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To the people who were disgusting on Caitlyn Jenner’s Instagram

This is a rant folks. I can’t stay quiet. I get a sick feeling in my stomach when people are mean. So I have to say something about the way I feel. It just isn’t right that there’s so much hatred. Hatred veiled as either freedom of speech or a religious privilege. I don’t get it.

When Caitlyn Jenner received the Arthur Ashe Award of Courage at the Espys recently, the speech she made was so compelling and compassionate. I am sure that the transgender community was applauding her stand of courage, yes courage.

Not the kind of courage it takes to head in to battle as a service man or woman. Yes, those people ARE heroes. Without question.

Not the kind of courage it takes for a person fighting cancer and knows the treatment is hard and painful, but has no choice otherwise.

It’s the kind of courage after years of being told one thing is the way it’s supposed to be, and then defying those ‘norms’ and stepping out as an individual. It’s the kind of courage that someone decides after 65 years, they want to be the person they felt they always were.

lgbt equality caitlyn jenner

The comments on Caitlyn Jenner’s Instagram post were horrifying. I guess it’s no surprise that folks are put off by an American icon, a former Olympic champion all of a sudden changing genders. But really? Does it require so much hate? I won’t post any of them here. The language and words used are ugly. You can see for yourself in the link I provided, or not and just believe me.

Clearly she deserves the award considering with all the backlash that’s out there, she still steps forward proudly as who she wants to be. That’s called COURAGE folks! She is a hero in the sense of the word for standing up to who she is, and for the others that want to be who they want to be.

I don’t think straight people in this country understand what the LGBT community suffers through constantly. Whether in the past or even now in the present. The bullying, snide remarks, the comments by politicians and lawmakers that degrade them, the struggle to walk down a street and not be picked out for looking effeminate or butch and beaten up. How many times have you heard, “I love the gays, but….” “I have gay friends, I do. But…”

What is different to you, doesn’t need to threaten you. Someone else’s hero status doesn’t take away from another hero’s status.

Elizabeth Cady Stanton is my hero. Susan B Anthony was arrested for voting. She wasn’t allowed so yep, they threw that nice woman in jail. She was quite the activist in those days. Bet you didn’t know that, huh? She lived true to what she believed in, and she made life easier for those that came after her. That’s a hero.

Alice Paul founded the National Women’s Party. These women fought for my right to vote. To be counted. They endured jail, violence, brutality, isolation; all for my right to vote. That’s heroic.

If you thought the scene in Game of Thrones was horrible with Cersei walking naked, and that damn woman and her shame bell, and the crowd being absolutely cruel, then why would you cast insults and sit comfortably at home wishing death or destruction on a person because of their choice on no longer being a man? Should we go back to the medieval days and live in fear or persecution if someone decides they don’t like what you’re doing? “Did you hear, the Jones’ ate meat on Sunday, that’s a sin, we should go burn down their house.”

Caitlyn came forward knowing this would be hard. And she has at least a team of people to help her. She has the financial luxury of security and privacy. She can afford her medications, surgeries and wardrobe.

But for someone in Smalltown, USA who decides they want to do the same, yet they can’t afford any of those things, as well as they need to fear their very life when they step out their door because they’ve put on a dress, or lipstick, whatever; you think that’s okay?

 

People- heroes come in all shapes and sizes. They are the heroes to the people they are standing up for.

The people who want to change their gender are not doing this like they change a tattoo. They want to be happy, to be free with themselves. They aren’t pedophiles or rapists. They don’t troll women’s bathrooms for the thrill.

Gay people being allowed to marry doesn’t take away from your marriage. Just like my right to vote didn’t take away from all the white men voting. Yeah, only white men got to vote for awhile. There was that whole slavery thing.

 

Why is this so hard to understand?

Okay, stepping off my soapbox now. Just remember, what you say is an arrow that can’t be put back in the quiver. What you write, is a stone thrown that can’t be unthrown. Are you part of a solution, or the problem?

Your ideas, beliefs and opinions are not the right ideas, beliefs or opinions. They’re just yours. Just like mine are mine.

And like Caitlyn Jenner said, ‘being different isn’t a bad thing.’

caitlyn jenner speech quotes

caitlyn jenner arthur ashe courage espys lgbt

 

 

 

 

 

Why I deserve the greatest Mother’s Day of all. And you do too.

I know, I know. You’ve heard it before. We (moms) think were goddesses and fucking saints for pushing watermelons out of our easy bake ovens. And if you had a C-section- power to you. Because stitches through five layers of tissue makes any guy whining over a vasectomy look like the pansy ass douche he is.

Where was I? Why am I so angry? I don’t know. I mean, maybe it’s the PTSD from the pre-epidural catheter they gave me in the labor and delivery room when I went hypertonic trying to birth Emma. Hypertonic- abnormal muscle tone. Sadly, my over active uterus did not leave me with 6 pack abs.

Maybe it’s the bloody nipples I got a week after she was born because I spent those 7 days with her latching on improperly while trying to breast feed. Then cried when I was pumping milk sitting on the toilet in our cramped little bathroom because I felt like a failure.

Yeah. Moms unite! Bitches get shit done. And you know what? We get birthing done.

When I gave birth to Emma, there was a story that week in the news of some natural disaster in Africa ( I can’t remember because part of the brain that holds memory and reason comes out with the after birth. It’s true.)  that caused a woman to give birth in a tree. A GODDAMN TREE! By herself. Her and her baby were there for a good day or so before the rescue choppers got her. Did she worry about saving the placenta later because her MOPS group wanted to make smoothies out of it and then paint pretty pictures on canvases while drinking wine? NO! She did what she had to do.

And gosh darn, I was laboring in a comfortable first world hospital bed and I thought of her. HER. And she was my hero. But also, it kind of scared the shit out of me because the way things were going with Emma, I would have died in that tree and she with me. So yay, modern conveniences!

So I’m sorry if my wish for this Mother’s day is to be treated like royalty by the subjects of the house. But dude! I earned it. It’s been 15 years since all that happened. But still.

Not that you want to know this, but one of the first times I got up to go to the bathroom after I had Owen, I thought I had birthed a second child. I had been lying down in the bed for several hours. It was so scary, like, I paged the doctor  and all and told her that a pile of left over something and I think it had teeth and whatnot had just smooshed out of my cooch and did they need to weigh it or take it for a biopsy, because that twin baby looked like I was bleeding to death. It was frightening.

She laughed, sweetly, and said, you know, most moms forget that their vagina is a long tunnel that fills up with all kinds of good stuff after the baby is born. It was just waiting to come out. Sometimes the muscles contract and it doesn’t until you get up to go to the bathroom. And then I was all, “Like a JELL-O mold!” And she’s all, “YES! You’re fine!”

Oh phew! I thought I hemorrhaged. And so does every other woman who just pushed an 8 pound bag of potatoes with a 90th percentile head out of a hole the size of a golf ball.

Let’s not forget the old days when our mothers and their mothers had babies. When they gave them enemas, shaved their pubes, and knocked them out with drugs. You know. Because it’s easier for the doctor. The male doctor. Oh boo on him for dealing with female pubic hairs. Thank GOD when they changed that. Even though now everyone’s got a Brazilian, so who cares. And I’m all for drugs, but I’d rather NOT wake up two days later to find out if I actually had the baby or not.

Ugh. Men.

“Waa. Let me whine some more because my wife snores when she sleeps and insists on sleeping with a body pillow we’ve named Phil. She never wants to do it anymore. WAAA.”

Someone call the whambulance, because I’m sick and tired of men complaining. I’m sick and tired of men complaining about their vasectomies and that their wife doesn’t want to have sex. Oh, and then newsflash. She’s not going to want to have sex with you after because, well. You’ve seen the Hindenburg disaster. Who wants to fly after that? We need some time. And by time, I mean at least, at LEAST 6 months post partum. And lube. Lots and lots of lube. And probably booze. And the promise of a nap afterwards without a baby attached to my body.

And again, sorry for the graphic nature of this- but if you had hemorrhoids, you don’t want your man down in your crotchal region with anything other than some nice cotton or microfiber breathable underpants. Stuff changes. It’s not the same.

Did you have an episiotomy? Or how about a 4th degree tear? Do the words ‘transvaginal mesh’ send you into flashbacks of trauma similar to a combat veteran’s? You didn’t know what a ‘taint was before, but now you do.

Yeah. So lay off dudes. We deserve pie, and croissants. We should have long leisurely baths alone without people asking to climb in the tub with us. That goes for little kids AND husbands. STAHP. If I wanted a bath with you, I would have said so.

Plus sex in bathwater leads to UTIs and nobody got time for that.

Happy Mother’s day mamas! May you get all the worldly goods you deserve. And peace.

 

Frugalista Blog in the Pee Alone Trilogy

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Mom on Strike

Dear Family,

This is not the NFL. No replacement refs here. No SCABS.

When you wake up in the morning, get your own damn waffle. You can reach the toaster.

Pack your lunch.

When you can’t find your socks, look in the drawer. Or the dryer, or the hamper. Have you ran the washing machine? It’s not magic, it doesn’t run on its own. Oh and don’t just load the blasted thing, put that shit in the dryer, then FOLD. IT. Yep. Guess what? Folding and putting the laundry away is THE BORING part. Uh huh. You may think ‘you’re all that’, putting them dirty clothes in the machine. But that don’t make you a hero.
The battle is in the taking those socks, making them into sock balls. Taking t-shirts that are inside out and putting them right side in.  Or out. Whatever. Oh dear GOD how does every motha fuckin’ shirt get inside out in the wash??? I don’t take off my shirts and put them over my head like that. Is that necessary?

Okay, moving on.

Garbage on the floor. Throw away your own furkin’ wrappers, kleenexes, band-aids, used ones especially, popsicle sticks, gogurt tubes…. oh my gads, is this a frat house??? Throw away all toe nail clippings. I shouldn’t have to ask you twice.

After dinner, if I’m at a PTA meeting, you know one of the many things I do for free, don’t just pile up the dishes on the counter over the dishwasher. Put them IN it. Put the pans in the sink. Put away any leftover food in the refrigerator. Oh, and this is big, WIPE. OFF. THE. COUNTERS. I know it’s hard. It can be yucky. What, all those crumbs and spills. Yeah, disgusting.

If I make the danged dinner, least you can do is clean up after it.

All your clothes and random belongings need to go up to your room. That means all of you. I’m tired of looking at your thermals, hoodies and soccer shoes. Why are there always socks in the family room? Hair accessories are the same. Do they multiply like bunnies? Why are there always bobby pins and hair elastics in every room of the house?

If you have a dish in a room of the house, other than the kitchen, put it away. I don’t want to find your milk glass in your bedroom two weeks later.

Toilet paper needs to be replaced on the roll. How many times do I have to say this? If you are using the last roll, go get several more from the bathroom cupboard.

If you use the last milk, go into the garage fridge, and get the next carton.

All tools need to be returned to their proper place. That means a roll of tape goes back in the office. A hammer goes back in the garage.

Please don’t leave Nerf weapons randomly on the stairs. Someone will trip over them. Okay, I will trip over them.

Now that we have that established, I think I’ll go to the spa, and then eat bonbons watching an entire season of Boardwalk Empire on DVD from the library.

Someone call for pizza.

I’d like a side of herpes to go with that lipstick please.

EWW GROSS!  I jest. But lately, I think that’s what people are doing. Spreading their oral herpes liberally via makeup at the store.  This has to stop people.

This week has been riddled with bringing things home from the store only to find that they have been…. dun dun dun…… USED!!!

People!  What is wrong with you? Don’t you know that you don’t use the lipsticks on the shelf if they aren’t testers? I don’t want your Abreva medicine on MY lipstick tube.

Case 1- Went to Walgreens because I found on Pinterest a gal that posts low end brands identical to high end brands. Being the makeup whore that I am, I wanted to check out a few. So I’m perusing the shelves of Cover Girl, Revlon and L’Oreal. Not that I would call this stuff ‘low end’ any more. They’re charging $10 for a lipstick now! Geeze, I remember when I bought a Clinique lipstick for $10.

Well, I just went through looking for the colors on my list, dropped them in my basket and checked out.

I get in my car, like any junkie does, and begin to open up my purchase to check out the loot. Apparently, I didn’t have much to check out, first tube I open, I notice the seal has been broken. Dammit. Total brain fart maneuver for me not to have checked this in the store first. I proceed with caution. I know the herpes isn’t going to jump from the tube to my lips, but I’ve now begun conducting my own CSI investigation. Gloves on, black light out…. I notice…. the surface of the lipstick has been touched by human flesh. Double dammit.

Moving on to the next tube. Yep, same thing there.

Three items that I bought were contaminated. I went inside to check the shelf and the remaining products were also tampered with. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?? I pointed out to the Walgreens lady and she said that she’s tired of telling people to stop using the stuff because they get mad at her. Sounds like a fun job. Working at Walgreens AND getting stink eye looks from people tampering with merchandise.

Whatever happened to, ‘you mess it you buy it’? Although, I have knocked over 3 bottles of olive oil in the middle of Cost Plus World Market, and the mess that ensued was disastrous. How I’m even allowed in those stores at all is amazing.  I was relieved they didn’t hold me to the rule, “you break it, you buy it” during that incident.

Back to my infected product rant- later in the week, Emma and I are at Sephora killing time before we head in to a movie. I see two women over at the mirror with a Givenchy mascara tester, yes tester, thank goodness. BUT… and I mean a big BUT, they were putting it on directly from the TUBE using the WAND that comes with it. Anyone knows you use those little mini wands they have at the end caps and you only dip ONCE. No DOUBLE DIPPING. Now that tester has their conjunctivitis all over it.

I used to work at Clinique with Nordstrom. If you are at all familiar with Nordstrom’s liberal return policies, they take back ANYTHING. Well, they did in the 90s anyway. So people would return make up all the time. No biggy. That’s cool. And you can use it and decide you don’t like it and still return it. My favorite though were the customers that would nicely hand me the package, receipt, everything. Then I would ask if  there something wrong with it. You know, to utilize my skillful customer service skillz, because I was supposed to try and sell them something else. Hey, I worked on commission.

So they would say, no thanks, and then they would explain rather sheepishly, “I only used the lipstick once.” or “I only used the eye pencil once.”

And I would politely carry on with my uber friendly customer service. But in my head, the dialogue goes like this, “Oh, you only used it once? Well then I will put that in the USED ONLY ONCE DRAWER. We have a special discount for once used products. Like a roulette wheel of sorts. Great bargains!”

But I didn’t. I just smiled. I don’t care if you’ve used it ONCE or 43 times, that shit is going back to the manufacturer. Should I wipe it off and sell it to the next poor sod? No.

So that brings me to the Walgreens lipsticks. When I saw them in my car that they had been used, I totally thought of some nice lady, “I only used it once.” And then I pictured a puss-filled broken sore on her upper lip, and that’s why I returned them.

Lesson 1- Don’t use products on the shelves that are packaged specifically for tampering. If it’s sealed, don’t unseal it dammit!

Lesson 2- When using a tester, use the little doohickeys they provide and don’t double dip.

Lesson 3- I will never use a mascara at Sephora again.

Please don’t use makeup at the store if you have one of these.

Disclaimer- Do not google images of herpes or conjunctivitis. It will ruin you. There are some things that can’t be unseen.

I also do not believe that every single person who has used a tester at Sephora is contaminated or infected. This is just merely exaggeration for the sake of the blog people.

I promise you, I didn’t eat my children this weekend.

But I was thinking of it. Not because they could be delicious, but because I felt like a honey badger and wanted to tear apart everything that was driving me nuts this weekend.

I was PMSing. (Ew, Ew, Ew) James is going ‘la la la la, I can’t hear you’. I mean, that had to be it. Otherwise, I was just a BITCH.

I had my first migraine in a loooong time. I usually don’t get them now that I go to acupuncture. It’s like magic that I don’t have them anymore. I even had a treatment on Friday. And I still got a migraine. Holy shitballs, it wasn’t fun.

I had a holiday party on Friday night to attend. Totally fun. Love hanging out with my girls. I got to dress up cute, wear Spanx and heels and feel all girly girl. So it was good. Then Saturday morning woke up feeling not so great.

Things I observe when my left eye has what feels like a knife stuck in it (that’s how a migraine feels, for those that don’t know):

  • The spy gear that my son has that sets off an alarm whenever someone enters his room sounds like an air raid. Horrible. Awful toy. This will be going in the donation box by accident for sure.
  • Everything my poor husband did drove me to drink. We bicker in the car. But when I feel like I did- we don’t just bicker, I rip his eyes out. Okay, I just tell him every turn he’s made is wrong. But in his book, I might as well rip out his eyeballs. Or stick pokers in his ears, then he wouldn’t have to hear me.
  • The cat litter is out to get me.
  • The laundry procreates like rabbits in spring.
  • My pants don’t fit. Even with Spanx.
  • Words with Friends starts to feel like it’s out to get me.
  • 30 kids at a birthday party with a pinata is like watching one of the Kardashians get a bikini wax. It’s loud, irritating and not a pretty sight.

But it’s Sunday night and I’m coming out of my tunnel.

Other than the lady on TV during the football game saying the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders are world class performers, I’m all good. Nothing can bother me. (Knock on wood.) The kinks are worked out. My head is back to normal. The children are alive and well (I didn’t eat them, or even merely nibble on them). The husband hasn’t taken away my lipstick allowance, so that must mean he still loves me.

I’m ready for Monday.

God help me.