Did you know I was a marriage counselor?

PREFACE: I hate to make generalizations about males and females, so I will discuss the following scenario in regards to MrZ and I (instead of all women and all men). In doing this – I am acknowledging that some men and women may NOT behave the way that we do – but I am betting most of them (you) do.

Okie Dokie. Here’s the thing. There are a LOT of times I bitch about stuff (I know!). A. LOT. OF. TIMES. Some days? I’m in perma-bitch mode. Those days are fun, trust me. When I do this in front of MrZ – I intend for him to back me up. I want him to commiserate with me over the injustice that has befallen me. BITCH WITH ME – is the shortcut. The purpose of my using him as an outlet.

“That cashier sure acted snotty when I requested she bag the kitty litter – the skank! Pardon me for not wanting the kitty litter to spill in my trunk. Bitch.”

“That bitch! You’d think she WANTED you to tear the bag before you got home! Good thing you’re skinnier than her.”

Unfortunately – this is not the way it goes. For some reason MrZ sees me bitching or complaining as a request for an EXPLANATION of something. Like, when I bitch – I really am asking “Why?” in which case, he needs to tell me the answer. He sees poor little me not understanding the world and why things happen the way they do and I need him to spell it out for me.

“Well, I bet they get instructed to use as few bags as possible so that they don’t waste any company money. Blah Blah policy Blah Blah whatever.”


Here’s the trick. Nine times out of ten, if I want to know “Why?” I’ll ask “Why?” I’ll say, “Hey ever-so-brilliant husband of mine, why do you think she acted like a royal bitch when I asked for a new bag?” If I don’t specifically ask, “Why?” then I probably don’t give two flying shits. Or floating shits. Or walking shits. I don’t give ANY shits.

More often than not, I am just bitching to keep from beating someone senseless. Either I bitch about it – or I punch someone. It’s that easy. Maybe I would break something instead, but either way – it’s either bitch, or destroy. Something irks me and angers me and I don’t know what else to do that gripe about it. Logic is not applied in these situations, if anything is applied? It’s probably irritation. Or annoyance. And many times: RAGE. Do not bring logic into where rage is in charge. It’s only hurts the children.

As a general rule, if you feel yourself about to explain a situation I’m bitching about? STOP. If you don’t know how else to respond? The default setting should be, “THAT BITCH!” That response works well for the majority of what I will bitch about. Or maybe “Filthy Whore!” if you’re feeling really sympathetic. Has a blog commenter pissed me off? “WHAT A BITCH!” Did the local TV station pre-empt Ellen for a stupid tornado warning? You can pluralize it to, “THOSE WHORES!” You can even toss in some extra adjectives if you’re feeling brave “THOSE DAMN STINKY BITCHES!” Be creative.

Another pointer? Always point out how I’m better than the people I’m bitching about. “That Whore! You’re so much smarter than her.” or “Those Bitches. They’re just jealous they’re not as funny as you are.”

Do you see how easy it is?

But do NOT justify the actions of the people that I feel have wronged me. Chances are that later, when I simmer down, I won’t really be mad anymore, as long as I get the bitching out early. Bitch with me – and then watch the irritation fade magically away. Whereas if you try to justify the actions or explain their behavior? My irritation towards the jackass who just cut me off will probably morph into irritation towards YOU. And do you know what that means? No sex. So – for a simple translation: Call whoever I’m bitching about a Filthy Snotty Whore? And you’ll get laid. EASY AS PIE.

It’s not logical, I know. But what about me has EVER been logical? Yeah. That’s what I thought. Don’t have an answer for that one, do you? HUGS!

She hates me.

I have gotten up early two days in a row to give me some extra non-baby time to work on designs, housework, and maybe shower. Yesterday? Girl got up at 5:15 (That’s my street voice coming out – I use it more often than I should since I’m 30. And a WASPy.) and decided it was time to play. Of course she’s in adorably cute moods when she wakes up so I couldn’t be mad – but I was frustrated because I didn’t get everything done I needed to get done.

So this morning, to be safe, I woke up at 4:40, and took my shower first to make sure and get that done since I skipped it yesterday. (I know! EW.) And now that I’m showered and have my housework done, and finally have a moment to sit down at the computer, I hear her waking up on the monitor.

Now – for weeks before this – I wake her up at 6am and she practically sleeps through getting her diaper change, getting dressed, and driving to daycare. But now that I am trying to get up earlier in the mornings to give me more free time? She has decided to wake up at the same time I WAS waking up before. SHE HATES ME. I have decided that there is a part of her that knows my goals for the day and does everything in her power to keep me from those goals. If I decided to sit on my ass all day? Or even better – If I was really wanting some play time with her early in the morning? She’s sleep until noon.

She’s evil, that girl. Evilly cute, that is.

This is what I get for trying to look like a girl.

I’ve mentioned before that NIkkiZ’s classroom has a No Shoe policy to avoid people tracking it stuff from the outside that the babies could then place in their mouths. Between that and the fact that they only have one rocking chair in the room, my frequent visits there during the day have kept me sock footed and wearing pants for maximum ease for kicking shoes off and sitting on the floor to nurse.

Today though? It’s hot and springy and sunny and just too damn pretty to wear pants with socks and shoes. So, I’m wearing a skirt. I have not worn a skirt in almost three months, but I’m wearing one today. I feel very weird and just not myself, its been so long since I had to worry about trying not to flash anyone. Sitting ladylike? What’s that?

Of course, as my luck would have it, I go to feed NikkiZ the last two times and her classroom has been outside enjoying the weather. So, I’ve found myself hiking up my skirt and sitting in the grass to feed her both times. Granted, I could have just taken her inside to feed her, but that felt awful silly since her class and her teachers were all outside. Now? I have grass-stains on my ass. And I think I may have flashed a bunch of toddlers while sitting down. And maybe? I got black smudges on my skirt from scooting across the tar based material under the shade awning.

This is what I get for actually living my banner. “Pretending I’m a girly-girl.” Whatever. I should make the next one: “Failing miserably at being a girly-girl and damning my daughter to a lifetime embarassment by having an oaf as a mother.”

Things I’ve done recently that should win me “Mother of the Year”

  • I Called my husband on the way to work and demanded that he TiVo Today because the cast of High School Musical would be on and performing – something LilZ hadn’t even heard about yet. Which means I could have totally gotten away with NOT recording it but I knew he’d want to see it and I’m selfless like that.
  • I still loved on NikkiZ last night even after she puked all over my favorite suede clogs. I could have grounded her, you know.
  • I sat down and watched the new Disney show Hannah Montana with LilZ and actually LIKED it a little bit. Or maybe a lot and I’m just pretending I only liked it a little bit to try to maintain some dignity.
  • I gave in to LilZ’s request that I NOT videotape him at his school dance this weekend. Even though I really wanted to. Although I did not give up my right to at least photograph him. He can’t make me put down my camera, but I told him I’d do it sneakily so none of his friends saw me. I’ll be his personal paparazzi.
  • Can’t talk. Got a Briefing.

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    Shh. I’m undercover. Pretend you don’t know me. I’ll tell you more at the briefing.

    The person who usually takes LilZ to soccer practice called and said that they couldn’t do it yesterday because they had a “briefing.” I reassured them it was not a problem and I made plans to do it myself. (Jeez – what do I look like, his mother?) But it got me thinking: That word sounds so DAMN official and important. What do you say to someone who has to go to a briefing other than “Okay! Have fun!” You really can’t ask them to miss it because, well, it’s a briefing. That’s too important to miss. You don’t even need any other explanation. Just the word “briefing” is enough and you figure they probably couldn’t tell you anyway; because it not only sounds important, it sounds SECRET.

    So – from now on? That’s totally my excuse for everything. “Sorry guys, I can’t do the laundry tonight. I have a briefing.” Or maybe “Can’t do grocery shopping on Saturday, I’ve got a briefing that morning, you’ll have to do it for me.” Or how about “No, I can’t plan the soccer banquet. I have a briefing that day. You know how those briefings are. Gotta go be briefed. Or debriefed. Or whatever.”