Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Sniff Sniff
I'm sad. Ziggy and I are angry with each other. Very angry with each other. But I really could use a hug, or being held or even just a kind word and I'm not going to get it.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Oh Shut Up Already
This is going to be a rant that some of you may be offended by. If you are offended, I apologize. This rant pertains to SAHM's (Stay At Home Moms). Not all SAHM's are pathetic and whiney. Many are extremely productive, grateful and amazing humans.
I unfortunately am encountering a lot of the opposite though. What is the deal with this new breed of whiney, pathetic, princess pussy SAHM's? I can barely take them and since I have so many of them "friended" lately on Twitter and Facebook, I have to reserve my rant for here.
I work 40 - 45 hours a week. I do homework with my boy. Truck him around to whatever sport he's involved in at the time. Feed the family. Clean the house. Do the laundry. Wash the dishes. Make lunches. Love on the baby. Play board games with the boy. Sex up the husband. And on and on and on and on. I do not think that I am extraordinary in any way. I'm just a working mother and the shit needs to get done. So I do it.
Now, yes, my husband will help out, but he's no model of perfection. In fact, most SAHM's that I know actually have their husbands better trained than I do. My husband will clean the litter, fold some clothes or feed the baby...IF I ask him to. To me, he's a typical male and while I'm interested in one of these pussy men who wait on their women hand and foot, the more I think about it, the more I think that I'd rather have a man for a husband. Yes, he could help out more...but these women who are home all day and then bitch and moan ad nauseum about how their husbands don't help around the house are making it hard for me to choke down the vomit.
I've had 3 women, THREE SAHM's this week whine and yine on Facebook or Twitter about how "they aren't the maid" or "why do I have to do all of the cooking/cleaning" or "wah wah wah wah the laundry is cutting in to my sofa time".
Oh fucking PUHLEEZE! I've had the good fortune to be a SAHM for 16 weeks of my life. Both of those were during my maternity leaves. My children were cared for, my house was spotless, dinner was cooked every night and I STILL had time to watch 2 hours of Desperate Housewives EVERY SINGLE DAY. So really? You aren't fooling me. Nope. Not at all.
So please, stop the fucking whining. You are a HOUSEWIFE. You're JOB is to care for the children and the home. DO YOUR JOB and stop whining. And stop dumping on
your husbands. Like me, your husbands work 40 - 45 hours a week. When we get home, we are tired. If my husband stayed home all day, I would fully expect...nay, I would fully DEMAND that I come home to a clean house, cared for children and dinner on the table.
This is such a blessing that these women have. There isn't a single working mother on earth who wouldn't sacrifice her left boob to be given the opportunity that SAHM's have. And yet, in my experience, you don't hear working mothers whining half as much as SAHM's...maybe because we're too busy?
For once I'd like to hear SAHM's get real and talk about how blessed they are and stop complaining about having to mop a floor.
And I guess maybe the grass is always greener, and again I have many a SAHM that I truly adore and respect because they do work their ass off, recognize their blessings and take care of their responsibilities. But for the rest of them...I'm just so done with hearing the bitching. Get a job AND do everything you are doing and THEN I'll entertain the whining.
I unfortunately am encountering a lot of the opposite though. What is the deal with this new breed of whiney, pathetic, princess pussy SAHM's? I can barely take them and since I have so many of them "friended" lately on Twitter and Facebook, I have to reserve my rant for here.
I work 40 - 45 hours a week. I do homework with my boy. Truck him around to whatever sport he's involved in at the time. Feed the family. Clean the house. Do the laundry. Wash the dishes. Make lunches. Love on the baby. Play board games with the boy. Sex up the husband. And on and on and on and on. I do not think that I am extraordinary in any way. I'm just a working mother and the shit needs to get done. So I do it.
Now, yes, my husband will help out, but he's no model of perfection. In fact, most SAHM's that I know actually have their husbands better trained than I do. My husband will clean the litter, fold some clothes or feed the baby...IF I ask him to. To me, he's a typical male and while I'm interested in one of these pussy men who wait on their women hand and foot, the more I think about it, the more I think that I'd rather have a man for a husband. Yes, he could help out more...but these women who are home all day and then bitch and moan ad nauseum about how their husbands don't help around the house are making it hard for me to choke down the vomit.
I've had 3 women, THREE SAHM's this week whine and yine on Facebook or Twitter about how "they aren't the maid" or "why do I have to do all of the cooking/cleaning" or "wah wah wah wah the laundry is cutting in to my sofa time".
Oh fucking PUHLEEZE! I've had the good fortune to be a SAHM for 16 weeks of my life. Both of those were during my maternity leaves. My children were cared for, my house was spotless, dinner was cooked every night and I STILL had time to watch 2 hours of Desperate Housewives EVERY SINGLE DAY. So really? You aren't fooling me. Nope. Not at all.
So please, stop the fucking whining. You are a HOUSEWIFE. You're JOB is to care for the children and the home. DO YOUR JOB and stop whining. And stop dumping on
your husbands. Like me, your husbands work 40 - 45 hours a week. When we get home, we are tired. If my husband stayed home all day, I would fully expect...nay, I would fully DEMAND that I come home to a clean house, cared for children and dinner on the table.
This is such a blessing that these women have. There isn't a single working mother on earth who wouldn't sacrifice her left boob to be given the opportunity that SAHM's have. And yet, in my experience, you don't hear working mothers whining half as much as SAHM's...maybe because we're too busy?
For once I'd like to hear SAHM's get real and talk about how blessed they are and stop complaining about having to mop a floor.
And I guess maybe the grass is always greener, and again I have many a SAHM that I truly adore and respect because they do work their ass off, recognize their blessings and take care of their responsibilities. But for the rest of them...I'm just so done with hearing the bitching. Get a job AND do everything you are doing and THEN I'll entertain the whining.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Big Ass Photo
Oops! Sorry for the big ass photo below. My bad. I posted it directly from photobucket. If you want to see it smaller and in full, just click on it and it'll take you to Photobucket. I'm still half dumb ass when it comes to computers.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Hell Froze Over
Growing up in New Orleans automatically makes you special. In fact, I'll go ahead and throw this out there - New Orleans IS THE MOST special city in the country...and dare I say...the world? There is no denying it. People who have grown up here can enjoy another city for a few days, but eventually the bland food and dry air will make them stare longingly out the window and dream of arriving home.
People who have lived here at one time and have moved on will take the city with them through the rest of their lives. No matter where they live or where they call home, they will speak of and write of and dream of New Orleans and miss "home". What other city can be destroyed over and over again...from the same type of natural disaster and the same people, the same families rebuild it over and over again and never once consider leaving it?
There is no other city in the world that sparks as much interest in strangers as saying you are from New Orleans. Stand in a room of 100 people, all from different cities in the world and inevitably when the 100 find out that you are from New Orleans, you will immediately become the topic of conversation.
New Orleans is so much more than stupid poor people standing on roof tops waiting to be saved. It is so much more than Mardi Gras. So much more.
The exaggerated notion you've learned of New Orleans from movies and television is hilarious. Only tourists show their boobs. This is fact. There aren't swamps around every corner and the picture of cypress trees that inevitably starts off any story about New Orleans is untrue...although...I DO have a cypress tree in my backyard.
To be a Saints fan has always meant that you are a loser. You have very low expectations as a Saints fan. You don't hope for much. A win here and there is all we've ever asked for. As losers, the Saints have the most ridiculously faithful fanbase in the nation. The Saints have never earned our devotion. They've never deserved our time or our money. But yet we are eternally devoted and even during the Mike Ditka days (oh the horror), the Saints sold an unusually high number of season tickets for such a suck ass team and sold an unusually high amount of merchandise.
Saints fans are intense. My bipolar father was actually banned from watching the Saints for 5 years by his therapist due the extreme amount of stress/disappointment/depression that it caused being a Saints fan.
How many other teams have fans so dedicated that there are volumes of music created for and created about their football team. If you took every song ever written for and about the Saints, you would need at least 3 full length CD's. What other team has fans like that?
I was in the Dome on September 25th, 2006 when the Superdome reopened and the Saints hosted their first home game since Hurricane Katrina against the Atlanta Falcons. I get the chills just thinking of it. We cried. We screamed. We hugged strangers in that game. We stood in a dome that no regular citizen had seen since the horrifying images on TV of dead bodies lying on the ground, water raining in, murders occurring over crackers. It was remarkable.
There are men like my father who have been faithful to the Saints for the full 43 years. Myself? I can only claim 32 of those. I was born at 4:51pm on a Sunday in 1977. A football Sunday in October. The Saints played while my dad waited in the waiting room for me to be born. And of course...the Saints? They lost.
And so when in the 4th quarter Porter intercepted that ball and ran over 70 yards to gain a 14 point lead over the Colts, Ziggy and I stared at each other in absolute and total disbelief and I said, "Ziggy, did the Saint just win the mother fucking superbowl?" And we stared at the TV for about 60 very long seconds until it sunk in.
THE SAINTS WON THE MOTHER FUCKING SUPERBOWL!
We threw a jacket on the baby and set off fireworks in the street along with thousands of other people. Cops threw on their sirens. People screamed. Car alarms were purposely set off. Strangers screamed cheers at each other. Unknown neighbors became friends.
It will, hands down, go down as one of the most memorable days of my life. And in the words of my father, in a cracked shaky voice, he said, "Baby girl, it looks like I can die right this second and die a happy man."
Congrats to the New Orleans Saints and to all of her fans - the faithful, the loyal, the steadfast, the believers...this one is for us. Our moment. Our time. It may never happen again and that is fine by us because even at the age of 80, my 9 year old son WILL remember the night that his Saints won the Super Bowl.
People who have lived here at one time and have moved on will take the city with them through the rest of their lives. No matter where they live or where they call home, they will speak of and write of and dream of New Orleans and miss "home". What other city can be destroyed over and over again...from the same type of natural disaster and the same people, the same families rebuild it over and over again and never once consider leaving it?
There is no other city in the world that sparks as much interest in strangers as saying you are from New Orleans. Stand in a room of 100 people, all from different cities in the world and inevitably when the 100 find out that you are from New Orleans, you will immediately become the topic of conversation.
New Orleans is so much more than stupid poor people standing on roof tops waiting to be saved. It is so much more than Mardi Gras. So much more.
The exaggerated notion you've learned of New Orleans from movies and television is hilarious. Only tourists show their boobs. This is fact. There aren't swamps around every corner and the picture of cypress trees that inevitably starts off any story about New Orleans is untrue...although...I DO have a cypress tree in my backyard.
To be a Saints fan has always meant that you are a loser. You have very low expectations as a Saints fan. You don't hope for much. A win here and there is all we've ever asked for. As losers, the Saints have the most ridiculously faithful fanbase in the nation. The Saints have never earned our devotion. They've never deserved our time or our money. But yet we are eternally devoted and even during the Mike Ditka days (oh the horror), the Saints sold an unusually high number of season tickets for such a suck ass team and sold an unusually high amount of merchandise.
Saints fans are intense. My bipolar father was actually banned from watching the Saints for 5 years by his therapist due the extreme amount of stress/disappointment/depression that it caused being a Saints fan.
How many other teams have fans so dedicated that there are volumes of music created for and created about their football team. If you took every song ever written for and about the Saints, you would need at least 3 full length CD's. What other team has fans like that?
I was in the Dome on September 25th, 2006 when the Superdome reopened and the Saints hosted their first home game since Hurricane Katrina against the Atlanta Falcons. I get the chills just thinking of it. We cried. We screamed. We hugged strangers in that game. We stood in a dome that no regular citizen had seen since the horrifying images on TV of dead bodies lying on the ground, water raining in, murders occurring over crackers. It was remarkable.
There are men like my father who have been faithful to the Saints for the full 43 years. Myself? I can only claim 32 of those. I was born at 4:51pm on a Sunday in 1977. A football Sunday in October. The Saints played while my dad waited in the waiting room for me to be born. And of course...the Saints? They lost.
And so when in the 4th quarter Porter intercepted that ball and ran over 70 yards to gain a 14 point lead over the Colts, Ziggy and I stared at each other in absolute and total disbelief and I said, "Ziggy, did the Saint just win the mother fucking superbowl?" And we stared at the TV for about 60 very long seconds until it sunk in.
THE SAINTS WON THE MOTHER FUCKING SUPERBOWL!
We threw a jacket on the baby and set off fireworks in the street along with thousands of other people. Cops threw on their sirens. People screamed. Car alarms were purposely set off. Strangers screamed cheers at each other. Unknown neighbors became friends.
It will, hands down, go down as one of the most memorable days of my life. And in the words of my father, in a cracked shaky voice, he said, "Baby girl, it looks like I can die right this second and die a happy man."
Congrats to the New Orleans Saints and to all of her fans - the faithful, the loyal, the steadfast, the believers...this one is for us. Our moment. Our time. It may never happen again and that is fine by us because even at the age of 80, my 9 year old son WILL remember the night that his Saints won the Super Bowl.
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