I don't mean to bitch (but really I do...)

I want to start this off by saying I love old people. Is that rude? But it's true. I was practically raised in a nursing home (my mom worked in one and childcare was limited). I volunteer at my local VA and hang with the vets during bingo. Let me tell you - nothing is scarier than a bunch of former Army guys catching a Marine cheating at bingo. He can "Ooo RAH!" all he wants; if B 4 wasn't called, it WASN'T CALLED and he will have 5 guys offering to personally kick his cheating ass back to his room.

With that being said, I would like to ask one teeny, tiny favor to all the "old" folk out there: Stop doing things on my time. I don't think I'm asking too much. All I am asking for is to go to the bank on my lunch hour and get in and out. I get pissed when I'm stuck in line behind five 73-year olds who got there "early" so they could catch Maury Pauvich at 1:30pm (yea Dad, I'm talking to you). Spoiler alert: We never find out who the father of LaShawnda's baby is! Big shocker there.

Or maybe I want to get to work early one morning. Is it too much to ask to have an easy-breezy drive in at 7:10am on a Tuesday? Apparently, yes, that IS asking too much. Sucks to be me, but Ethel and Bea need to take their morning drive to nowhere at 8 miles per hour BELOW the speed limit. Oh, you're stuck behind them? Sucks to be you; Ethel's rear-view mirror is turned straight down to the floor so she doesn't even notice you are tailgating.

And then there's the dentist. Just once I'd like to snag an appointment during "regular people hours." You know, maybe a 2pm on a Thursday; I can take a half day off from work, grab some lunch, head over at my leisure... But NOPE. Forget about booking any kind of appointment between 9am and 3pm. Even if I get lucky and sneak in at 1pm-ish, I walk into a waiting room full of gray-haired folks who all have appointments ranging from 2:30pm-5:30pm. REALLY?!? Can't these people just drop off their teeth and come back later?

So that's my gripe for today. Oh wait. Did I say this blog was about old people? HA! My mistake. I actually meant it was about unemployed people who were milking the welfare system and are looking forward to the joys of Obamacare. It's bad enough they're mooching our tax dollars; now they are mooching our free time. Yeah, I have a problem with that. Bummer alert: This blog ended up being one.

I think the Honey Badger is on to something.

If you haven't watched the YouTube video about how badass the honey badger is, you need to get on that before you keep reading this blog. It's cool, I'll wait.

(waiting...............and waiting some more........)


Good stuff, eh? Okay, now this blog will make sense to you.

I don't think I am alone when I say I think society has gotten too soft. Everyone is afraid of insulting someone, even if it means sacrificing their own principles and comfort level. I am here to say Forget That! If the Pope can quit his job, if the Mayans can reset thousands of years, then gosh darn it, we should be able to say what is on our minds and not be afraid of ringing in 2014 all alone because we insulted a few friends & family members along the way.

I think 2013 should be the year people stop being polite and start getting back to basics. Put your big boy/girl pants on; shit is about to get real.

People have told me that I am rigid, uncompromising, obnoxious and generally speaking, uptight. I cannot say I disagree with any of those descriptions, but I do disagree that I am any of those things all of the time. I would say it's an 85/15 split. Most of the time, I'd say I'm fairly relaxed and easy going. Here are some of the things I ask for full cooperation and consideration on. Like a power-lifting midget, this list might be small, but it is powerful:

Use a coaster (or I'll break your fingers). By my calculations I have already spent approximately 1/6 of my life dusting my furniture. I will make your life permanently uncomfortable if my time was spent in vain because you are too lazy to use a coaster for your Diet Dr. Pepper.

If I'm on the phone (not with you), don't talk to me or the person I am on the phone with. 1 - It's rude, and 2 - I cannot multi-task and have two conversations at once. It's hard enough for me even to use a phone, let alone juggle two conversations. Cut me some slack and I will give you the same courtesy. If you choose to ignore this warning, you risk getting an epic kick to the shins.

Be on time. It's really not that hard to be on time, and you're really not that important to be late. Sorry Narcissus. I apologize, Joaquin Phoenix. You're just not that important. Hell, I'M not that important. All I ask is that you don't hold up my meeting; chances are I'm hungry, I have to pee, or I just have shit to do. If my party starts at 6pm, show up at 6pm. I don't want your ass camped out on my couch at 3am all because you decided to make an appearance at 10pm. My life is not your 24 hour convenient store.

If you ask a rude question, expect a rude response.

If we are in the same crowd together, don't stand next to me and fart. Granted, the random Fart in the Crowd is usually a stranger (or maybe I'm giving everyone I know too much credit), but come on. What makes the crowd fart so gross is the body heat of the crowd. Besides, I don't need your fart in my $10 beer.

So with the new year upon us, I think we should all drop our inhibitions and just tell it like it is. Call people out. Break some fingers for the rings on your coffee table. Stand up straight and say No! I will not buy more Girl Scout Cookies! (okay, but just one more box) Stick to your guns - If someone is talking about you behind your back, respond to them to their face.

If we all follow the rule of the Honey Badger, we can put Tums out of business. It's pretty simple, actually. Just don't give a shit.

I'm kind of a jerk...

...which was pointed out to me tonight by two guys I had hired to change the locks on my house so I could make my psuedo-husband my exhusband. Is that ironic? Funny how people develop an opinion of you over a little incident like that.

But...I'd be a liar if I said I didn't think twice about the crap they said about me tonight. They might actually have a point; I'm harsh, I'm crass, I lack an internal filter... and it all made me wonder why anyone still talks to me. I guess I AM kind of a douchebag. Here's just one example:

I mailed out my Christmas cards shortly after Turkey Day. It wasn't much of a surprise when a friend of mine sent me a text message last week asking for my address (obviously wanting to send a card in return). Quick back story: This friend of mine got married overseas in March 2012, held a stateside 'reception' in May of 2012. I gave a nice chunk of change to the newlyweds when I attended the local reception. The story ends there. Unacceptable, and let me explain why.

So....after receiving the "what's your address" text I responded with my address and "Are you finally mailing out Thank You cards?" Yes, it was rude of me to call him out, but with that being said, it's pretty goddamn rude to NOT send Thank You cards to people who gave gifts at your half-assed, "we just want money" reception. I might have been rude by pointing that out, but they are ten times ruder by NOT saying Thank You.

Then I got thinking...this isn't the first time someone hasn't thanked me for being nice. I went to a wedding several years ago where the bride was 7 months pregnant and I gave $100 to eat mac & cheese with plasticwear. I never got a Thank You for that, either.

Here's where things get CRAZY. My sister is NOTORIOUS (yes, it deserves ALL CAPITAL LETTERS) for not only NOT thanking me for gifts, but not even acknowledging they've arrived in the mail in the first place. Really? How is that okay? I mean, okay, I get it, you don't want to take the 1 minute out of your day to call me during your commute (like you would normally do 4 days a week) to say THANKS, but at least have the decency to say, "Oh hey, I got your card/package," so I at least know the mailman didn't steal it. I am at the point I don't even care if I get a "Thanks" or "This Sucks" or "Go to Hell," I just want to know my shit isn't being lifted by some hoarder postal service person with a mental condition.

All of this raging rudeness makes me want to go into business making "You're Welcome" cards, for those rude bastards who are "too cool" to thank you for your time and generosity. Beat them to the punch with a snazzy You're Welcome card! Coming to stores near you...

I guess I'm not sure how this plays out. Am I the rude one for calling out people for their lack of manners? Because I don't think so. And with a new year slowly (but surely) creeping up on us, I'm thinking this is going to be my New Year's Resolution. Everyone Everywhere...Consider this your official warning: If you are going to be rude and/or ignorant, I will unequivocally, 100%, call you out on your piss-poor social skills.

So go ahead and "pretend" you didn't get my gift card for your birthday (Nancy). I will bring it to your attention. Pretend your kids didn't get my holiday cards (sister). I will call you, Rudeness, and point out your lack of manners. And just to take this one step further... Ms Manager of the Team I Work With: You can pretend to care about my "input" on the team's progress, but unbeknownst to you I'm going to blind copy my manager, your manager and a third, "random" manager on that "progress report." Needless to say, you can suck it. Hard.

I'm sick and tired of rude people and people who flat-out don't give a shit. And with that being said...Who the FUDGE puts a gumball machine in a bathroom (refer to picture in post)? Those people will be getting a letter from me AND the PA Health Department. Blind copied as well. Because that's how I roll and if they don't like it, they can suck it. Hard.

I guess you can sign me,

Used To Have Friends in 2012

I pretty much do whatever Oprah tells me to do.

If you've never cooked anything more than cereal, you can skip the first paragraph of this blog. But if you have actually cooked a meal, keep reading.

I made chicken the other night and tossed the scraps into the garbage. In less than 8 hours, you'd have thought I had a 9-week-old dead hooker in my kitchen, it smelled so bad. It reminds me never to murder a chicken hooker, because that's not something you want in the trunk of your car overnight... it's a dead giveaway (pun intended).

Last night I was watching TV and the emergency warning system shut down the show I was watching to warn of a tornado in the area. All viewers were told to go into their basements. I don't have a basement...that's kind of a problem. But it did make me put things in perspective, things like, "Well, I don't have to do laundry tomorrow," and "At least I get out of November's mortgage payment." But there are those other, deeper things, that ran through my mind. Those things like, "I should've apologized to my sister for reading her diary in 7th grade," or "I've always wanted to carve my name into a tree," and especially, "Wow, this really sucks if I die tonight..." (the strange part was, I was compelled to call one person but changed my mind because I thought it would make for an awkward conversation..."Hey, what's up? Yeah, I might be dead in 3 hours...") In case you haven't figured it out by now, I survived. You're welcome.

Life is all about perspective; I guess that's the point. Like the guy I recently heard about who almost lost his hand in an accident. Luckily he didn't, but he still cannot use it. That's great and all, but while he heals there are those pain in the ass things that we don't always think about: Sure, he can wipe his ass but how does he wash one hand? Or, how does he use a shovel? He just became a slower typer. He can't easily pour cooked pasta into a strainer. Ever try to eat a taco with one hand?

Perspective. It's pretty much synonmous with Reality. They are both in our minds. People can object with one another but reality is all about our own perspective. And that's terrifying, especially with crazy fanatics out there. Like people who think Burger King makes the BEST. BURGERS. EVER. Or those crazies who think when aliens invade, they'll want to be our friends. OR the people who think everyone is inherently good (insert insane, screechy laughter here) We know who we are.

Like my armpits. I waxed them last night. Best decision I ever made. You might disagree, but it is only my reality that counts.

And the upcoming holidays. I bet if I spend this holiday season sober, I'll find out football is boring, my dad isn't funny and I really cannot play the guitar. It's all about perspective.

Bored? Call this number: 610-331-0770

I don't know who it belongs to (well, I have an idea of who it is). What I can tell you is this: I don't think I am making their Christmas card list this year. I could be wrong, but considering this mystery number sent me a text saying only: I hate u, I have to assume they're not big fans. Now that I think about it, they didn't use punctuation. That makes ALL the difference, especially with mystery phone numbers. It could be the difference between sleeping with all the lights on in the house with a carving knife on my nightstand *cough* (not that I did that) or feeling bad because a fellow earthling is simply confused. I hate u? (maybe they're on the fence) I hate u! (they get excited about hating people) Or perhaps, I hate u?! (unsure of how to spell their pronouns) In any case, I think it is pretty rude and gutless for people to use someone else's phone to send mean text messages. I get it. You hate me. Join the club, take a number, get in line...there's more where that came from. There are days I hate myself. Granted, those days don't come along often because I am pretty freakin' awesome, but you know...some days, I'd break up with me. I'd use the toilet and not flush. I'd eat the last of my cupcakes without offering to share with me. But I wouldn't send myself an anonymous "I hate u" text message. In all honesty, though, I cannot say I'm surprised. People either love me or hate me; I don't have an "in-between" personality where people are on the fence and I am okay with that. What bugs me though, is that I'm a private citizen and now I get anonymous hate texts? Seriously? Here's what I think: I think if you have something to say, stand up and say it like a man to my face, not behind the cloak of Verizon Wireless from an unnamed cell number (yes, I also lost $9.99 trying to figure out who it was). And because I like to practice what I preach, I am going to tell all of YOU what I really think (better sit down, this one is gonna be a doozie): -Your dog isn't that cute. -Your kid isn't that smart. -You're not funny. -Your exgirlfriend was hot and you're an idiot for screwing it up. -I hate your haircut. -Your sister is prettier. -If I had balls they'd be bigger than yours. -I'm jealous of your boobs. -Relax. -You need to wear makeup.- Don't you feel better? I know I do. So let me be "Frank" (ha ha): I'm too much of a wuss to call that strange number back in order to find out what asshole hates me. But I DO have faith that at least one of you will call that number. If you do, please leave a comment on this blog telling all of us who it belongs to...because that's when the REAL fun will begin. (insert creepy clown smiley face here)

The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter. - Winston Churchill

So how 'bout that new health care bill? I haven't blogged in quite some time because I really haven't had much material. Go figure, I still don't. No, I am not even touching the political stuff. No need to get your panties in a bunch. I only reserve my discussions of politics and religion for my minority friends (I think I am up to 3). Bad segway: I work with a guy who is getting married in a few months and today he told me how he put "fun" items on his wedding gift registry. You know, fun things like a Dungeons and Dragons book, art supplies and a blue ray DVD player. Is that what the kids are doing nowadays? I mean, registering for those kinds of gifts really expose who you are as a person. Are you ready for that? Is the guest list? D&D? Uh, yeah, if I go to that wedding I'm probably going to eat all the shrimp just to piss off the other nerd guests. But realistically, I bet most of them are allergic anyway and the few remaining hate cocktail sauce, so...more shrimp for me. I know, I know, to each his own. If some jackass wants to turn his wedding registry into a Letter to Santa, then that's his perogative. I don't have to like it, but I don't think it's right. In fact, I bet he is the "under" toilet paper guy. Oh, you know who I'm talking about. There are two types of people in this world: Those who put the toilet paper roll on properly, and those who put it on so the sheet sneaks up from underneath. I've done the math on this. I've been places, I've seen things. My statistical brain-math says that 95% of people are "over the top" toilet paper loaders. Then there's that 4%. What are you people, farmers? Who taught you to live? Underneath toilet paper. Riiiight. Next you'll tell me pork isn't a white meat (hmmm?) Lastly, we have that lingering 1% of noncommittals who try to say they don't care if the paper is over or under. Liars!! You are the same people who act like you don't like the taste of beer. (figures they'd be women) Speaking of beer... I came up with a solid marketing compaign for tampons today. Personally, I like to keep mine in the freezer. Nothing helps beat the heat on a hot summer day like a chilly tampon. So check it out: Instead of the stupid commercials with the cute cheerleaders, or the anti-commercials against the cute cheerleader commercials, why not turn a woman's menstral cycle into a party? Let's face it, the one thing most guys would kill to hear is, "Honey, I am NOT pregnant!" PAR-TAY! Let's make it one. Picture it: Hot chicks in bikinis washing cars, maybe a water fight breaks out, beer starts falling from the sky and then the announcer comes in: "Got beer? Don't forget the Tampax!" It may be weird at first, but trust me ladies, this will work. Men will no longer bitch and moan when we ask them to run to the store to grab us a box. Why? 'Cause they dodged a bullet that month, baby! It's time to celebrate! I know, I'm a genius. Thanks for reading.

The more things change, the more they stay the same after all.

For all you non-literary types, that's from "A Separate Peace." Not to be confused with "The Catcher in the Rye." Similar character structure, totally different scenario. In a nutshell... in the first book, a guy lies about how his friend dies. In the second, the guy admits he lies all the time for no apparent reason. The same concept, but different perspectives. Crazy. Both stories remind me of when I was a kid. I got messed with all the time. No, really. ALL the time. I was one of those dumbass, gullible kids you could tell anything to and they would believe it. (funny, I don't think I've changed much...) To get me to take a nap, my mom would tell me that as soon as my "eyes fell asleep", I could come out and play. I bought it every single time. I remember having my grandfather tell me that chocolate milk came from brown cows. That ended up being my very first debate; I was in kindergarten, and my main argument was, "My Pappa wouldn't make that up!" Flash forward to the end of that day when I got home from school and told my mom (in absolute disgust) how the kids in school had the AUDACITY to say all cows make white milk. To which she replied, "Pappa made that up." Whaaaaat? Then there was the cold cement. We would sit on the cement steps leading up to the porch and Pappa would say, "Don't sit on the cold concrete like that! You'll get hemorroids like your grandmother!" Poor Gram... he blamed a lot on her. And then there was sugar. If we were eating too much candy, or licking our fingers and sticking them in the sugar bowl, we were told we couldn't have any more because "buggies will grow in your stomach." You know, I didn't realize that wasn't the truth until around 6th grade when we learned in health class about stomach acids and stuff. But... ...I also thought you could get pregnant from kissing a guy until I was about 15. Until then I hadn't planned on having kids and figured if I got married, I wouldn't kiss my new husband, I'd just shake his hand at the altar. Did I mention I believed in Santa Clause until I was 13? And I'm okay with that, because I'm pretty sure my sister figured it out only the year before (as I throw her under the bus with me...) AND....it just hit me this past holiday season that the song, "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause" was about the dad BEING Santa Clause! What the fudge!!! I never realized that the song was about Mom kissing Dad. Yeah, I'm an idiot. I admit it and I'm not ashamed. It's an ambiguous song. Sue me. Call me Forrest Gump, but I like that I can't sniff out bullshit from a mile away. I like that I get offended when I make eye contact in the supermarket and say "Hi!" and the other person doesn't respond. Where I come from, people say "Hey." We don't need to know each other. We don't care what kind of day you've had. You say "Hey" because, well, that's what we do. So that's my story and I'm sticking to it. I don't like liars, probably because I believe them. Where I come from, it's pretty simple: If you gotta lie about it, you shouldn't do it.