (coffee in hand) and pulled away. As I’m driving to work I opened my straw and excitedly shoved the straw in the cup, like a junkie needing his fix. I take a big loving sip of my coffee.
What. The. Fuck. Is. This?????????????????????????
THIS IS NOT AN ICED COFFEE.
WHAT THE FUCK????????????????????
I’m already half way to the office. This is fucked up, man, I think. I’m pregnant, and I want my iced coffee NOW. I pull a U-y while phoning my office. It’s 7:59, and I’m gonna be late now, but there is no way in hell I’m sitting through a day at work without my iced coffee. No way.
My boss is like please, for the love of God, get your coffee!
He knows not to mess with a pregnant chick!
I go back to Dunkin Donuts and walk in. OK, I don’t have a shit-eating grin on my face, no, but I’m not rude. I walk in and go up to the counter.
“Hi, I was just here.”
Dunkin Bitch stares at me like I just threw up in her face. She’s just staring at me like I’m speaking another language.
“Hi, I was just here.” I hold up my iced coffee (or not iced coffee). I say, “Yeah, I asked for an iced coffee and this is an iced latte.”
Dunkin Bitch looks at me and says, “No it’s not. I gave you an iced coffee.”
WHOA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! What happened to the customer is always right? And further, as if to insult my intelligence, are you really telling me that I don’t know the difference between an iced coffee and an iced latte? Listen, lady, I know coffee like Donald Trump knows hair. Uhh…wait, that didn’t work.
I look at her and smile. I very politely say: “No, it isn’t. It’s an iced latte.”
Dunkin Bitch: “No, I gave you iced coffee.”
OK – now I’m getting pissed off. I look at her – stare at her – and very politely – but very firmly – say, “Listen. Take a sip if you want. I’m not trying to be a bitch. I come in here all the time. All I want is an iced coffee and this isn’t an iced coffee.”
A guy who knows me walks over and says, “What’s wrong?”
I said, “I ordered an iced coffee and this is an iced latte. All I want is an iced coffee please.”
The guy looks at Dunkin Bitch like WTF, just get her an iced coffee and Dunkin Bitch says, “It’s an iced coffee. I made it myself.”
This bitch wanted to get pummeled!
I looked at the man and said (a little more angrily now, cuz I’m getting sick of this shit!) “Take a sip if you want. It’s not iced coffee!”
The man says, “OK! Just get her an iced coffee would ya,” while Dunkin Bitch just stares at me.
I mean, seriously, what the heck. I’m being polite. Even if you are 1,000% positive that you gave me an iced coffee are you really going to sit and argue with a pregnant female at 8 o’clock in the morning who hasn’t had her coffee yet? Why couldn’t she just give me another coffee and be done with me? It’s not like I drank the whole thing and then came back and asked for another coffee. I took one sip! Plus I’m in there all the time!
Dunkin Bitch FINALLY gives me my iced coffee. I look at her. I smile. I say, “Thank you, and have a nice day. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, I just wanted my coffee.”
No smile. No thank you. No apology. Zip.
I leave and think, Well, fuck her. At least I have my iced coffee.
As God is my witness, I’m driving back to work – again – (and it’s now 8:15 a.m. after all this fighting with Dunkin Bitch) and I take a sip of my iced coffee. For the love of God, it’s an iced latte. Again. Is this some kind of a sick joke that I’m the butt of?
At this point I’m like I need to just go to work and drink an iced latte today. But, I’m pissed. Inside I’m like boiling. I wanted an iced coffee, damn it! Here comes “King Baby” – I want iced coffee and I want it NOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!
I get to work and walk in huffing and puffing about the iced latte. My boss stares at me. I can tell he’s scared. He wonders if I’m going to kill him over an iced latte. It was possible at that moment. Seriously.
I sit at my desk. I look up the phone number to Dunkin Donuts. I’ll be damned if these people are going to get the best of me. I call and ask to speak to the manager. Irvin gets on the phone. He’s the manager and he remembers me because he sees me everyday. He knows that I’m polite and nice. He also donated $25 to my fund for the 2009 Alzheimer’s Memory Walk. He is very apologetic. He said that yes, after I left they tasted the “iced coffee” and someone put in the mix for iced lattes. How did this happen, I don’t know the logistics, all I know is that Irvin was so apologetic he offered me a coffee on him tomorrow. Smiling I thanked him, but felt compelled to tell him that his employee Dunkin Bitch was rather argumentative to me. I said I wasn’t trying to cause problems, but simply wanted my iced coffee. He apologized again and told me to come see him in the morning.
The next day I went to Dunkin Donuts. I walked in and my cute blonde friend was at the counter. She said, “Good morning! Iced coffee?”
I said, “Hello. Irvin told me to ask for him this morning.”
She said, “Oh, I know. He told me what happened. Would you like a muffin today, too?”
Fuck yeah I want a muffin! “Yes please!”
I could see Dunkin Bitch staring at me with a scowl on her face. Seriously, get over it. It’s not my fault you guys put latte mix in the iced coffee machine. Jesus! Why are you mad at me about it? I was perfectly polite when I asked you for another iced coffee. Why was she so pissed at me?
Fast forward to the last couple of weeks. Now that I’m back to my daily coffee stops, Dunkin Bitch has moved up on the food chain and has been meaner to me than ever. This chick hates me. She hates me “Sharon the commenter” style who just thinks I’m the biggest asshole on the face of the Earth. I wish there was a stronger word than “hates” because that’s how she feels about me.
I’ve tried to kill her with kindness.
I’ve tried to act nonchalant about the whole thing.
Then today I thought – You know what? It’s time for me to be a bitch to Dunkin Bitch. I’m sick of her attitude!
I actually thought I want it to be my goal in life to get her fired. She has a serious attitude problem. The cute blonde chick is doing other things now, so I’m stuck with Dunkin Bitch almost every day. I’ve seen her several times and had to deal with her pouty face despite my polite “please” and “thank yous” in addition to my “have a good day.” I mean, come on, what does this bitch want from me?
About a week ago when she was rude to me in the drive thru I was pissed. She gave me my receipt which clearly states, “How was your visit today?” I decided when I got to the office that I needed to shove it in her ass. I went on and said that my visit was bad because the female in the drive thru had an attitude problem.
Then this morning, same drill. As I’m handing her my $2.60 I don’t smile. I don’t say good morning. I don’t say please or thank you. I simply hand her my money.
Dunkin Bitch stares at me with her scowled face and goes to grab the bills out of my hand. As she grabs the $2.00 bills she is able to grab the .50 cents, but she drops the dime. I just looked at her. I’m not offering you another dime because you were grabbing the money out of my fingers and dropped the dime. Sorry. I guess your ass is putting in a dime for my coffee today. Thank you, Dunkin Bitch.
Dunkin Bitch looked at me and snapped, “Don’t worry about it!”
Damn straight, I thought.
I grabbed my coffee. Then I sat there and waited for my receipt. She handed me the receipt that said, “How was your visit today?” I snatched it from her hands and pulled away. I decided at that moment that that it WILL be my goal in life to get Dunkin Bitch fired. Is that too harsh? It is the holiday season after all….
Either way I got my receipt so I can tell them all about my visit today….and I decided to with this blog. Thank you Dunkin Bitch for giving me something to bitch about today!
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