13 April 2011
The Differences Between Us and You
Not to be rude, but Housewife and I have noticed a rather large gap between a lot of the bloggers out there and us. Namely, we’re a bit more vulgar and crude, and we swear a lot. I’m here to explore those differences, and to explain why we actually represent a large portion of American Mothers out there.
WE SWEAR A LOT.
Housewife swears because she was a Marine, is married to a Marine, and lives on base. I swear because it was forbidden to growing up, and now I can. Furthermore, sometimes a well placed "fuck" helps drive a point home. When we’re angry, our cursing becomes more evident and colorful. Most people only think of the insults they’d like to hurl at the stupid SOB who cut them off. We actually do it. You might call it being polite, we call it karma.
WE ARE UNAPOLOGETICALLY CHEAP.
Some women brag about the $300 Coach bag they bought. We think it’s stupid. No, that is not borne out of jealousy; we truly think you’re a moron if you paid $300 for a stupid purse. We never pay retail, unless it’s a special occasion. We shop the sales, use coupons, troll Craigslist for deals, and scour eBay. Yet, notice how we always seem to look fabulous and put together? Nor do we do this because of the recession, no ma’am! We’ve been doing this since we were teenagers and we will pass this frugality onto our children. We will not bemoan that our house is in foreclosure, and we’re $50,000 in credit card debt while we’re wearing $200 jeans clutching a $300 purse.
WE WILL NOT HESITATE TO SMACK THE EVER LOVING SHIT OUT OF OUR CHILDREN.
Nothing irritates us more than seeing a disobedient, disrespectful child and their long-suffering mother. Look, girls. If your child isn’t obeying you and calling you a stupid slut, you fucked up. Maybe if you had told your precious snowflake “NO” a bit more often, and laid your hand to their ass, you wouldn’t have this issue. Our daughters are a year apart. And yet we both regularly receive compliments on how well mannered they are. Why is this? Because we put the fear of God into them early, and they both know damn good and well if you act like a heathen, you will be meeting the palm of my hand. (And no, we don’t beat them for every little thing, so put the damn phone down already.)
WE FREELY ADMIT TO BEING LAZY SOMETIMES.
Use Sponge Bob as a babysitter? Check. Using treats as a bribe? Check. Cereal for dinner? Why not. Difference is, we don’t say, “Last night I made hummus with organic carrots, we ate a lovely filet-mignon with braised onions, and for dessert we had crème bruleé,” when in reality we hit the drive through because we were exhausted. We don’t claim to not let our children watch TV, we freely admit to it. Hey, say what you will, but there’s something to be said of your child staring intently at a screen for 30 minutes so you can crap in peace. I have been known to bribe my child with a gummy worm so she will sit still so I can comb her hair at 8 AM.
WE LIE UNABASHEDLY TO OUR CHILDREN. WE HAVE NO SHAME.
“If you move, your legs will fall OFF.” “If you have sex before marriage, you WILL get pregnant, his deck WILL fall off, and I WILL kill you.” You shake your head in scorn, but we know. It works.
Love, Mad Housewife & Mad Merlot Mama
WE SWEAR A LOT.
Housewife swears because she was a Marine, is married to a Marine, and lives on base. I swear because it was forbidden to growing up, and now I can. Furthermore, sometimes a well placed "fuck" helps drive a point home. When we’re angry, our cursing becomes more evident and colorful. Most people only think of the insults they’d like to hurl at the stupid SOB who cut them off. We actually do it. You might call it being polite, we call it karma.
WE ARE UNAPOLOGETICALLY CHEAP.
Some women brag about the $300 Coach bag they bought. We think it’s stupid. No, that is not borne out of jealousy; we truly think you’re a moron if you paid $300 for a stupid purse. We never pay retail, unless it’s a special occasion. We shop the sales, use coupons, troll Craigslist for deals, and scour eBay. Yet, notice how we always seem to look fabulous and put together? Nor do we do this because of the recession, no ma’am! We’ve been doing this since we were teenagers and we will pass this frugality onto our children. We will not bemoan that our house is in foreclosure, and we’re $50,000 in credit card debt while we’re wearing $200 jeans clutching a $300 purse.
WE WILL NOT HESITATE TO SMACK THE EVER LOVING SHIT OUT OF OUR CHILDREN.
Nothing irritates us more than seeing a disobedient, disrespectful child and their long-suffering mother. Look, girls. If your child isn’t obeying you and calling you a stupid slut, you fucked up. Maybe if you had told your precious snowflake “NO” a bit more often, and laid your hand to their ass, you wouldn’t have this issue. Our daughters are a year apart. And yet we both regularly receive compliments on how well mannered they are. Why is this? Because we put the fear of God into them early, and they both know damn good and well if you act like a heathen, you will be meeting the palm of my hand. (And no, we don’t beat them for every little thing, so put the damn phone down already.)
WE FREELY ADMIT TO BEING LAZY SOMETIMES.
Use Sponge Bob as a babysitter? Check. Using treats as a bribe? Check. Cereal for dinner? Why not. Difference is, we don’t say, “Last night I made hummus with organic carrots, we ate a lovely filet-mignon with braised onions, and for dessert we had crème bruleé,” when in reality we hit the drive through because we were exhausted. We don’t claim to not let our children watch TV, we freely admit to it. Hey, say what you will, but there’s something to be said of your child staring intently at a screen for 30 minutes so you can crap in peace. I have been known to bribe my child with a gummy worm so she will sit still so I can comb her hair at 8 AM.
WE LIE UNABASHEDLY TO OUR CHILDREN. WE HAVE NO SHAME.
“If you move, your legs will fall OFF.” “If you have sex before marriage, you WILL get pregnant, his deck WILL fall off, and I WILL kill you.” You shake your head in scorn, but we know. It works.
Love, Mad Housewife & Mad Merlot Mama
11 April 2011
Discovering comfort in my own skin...
This body of mine
this body
which has been much, much smaller
and maybe a little bit bigger,
and lots of in between.
This body,
which is stout and solid as a rock.
Everything about it is broad.
Broad shoulders, broad ass.
My cottage cheese thighs.
Strong, muscled calves.
These legs have carried me for miles.
I've run endlessly through the Iraqi desert.
Been forced marched through Carolina forests.
Knelt to pray, and play with my baby.
This body,
striped with stretch marks,
evidence of the child I bore.
My breasts are large, pendulous.
They nourished my baby.
I comfort my husband, laying his head on my chest.
This body.
My body.
I've finally realized.
It's mine to call my own.
~The Mad Housewife
09 April 2011
Texts From This Week
As always, Mad Housewife is in gray and Mad Merlot Mama is in wine. On with the texts...
I encourage you, of course. I probably MADE him cheat. With my MIND POWERS.
Yup, you facilitate me cheating.
Ah yes. I'm a pimp. Speaking of, WHERE'S MAH MONEY HO?!
................................................................................................
When writing your personal ad, don't fucking post you have no idea what you want to do with your life when you're 35! Also, looking like you've knocked over a few 7-11's isn't very bright either. ..................................................................................................
He said that if you got him almost blackout drunk then blindfolded him, then he MIGHT allow you to give him head. Maybe.
Wow.. I feel like that fugly chick at the bar who gets pity fucked because her hot friends won't leave without her.
...............................................................................................
I'm eating a day old omelette. Watching Justin Timberlake sing like the Chipmunks. I win at LIFE.
I'm wearing a dress from two seasons ago that's worn to fuck, and I can't remember the last time I washed my hair. I know it's been more than a week. We BOTH win at life.
............................................................................................
You know what, my life WOULD be be considerably better if I had a mountain of blow and dead hookers in my closet. My birthday is on the 17th. Jus' saying....
The blow I can do. You're on your own for hookers.
Blow it is.
Did you want Mary Jane with that? I have a coupon.
Oooh, doobies laced with blow! Yessiree, that is exactly what I want for my birthday! A pound of the President Bush Special please!
I'll wrap your blunt in a "this is yoru brain on drugs" print ad.
...................................................................................................
This girl I went to school with posted a pic of her on her way to a bachorlette party. She looks like she's the entertainment.
......................................................................................................
Don't ask why or how but unless you like vomiting, don't Google image hemmeroids.
Um duh?
Common sense: completely avoiding me since 1985
Cute
.....................................................................................................
I spilled a bit of Clorox doing laundry. My first thought was, "Honey, that burning sensation means it's working, hold still!"
.....................................................................................................
Oh. My. Word. My hair is literally reflecting light. #winning
I look hot in mah strapless dress that I don't have to wear a bra with. #tigerblood
#deadhookers
#blowmountain
#noreallyimsoberiswear
#becauseivegotadonisdna
#iwinatlifefuckyoubitchez
#iactuallydontknowwheremychildrenareatthismoment
#butdeniseisstillacumguzzlingwhore
........................................................................................
Totally just told Kidlette to go his, I'd come & find her. No, really, go hide! Yeah. I'm on the couch.
ROFL!
Also, when I say, "Where are you?" Answering "In here, Mimi!" doesn't work. Wow. She says, "One, two, FIVE! HERE I COME!"
So damn cute.
she hides in the shower laughing so loud...yeah. Found you. Surprise.
Have a great week and remember: fuck you, too! :)
I encourage you, of course. I probably MADE him cheat. With my MIND POWERS.
Yup, you facilitate me cheating.
Ah yes. I'm a pimp. Speaking of, WHERE'S MAH MONEY HO?!
................................................................................................
When writing your personal ad, don't fucking post you have no idea what you want to do with your life when you're 35! Also, looking like you've knocked over a few 7-11's isn't very bright either. ..................................................................................................
He said that if you got him almost blackout drunk then blindfolded him, then he MIGHT allow you to give him head. Maybe.
Wow.. I feel like that fugly chick at the bar who gets pity fucked because her hot friends won't leave without her.
...............................................................................................
I'm eating a day old omelette. Watching Justin Timberlake sing like the Chipmunks. I win at LIFE.
I'm wearing a dress from two seasons ago that's worn to fuck, and I can't remember the last time I washed my hair. I know it's been more than a week. We BOTH win at life.
............................................................................................
You know what, my life WOULD be be considerably better if I had a mountain of blow and dead hookers in my closet. My birthday is on the 17th. Jus' saying....
The blow I can do. You're on your own for hookers.
Blow it is.
Did you want Mary Jane with that? I have a coupon.
Oooh, doobies laced with blow! Yessiree, that is exactly what I want for my birthday! A pound of the President Bush Special please!
I'll wrap your blunt in a "this is yoru brain on drugs" print ad.
...................................................................................................
This girl I went to school with posted a pic of her on her way to a bachorlette party. She looks like she's the entertainment.
......................................................................................................
Don't ask why or how but unless you like vomiting, don't Google image hemmeroids.
Um duh?
Common sense: completely avoiding me since 1985
Cute
.....................................................................................................
I spilled a bit of Clorox doing laundry. My first thought was, "Honey, that burning sensation means it's working, hold still!"
.....................................................................................................
Oh. My. Word. My hair is literally reflecting light. #winning
I look hot in mah strapless dress that I don't have to wear a bra with. #tigerblood
#deadhookers
#blowmountain
#noreallyimsoberiswear
#becauseivegotadonisdna
#iwinatlifefuckyoubitchez
#iactuallydontknowwheremychildrenareatthismoment
#butdeniseisstillacumguzzlingwhore
........................................................................................
Totally just told Kidlette to go his, I'd come & find her. No, really, go hide! Yeah. I'm on the couch.
ROFL!
Also, when I say, "Where are you?" Answering "In here, Mimi!" doesn't work. Wow. She says, "One, two, FIVE! HERE I COME!"
So damn cute.
she hides in the shower laughing so loud...yeah. Found you. Surprise.
Have a great week and remember: fuck you, too! :)
08 April 2011
How to Cheat on your Fiancé: A Primer
Dear Stupid: When you cheat on someone, there are generally some guidelines one follows. Rules, if you will. It seems that while you got the cheating part down right, the rules were simply never explained to you. Allow me to correct this oversight in education:
-WHEN YOU CHEAT, UPGRADE GODDAMN IT
When you decide to cheat on your already gorgeous fiancée, you generally want to find someone hotter than her to fuck. Do not go slummin' to the nearest single wide trailer, and pick up a Rosie O'Donnel clone. Find some hot young, nubile blonde. (If you can find one that'll talk to you, you lying son of a bitch.)
-HIDE THE EVIDENCE, MORON
Generally, the idea of an affair is to keep it a secret. When you're done fucking, wash off the skanks stank. Coming home smelling like Dollar Store perfume is not how one goes about hiding an affair. This also means deleting the sexts you two have sent one another, as well as the emails and filthy, disgusting pictures. While you may not have given your email passwords to your fiancée, rest assured she will find them. And Hell will look like Heaven when she finds out.
-DON'T LIE WHEN CONFRONTED WITH AFOREMENTIONED EVIDENCE
When you are confronted with the irrefutable evidence of the simple fact that you fucked Shamu's inbred cousin, don't lie about it. Grow a pair and man up to it. I gave you three seperate chances to own up to it, and you still lied about it. When you finally admitted she'd (at the VERY least) sent you some inappropriate pictures, you had the nerve to say, "So? She wanted to cheer me up. That's what friends do." Um, when Housewife is having a shitty day, I don't send her pictures of my hatchet wound and fun bags.
-DO NOT TURN THIS SHIT AROUND ON ME.
I did not make you cheat on me. I did not make you accept filthy, disgusting pictures from your whore for over a year. You had a damn good thing going with me, and your exwife agrees. I paid your bills, clothed and fed your children, cleaned your house, and fucked your one-hump-chump self whenever you wanted. Do not make this my fault. Your desicion to fuck her was yours and yours alone, and I am in no way at fault. Not in any way, shape or form.
-DO NOT LECTURE ME ON PRIVACY AND TRUST
Yep, I hacked into your email account. Yep, I don't trust you. Yep, I invaded your privacy. All things you should've considered before you stuck your plug into someone elses outlet. Of all the people in a position to lecture me, you are the last in line. Oh...And don't tell me not to call her your whore. I'll call her whatever I damn well please.
In the meantime, cocksucker, why don't you go back to lying about screwing Shamu and I'll be over here drawing up that child support paperwork. Whine and bitch all you want because darling dear....I am out of fucks to give.
Sincerely,
Mad Merlot Mama
-WHEN YOU CHEAT, UPGRADE GODDAMN IT
When you decide to cheat on your already gorgeous fiancée, you generally want to find someone hotter than her to fuck. Do not go slummin' to the nearest single wide trailer, and pick up a Rosie O'Donnel clone. Find some hot young, nubile blonde. (If you can find one that'll talk to you, you lying son of a bitch.)
-HIDE THE EVIDENCE, MORON
Generally, the idea of an affair is to keep it a secret. When you're done fucking, wash off the skanks stank. Coming home smelling like Dollar Store perfume is not how one goes about hiding an affair. This also means deleting the sexts you two have sent one another, as well as the emails and filthy, disgusting pictures. While you may not have given your email passwords to your fiancée, rest assured she will find them. And Hell will look like Heaven when she finds out.
-DON'T LIE WHEN CONFRONTED WITH AFOREMENTIONED EVIDENCE
When you are confronted with the irrefutable evidence of the simple fact that you fucked Shamu's inbred cousin, don't lie about it. Grow a pair and man up to it. I gave you three seperate chances to own up to it, and you still lied about it. When you finally admitted she'd (at the VERY least) sent you some inappropriate pictures, you had the nerve to say, "So? She wanted to cheer me up. That's what friends do." Um, when Housewife is having a shitty day, I don't send her pictures of my hatchet wound and fun bags.
-DO NOT TURN THIS SHIT AROUND ON ME.
I did not make you cheat on me. I did not make you accept filthy, disgusting pictures from your whore for over a year. You had a damn good thing going with me, and your exwife agrees. I paid your bills, clothed and fed your children, cleaned your house, and fucked your one-hump-chump self whenever you wanted. Do not make this my fault. Your desicion to fuck her was yours and yours alone, and I am in no way at fault. Not in any way, shape or form.
-DO NOT LECTURE ME ON PRIVACY AND TRUST
Yep, I hacked into your email account. Yep, I don't trust you. Yep, I invaded your privacy. All things you should've considered before you stuck your plug into someone elses outlet. Of all the people in a position to lecture me, you are the last in line. Oh...And don't tell me not to call her your whore. I'll call her whatever I damn well please.
In the meantime, cocksucker, why don't you go back to lying about screwing Shamu and I'll be over here drawing up that child support paperwork. Whine and bitch all you want because darling dear....I am out of fucks to give.
Sincerely,
Mad Merlot Mama
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)