Is Butt-Ebola a Thing?

Today was a fun day. I arrived to work on time for a 9 am meeting. Gross. Could we all agree as one nation under God that meetings should only take place between the hours of 10 am and 11:30 am or 2 pm and 4:30 pm? Can we make that a thing? Ugh. I’m just sayin’ I need time. In the morning I need time to understand where I am and in the afternoon I need time to digest what all just happened. So… just sayin’.

Anyway. Meeting at 9. Blah, blah, blah. It was over around 10. By then I’d finished off a venti vanilla iced coffee and I had to pee. Bad. No problem! My new office has very lovely bathrooms. Coming from a company with shatty bathrooms (literally), I welcome the upgrade in lavatory quality.

As with most restrooms these days (I suspect to keep at bay the mysterious “toilet-seat-to-ass-STD” epidemic that we’ve all been warned of even though I’ve never met anyone who said, “Hi, I’m Gary, I got the clap from a toilet”) my office offers free paper toilet seat covers. I’m positive they’re only free cuz men need them, too. If they didn’t, we’d have to pay a quarter like we do for tampons. “Sorry, Sharon. I can’t give you a tampon for free. Shouldn’t you know your body by now? I mean, you’re 37- What? I don’t know what fibroids are. My dad has hemorrhoids. Same-sies? No? Look, sorry, but we gotta reduce overhead. Can’t you just shove some TP up there or something?”

Now, what you might not know is that I’m at war with these wood-based bastards. (Just to be clear, I’m at war with seat covers, not frugal men who refuse us free feminine hygiene products). Can these covers not stay in place? Is it too much to ask? They have ONE JOB! Just one! By the time I put it down and unlatch my trousers the seat cover has fallen in the toilet, thus not having held up its end of the bargain, and now I have to repeat the process. Time. Wasted. But I have a new process. And today I tried it out for the first time.

Today… wait for it… I unhooked my pants FIRST! Did I just blow your mind? Cuz this was about to revolutionize my bathroom experience. So with my pants around my shins, holding them with one hand so as to keep them from hitting the floor, I used my other hand to carefully yank the paper ass-barrier and awkwardly lay it over the seat, using my elbow to unfold the part that inconveniently overlapped at the very last minute.

And as I turned to blindly back that ass up and simultaneously sit down, the automatic flush sucked the seat cover into the abyss. That’s right. I sat down just as the seat cover said, “bitch, bye” and left me to my own devices. Of which I had none.

You know when you ask for a sweet tea at a restaurant and you get a coke but both liquids are dark and look the same in that red cup and you take a sip and life no longer makes sense? That’s what happened to my ass. It expected paper warmth and protection. It received the cold angst of exposure. So I have Ebola of the Butt now. I’m pretty sure it’s a thing. And I’m pretty sure it’s on my butt. Believe you me, if my organs liquify and fall out of my body holes, someone will receive a very strongly-worded letter.

Anyway. Kinda killed my vibe today. I was sure I won the war. And the toilet said, “Not today, biatch!” I feel so defeated. I was sure to be the victor. Now I know how Hillary Clinton felt on election night. Ugh. At least I’m not wearing that gross pants suit.

On a high note, I ate a turkey burger today.

Stay pretty, my friends.

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What It’s Been Like to be Me in 2016

2016 has been the craziest year since 2011 when I got married, had a baby, and purchased our first home. This year hasn’t been that crazy. I’d say it’s been cray. Not cray-cray. Just cray. Like a wolf in sheep’s clothing (or like Steve Buscemi dressed in a Taylor Swift skirt and crop top), it didn’t start off indicating the whirlwind was a-comin. Quite the opposite. We finally finished a 4-year renovation. Phew!  Now we can sit back and enjoy it!

January, February, WHAT????  We relaxed for 3 months. THREE months. As I’ve ranted about before, I came home one day to my hubs telling me he found a realtor!  Yay!  “E!  It’ll be awesome!  We can get a house with a basement!” He says.  Sounds so simple.  Like if Miley Cyrus and Ryan Lochte had a baby.  That baby would be “simple”.  Only it wasn’t as simple as a Michte baby.  At all.  It was stressful and complicated and scary!  Like if Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton had a baby.  Chelsea Handler.  That’s their baby.  I’ll name those 3 months my Chelsea Handler months.

Now, the next 2 months are a blur. All I know is we sold our house, made 2 offers that weren’t accepted, and 1 that finally was. It felt like a lifetime, waiting til closing. Closing day was INSANE.  We closed on both houses in one day. And we moved. On the same day. Closing day. Ugh. Now we can rest!  LOL, I’m so silly.

Nope. Three weeks after we moved we went on family vacation. Which isn’t really vacation. It’s just uprooting your life and transplanting it to another location. I mean, it was fun and all. But NOT a proper vacation.  Most of it was spent trying to keep the kids from destroying the sea turtle nests.  No pressure.  Oh, and we came home to packed boxes.

The proper vacation happened 4 weeks later. Yes. Time for rest. Sunday through Thursday of couple-time. Oh, it was lovely.  Then back to crazy for August. School started, meaning my tiny little man started kindergarten. WHAT? Nooooooo. It’s bad enough that Bella is in THIRD grade!  Dam. “They” tell me that this isn’t optional. Life can’t pause. Yeah, well “They” are pathetic a-holes.  I DON’T LIKE IT!  (Ooooh, now I know where Roman gets his tantrums from) Ugh.

Little did I know that while I was out living ma life lika fool, tryin to keep a job and 2 kids alive, a storm was a’brewin’.  Anyone out there have family members that think they’re the long lost Kardashian?  Maybe they are.  I mean, it wouldn’t surprise me.  Maybe they think they’re famous, only they aren’t, and they get pissed when people don’t treat them as though they’re famous, because they aren’t, then they get pissed and play the victim when you stand your ground and then the overreact by cutting off all of your communication but not before calling you names that even YOU wouldn’t use, among other, worse things… maybe.  Just hypothetically speaking.

In summary, this year’s been crazy.  I’d be ok if 2017 is super boring.  That would be ok with me.

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If I Were President

Last week I posted a letter to Hillary Clinton. I received a few responses suggesting that I should be president in 2020. I don’t disagree. I’m pretty awesome. But I’m pretty sure that there are lots of reasons why I wouldn’t be the best option. So I guess I’m a shoe in.

But it got me thinking. What would it be like if I really were president. It would go something like this:

I think I’ll run for board of directors at the local rec department. Yay! I won! Fuuuq, I won. Guess I gotta figure this thing out. I’m killin’ it! Uniforms ordered, check! I think I’ll run for something bigger, more important. Like PTA president. Nah, I cuss too much and drink whisky. Ok, so maybe not that. Wouldn’t wanna class up tha joint so much that I make people feel inferior. Go big or go home, right? I’ll run for Commissioner. Of something. Hmmm… which one doesn’t have anyone else running? I’ll take that one. Done!

Somehow I’ve lasted the entire term without getting impeached and ousted. That means I’m amazing. Now I should run for something super important. Like Senator. Hey, Hillary did it. I can totes do anything she can do, but better. But I can’t even get more than 12 people to read my blog on a given day… hmm.

I think you get the idea. If I were to win something like the presidency, it would only be because I’ve Forrest Gumped my way all the way to the top. I mean, I guess it’s possible. But imagine all the gray hair and wrinkles I’d have by the end! No thank you. I have enough of those on my own. Bad news, I still need to figure out what I wanna be when I grow up. Besides Darren Knight’s BFMF (Bella just taught me this. She said it means, “Best Friends Maybe Forever”. Looks like she might have a sight fear of commitment).

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Dear Hillary

Dear Hillary,

You almost did it. Twice. You came within arms reach of the position that children, both male and female, all races, all backgrounds, all socioeconomic classes dream of. The most powerful position in the WORLD. And you blew it. {At least we know THAT’S not why Bill cheated}. I’m mad. Not that Trump won. He deserved it. He worked for it. Regardless of whether or not you like the character he portrayed during the campaign. It could very well be who he truly is. I don’t know him. I’m mad that you set us back. Women. That’s right. YOU made it harder for my daughter to rise to that level. YOU made it harder for women in leadership roles to be taken seriously.

When you’re blazing a trail you don’t have the option of being lax with rules or playing too close to the line of illegality. It’s not just about the end game. You can’t say, “It doesn’t matter how it happens as long as I win”. You can’t act as though the rules don’t apply. Because when your house of cards crumbles you take all of those you represent with you. You show the world that women can’t win without cheating and riding a husband’s coattails. You tell the world that your politics shouldn’t matter and your track record doesn’t count. You tell people that the making of history based on a trait you’re born with is all that matters. Not true. We made that mistake twice with Obama. Luckily we woke up. Did we swing too far to the right on November 8th? Maybe. But when you swing too far to the left, the universe has to self-correct.

YOU lost. Not because of gender discrimination, not because of anything OTHER than your piss-poor decisions, weak policies, and inability to directly and honestly answer questions that the American people want and need answers to.

As a woman, a former single mom and divorcee, your politics offend me. The whole entitled establishment you represent offends me. I worked my ass off to get where I am. I did it with no help from the government. I knew I wasn’t entitled to anything because of a situation I was in based mostly on decisions that I made. I got myself into that hole and I clawed my way out. Now I make more money than most men. I’m not rich by any means. But now I’m a bit ahead financially and you want to redistribute my money. It isn’t criminal to have ambition. It isn’t criminal to make money. If anything, when I was broke and homeless I had hope that one day I would be better off. One day I’d be on top. (Yep, that’s what she said.)

You preach acceptance but only as long as everyone accepts what you preach. You preach open-mindedness as long as everyone’s minds are opened only to your preaching. It’s easy to agree with likeminded people. It’s something to take note of when someone accepts others in spite of their opposing views. It’s something to admire when someone RESPECTS the opposing views of others.

You’re entitled to your opinion and I don’t dislike you as a person. I don’t know you. But your politics tell me that YOU don’t believe that I have the ability and the fortitude to get by in life without the government’s help. Your politics tell my daughter and me that because we have vaginas we need to hide behind the government. Your politics tell my son and my husband that because of their gender and the color of their skin that they should be ashamed and apologetic for a mindset that they don’t have. Instead, why not lift up the people of America and establish the government to empower its citizens to do for themselves as much as they can? If I’m capable, I should be expected to have certain responsibilities. And if I work hard and get an education and take opportunities as they come, I should be able to have a certain lifestyle without feeling guilty and without the government stepping in and telling me that I have too much.

Maybe I’m jaded from years in Corporate America. But one thing I’ve learned is that sometimes, strong leaders are assholes. Sometimes they hurt feelings. Sometimes they say things that aren’t popular or politically correct.   But they still drive billion dollar revenues. They still create jobs.  And that’s all investors care about. As an American, as a woman, I don’t care if Trump doesn’t respect women. He can’t strip me of my rights. Checks and balances protect what I have. And I’m used to having to work twice as hard for half the reward. It sucks. Big time. But I’m raising my daughter to know that life isn’t fair but that doesn’t mean to stop fighting. If it’s worth it, you have to earn it.

I’m an American. I’m fucking proud to be an American. I love everything America stands for. I love that people have the right to peacefully assemble to protest. I love that Americans have the right to openly disapprove of the government. You have the right to be hypocritical. Remember that the way you feel today is the way a shit ton of people felt 8 years ago. And again 4 years ago.

If you have the opportunity to run again, my advice to you is to listen. Listen to what people are saying and not what you want them to say. Ask questions and observe. Be ethical. If Bernie wants to run from the grave, don’t cheat. If you have access to secrets, guard them. If someone gives you money as a donation to charity, give it to those it’s intended to help. If someone calls you for help, help them. If Bill cheats, cut off his dick. And leave him. Then payoff the debt he left you with, make more money than him, and become the first female president. That’s my plan, at least.

We will have a strong female option one day. And I will vote. And I will cry happy tears when she wins. Not because she has a vagina. But because she has a vagina and she’s capable, and she is gonna kick ass.  Also, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels is on right now and I think we can all agree that’s a kick ass movie. 

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