An open letter to my Holier Than Thou Mother in Law

1)Acting like I don’t exist will not work in your favor. You flat out IGNORE me in my own damn house. I ask you a question, you don’t respond. You refuse to acknowledge my presence. Wrong move, Saint Mother. You see, I am the primary gatekeeper as far as your Granddaughter is concerned. I am the only who primarily decides who sees her and who doesn’t. It’s in your best fucking interest to at least remember your manners and be cordial. Pretending I was never born isn’t very smart. Want to see your grandchild? Then shape up, you old bat.


2)You will NOT undermine my parenting of aforementioned grandchild. If I tell her NO, it is not your place or right to contradict this. You may not care if she has another cookie, or jumps like a kangaroo on the furniture but I do. And since she came from my vagina and not yours, that means I have sole power. Not you. “I raised two children!” Yeah, wouldn’t be bragging about that. One is living just this side of homeless, with her two children. (One of whom is 17 & pregnant, the other is fulfilling her life dream of being a Wal-Mart cashier. Zero exaggeration.) And the other one is a know it all douchebag, with the most self-inflated, entitled ego I’ve ever seen. Good job.


3)If you’re going to be my judge and jury, own up to it. My God, woman. I’m judgmental, but at least I’m honest about it. “Oh, I don’t judge others.” O RLY? CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, HAG. When you met my twin sister you commented that she was pretty smart, “for a lesbian.” (Fuck you thrice for insulting my twin.) You hate the way I dress because I’m not wearing turtlenecks and muumuus like you. (Lord knows a tank in July is whorish.) You hate that I have two tattoos (neither of which you seen because they’re strategically inked), that I smoke, drink, and swear colorfully. (And I tone that shit D-O-W-N when Her Majesty is in residence.) For someone who thumps the Bible at me constantly, you should remember “Judge not lest ye be judged.” But evidently, that doesn’t apply to you, o Holy Saint Mother.


4)Contrary to what you’ve been led to think, you do not, in fact, know everything there is to know about everything. (Much thanks for passing this little trait onto your propitious son.) Just curious: when is the last time you read up on the various types of radiation and their side effects? Because I grew up with that shit and can recite nuclear fucking theory from MEMORY. So please don’t EVER try to tell me that gamma radiation isn’t harmful. If it isn’t harmful, how about I drop YOU into the gamma radiation zone, hmm? See what happens? Also, don’t presume to tell me that there’s just no way my horse is 17.5 hands high. Bitch, I’ve spent more time with him than you (you’ve never even seen him) AAAAND I’ve seen his papers confirming that yeah. He really IS a huge bitch. It’s called being half Belgian, look it up genius.


5)You think he’s too good for me? Bitch, please. I stuck with his ass when his ex-wife did everything in her power to make our lives hell. I raised his children when he was too busy surfing Craigslist. I stayed with Jesus Jr. even after he demanded I abort our daughter, because I believed our child deserved my utmost effort to keep her family intact. I have also stayed with him, despite him having numerous affairs, one of which happened while I was on bed rest with said child, another he denied even when presented with the irrefutable truth. I have cooked and cleaned with precious little assistance for 5 very long years, all while trying to look presentable. So when you just show the fuck up, unannounced (and certainly uninvited) at 1400 hours, and I’m unshowered and still in my jammies, don’t cluck your tongue at me. I’ve been up cleaning this entire house for hours, while Precious buys more shit we can’t afford for his precious little BMW. Next time you start painting your prodigal son with the golden brush, recognize the unsung shit I’ve dealt with and done these last years.


Namaste, bitch.

I hate people

In between searching for a job, I popped on over to Facebook, and an old acquaintance from high school had messaged me.


We start pseudo-catching up, and she admits she's living with her parents and life isn't so grand with her either. We commiserate for a while, and she asks if she can call me. Well, why not. Misery loves company and all that jazz.


Midway through the conversation, she says she knows someone who might be able to get me a job, would I mind if they are conferenced in? Would I mind?! Hell, no! Get 'em on the line, I am all ears. She says she's started working with her, and she's now looking for her own place to live!



Except, the "job" was a pyramid scheme to sell supplements, and how I too can make $20k a month! Why, Mad Merlot Mama, I was where you are right now. Struggling to make ends meet, but then! THEN! I starting taking and selling these AMAZING pills and my life has changed! Blah blah blah, only costs $2,100 to start, blah blah blah.


Fuck you both. Fuck you both for preying on my need for a job. Fuck you for making me think you were a commrade in the war on joblessness. Fuck you for making me think you were just truly a nice person who wanted to help someone. Fuck you for reinforcing my long held credo: TRUST NO ONE.


Stupid, stupid me. Thinking you were someone I could commiserate with, who'd understand, and someone who could encourage me, as I'd encourage you. If I wanted to sell pills supplements, I'd apply at GNC or Super Supplements. But I do not want to sell overpriced snake oil. Stupid me for thinking you were just a genuinely nice person, not someone who preys on the hard times and weaknesses of others.


FUCK. YOU.

No, really. STFU.

Everyone has that friend on Facebook who needs a quick slap from reality. They post ALL THE DAMN TIME. About every. little. thing. Or, their child is the sweetest iddle thing, and they lurve them SO MUCH YOU GUYS. My [least] favorite are the ones who ARE SO IN LOVE and by God, you are going to know about it. This is an open letter to these people: please. STFU.




Nobody cares what you're doing at every single minute of the day. Nobody.
Wow, you got up and had breakfast? That is so neat, you're like the first person ever to do that. That is fascinating. Oh, look, you're at work now! You had a sandwich for lunch! OH MY GOD CHECK IT OUT, YOU'RE DRIVING HOME! Call the President and CNN, this is the most interesting shit I have ever seen. If you are updating Facebook more than 3-4 times a day, it's too much. Seriously, get off the Internet. Maybe if you didn't spend every waking minute on Facebook you'd have something status worthy.


Newsflash: you are not raising the next Messiah or Einstein. Sorry.
Everyone wants to think they're raising a genius. Less than 2% of the world's population have a genius IQ. Statistically speaking, you are probably not raising a future Mensa candidate. Seriously, STFU. While being a parent should be part of what defines you, it shouldn't be the only thing that defines you. While you aren't raising a Mensa candidate, you're raising an entitled, spoiled little shit, who (thanks to you) thinks they world revolves around them.


STFU about Shmoopy Sweety Cuddle-umpkins.
I have no issues with you posting about something sweet, thoughtful, or nice that your boyfriend/husband/mistress/fuck buddy did for you. You should laud things like that, it bolsters your relationship and gives them a nice ego boost. That being said, leave out the syrupy sweet nicknames. (One friend got blocked because I got tired of hearing about her "Cuddle Butt".) Furthermore, if your status has more "XOXOXOXOXO"'s or "<3<3<3<3<3<3"'s than actual words, reconsider. Things that should also be left OFF of your Facebook: the sex you had, how good/bad it was, and how that JERK pissed you off AGAIN. Seriously, get some class and leave that shit off.

Why I'm not going to my high school reunion

I caught up with an old high school friend who asked if I planned on going to our ten year reunion. Um, yeah. No.



Here's the thing: Facebook. If I want to know how someone's doing, I can look 'em up on Facebook. But honestly? I don't give a damn. Let me guess: you got a real job, got married, and had at least one kid. Sound familiar? Yeah, thought so.


Also, I really don't want to play the "Let's see who's doing worse than me!" game. I'm sorry, but most people don't go genuinely concerned with what everyone else is up to. It's a game of who's got the better job/house/spouse/car/kids. Let's just skip all the bullshit: I'm divorced, have a shitty rented house, unemployed, drive a used Jeep I love, and have one very annoying but loveable kid. There, that about cover it? Make you feel better? Awesome.


Lastly, I was a HUH-YUGE bitch in high school. Huge. I'm not proud of it, just being honest. If I viewed you as less popular, I made your life hell. Cruel jokes, spreading rumors. I hate me, too. I've run into people and they exclaim, "Merlot Mama? Mad Merlot Mama? God, I hated you." I've done a lot of apologizing. Imagine a room full of people who hated you for four years. Not saying I don't deserve it but...um...yeah...awk-ward...