An Open Letter to the 20 year old hootchie that honked and glared at me yesterday while I was crossing the street with two small children,
First of all, you saw me and the children waiting on the curb by the crosswalk and you halted, seemingly for us to cross the street.
B. There was nowhere to go in front of you. The street was backed up with road construction and you would have ended up stopping in the middle of the intersection like a jackhole.
23. Honking at pedestrians, specifically people (that you braked for) hurrying across the street with small children, automatically makes you an asshole.
And lastly, I was recently almost killed by a motherfucking garbage truck in motherfucking New York City. If you don't think that I can handle your 2001 Honda Civic, you underestimate me.
Fortunately for you, Hootchie Coo, I was carrying my 2 year old on my hip and walking with my friend's 7 year old. Had I been alone, and had there not been so many witnesses, I would have walked the 20 feet forward to spot that you so impatiently had to rush to just to stop again, and yanked your snarling little face out of the car that daddy bought you by your damned nostrils.
You see, my darling little snot, you should never ever ever fuck with a sleep deprived mother who harbors anger issues, has a broken Air Conditioner in her truck in 100 degree heat and is not above acts of occasional violence. In my trashy past, I have fended off bullying by punching the bitch IN THE FACE, I have punched/kicked more than one frat boy jerk for uninvited ass fondling and I have no problem getting scrappy with stupid whores and abusive douche bags. Luckily for you, I'm obviously a damn Klassy grown up now and I will sit here on my insignificant computer with my children screaming in the background, protesting yet another nap time and passive aggressively call you out on the Internet like the angry troll that I have become.
Good luck dodging that train that I willed to smash your precious car. Did I mention that I'm a witch?
All the best,
An Open Letter to my dogs,
Do you remember this morning, when I walked out of the house before the sun came up to take you bitches on a walk? Do you also remember yanking on my arm the entire time? Do you remember (Black Dog) running TOWARD all the cars that passed us on the road? Do you remember (Red Dog) practically killing me when you dodged under my feet to evade the hot air balloon that was floating a good 3 miles away from us? Do you both remember pulling so hard that you gave me rope burn? Because I do, and it is so not cool that all of this happened before 6:30 a.m. My pre-caffeinated black heart and your assholish behavior is what caused me to yell, "If you pull on me again I am beating you* then dropping you off with the homeless dude that lives under the bridge." And while this ventilation was necessary and somewhat amusing to me, I doubt that it was to the random stranger that I immediately discovered sitting 10 feet from the trail. Now that stranger thinks that I am the asshole and yet it was YOU (Black Dog) who knocked over my two year old today, causing him to hit his head.
You see, my darling dogs, I am not required to walk you. I do it because I am a damned loving and giving person. And I do it in hopes that you will stop chasing children on bikes, joggers and that one creepy dude's vehicle down the road in front of our house. So straighten up and show a little gratitude to the hand that feeds you and the only person in the house that remembers to fill your water bowl!
*For the record, I don't actually BEAT my dogs. They are far too fast and I can never catch them when I am persuing them with a stick after they have attempted to attack yet another car bumper.
Any more shenanigans like this and I will be downgrading your food to the Wal-Mart store brand. Science Diet is only for GOOD dogs.
Oh, and I foresee many baths in your future. Muahahaha!
Peace, Love, and Dog Bones,
An Open Letter to my children,
I will not call you names because I don't want to injure your formative little minds, but I will say this: PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD (like glitter and unicorns)~ STOP FIGHTING, STOP SCREAMING, BE THE GOOD BOYS THAT I KNOW THAT YOU ARE AND GO TO SLEEP! You two, with the yelling, the tattling, the shrieking, the whining, the constant demands of food and the toy hoarding are making me into a crazy person. And this no-napping, go to sleep after me and wake up before me business is for the motherfucking birds. I'm losing my shit here. I came home from a trip, excited to see you and you repay me by smearing something that may have been poop onto the walls, throwing your toys into the ceiling fan, spreading Play-Doh ALL OVER EVERY SURFACE in the house, spraying glass cleaner onto my bedspread when I am cleaning up your lunch dishes and kicking me in the lady garden when I put myself into timeout in the hammock. This behavior from you two is making me out to be the most epic ASSHOLE of all time. Stop it. Stop it right now. I am doing my best to form the two of you into well adjusted, kind and empathetic members of society and apparently I am FAILING. YOU ARE BOTH TORTURING ME. Please stop before these frown lines become permanent. I'm begging you.
Go. TO. SLEEEEEEEEP.
And NO MORE DAMNED POPSICLES!
Hugs and kisses,
Your loving and supportive mother.
So, to follow my own advice, if you think that everyone else in the room is an asshole, YOU are probably the asshole (except that bitch in the Honda was clearly an asshole.)
I know it's me at this point, which is why I am refusing to go into public for the next three days. I feel a movie marathon weekend in our future. And I've officially declared this day of August 10th to be "Sangria Day!".