My winking ass…

I think the hiatus is over. The writer’s strike has ended with an increase in snark and immaturity. (Preface: I have no particular problem with large ladies, I’m just relating the antics here…)

For example, today my bestie, T-bomb, and I were at our favorite local hangout for our bacon, lettuce, tomato, and avocado sammies (except she ruins it by putting Feta cheese on hers). We’re drinking some vino and laughing and maybe feeling sentimental because we’re here after all to start the packing party (the ex and I just sold the place). And then, out of nowhere, she turns around, and with extreme shock tells me “Shut up! I know that chick over there – in the barf pink shirt!”

I disregarded the whole SHUT UP thing cuz that’s what besties do.

I see pepto-dismal bitch and ask what’s the backstory (I’ve been finding EVERYTHING has a back story…) And she proceeds to tell me that some little piglet had been bullying T-bomb’s gorgeous girl for years and one night, during a school dance where T-bomb was chaperoning, she had the udder misfortune of running into the little piglet and her farm friends. Who were oinking and pointing at her beautiful girl.

Apparently, Farmville isn’t a myth on Facebook. It’s alive and well, and snuffling in the suburbs.

So T-bomb decided enough is enough, the trough was E M P T Y.

Nice teeth, but you smell like shit. Just saying.

She flipped her hair and confronted the little swine. “I’m watching you. Keep this in mind.”

Later, after the dance, T-bomb was feeling pretty proud of herself – no one is gonna mess with my kid! But then, dun-dun-dun! Here comes the little piglet’s mama. She had the nerve to put her pudgy finger in T’s face and snarl “You talked to my daughter?”

T: Um, yeah.

Mean mama: The next time you have something to say, you can say it to me.

T: Well, the next time your daughter tries to bully mine, we’ll have a problem.

Mean mama: *snuffle* Oh yeah? You think I care?

T: You better care.

Mean mama: *glaring* This isn’t over.

T: Yes, it is.

G L A R E

………………

So today, I saw the Mean Mama and I gotta say, I’m afraid. Besides the barf pink t-shirt, she looked friggin scary. I wouldn’t want to tangle with that one.

But I gotta give high props to the T for protecting her girl. Mother’s love knows no limits. Especially when it comes to confronting scary women whose nasty daughters are mean girls. Or little piglets as T puts it.

Fawk You Friday

It’s Friday. Thank gawd. You know what this means? It’s TIIIIIMMMME. To vent. To give the high hard one to the jerks who gave me the extra frown line, gray hair, and hangover.

My head is full of lots of fun facts from the week.  And by fun I mean, fun for the giver, not the receiver. And by fun, that’d be me mocking the term fun. Cuz it wasn’t. Fun that is.

So to all y’all who gave me some good material, and at the same time annoyed the crap out of me…

• To the dirty old man who chose to sit next to me on the plane… FAWK you for actually leaning halfway into my seat and asking way too many questions 3″ from my face… While I thoroughly enjoyed your Old Spice tinged with Scotch, the stank from your cigar breath was a bonus. Reminded me of the spittoon you probably used back in 1889. And no, I was lying when you asked “I keep trying to use that darned internet thing but I can’t figure it out. Why is it so hard?”

• To the cranky barista at Yuppiebucks who gave me the confused looked when I ordered a sugar-free, non-fat Hazelnut Latte and make it SUPER-SIZED…. FAWK you for the grease pen which a) got all over my cute lavender mittens and b) FAWK you for rolling your eyes and telling me that “it’s actually called Venti”. This is America, we super-size. This isn’t Italy, and your coffee isn’t Italian. If it was, I’d order an espresso that actually tasted good. Your StarSucks.

• To the medical tech who weighed me and double checked it. WTF was that for. FAWK you for giving me a reason to freak out. It was really hard to lose that “road warrior” weight. But I did and I’ll not have you freaking the FAWK out of me. I really did lose that much idiot.

• To the angry Polish woman at DMV… FAWK you for your anger and your scary fist. Here’s the deal… Your daughter who is in high school must come to DMV and get her fingerprint. That’s the DMV Law (or rule? whatever.) You cannot insist just because the very nice DMV lady has access to the computer that holds the printout of said daughter’s “stuff” – that you can bully her with your slammed fist on the counter – and she will submit. Unt unh. This is America. And FAWK you that you refuse to have your daughter take time out of her ‘so precious and important school day’ (or after school curriculum) to attend to the tedious responsibilities of LIFE. But I mostly appreciate that you were so concerned about her school time, yet so ignorant of my ‘productive in society because I actually work’ time by taking 20 minutes of it to pound your fist and bully said nice DMV lady. Who by the way, had to leave her station (which I was in line for) in order to file her public employee complaint against the public, thus making me late for a very important business meeting. I could go on, but, then I’d be taking more of my reader’s very valuable time…. If you don’t like it – change it or go home.

But finally – the last FYF goes to…..

• ME… Because I got the once in a lifetime opportunity to be that bitchin chick and bend the CEO’s ear on the airplane home but I chose to be that gutless chick. It was an empty flight… I could have sat next to him… And to make it worse, given my amazing web launch last week, this could have set my career onto an amazing path. FAWK you me – you had your chance and blew it.

So cheers to a new week – and jeers to the new situations that make me want to say FAWK You.

Fawk You Friday

I’m going to start reserving my Friday posts to give a shout out to the idiots that fawked up my week.

I’d like to say FAWK YOU-

• To the CDAAG group who almost derailed my web launch this week: “Submitting the request without adding the approved documents beforehand is not a catastrophe, so fawk you for giving us shit for 3 hours.”

• To the woman with the disgusting feet who gave me a pedicure and the heebie jeebies: “Bitch, put on some socks. I don’t want to see your freaky fawking feet when you’re taking care of mine.”

• To the woman standing outside who looked right at me as I walked in for my appointment. “Really? You’re the fawking receptionist? You knew I was coming in and you took 10 more minutes smoking and gabbing? Fawk you for ignoring me and I hope you get fired.”

• To the guy at Whole Foods who mocked ME when I mispronounced a name: “Never ever ever correct a paying customer. You knew what the fawk I was talking about. Not only did I not want an enunciation lesson, I didn’t want it from a clerk at a grocery store.”

And finally,

• To the people who honk at me on my own street: “I live here, I will pull in and out of my own driveway. If you don’t like having to slow the fawk down for me stop driving so fawking fast. “

Have a great fawking weekend.