Tag Archives: Swearing

Lighten Up, Francis

10 Aug

Lighten Up, Francis, from the movie Stripes, is one of my favorite movie lines. I’ve honestly never even seen the entire movie; I just know the movie line. My family used to say that to each other when someone was spazzing out about something, which if you’ve been reading my blog you know that can be pretty often since we’re all crazy.

The exact movie quote goes like this:
Psycho: The name’s Francis Soyer, but everybody calls me Psycho. Any of you guys call me Francis, and I’ll kill you.
Leon: Ooooooh.
Psycho: You just made the list, buddy. And I don’t like nobody touching my stuff. So just keep your meat-hooks off. If I catch any of you guys in my stuff, I’ll kill you. Also, I don’t like nobody touching me. Now, any of you homos touch me, and I’ll kill you. Sergeant Hulka: Lighten up, Francis.

Friday afternoon after a hellish week including a very sick and crabby Chiquita, I was acting a bit like Psycho. Our weekend plans had gotten ruined due to having a sick child, and it happens and I get that, but I was a little disappointed so therefore in a bit of a crabby mood despite telling myself all day to just make the best of it and enjoy myself at the wedding we were attending that night. I’ll have a drink, I’ll relax, it’ll be fine…keep repeating to myself.

I came home and found a package at my back door. Since the Chiquita’s birthday just passed I thought maybe one of our neighbors dropped off a gift for her as we live in a tight-knit neighborhood. Because we were racing to the wedding I picked the gift bag up and set it on the kitchen counter.

Hubs comes into the kitchen and says, “What’s that bag?”

“How should I know?” I respond, annoyed at the question. Just annoyed in general at the day.

Now so I don’t sound like a complete A-hole, I lied in the paragraph above. I lied out of pure laziness. My husband actually got home first. He found the gift bag at the back door. He picked it up, came inside the house, and I’m not even joking, he set the bag on the back stairs. So, how the story actually goes is that I was irritated that I walked in the back door and found the gift bag sitting on the stairs. Like you managed to pick up the package, open the door and walk inside. Why not follow through and bring the package upstairs?

I digress; men do things that I just don’t understand. So, that’s another reason I was so annoyed and being such an A-hole. I’m not a see-thru bags mind-reader, honey. How am I supposed to know what it is?

He looks at me and looks at the bag.

“I don’t know,” I say again, feeling a little guilty about my attitude. Enjoy the night, I repeat to myself. Stop trying to start fights with your husband! “I’m guessing it’s something for Eva.”

“That’s what I thought, but from who?” He grabs the bag and decides to dig in.

Here is what is inside the bag.

For Me.

So here is when Psycho Francis explodes out of me.

“What the fuck is this?!?” I shout at the top of my lungs, my cat jumping off the kitchen bar stool and running to the living room to hide. I think my husband wanted to run and hide, too, but instead he stood there looking at me. I could almost read his thoughts which was something like: OMG, now she’s going to freak out. And I get to deal with it. Thanks a lot!

“What?” He innocently asked. “I don’t even get what it is.”

“What the fuck is this!?!” I scream again. I pull everything out of the gift bag. There is no card. There is only this note.

“Don’t you get it?” I say to Hubs. “Don’t you get that someone obviously thinks I’m a pretty big asshole in need of serious help?! Like who would take the time to do this for me? Don’t they know I can run my own life just fine? And I do go to therapy! God! I don’t need any special help from anyone else.”

I pull out the notes that are inside the “Lighten Up” jar, and I start to read them aloud.

I scream some more. “What is this shit?!? Someone got this stupid idea off Pinterest, I know it, that’s why I hate that stupid website. Stupid Pinterest!”

My husband doesn’t say much, but he encourages me to calm down and go get ready for the wedding. “We’ll talk about it later,” he keeps repeating. I guess he thinks if he keeps repeating it maybe I’ll eventually shut up and listen, but instead I just keep walking around the 1st floor of my house screaming expletives.

I’m not sure why I was so angry about this little “gift” that someone mysteriously dropped off….well, I do know why. Because they were secretive about it. Almost like they knew if they handed it to me in person I’d be like ‘What the fuck is this piece of crap’ which I never would say out loud to their face, I mean, I would think it, but I’m not rude! I would smile and accept the gift, but probably think the person was an asshole for giving it to me.

But, they didn’t even take the chance for me to think they are an asshole. They knew this would rattle my cage so they mysteriously dropped it off at my house anonymously. Someone mysteriously drop me off a million dollars would you, not some “Lighten Up” jar with a bunch of “great” ideas about how I’m suddenly supposed to become a happy-go-lucky person.

And you know what, what is so wrong with me anyways? The world can’t be full of cheerleaders. I remember my mom telling me: ‘the world needs ditch diggers, too.’ So, there, the world has to have some glass half-empties right? Well, that’s me. So deal with it! And frankly, I don’t view myself as pessimistic, I view myself as realistic. See, it’s all how you spin it….

Anyways, so fear not whoever made me this very creative and heartfelt “Lighten Up” box. I don’t hate you. Anymore. I’ve since calmed down enough to look at the positives in my little Pinterest project and to be thankful to whomever took the time to think of me and make me such a special gift.

So, my gift to you is such. I will pull pieces of paper from my “Lighten Up” box, and I will do what they say. I will then write-up my experiences so you can see for yourself that I’m not the asshole, that actually the rest of the world is the asshole.

I’d love it if you, my readers, would follow along and try some of these on your own, too. Let me know how your experiences and/or interactions go. Let’s all “Lighten Up” together. ;)

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Reason #26 Why I’m Crazy

6 Feb

I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety my whole life.  Well, not my whole life, really since I was 15.  I like to blame my parents for it, you know, because of my genetic make-up and the fact that they were so hard on me during my teen years.

In hindsight it’s probably a good thing.  Who knows what would have come of me if I wasn’t grounded every other weekend of sophomore year and permanently grounded from sleepovers from 15 until I got kicked out of my house at 22.  Yes, I’m dead serious.  Grounded from sleepovers for life!

I remember walking around my house with a nervous stomach and loving going to work at Dan’s Pizza.  It was my only saving grace.  I would beg people to let me take their shifts because work and school were the only places I was allowed to go.  And I preferred to be anywhere except home.

My parents scared the shit out of me.  I wasn’t raised with hugs and time-outs.  I was raised like an army recruit.  Sir, yes sir!

You don’t sleep past 8 am on weekends.
You don’t swear in our home – and swearing includes saying ‘what the hell’…
You were never – ever – late for curfew.  1 minute late is still late…
You are allowed only 1 C per quarter or NO driving until the next progress report 3 months later.  We strive for excellence in this house…

I’m not saying whether this is good or bad parenting.  As a mother, I know that I will be tough on the Chiquita because I don’t want her to end up a 15-year-old prostitute working for crack.  Yes, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but we have addiction in our blood, and I think that’s why I always steered clear of drugs.  I knew if I tried it I would probably love it.

I think I’m like most kids-turned-parents in that I’ll take with me some things I learned from my parents and other things I just choose to go to therapy for.  One thing I’ve learned since becoming a parent is that parents are only human.  They are bound to make mistakes.  I pray I don’t damage the Chiquita in some way, but I’m sure she’ll have some story to tell, just like we all do.  We all have something that our parents did to us…it may not be abuse or neglect….but I’ve never spoken to anyone who says they’ve had absolutely the perfect upbringing.

And while I wish my parents weren’t so hard on me, and I wish they would have given me more hugs and encouragement from time-to-time I know I didn’t make things easy on them either.

I’ve always been a very emotional girl.  Why do you think I started a blog?  I have a lot to say and a lot of feelings to go with it.  I needed some kind of an outlet, and a journal just wasn’t cutting it.  I do journal, yes, but more out of necessity than desire; it’s a chore for me, something that I have to do.  I put the really crazy thoughts in my journal…Haha.

But something that has taken me years and years to figure out is that I have PMDD.  I have officially been diagnosed with PMDD, which is Premenstrual dysphoric disorder.  I find that PMDD is relatively unknown.  It affects 3% – 8% of women, and like PMS, follows a cyclical pattern. 

According to Wikipedia:  Emotional symptoms are generally present, and in PMDD, mood symptoms are dominant. Substantial disruption to personal relationships is typical for women with PMDD.  Anxiety, anger, and depression may also occur.  Click here for more information about PMDD from Wikipedia.

Why am I sharing this with all of you?  For two reasons:

#1 because a lot of women thank me for my openness and honesty about suffering from and overcoming Post Partum Depression.  It absolutely warms my heart to know that the hell I went through can result in me helping another woman get through it, too.  Maybe someone out there has PMDD and doesn’t know what it is and why they are going bonkers.

And #2 because for one week (to 10 days!) out of the month – every month – I go absolutely bat shit crazy.  Not normal PMS crazy, I go mad scientist crazy.  Many of my friends know about it, and I’ll explain any more than usual craziness with a simple “It’s a PMDD week,” (Que nods and ohhhh that explains it…) but others (Facebook friends, for instance) don’t know why I become such a whack job.  So here you have it – during a PMDD week I get very angry, crabby, inpatient, sensitive, emotional, feelings of being stressed or overwhelmed…basically for one week out of every month I’m just not myself.  My evil twin, Jsux we’ll call her, makes her appearance.

Jsux during a PMDD week…YIKES!

Doctors are bad about diagnosing PMDD and would rather just say you’re depressed and throw you on antidepressants.  I take a wide range of natural herbs and vitamins with hopes of controlling my mood swings during this time of the month.  Some months are better than others, and some months are so disruptive that I find myself hibernating so I don’t lose all my friends.

There was a time when I hated my PMDD and hated that I got stuck with this weird and unknown disorder, like why couldn’t I just have something “normal” like ADD?  But, now, I look at it like I look at the parenting thing.  Everybody has something.  No one’s life is perfect.  I’m fortunate enough to have a great husband who is so supportive and loving that I really don’t deserve him, and obvs the Chiquita and my bonus daughters, and I have a good job, and I have a nice home and nice “things”, and I have a wonderful support system of friends and family who all love me and care about me despite my craziness, so I guess this is my thing.  My thing is that once a month I go bat shit crazy and sometimes act like an insane person.

Here’s where if you could see me while I write this you would see I’m shrugging.  That’s my “thing”.  [Shrug.]  This is God’s plan for me.  Just like my PPD, which I will tell everyone about and shout from the sky to help other women (and maybe Book #2???), my “thing” is PMDD.

What’s your thing and how do you stay strong to overcome it?

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Here’s an Idea…

21 Feb

“Take your spam and shove it up your ass.”

So was emailed to me today by General Disaster which inspired this blog. First and foremost, thank you General Disaster for your lovely words. I am truly touched that you took two minutes out of your life to help me come up with a blog topic – this blog topic – which questions …

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH SOCIETY.

Well, my answer to you, blog friends, would be General Disaster. General Disaster is what the fuck is wrong with society. Hiding behind a fake name he feels he can say or do whatever he wants with no consequences. The world has lost all touch with reality…with face-to-face hello’s and good-bye’s.

I’ve blogged before about how fucking rude people are and how much it annoys me, but that was in the case of Eugene Levy slamming the door in my face or Dunkin B*tch being a God-awful bitch to me every morning at Dunkin Donuts.

The difference between Eugene Levy and Dunkin B*tch is they have the guts to be rude to someone’s face. Whether they have balls or are just plain ignorant morons, who knows, but at least they look me in the eye when they decide to be douchebags. As least they face me “like a man.” Unlike General Disaster. General Disaster, who shoots a negative email off into cyber space and somehow feels vindicated, as though he is going to somehow change the world with his snarky and narcissistic behavior.

Well, news flash, General Disaster. Hiding behind an email does not make you smart. Or funny. Or tough. Or sophisticated. Hiding behind the name “General Disaster” is wimpy and childish. At least have the balls to email me your name when you decide to tell me to shove my spam up my ass. At least invite a response.

What am I even talking about? How did this all even begin, you ask?

I often post my blog address on Craig’s List. Before you boo me — I post it in the volunteer section. I post that I’m looking for blog readers and that I’d like people to email me ideas for blog topics.

I’ve been written before by a fellow writer who said posting my blog on Craig’s List is like “soliciting” fans. I see his point. But, I look at it as free advertising. I’m actually advertising my blog for readers through a free service. Is it really any different than posting my blog updates on Facebook?

Agree or disagree, I don’t really care! I actually think it makes me rather smart and ambitious to put my words out there. I keep hoping that someone – a publisher, or Donald Trump, emails me back that they are dying to give me money – like millions – to write a novel for them. You just never know. I’m sure I’m dreaming.

Anyways …. so I posted my blog “ad” on Craig’s List/Chicago/Volunteers and within minutes I get an email with the subject: idea for your blog

Yayy! A comment, I think.

I open the email to find: Here’s an idea–take your spam and shove it up your ass.

Wow. Moving. Intellectual. Funny. Well, it is actually funny because I started laughing my ass off.

I was cracking up that General Disaster was possibly trying to ruin my day and make me feel bad…much like the “Fashion Conscious” writers at my writer’s conference, but this time I triumphed.

This time instead of being a wimp and crying about people not taking me seriously, or me being stupid because I care about US Weekly and Teen Mom, or me wallowing in self-pity tonight with a bottle of Cabernet – there will be wine though tonight – this time I’m standing tall and proud and giving General Disaster a big ‘ol F You! If you don’t like it, too fucking bad!

Go ahead, General Disaster, and hide behind your identity. It’s much easier to do mean things to someone anonymously. To not have to face them and look them in the eye. It’s easy sending an email telling someone to “shove it up their ass.”

But I have more class than that.

Well…sort of. More class would be me deleting the email and not giving a shit. But, today just doesn’t feel like that kind of day. So here you go readers. Remember to treat others with kindness and respect for you never know if they will blog about you.

Thank you, General Disaster, for inspiring me to write this blog with YOUR blog idea! And next time you want to be a douche, please leave your name at least.

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More Updates

5 Feb
My ring and candle from Papa Voodoo

While I’m in the spirit of updating you all I figured I should update you on my way old previous posts of the Swear Jar & the Voodoo bullshit I got myself into. I’ve linked the old blogs for you in case you don’t remember or have yet to read them.

Let’s start with “To Voodoo or Not to Voodoo?”  because this will be a quick lesson in let the buyer beware. I’m not saying Voodoo is a scam – no way would I speak or even think those words – but Papa Voodoo did not do any Voodoo-ing for me that I’m aware of. For $40 he sent me a candle and a cheesy gumball machine ring. And he performed my “Voodoo Cleanse” of course, which was to rid me of my bad spirits and cleanse my soul.

Oh, and about my ring…he asked me my favorite color and said my ring would come with a stone in that color. Yeah, I gave him 3 colors and my ring is none of those colors. WTF Papa Voodoo?

Anyways, so the day my ring and candle came in the mail I excitedly ripped the packaging open. OMG, this is it. Papa is performing my Voodoo Cleanse as we speak. I will be a new woman. I can’t wait.

For the first week not much of anything seemed to happen? Hmm…maybe the joke was on me? I think. Or maybe I’m not believing deeply enough? I tried to really believe…..

I don’t know, Readers, but I don’t think I’ve been “cleansed” of anything. I’m still the same crabby Italian bitch with a chip on my shoulder. So…thanks a lot Papa Voodoo. I wonder what he did with my $40?

Now…onto the Swear Jar which was actually the blog post “I Don’t Give a Fuuuuuuuuuuuuucckkkk.” This could be one of my all-time favorite posts. Seriously, I love this post as much as I love saying the word fuck. So, how do you think this experiment went? Let me give you a hint….

I fucking failed.

I fucking failed fucking miserably.

I tried sooo hard. I really did try hard. I swear to you! I put a penny jar on my desk at work…and then anytime I said – or even thought! – the F word I truly put a penny in the jar. How many pennies were in there? I don’t know, people, I gave up after like a week. It was utter craziness. I was going broke.

I said, “Well, fuck this!” and then I dropped one more penny in the jar….

See, the problem is there was no real motivation for me. I mean, other than the fact that my daughter Eva’s first word will probably be fuck. Please, God, let her not say that in front of my Italian Papa because he will die. I’m serious. Then I will die.

I mean, that’s my only real motivation. I’m very motivated by prizes and such…and there was no prize for me here. I mean, except to destroy my potty mouth and raise a sweet child. Hahahahahahahahahhaahhaha what blog are you reading????

So, I did give the sad amount of money that I put in the jar for my week of experimentation to the Ronald McDonald House as I said I would.

But, boy, did I fail miserably.

FUCK!

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Ignorance is Bliss.

6 Dec

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.

WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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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Four Generations!

20 Sep

Photo taken by my Papa, Photo description: This photo was taken when my mom and I took my new baby daughter to meet her great-grandmother. Bonnie met Eva on 8/17/10. On September 3rd at a family party she said this was the first time she was meeting her great-granddaughter. It absolutely broke my heart.

 

For those of you that really know me, you know that despite my sometimes abrasive and narcissistic behavior there IS a good person inside me ….deep under the curse words and the imagined ass beatings (see former blog post “Were You Raised in a Barn, Eugene Levy”)  

… Unfortunately, stupid people ruin it for me.  Many people don’t see the good trying to shine through … or the sensitive and loving person that I truly am.   

The truth of the matter is that I have no tolerance for people who lack common sense and manners.  And let’s add social skills … and hypocrites.  

There.  I said it.  I’m sorry.  I’m horrible.  Call the Cops….  

OK, that doesn’t really help with convincing you all about my loving personality now, does it?  That said, back to my original statement.  Those of you who really know me know that one positive quality I do have is that I’m very giving.  I love the people who say, “If only I was rich I would donate…” Blah blah blah.  

It doesn’t matter if you are rich or poor.  In my opinion it is important to give to those less fortunate.  So, if you’re living in a cardboard box, share the newspaper you found in the trash with your cardboard box neighbor.  If you’re like me, surviving but not loaded, donate what you can or simply GET INVOLVED.  

And one of my other positive qualities is that I practice what I preach.  I don’t b*tch about things and not follow through with them.  That said, if you read my previous blog post “Keep It Simple Stupid” you will remember that one of the “rules” of drive-thru etiquette is that you don’t go through the drive-thru when you have a coupon.  Do you recall this?  

OK, well, I am the queen of coupons at Dunkin Donuts.  I used to go through the drive-thru all the time when I had a coupon.  Why?  Pure laziness.  Then, I wrote my blog on drive-thru etiquette, and you know what?  Now I don’t go through the drive-thru when I have a coupon.  I even park and go inside when my daughter is with me, and I have to take her out of her car seat  - OR – I suck it up and pay the extra 50 cents for my iced coffee.  

So, back to following through.  GET INVOLVED.  I just wanted to let you all know in a some-what sarcastic manner that Eva and I will be strutting our sweet sh*t at Busse Woods on Saturday October 9th for the 2010 Schaumburg Memory Walk.  We will be “On the Move” to end Alzheimer’s.    

We would love to have you on our team – Bonnie’s Braves.  Click HERE to join.  

If you are able to give we would love a donation from you – whether it’s $5 or $500 every little bit helps!  And if you are not able to give, please say a prayer for my grandma, Bonnie, who is so very BRAVE, in her fight against Alzheimer’s Disease.  Please check out our donation page to learn more about why Alzheimer’s is a cause that is near and dear to our hearts.    

JENANDEVA <—Click here to view our personal page.  

For more information on Alzheimer’s Disease go to Alz.org.  

Thank you,
Jen and Eva  

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I DON’T GIVE A FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

14 Apr

“I DON’T GIVE A FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!” quote from Chris Tucker as Smokey in Friday. Click on the you-tube link below to watch the 54 sec. clip. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGlgsyzGcmo
Smokey clip 

Image courtesy of http://www.noswearing.com

 

It’s been brought to my attention that I have a bit of a potty mouth.  A bit of?  That’s being nice.  I actually have a disgusting, downright shocking – and sometimes even horrifying – pig of a mouth. 

I know it’s repulsive. 

I know it’s unattractive and un-lady-like. 

But, it’s me.  I like to swear.  Just like smokers like to smoke and drinkers like to drink (well, I do like to drink, too, but another post on that later) I like to swear.  I love it actually.  It makes me happy and tingly inside.  It sends positive endorphins racing through my brain.  

When some bitch cuts me off in traffic I can’t yell “What the heck, you jerk!” 

Oh no. 

I yell (brace yourself), “Learn how to drive you FUUUUUUUUCKING C*NT BITCH!!!” 

Yes, I even use the “C” word.  I told you to brace yourself. 

I don’t make a habit of using the “C” word, though.  That one only comes out for special occasions, for special people.  The word that I use almost as often as “the” or “at” is “fuck.” 

Fuck is by far without a doubt my favorite word in the English language.  This word is truly amazing.  

Note: I tried to come up with these on my own, but this website was too good to pass up.  It’s brilliant.  I give it an A++.  According to http://www.nlpmind.com/fuck.htm :

Using Fuck as a flexible word.

Flexible use of fuck, it is probably the most versatile word in the whole fucking English language.

“Fuck” can be used in many different ways.

  • Noun: I don’t give a fuck.
  • Adjective: Jennifer is organizing the fucking event.
  • Verb: Don’t fuck it up.
  • Transitive verb: Paul fucked Jennifer.
  • Intransitive verb: Jennifer fucks.
  • Part of an adverb: Jennifer organizes too fucking much.
  • Adverb enhancing an adjective: Jennifer is fucking amazing.
  • Part of a word: Fanfuckingtastic! Absofuckinglutely infuckingcredible!

It can even be used as almost every word in a sentence, (although that’s not advised). 

i.e. Fuck it, fucking fuckups, fuck the fucking fuckers. 

Here are some examples of how the word fuck can be used.

  • Aggression: Don’t fuck with me.
  • Amazement: Infuckingcredible!
  • Assurance: Absofuckinglutely.
  • Difficulty: I’m having a fuck of a time with this.
  • Disagreement: Fuck you!
  • Dismay: Fuck it.
  • Dismissal: Fuck off.
  • Fraud: I got fucked on that deal.
  • Incompetence: What a fuckup.
  • Inquiry: What the fuck?
  • Pleasure: Fanfuckingtastic!
  • Satisfaction: Fucking “A” man!
  • Trouble: Now I’m fucked.

When you realize the versatility of this fantastic word, say it with pride. It will immediately reveal the quality of your character and the flexibility of your language skills. ;-)  

  
  Check out more fanfuckingtastic info on language.
It’s absofuckinglutely infuckingcredible!

You’re probably wondering where all this bad language – and this blog post – came from? 

Last weekend, after spuing off a cluster of expletives – to be fair I was telling a very frustrating story – as my husband and I headed to Dunkin Donuts for our morning coffee, he says to me that my potty mouth is bad.  It’s real bad.  It’s actually gotten worse. 

Uh-oh.  Will my future child’s first word be FUCK?  That would be kind of funny, but only for like two minutes.  When my kid goes up to my mother and says, “Give me a fucking cookie, Grandma,” she would beat his ass.  Seriously.  We got soap in our mouths – for saying much less – like “sucker.” 

The exact quote, circa 1989, my brother playing with his army toys yelled, “I’m gonna get you SUUUCCKKER!” 

And there was my mom.  With liquid soap.  It was horrifying.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  The word SUUUCCKKER came out of his mouth in slow motion…my brother’s face read, “Holy shit! I’m gonna be dead meat!”  To be fair, I thought he was gonna be dead meat. 

The second the words escaped his lips it was like Ralphie in A Christmas Story yelling “Ooohhh Fuuuccckkk!” as he dropped the tire lug nuts. (And P.S., if you don’t know what I’m talking about than go rent A Christmas Story because, OMG, it’s the best movie EVER). 

My brother was probably shitting his pants. 

My mom said, “Michael, get over here.”  In that voice.  You know that voice. 

My brother looked at me.  I truly felt for him.  Then my mom proceeded to squirt FOUR squirts of liquid Dial soap in his mouth.  She stood there and yelled, “Swallow!” 

I felt like she was a Nazi drill sergeant.  I wanted to cry. 

My brother swallowed.  Then he hiccupped.  A bubble came out.  

The poor kid. 

Maybe because we weren’t even allowed to say “That sucks” at home and I’m rebellious….or maybe it’s my bad temper and aggressive nature….or maybe, most likely, it’s because I’ve worked in the construction industry for several years.  In construction, saying the word “fuck” is like saying the word “fax” in an office.  It’s just second nature.  It just comes out.  Men, women, subs, inspectors, even the banker – all yelled fuck.  All the time. 

I just got so used to saying it that I can’t stop.  I can censor – around my mom and my Grandma – but that gives me anxiety.  I don’t like to censor.  I am me, take it or leave it.  And that’s what I said to my husband when we were headed to Dunkin Donuts. 

“I said fuck when you married me.  You know who I am.” 

He said, “I know, but this is getting a little out of control.  You say it all the time now.  It’s obnoxious.” 

So even though I HATE being criticized I decided he does have a point.  I DO say it all the time.  I DO over use it.  I DO have a baby on the way. 

With great sadness, I admitted defeat.  I decided it’s time to clean up my potty mouth.  I can still use any other swear word I fancy at any time and under any circumstances, thank God, I simply can not say FUCK.  I started a penny jar.  If I say FUCK (not counting this blog post for goodness sakes!) then I owe the jar a penny. 

I know a penny doesn’t sound like much.  But, that’s precisely how bad my mouth is.  If I did $1.00 I would end up broke!  I started this challenge on Sunday, April 11th.  As of today, Wednesday, April 14th, I have 19 cents in there.  

- I don’t count it if I say it and no one hears it (because then was it really said?)
- I don’t count it if I think it.
- I don’t count it if I write WTF.
- I don’t count it if I’m telling a story and someone else said the “F” word.  I mean, they said it.  I’m just repeating what they said?
- I do count it if I write it an e-mails, except to my BFs, because LORDY, that’s a lot of pennies!
- I do count it if I write it as such: F*ck (I think that one is questionable, personally…) 

SO………wish me luck friends.  I’m doing this for 1 month.  I will update you afterwards with how this challenge went and how much money is in my penny jar.  I will be donating the change to The Ronald McDonald House (http://rmhc.org/), so if you know me and you catch me, feel free to call me out on it!  I may tell you to fuck off but then there’s another penny for the children.

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