Man for a Day. Please!

While I've been surveying the domestic situation during many get togethers over the past quadrillion years. I noticed something interesting. No wait, I mean irritating. No matter where it was the men were enjoying themselves. Relaxing, eating whatever they wanted, laughing, checking out chicks and generally turning a blind eye to anything that could be an unwelcome distraction. You know: chores, screaming children, dogs unfed, trash overflowing, laundry piled up and so on. Women are not! They always seem to be refilling plates, icing beer, trying to keep children alive, taking care of the dog, putting the trash by the curb and working a thankless menial job because our schedules have to revolve around all these other LITTLE annoyances. Oh, and trying to stay pretty. No wonder women are always tired. The men immediately sit and rest when they get somewhere and women well, we get busy with a chore.

By no means am I saying men are lazy. I am just saying that they seem to truly know how to enjoy themselves. Women seem to think it’s selfish if we just sit and enjoy ourselves, that somehow we need to be hostess, Mom and janitor in order to prove we are worthy. WTH is that about? So I wonder, what would it be like if I were a man for a day? I would enjoy food so much more.  I would tell calories and fat to go fuck off while I stuffed my head with ribs, beer, potatoes, and gravy.  And hey If I need to blow my butt trumpet or take a horse sized crap that clogs the only toilet in the house, that’s acceptable and funny because I am a guy today. The other guys will high-five me and give me beer.

Men generally spend 30 minutes from shower to the front door compared to our 60 plus minutes to get from the shower to the closet. Since I’m gonna be a man today there will be  no need to. I will blissfully skip another thirty or so minutes trying to gauge my water weight gain versus which clothes can accommodate me and then no doubt having to call an emergency conference with a best friend so she can re-assure me I am not a big ole cow but a beautiful  woman who really does look awesome in stretch pants and a mumu. Not today, though. I am going to take a quick shower, play with my dangly wangly and slip on my jeans and flip-flops. I’m a guy – so I am going scruffy and shirtless today. I have shit to do.

First , I’m gonna catch up on my recorded movies. It’s a good thing I have 5.5 hours of me time since I have been recording shit to watch for years. (Women on the other hand have been busy working, cooking, cleaning, doing homework with kids and shuttling the little bastards angels around every waking hour that our me time has been limited to the rare minute we get to go to the bathroom. ) While being a man, I need to go check out the new BBQ pits, maybe get some new socks or sunglasses then stop by a happy hour or two to catch up with the guys and stare at hot chicks.

 I’ll be sure to scratch and adjust my junk a lot because that seems to be a man must. I will finally be able to solve the mystery of is the junk arranging a want to or a have to. I imagine most women would want to know what sex feels like from a mans perspective. Not me! NO THANKS, if I wanted to do that many push ups I would have used my free time to exercise! Plus, I’ve already diddled myself in the shower and have been handling my mini me all day long, hence all the junk adjustments. I will wrap up my man day by indulging in the 8.5 hours of sleep men get. WTF? They get more than four hours of sleep everyday? Can I be a man for a week? I may never leave bed at all. Hopefully, there will be some hot lady type in the house to bring me beer, make my meals and cater to me everyday.

The thing I will love the most about dangle day is just being and not have a gazillion to-do’s nagging me.

Dear dumbass co-worker

Memo’s to all the Work-Place Dumbassery: 

Dear Co-worker…..

I don't care what you and your husband watched on TV last night, nor do I care what your opinion on the show/movie is. I don't value your fucking opinion because your interests are nowhere near mine. For instance, I'm more interested in clubbing a baby seal than talking to you about anything personal or work related for that matter. And when you are doing data entry, you don't always have to turn around and tell me something funny a respondent said. Fuck off.

Wear some fucking shoes, ladies. Fat kankles wearing flip-flops around the office and that insufferable slap-slap-slap of a nasty pair of sandals whacking the bottom of your nasty, crusty, flaky, yellow-toenail-having feet is enough to make me call in sick.

When you are busy, you know what will help you get your work done? Doing your work. Do you know what will NOT help? Jawing off about how damn busy you are!

I don't give a fuck about your cats, no seriously, I don't. There's a reason I have my fucking earphones in all day and don't look at any of you.

If you want me to fucking do something, don't fucking tell me through an email, then send another email asking if I got the first email. Get up off your fat fucking ass and move the 10 feet it takes to talk to me, or just yell over your goddamned cubicle wall. I can hear you. Even over my headphones.

Why the hell would you walk all the way in here to interrupt me to show me a damn picture? No, I don't want to see a picture of your niece, I want to eat my lunch and have a little peace and quiet.

Hey fat secretary with type II diabetes, stop complaining all morning about how annoying your diabetes diet is and how you can't eat what you like and then eating McDonalds every day for lunch. Your retinas are tearing because of your sedentary lifestyle filled with saturated fat laced meals. Your complaints about your supposed diet lead me to believe you at least know that eating burgers, fries, and sweet tea every day is bad so do something about it. Also, brush your fucking teeth and get a new wardrobe. Oh and nobody cares about your dogs and if you are tired of your alcoholic husband spending all of your money, tell him to stop or leave his ass. and while you are at it, do the fucking admin work that is piling up on your desk.

If I ask you a question you don't need to go all patronizing 'father knows best' on me and bring me over to the computer screen and take me through click by click with your fat ass finger... just tell me where the file is. I'm not an idiot. Also, please stop leaning on my cubicle wall and holding ridiculous conversations with me when I'm clearly working... or even when I'm clearly not working. Your nasal accent is extremely grating.

The yogurt/bowl/container is EMPTY or at least it's 98% empty. If you are going to eat at your desk, don't EFFIN scrape it for the last remaining ATOM while we all listen to the spoon grate against your container.  Otherwise Im gonna take that spoon and stab you in the eye socket.

You work in Human Resources. Therefore, I shouldn't have to explain to you that your costume (which is about two sizes too tight) is inappropriate to wear to work. I don't give a rat's ass what you wear to the street corner tonight, but don't wear it in the office.

Shaving sux!

I  freakin hate shaving. When The Man is out of town or its winter I totally skip it and run around like a gnarled up alley cat. Pits and legs go all Buckwheat in a headlock because the only one thats gonna see that shit is my dog and she aint got a whole lot to say about unwanted hair.  Let’s be honest shaving the netherregion is just damn dangerous. There you are with one leg propped up on the tub, slippery ass soap in one hand and sharp razor in another. Really? When did this ingenious plan become a good idea?

Not only are you trying to avoid looking like a Michael Myers vs. ChiaPet crime scene,  you can’t see because the water and shampoo is burning your freakin eyeballs out of their sockets. You got one leg hiked up on the side of the tub as you procede to keep your balance on one foot on the slippery ass tub where it is most apparent that all the "cleaning products" have decided to conspire together to make you fall on your cellulite ridden fatass. Bam... crash... grown! 

Any pride you thought you might have left and could gather back together, just flew out the damn window when your man decided to bust in the door because he heard a big LOUD noise when you smashed your fatass on the cold tile while pulling down the shower curtain, pretty much recreating the Psycho scene, without all the blood.

You certainly dont have the presence of mine to suck your gut in and flip your tit back over your shoulder while he laughs his ass off at you because even in this situation you have the thought process that he may see your gut or boob lying in a position that will make him go running for the hills.

Then he’ll try to be helpful and suggest you get a Brazilian Wax to avoid any future misshaps or psycho scene re-enactments. M'kay what an awesome idea let me have Inga from the ole depilatory joint basically remove my ass toupee with hot molten wax.  Hmm sounds delightful!   and I will surely take that into account just as soon as you let me use my dull tweezers to pluck your ballsack hair out one by one. 

Really?

Really?

Dont you just love it when you have that person in your life that just pisses you off to no end. I love it when they come up to you with that meek, helpless dumbass sulky look on their jackass faces like what they have going on is just so freakin traumatic. Bitch Please! You dont know what traumatic is!
Not that I am the type of person that doesnt have a sympathetic bone in my body for someone truly in need. But when you come at me with your dumbassery I just want to cut you in the thhhoat and bitch slap the piss out of you. But I digress.

And they ask:
"Are you available to make this call for me tomorrow because its 5 oclock and they are already closed and I've got other shit I would rather be doing or want to do and would rather you take care of my responsibilities?" Which is not exactly the honesty question you will get but you get the idea.
Ok so Im busy and say "No". Then without blinking an eye there's the why not? question.
Like, freakin seriously, why not? Are you really asking me that? is what I'm thinking. As i feel my blood pressure starting to rise I answer politely "I have plans". All the while Im thinking, it took you 10 minutes to get off of your fatass to walk over here to ask me to do something that you could have already done before they closed, in the time it took you to walk over here. You freakin mouth breather!
Then wouldnt you know it, they ask What plans? Ok so Im so about to go freakin apeshit on this hefer.
"Seriously?" "Yes. What plans?" m'kay I think to myself, I know she aint really going here so I answer Im going Goat huntin. "Excuse me, did you say goat hunting?" "Yep goat huntin."

"What is goat hunting?"
"I ride my bike up to a farm in rural North Carolina, carve a spear out of a tree branch, then quietly stalk and kill a goat. It takes hours and hours."

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"There's no cell service there."

So Piss off and handle your own shit!

The Grocery Store

 

I was at the grocery store once again (I seem to live there but when you have a 16 year old, 5'11 190lb son ya kinda have to) anywho, this woman, and I use that term loosely, kept eye balling me. She would follow me to every aisle and just stare and give me the scowl look and evil eye.  So I,  totally doing the mental checklist: Do I have a booger? Did I start my period and now my  tan pants are ruined? Maybe my boob escaped. Shit, is my thong showing? Maybe I got my stank on. After a frenzy of super secret private eye spot checking myself, I finally figured it out. Me: 120 lbs, 5'4" inches tall, rocking a cool outfit and having an epic hair day (rare but today was one of them). Her: 220 lbs,  tall, wearing the “I gave up a long time ago" sweat pant/grungy t-shirt ensemble with house shoes and having an “I haven’t washed my hair in a month” day. Yes, that’s what it was. Bitch didn’t like the smell and look of AWESOME. My entire outfit cost me $50 so it’s not like I spent the day rolling around at Macys. I did, however, bring along my personal dignity.

We all have those days when  we venture out into society and don’t even have the energy to brush our teeth. I get that- I do it on occasion (but cleverly disguised in a ball cap and sunglasses). But why the evil eye and scowl? How about a high-five and let’s sneak over to the wine aisle and “sample” the goods. Have a little woman to woman I hate everything and men bitch-a-thon. Seriously, don’t make me drop kick your skank ass. I could so do it even only being 5'4". I over came my  urge to punch this skank in the grill and instead politely informed her that I appreciated her admiring me at every turn but I feel I should let her know that I don’t date women. Amazingly, I did not see her again after that.  Amazing how a few kind words can get the desired result!

Ok Here is the most delusional  statement after the good heart and soul lashing you just received from the one that just ripped you to shreds.  “I love him and I want to work it out”, you rationalize… or try to anyway. Are you trying to go insane? Meds  you need freakin meds! Because this is all you will think about when he is out: are they having fun, are they having wild monkey sex right now and is he coming home. Did you notice I left out “if”? Because “if” doesn’t live at your house anymore. No more chats with your BFF’s about “if” he ever did that I would kill him. ”If” has turned into the very scary monster we call “when”. He will do it again- guaranteed. You’re going to lose your mind and what’s left of your dignity if you are willing to lay on the floor and be walked on. HELLO, Pull in the welcome mat! For the record- you may love him- but he does not love you. That is worth repeating.  NO ONE that loves you would hurt you to the core and leave you a hot mess wreck of tears. No one that loves you would use you, lie to you, disregard you and expect you to lay down and take it. Nope. And that leaves YOU in charge of loving YOU. So do yourself, and the people who really do care about you, a favor and love yourself enough to kick his sorry ass out or you pack your shit and go. Someone has to leave- make sure you decide who. The “when” is right fucking now, friend, as soon as you know about it and verify your available funds are in your bank account- he is now without you to fall back on. His Plan B (that is you)just changed the locks and she is moving on.

Seiously?  Just a coffee and groceries please!

So I finally decided to pull out my scale, and for whatever reason I decided to step on the lying son of a bitch. Jeez Louise what an epic train wreck. So right after I got off of the suicide prevention hot line and stopped crying. I needed some peace, quiet and some alone time to search my soul and possibly kick myself in the ass for not looking like I still did when I was 25 (I mean thats realisitic right?) So I went grocery shopping. I realize most people would rather stab themselves in the jugular than grocery shop but I dont mind it. Especially to Harris Teeter because I can get a coffee and drink it while I shop.  Its a one stop shop in my opinion. I find a good parking spot and jump out of my car ready for my coffee and relaxing shopping experience. I order my all time favorite low-calorie, no sugar, caramel macchiato (of course unless they have an awesome seasonal coffee). This is when I decide that Starbuck’s employees must get bonuses rated on a scale of 1 to Bitch Slap in regards to how badly they can annoy a customer with a shit storm of questions.

“What can I get started for you?”

“I would love a Caramel Macchiato lite, no whip and no sweetener.” See- I am pretty sure I just covered all of the information they needed.

“Would you like the syrup added?”

“No thank you, no sugar. Please.”

“It tastes better with an extra pump of chocolate!”

WTF! Which part of lite are you missing. Do I LOOK like I need EXTRA chocolate? My fucking scale needs therapy from this morning’s weigh in and bitch attack and you want to offer me more fat for my ass. Excellent, douche canoe, now I will definitely need that suicide prevention line on speed dial. But I say with a smile, “No. No thank you. I would not like any sugar, syrup, chocolate or any extra other ass expanding ingredients added.”

Barista laughs, “Oh that is so funny!” Bitch, I am not laughing. I am about to cross over from Very Happy to Get a Caramel Macchiato Lite and become your worst nightmare AKA as Fuck Suicide, I’d Rather Go to Jail for Punching You in the Puss bone. Now blend my coffee before an epic bitch battle breaks out here in your shiny hipster infested lobby. M’kay? It looks like my irritable, evil eye look has delivered the appropriate message, perhaps I will now get my coffee so I can go shopping and be happy.

“Did you want whipped cream? I always put extra!”

Seriously? Really?  Ok Ok, I will not kill her. I will not kill her. I will not kill her.  I have to say it to my self several times to return from this sea of red I have just been thrown into.

”No. Thank. Youuuu.” Just give me my freakin coffee, Jeez Louise!

Life sentence in prison averted and coffee in hand, I walk back to the grocery store and wrestle my cart out of the tangled mess at the door. I strap in my purse, get out my list and pen and look for all things green, leafy, healthy and on the perimeter of the store. Things are going awesome, I am calming down and starting to have big hopes and dreams about this being a calming experience while I sip on my delicious coffee. And then they appeared. A screaming, fighting, back talking bunch of out of control bratty minions with oblivious parental units ignoring their bad behavior! I guess as long as the brats are bothering anyone but them , it’s okay. Wouldn’t you know it, this would be the day that I don’t have my tazer or Xanax with me so I quickly move on to the next aisle. More of them there. I look at my watch,  and am thinking is it five or something? Why are there so many freakin people here in the grocery store screwing up my chi?Where did my calming shopping trip go? Then I get the ah ha moment, awww Fuck me! It’s the 15th and everyone just got paid and there will soon be a WWF smack down match going on by the meal deals and Little Debbie snack cakes! There will be no peace. No quiet. But that trip to jail is starting to look like a strong possibility.