Tuesday, November 4, 2014

You have to wash ALL OF THEM!

I think that one day I should really use my blog for good instead of for bitching, but until then I'm going to bitch. I have enough stress and bullshit built up inside right now that if one more person says some stupid bullshit to me I'm going to explode and it's going to get ugly, so let's get some of this out...

Fuck your hashtags. They're not cute. They're ridiculous. #happymonday? #girlproblems? #sorrynotsorry? How about #gofuckyourself? Is that cute? Because that's about where I'm at with hashtags. I remember when I was younger it was called a POUND SIGN! It was also what I used to play Tic-Tac-Toe on. And at no point in time did it become good grammar to cram our words together like that! We all went through kindergarten and first grade where they made sure we put a finger (or two) width between our words. It's called a space bar...USE IT! And leave the poor pound sign alone!

Speaking of #sorrynotsorry...What the fuck kind of stupid shit is that to even say? Sorry I'm not sorry! Oh yeah? If I had said that when I was a kid, my mom would've smacked me so hard that my freckles would've flown off my body and I'd be left with my pale Irish skin coloring (or lack there of)...No joke. (Don't even pretend that's not true, mom. I'm an asshole, but I have manners and know when to apologize.) Here's an idea--If you're not sorry, then DON'T SAY A FUCKING THING! How about that? That would be fucking awesome. Just shut your mouth! If I kicked your puppy and said, "Sorry, I'm not sorry!" you'd be like, "She's a fucker!" And you'd be right. Well, you're a fucker every time you write "sorry not sorry" for stupid shit. If you're not sorry, shut up!

Speaking of stupid shit...The other day I had to deal with this guy who got really upset because I caught him doing some seriously shady shit. Anyway, I gave him time to cool off and then he comes back to me all agitated and like freaking out that he wanted to talk to me...but alone. As I stood up to go talk to him, he started jingling the change in his pocket and I was instantly transported to about eight years ago when I still lived in Cali and was working as a pizza delivery driver and a group of punkass 14/15 year old kids were about to rob me. The kid wearing a G-Unit tank top said he had money for me and reached into the pocket of his black basketball shorts and I could hear change jingling around and then he pulled out his fist and cold cocked me. All at once my heart started pounding out of my chest and that fight or flight mode came over me. I hate when this happens because I am always torn on what to do, which just seriously goes to show how indecisive I am that even in an emergency I'm like, "should I stay or should I go?" (You know you wanted to sing the song right now) For reals. This is no joke. Part of me always wants to battle and the sensible side is like, "RUN BITCH!" (I'm aware that I have issues...That's what makes me who I am.) Anyway, I decided to go get someone else to go with me (a guy) just in case. When the other guy came along, this guy who was so upset with me calmed WAY down...like his whole demeanor changed. It was very strange and then I felt like a big pussy for not handling my own shit, you know? Yes, maybe he was going to hurt me, but changed his mind because I brought in this little wimpy guy with me. What really pissed me off is that it's been eight years--EIGHT WHOLE YEARS-- and clearly, those bastard kids still affect me. That's some bullshit right there. I've been so mad at myself since Sunday because of that. People keep telling me that I did the right thing, but I'm still so angry. Those bastards took away my sense of security. Yes, this guy I was dealing with might've seriously wanted to hurt me, but I shouldn't go into a panic attack because some jackass is angry and jingling change in his pocket. Ugh. I hate feeling out of control...even if it's only for like a minute. 

Do you know how loud six kids are? They're so loud. Even just the four we have full-time right now are so loud. I don't know what peace and quiet is until about nine o'clock at night now. I feel so wound up all the time because the kids are always loud and yelling and fighting and making noise because that's what they do and then I have all the stress of work and just everything else...And I have no outlet. (Hence the blog tonight.) I feel like I need to get away from it before I just burst. Let me be clear when I say that it's not just one thing...it's everything combined. Phoenix takes her Confianza and walks around like everything is peachy and I'm over here like, "Why did you only half clean the kitchen? There are pots and pans in the sink." And she's over there like, "Well, they didn't all fit in the dishwasher. I'll wash them tomorrow night." That's not how it works! When you clean the kitchen, you wash ALL the dishes...And if they don't fit in the dishwasher, you wash them by hand! *pulls out hair* I mean, let's be real...you need to wash ALL OF THEM! When dishes was my chore from the time I was like 12 until...well...forever...I had to clean all the dishes. Breaking them meant I would be in trouble, so that wasn't an option. I certainly couldn't claim that they didn't fit so they'd need to wait. That also would've gotten me in trouble and I'd still have to wash the damn dishes. Just like tonight--I washed the damn dishes. 

*sigh* I should step off my soapbox for now...I just keep all this inside and I'm always afraid that one day I'll open  my mouth and one these rants will fall out...And then I'd have to say something like, "Sorry, I'm not sorry." *gasp* Just kidding...I'm not that kind of asshole. I'd own that shit and be like, "Yeah, I said it...Now what?" *grins* Peace out.


  1. I just want you to know that love you Heather and after reading this blog I must say that I did an amazing job raising you! You are wonderful at telling it like it is and also do a great job washing ALL the dishes, even when some have to be done by hand.
    As for the trauma you went through 8 years ago, that is something hard to let go of and perhaps common sense is what keeps that fight or flight response just a blink away, right where it should be because there are some serious assholes in the world.
    Perhaps I will buy you a new Louisville slugger for Christmas, a pretty red one similar to the one you used about 16 years ago on another asshole who deserved an ass whooping.

    Hugs, smooches, and all that jazz~ mommy

  2. Whoa, mom, I've never hit anyone with a baseball bat. I liked my old bat because I thought it was great for home protection, but I've never hit anyone. I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea.