Dear Washington D.C.,
Why don't we just stop the hypocrisy? You're all dipping your wicks in other people's wax, so why does anyone give a crap what Petraeus did or did not do with this apparent lunatic woman? If marital fidelity was a job requirement for every job in our nation's capital, there would be 100,000 help wanted listings in the paper right now. Let's get real and focus on the important stuff. Was he good at the job? I honestly don't know, not being in the CIA myself, but he had a great reputation until this incident. Was this an error of judgment? Yeah, it was. Most of us make them at one time or another but we move on. My question is, how does this revelation mean that he is no longer qualified to hold his position? Don't give me the morally charged "How can we trust him?" whine. We didn't fire Clinton. Cheaters get outed and re-elected all the time. Nobody cares what he does on his off time as long as he does his job when he's supposed to. Nobody except the hypocrites in Washington and the media. This is so NOT an issue that the constant coverage and speculation is driving me nuts. If the president had any sense or cajones, he'd politely offer the man his job back and then tell the media to kiss his presidential ass.
Today is a two rant day, so get ready for my next one.
Dear Yahoo Messenger Bots/Trolls,
I realize that you have a job to do. You need to lure men to your nasty little web sites so they can pay money to look at pictures that they could see in real life if they paid any attention to their wives/girlfriends. I get that and God bless, you seem to work really hard at it. My question is: what in my obviously feminine screenname leads you to conclude that I would be a good prospect? Presumably you are being paid for hits, so why would you waste your time on me? Just a little effort on your part to distinguish the obviously female names from the rest of the pack would save you time and hopefully increase your productivity.
Thanks so much,
Female Yahoo User who doesn't want to see you naked and or "playing"
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Yes, I Am THAT Mother
Messages between me and my eldest child. He is 24. I am obviously way too involved in his life.
Max : Don't worry about me today.
me: i worry about you everyday
me: but I assume that means you're staying late
Max : Yes.
me: so I won't worry about that
Max : Kay.
me: I only have one question, son
me: Do you have on clean underwear?
Max : Yes.
me: Thank you and enjoy your evening.
Max : You too.
Max : Don't worry about me today.
me: i worry about you everyday
me: but I assume that means you're staying late
Max : Yes.
me: so I won't worry about that
Max : Kay.
me: I only have one question, son
me: Do you have on clean underwear?
Max : Yes.
me: Thank you and enjoy your evening.
Max : You too.
--The fact that he answered the question is only slightly less disturbing than the fact that I asked it in the first place. We have dysfunction written on our foreheads. Or something like that.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Today's rant is brought to you by Ty-D-Bowl.
If you are old enough to remember this guy, I'm hoping you don't need the following tips. If you do, then God love you and keep you safe when you board the short bus in the morning.
I am so sick of the way people treat public restrooms. Especially students at the university where I work who are SUPPOSED to be young adults with some sense. I'm not original or alone in this, but it has been really pissing me off lately, so here goes:
Ladies, your ass is not a delicate, germ-free flower. Sit it ON the seat and quit hovering and spraying all over the place. You are less likely to catch a disease from the toliet seat than you are from a leper in some shanty town in a third-world country. (Unless you're going to hang in a shanty town in a third world country, you're pretty safe, I think. If you are going to do that, wear a surgical mask and some adult diapers.) Your piss all over the toliet seat is just what I need when I'm full up and in a hurry. It is NOT my job to clean up after your nasty bitches. Either sit or wipe up when you're done.
Next, public restroom means public restroom. It doesn't mean you and your friends need to grab all the sink space so you can apply your seven layers of cosmetics before you run to class each morning. Scoot over and let me wash my hands, please. And don't roll your frigging eyes at me, little girl. I eat little girls like you for breakfast. You are stringy from the bulimia and greasy from the hair products and makeup, but I'm a fat, hungry bitch so watch out. (Extension of this thought....if you spill makeup on the counter or in the sink CLEAN IT UP. The staff here is not your maid service. They shouldn't have to clean half a bottle of foundation out of the sink everyday).
Third: SHUT YOUR DAMN PHONE OFF. For several reasons, sweetie. First, I don't want to hear that Darlene thought she might be pregnant but it was just a false alarm. Darlene probably doesn't want everyone in the john hearing that either. You need to shut the fuck up so my shy bladder has time to do it's thing. Second, Aunt Sally doesn't need to hear 10 toliets flushing to know that you think she's boring and only worth talking to while you take a dump. Believe me, if I hear you talking on the phone in the stall, I will flush every toliet in the place just to piss you off. It's rude, it's classless and it shows that you have no upbringing. Unless your innards are falling out of your ass or vagina, you don't need to make a phone call just then. I promise.
Fourth: The restroom is not a lunch room. When I hear you open your soda or your bag of chips while you are sitting on the crapper, I want to climb over the stall and flush your head a few times. Are you serious? You can't wait two minutes (and after you wash your hands) to have that snack? You, madam, are probably beyond redemption and should just take to shitting in a trench for the rest of your life.
Lastly, if you make a mess CLEAN IT UP. Whether it is the sink, the toliet or the floor, if you make a mess it is YOUR responsibility to clean it up. If you flush a tampon or your first bowel movement in 3 weeks, make sure the toliet is FLUSHED before you leave the stall. Throw your wrappers and your paper towels in the trash can, not on the floor. Your Mom may allow you to be a pig at home, your husband may not mind the four months of mold you allowed to creep up the walls in your apartment, but those of us who use the same public restroom as you would rather you didn't leave your frigging mess for us to find.
If you are reading the above tips and saying to yourself "Who does these things?", I invite you to visit any university and to to the ladies room in any building on any floor. These people are not ladies in any real sense of the word. It's time we older broads educate the delicate young flowers of today. Or bring back the Ty-D-Bowl man.
If you are old enough to remember this guy, I'm hoping you don't need the following tips. If you do, then God love you and keep you safe when you board the short bus in the morning.
I am so sick of the way people treat public restrooms. Especially students at the university where I work who are SUPPOSED to be young adults with some sense. I'm not original or alone in this, but it has been really pissing me off lately, so here goes:
Ladies, your ass is not a delicate, germ-free flower. Sit it ON the seat and quit hovering and spraying all over the place. You are less likely to catch a disease from the toliet seat than you are from a leper in some shanty town in a third-world country. (Unless you're going to hang in a shanty town in a third world country, you're pretty safe, I think. If you are going to do that, wear a surgical mask and some adult diapers.) Your piss all over the toliet seat is just what I need when I'm full up and in a hurry. It is NOT my job to clean up after your nasty bitches. Either sit or wipe up when you're done.
Next, public restroom means public restroom. It doesn't mean you and your friends need to grab all the sink space so you can apply your seven layers of cosmetics before you run to class each morning. Scoot over and let me wash my hands, please. And don't roll your frigging eyes at me, little girl. I eat little girls like you for breakfast. You are stringy from the bulimia and greasy from the hair products and makeup, but I'm a fat, hungry bitch so watch out. (Extension of this thought....if you spill makeup on the counter or in the sink CLEAN IT UP. The staff here is not your maid service. They shouldn't have to clean half a bottle of foundation out of the sink everyday).
Third: SHUT YOUR DAMN PHONE OFF. For several reasons, sweetie. First, I don't want to hear that Darlene thought she might be pregnant but it was just a false alarm. Darlene probably doesn't want everyone in the john hearing that either. You need to shut the fuck up so my shy bladder has time to do it's thing. Second, Aunt Sally doesn't need to hear 10 toliets flushing to know that you think she's boring and only worth talking to while you take a dump. Believe me, if I hear you talking on the phone in the stall, I will flush every toliet in the place just to piss you off. It's rude, it's classless and it shows that you have no upbringing. Unless your innards are falling out of your ass or vagina, you don't need to make a phone call just then. I promise.
Fourth: The restroom is not a lunch room. When I hear you open your soda or your bag of chips while you are sitting on the crapper, I want to climb over the stall and flush your head a few times. Are you serious? You can't wait two minutes (and after you wash your hands) to have that snack? You, madam, are probably beyond redemption and should just take to shitting in a trench for the rest of your life.
Lastly, if you make a mess CLEAN IT UP. Whether it is the sink, the toliet or the floor, if you make a mess it is YOUR responsibility to clean it up. If you flush a tampon or your first bowel movement in 3 weeks, make sure the toliet is FLUSHED before you leave the stall. Throw your wrappers and your paper towels in the trash can, not on the floor. Your Mom may allow you to be a pig at home, your husband may not mind the four months of mold you allowed to creep up the walls in your apartment, but those of us who use the same public restroom as you would rather you didn't leave your frigging mess for us to find.
If you are reading the above tips and saying to yourself "Who does these things?", I invite you to visit any university and to to the ladies room in any building on any floor. These people are not ladies in any real sense of the word. It's time we older broads educate the delicate young flowers of today. Or bring back the Ty-D-Bowl man.
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