Disrespectful Teens and Their Un-involved Parents.

Hubby surprised me last week with tickets to see The Hunger Games at midnight as an early birthday present. I had no idea that the teenagers would be out in full force like they were for all the Twilight movies.  After realizing (via Facebook posts from friends) that we should have been in line to get a seat hours ago, we decided to head up to the theater at 8:30pm.  The line wasn't awful, it had not even reached the end of the theater building wall, so we claimed a spot against said wall and hunkered down.  It was drizzling and a little cool outside so my annoyance level was already heightened.  The hubby informed me, more than once, that the last movie he stood in line for hours to see was Ghostbusters. He loves me, he really loves me.

We were sitting behind an absolutely adorable (see, I can be sweet) mother/daughter/daughter's friend combo and I was pleasantly surprised at how much I was enjoying their company.  Mamma was wearing a track suit and had her hair in a pony tail, my kind of lady.  The girls, both fourteen, were very excited about being there to see the movie on a school night.  Talked about how sleepy they would be tomorrow and how they dare not miss, even on the Friday before Spring Break, as they may miss important notes in Algebra.  I immediately liked these girls and the Mamma and thought to myself: maybe, just maybe, teenagers today aren't all that bad. 

Oh how wrong I was.  It was not long after I claimed my spot on the wall that I was surrounded by blonde highlights, Justin Bieber lookalikes, glitter, Victoria's Secret perfume, skinny jeans and loud mouths.  In about twenty minutes I went from being 30th in line to about 70th in line as car load after car load of these shiny, smelly, glittery teenagers were dropped of at the curb and joined their friends at the FRONT OF THE LINE!  And it was their parents who were dropping them off! Immediately, Mamma and I begin to make very loud protestations at the rudeness unfolding before our very eyes.  After the third car load of kids broke in line we decided to go inside and complain.  We were assured that ushers and police would be out shortly to manage the line.  Good enough, thought I.  Surely the theater won't tolerate this.  

Wrong again.  The teenagers kept pouring in.  Finally, after an hour, the police and ushers arrive and begin to give the teenage mob a "talking to".  Exactly seven out of the fifty kids had the respect to move their asses to the back of the line.  The rest of these little effers actually stood there and pretended not to hear the cop speaking.  They ignored a cop!  It's been less than fifteen years since I was the same age as these kids and you can bet your sweet ass that if an officer of the law told me to do something, I did it.  Period.  Not only was I afraid of police, I was more afraid of my dad taking away my privileges. It was blatantly clear that these kids had ZERO respect for authority.  It was also clear that the police and the ushers had no intention of actually forcing the line breakers to move it to the back.  They asked the kids, rather politely, to move and when they didn't nothing happened.  I was expecting mace and tazers.  I was very let down that I wasn't going to see some teenage mob smack down from the po-po.  I wonder if it's too late in life to go to the police academy?  Like I told you before, I'll taze a kid.  Had I been the one wearing the badge, I would have picked off the Biebers first: taze, taze, taze.  

At one point, a little bouncy blonde bitch in a glittery pink sweater hops right out of her mothers car and joins the group of other bouncy blonde bitches standing in front of us.  She walked right past the "associate director" of the theater AND the police officer.  Wtf?  They WATCHED her do it and said nothing!  That moment is when my mouth decided to take over.  "Excuse me? Pink Sweater here just broke in line! In front of you!"  I was told they would not force her to move.  Fine, I'll force her to move.  "Hey, Pink Sweater! Take your ass to the back!  I haven't been standing here for two hours in the rain to have you walk up in all your glittery pinkness and get in front of me.  Move your ass!" Pink Sweater cowered behind one of the Biebers and pretended not to hear.  I turned my attention back to the theater boss man.  I informed him, politely, that this was unacceptable.  He literally shrugged his shoulders and gave me an "I'm outnumbered here" look and walked off.  Dick.  He doesn't deserve to be the "director" of anything if he can't direct the Beibers and the Pink Sweaters to the back of the line!  It's not hard.  Give them a choice: get to steppin' or get tazed.

Once the po-po and the "director" walked off, one of the girls had the audacity to smart mouth me.  Had I been eleven years younger I would have gone all "hold my shit while I whip this bitches ass" on her.  Problem was, I didn't want to go to jail and have to wait until tomorrow to see the movie.  That's a lie, I would have scrubbed her ass across the sidewalk had the hubby not been in tow.  That little asshole should have thanked him for saving her face.  Had I been there with my cousin, she would have held my shit and taken me to the movie after we made bail.  Her exact words.  Is it un-fair for an almost thirty year old to beat up a teenage girl?  I think not.  If that little skank thinks she's big-girl enough to mouth off at me, she needs to be prepared for the consequences.  She then wanted to get in a stare-off with me.  "I've got fifteen years of being-a-bitch experience on you, Rookie.  You ain't got a pair of big girl panties quite large enough to take me on." Behind the Bieber she goes.  I'll claim that victory, small as it was.  

In the end, not one of the line breaking ass-clowns was forced to go to the back of the line.  As we followed the line into the door, passing the po-po and the pansy director, Mamma and I continued our verbal showings of disgruntlement.  I even smarted off the the cop and got a firm hand in the back from the hubby.  As we made our way toward the door, we stepped over so much garbage on the sidewalk it appeared as if a concert had taken place.  These kids have no respect.  They just showed up, broke in line and littered all over the sidewalk.  And to make it worse, the line-breakers had not even read the book!  After the movie we were all filing back out of the theater, I heard one of the Pink Sweaters make the following statement:  I was, like, totally lost during, like, most of the movie.  I didn't, like, read the book because, like, why would you do that when you can just, like, watch the movie.  It's, like, so stupid to waste all that time, like, reading when you can just watch the movie.

This depressed me.  The movie was so awesome and, I think, did the book such great justice.  Of course you missed out on some character development and a lot of the back story of the society, but that's why you should read the book! It's a crying damn shame that more people don't encourage their children to read.  Take Mamma for example.  While I was in line with her and the girls, I learned that she had read the books BEFORE her daughter was allowed to read them so a) she could make sure it was appropriate material and b) she would be able to be on board with something that interested her daughter.  Did I mention before that I liked this woman?  And lets not forget, she sat out in the rain to watch this movie with her daughter and the friend and was trying to make it an exciting experience for them.  They had conversations about the characters and how they hoped the movie stayed close to the book.  The parents of the wretched line breakers dropped their teens at the curb, in the front of a line more than 100 people long, while they talked on their cell phones and never acknowledged their children's departure.  Shame on them!!! And good on Mamma for being more involved.

From this experience I came to the realization that these teenagers were barely more civilized than the common gorilla.  They came in packs of twenty girls to one boy, they consumed food and dropped the remnants where they stood, they had a sort of language that only others of their kind could understand.  And I totally blame the parents for raising total asshats.  Kids these days have no respect for anything!  ANYTHING!  Not property, not their elders, not authority, nothing! I propose we start a movement: Taze The Teenagers.  We could all carry tazers and if we come across a teen who is too stupid to be walking around without supervision, we give them a nice jolt in the ass.  I'll go ahead and put it out there, if my kids turn out like some of the teens I saw last week, they're getting juiced...in the ass.

Next time I decide to watch a movie that has a mass teenage following, I will NOT go to the midnight premier.  Or maybe I will, and I'll bring my tazer.  

Neighborhood Zombie Kids

This is a short one, but awareness needs to be spread.  I'll taze a kid.

Our kids got a trampoline for Christmas from their grandparents.  We got the last tie on the safety net secured and all of a sudden there are two kids in our yard staring at the thing like it's a fresh body and they are a newly turned "walkers."  Wtf?  Where are the parents?  We don't know these kids.  We could be mass murderers or pedophiles for all they know!

The situation got more serious this past weekend when my husband brought home a new above ground pool.  As he was sweating his ass off trying to install it into the deck, more "walkers" appeared.  "Hey, mister!  When's that pool gunna be ready so we can come swim?"  Excuse me?  The nerve of these little effers.  We have never seen them before in our lives.  We knew we would have to regulate the swim time with the neighbors' kids, but at least we KNOW them.  There were kids coming out of the woods.  I don't even know where they were coming from.  We live in a very rural area and there are not that many houses close.  Do they live in the woods?  Are they actual zombies?  Can they smell fun outdoor recreational equipment like trampolines, swing sets and pools?  Do their parents even care that their children are wandering through the woods and talking to strangers?  They were drooling, breathing heavily and their eyes had glazed over.  Definitely "walkers."  Well, I hate to break it to ya kiddos but you're not invited to contaminate my pool with the zombie virus.  Have you been watching "The Walking Dead"?  That shit is spreading via the vapors now!  I can only imagine the havoc to be wreaked if it gets in the water.  And I would prefer it if my children could avoid this particular virus. It's hard enough to keep adequate groceries in this joint.  Imagine if I had to feed two zombies.  No, thank you! 

I'm not about to have all these freaky little kids showing up at my house in their bathing suits holding their water noodles, breathing heavily and coughing all their cooties on me.  Call me harsh, but I didn't pay all that money to entertain the children of the corn for the summer.  While we have the proper fence and gate (complete with lock) I feel some signage will be a necessity.  Here are the pool rules:

Sign #1:

No Lifeguard on Duty. Private Property. No Trespassing. Children must have an invitation to swim AND a parent or they will be tazed, no exceptions.

Sign #2:

NO: running, yelling, eating, drinking, diving, peeing/pooping/farting/sneezing/coughing.

And last, but certainly not least:

Coach Commando

Most people have normal experiences with their everyday happenings.  Not this girl.  Not that I'm complaining, it makes for great material.  But seriously, normal happenings only occur about 25% of the time for me.  Unfortunately my curse has now become my children's.

Bless them.  Something that bugs the ever loving piss out of me are over-the-toppers.  You know the type: super mommies, over-bearing teachers that give crazy homework to first graders, and last but not least (and the focus of today's Bitch Slap): Coach Commando.  We have in our lives not one but TWO such people!  That's right two.  Because having just one wouldn't be any fun.

The first Coach Commando to be introduced into our family is my daughter's PE teacher at her 1A school.  This dude is a real piece of work.  Apparently, Coach spent his younger years in the Army and is now a washed up PE Coach at a school that is a skid mark in the underwear of the public education system.  Judging by the silver hair and leathery skin, I'd place him somewhere in his sixties.  Bearing an uncanny resemblance to R. Lee Ermey, this asshole makes the children (first graders) play "war ball" three to four days per week.  Correct me if I'm wrong (I'm kidding, I'll bitch slap you) but I'm pretty sure war ball has zip to do with physical education.  Allowing a gymnasium full of six year old kids to heave dodge balls at one another is a poor excuse for appropriate physical activity.  I mean, the fat kid always goes down first and ends up sitting on the sidelines until the game is over.  Wtf?  It's his fat ass who needs to run off the fried chicken and Coke his mother packed in his brown bag lunch.  Physical Education my ass.

To add to the douche-baggery that comes along with this creep, he has some stupid war cry he teaches to all the kids: "Hoka Hey!"  I googled it and, in short, it means "it's a good day to die."  I'm not sure this is appropriate for my young daughter.  And how the hell does it relate to PE?  Not only do I find this saying stupid, Coach Commando has it emblazoned on everything he owns.  I was sitting in carpool line one day and parked to my left was an obnoxious silver corvette.  The tag read, you guessed it, "HOKAHEY".  Are you kidding me?  That pushed me over the edge.  I decided then and there that he was getting a Slap.  But, my dear friends, it got better (or worse?).  Commando exited the gymnasium wearing a hat, a whistle, a t-shirt, a wind breaker, shorts and tennis shoes and was carrying a duffle bag. Every item in the previous sentence save the shorts, socks and shoes was embroidered with the stupid war cry.  The t-shirt, the jacket, the hat, the lanyard holding his whistle, the duffle bag.  I shit you not folks.  I nearly fell out of my car window trying to take a photo of him.  This ass clown took the time and trouble to have embroidered each and every surface of his wardrobe with this dumb ass saying.  I have two children and can count, on one hand, how many items have their freaking NAMES embroidered on them.  And of those items, all of them were gifts.  When I got to the front of the carpool line and my mini-me climbed in the car I asked her if Coach Commando was her PE teacher.  The following conversation ensued:

Me: Is that your PE coach?
Little: Yes and he gets on my nerves.
Me: Oh yeah, how so?
Little: Well, first of all he makes us play war ball all the time and it's boring.  I want to dance and play outside.
Me: And secondly?
Little: He wears his whistle all the time.  Like, when it's not even PE he has it on.  I mean, who does that?

My chest swelled with pride at my young one's inner douche bag radar that I nearly burst.

After coming across this crazy wank I was sure such a jewel would not come along for years.  Oh, how wrong I was.  The hubby and I decided the youngest offspring (the boy) needed to be part of organized sports and signed the young lad up for tee ball.  How bad could this be, right?  Cute little kids tying in vain to hit a stationary ball and then running straight for center field instead of first base.  Wrong again.  

At the very first team meeting, I was amazed to discover that tee ball coach would be Coach Commando number two!  Unbelievable!   I took notes immediately in anticipation of what he had to deliver.  I will say, he's nowhere near as bad as R. Lee War Ball, but he deserves a Slap none the less.

The first red flag went up when he called me to introduce himself as the boy's coach and informed me of a "mandatory" parent meeting the following week.  Let me stop here and say (if you haven't already figured it out) I'm not a fan having the word "mandatory" thrown at me.  I paid my money for the kid to play tee ball, he'll play whether I come to your stupid meeting or not.  But, the fella offered pizza and I'm not going to miss an opportunity for a free meal.  

Red flag number two: he mentioned that he had spent several years in the Army and was now out and was super excited to teach the boys his brand of tee ball and discipline.  I was hesitant to get my hopes up that this ass would make for good material so I put him on the back burner.  My suspicions were confirmed at this little meeting of his.  The parents were all presented with a three page booklet, complete with clip art, telling us what to expect from his tee ball program.  I couldn't concentrate past the clip art.  No need, he read the letter to us as if we were all drooling idiots.  However, his letter was a grammatical train wreck and I couldn't have understood a word otherwise so his reading it proved to be helpful.  He had prepared a list of important points to discuss with us lowly parents and went through them systematically, checking them off one by one on his iPad.  

While he droned on and on about discipline and "please, no parent interference"  and blah blah blah, I was looking around at his team of misfits.  Fourteen kids make up his tee ball team and not one of them sat in the same spot during the pizza meal.  Some lady lost her kid and frantically searched the park for him during the meeting.  Three kids sat at their seats picking and then eating boogers.  Some wretched kid squirted me with a Capri Sun.  I tripped him up later and he cried to his mother that some lady pushed him down.  Meeting over, time to go home.  R. Lee Tee Ball has his work cut out for him, poor bastard.  

The first practice was a train wreck.  He had no idea how to keep these kids focused on the task at hand: hit ball off tee, make it to first base.  An hour and a half later not one tiny cleat had seen first base.  The last thirty minutes of practice I asked if I could help.  A frustrated tee ball commando told me to "have at it."  I pulled out a pack of gummy life savers and said, "Hey kids!  Hit the ball, run to first base.  I'll meet you there with a gummy."  Five minutes and fourteen gummies later I had made more progress than he did in an hour and a half.  And I left my whistle and iPad at home.  DAMN I'M GOOD!     

Bullies...ugh!

I hate a bully.  Hate, hate, hate!  I will admit, I was probably guilty of this as a younger person and I will stop here and openly apologize for it.  As a mother, I see red when my girl comes home talking about being bullied.  She is such a sweet, sensitive child I bristle at the thought of someone treating her badly.  She treats everyone she meets the same way, the way she would want to be treated.  The boy child will likely be able to fend for himself so he's on his own.  But don't eff with my girl.  Call it restitution for my bad doings in my younger years, but my kids know that being an asshole won't be tolerated.  They have been taught to like everyone who wants to be their friend and is nice to them.

The girl child really took this advice to heart and she is known for her precious disposition.  So when I hear of some little boy (who shall be referred to as "asshat") in her class being mean to her, it makes me livid.  And to add to the severity of the situation, asshat is really a gross little kid.  He has been given opportunity after opportunity to be her friend.  That wasn't good enough for him.  He's one of these little mean kids who doesn't want her to have other friends. Sorry punk, you'll have to share. She's fabulous and you can't hog her.

So, the little bully gets the Bitch Slap today.

At first, the bullying started with benign threats like, "I'm not gunna be yer friend if you're friends with so-and-so."  Girl child was advised to tell asshat that she is friends with everyone and if he can't handle that he can kiss her ass (in g-rated language, of course.)  The threats went from benign to a tad more menacing with crap like, "My dog can beat up your dog."  Now he's bringing the dogs into it? Oh, hell no! I have several problems with this. Why is a six year old privy to dog fighting?  Girl child was appalled at the very thought of her dogs fighting.  Of course she was, we would never expose her to anything that would even give her the idea that people fight their dogs on purpose.

She's got her whole life to deal with effed up shit.  While she's in elementary school I'd like to keep her little emotions protected from such atrocities. What the hell is going on over at asshat's house that gives him the idea to bring his dog over for a fight?  I can just imagine his fat ass father sitting on the couch, beer gut hanging out from underneath his too short, stained wife beater, counting the winnings from Bruiser's fights that weekend as his Marlboro red hangs from his dirty face.  No doubt there would be a two inch ash teetering from its end, perilously close to falling.  He will be drinking a bud and belching and farting, of course.  Nice example you're setting for your kid there, Rusty.  I just made that name up, I have no idea what the dude's name is but he's probably a Rusty.  And for the record, my dogs would have kicked the shit out of asshat's dog.

Last night, girl child tells me asshat has been hitting her.  HITTING HER!  I can not express in words, written or verbal, how angry I became.  The very thought of such a ghastly child talking to my sweet girl makes my skin crawl.  Touching her is out of the question.  Hitting her will get you shanked.  Since I'm pretty sure shanking a six year old is frowned upon, I'm at a loss.  I have no idea how to handle the situation.  Shanking seems to be the only reasonable option.  I mean, he hit her.  Totally justifiable, right?  What am I supposed to do?  I've sent notes to her teacher, fat lot of good that did.  I've told her to hit him back to which she replies, "But Mommy, I don't want to get in trouble."  Curse her moral values!  I'm thinking a meeting with his parents is not a good idea.  I highly doubt these people will give a hot shit that their child is acting like a dick.  I've met the mother.  She's not what I would call a very "involved" mom.  The entire 45 minutes of the classroom Christmas party she stood in a corner and complained to all the other parents about her "stupid doctor" who wouldn't refill her Lortab prescription for a pulled muscle.  She's a real winner that one.  And I don't want to meet Rusty, ever.  

How am I to solve this problem?  She won't kick his ass, the teacher isn't helping and the parents are dead beats.  I can't shank the child nor can I break his hyoid bone without going down to the county jail, or worse, having Rusty show up at my house in his wife beater.

In the beginning...

A little intro:
Have you ever encountered someone so stupid, so self involved, or so intolerable you thought to yourself: I'd really like to backhand this douche? Well, then you're in the right place! I've spent much of my life being known as a girl who talks too loudly and says whatever is on her mind.  More often that not, what's on my mind is not flattering to the people around me.  If you're a tool, I'm gonna call you a tool. It's a problem and I have found no cure. I've also been known to give out compliments but let's face it: it's way more fun to make fun of people.  Nowadays, I'm a stay at home mom and housewife with the domestic skills of a man.  Somehow the whole idea that I should make myself presentable 100% of the time, avoid foul language and only drink in moderation got lost on me.  I'm crass, I don't do laundry (seriously, I'll go buy new clothes, just ask the husband), I wear pajama pants 99% of the time and I only wash my hair when absolutely necessary. I am baffled by these mothers who always look banging in their designer clothes, their hair is perfectly high-lighted, their children are devoid of crusty boogers and Kool-Aid stains and they can prepare an organic, well balanced meal upon request.  I, for one, don't trust them.  I look like ass because I'm too tired to make myself presentable.  My kids wake up five times per night: one is a sleep walker and the other a light sleeper.  I trudge through carpool, breakfast (No I don't want the cereal, I wan't pancakes and eggs and bacon and whatever else I can think of that will require effort for you to make me!), lunch (repeat), carpool again, homework (torture), the neighbors horrific kids coming over to play, bath, bedtime.  Ah blessed bedtime!

I'm an avid Facebook user.  Probably another problem and again, I have have found no cure.  My iPhone is constantly alight with that magical blue screen, allowing me access to endless material that I can use to make fun of people.  Let's face it, no one's Facebook statuses are ever entertaining.  Except mine.  Which is where this blog comes in to play.  The majority of my posts are one of two things: 1) a regurgitation of the hilarity that is my life.  This can include things my kids, husband and father (all of whom you will come to know and love shall you choose to follow me) do or say, unbelievable happenings that would only take place in my presence or 2) merciless jokes made at the expense of some unfortunate soul who dared to offend me with their douche-baggery.  I marvel at the idiocy of some people and I use their unfortunate existence to entertain the masses.  And by masses I mean the 815 friends on my Facebook page.  A girl can dream though, right?

The inspiration for this blog:
I've toyed with the notion of writing a blog for some time now and never quite felt that the time and effort would be worth it.  I get messages all the time on Facebook thanking me for my un-edited thoughts and telling me that my posts are a large part of their entertainment for the day.  Still, I didn't feel the need for a blog.  Until yesterday.  I came across a post so ignorant it caused me to un-friend (gasp!) the person on spot and re-post their status update including why I think they are so stupid.  51 likes and 158 comments later, I decided to join the blogging world and share the hilarity!  I will share with you the crazy going ons in the life of a stay at home mom who wears pajama pants most of the time, drinks a beer every night, marvels at the "super moms" out there who seem to always have it together and most importantly, I will "bitch slap" the people who most annoy me.  And with out further ado, I give you your first Bitch Slap:

Recipient of today's Bitch Slap:  A former fat nobody turned self absorbed super tool because she married up.
While scrolling through my news feed yesterday I became extremely inflamed at the following status update made by the person described above: "I don't understand why people take prescription mood altering drugs just because they are depressed.  I just deal with stuff."   Immediately I un-friended this tool bag and I re-posted her update warning people that such ignorance would get you the ax.  She doesn't have her profile set to private so I was still able to access her information which is just gold, pure gold!  In the "about" section, former loser announces that she married the love of her life and then proceeds to put her pet name for him out there for the world to see.  Poor chap.  The information she provides leads the reader to believe her dear hubby is either an attorney or a doctor and she goes on to list the important organizations to which she and hubby claim membership, including the swanky country club.  After reading this section of her page, I'm already convinced that she is trying a wee bit too hard to convince her public that she is better than the average Jane (aka her former self.)  Most of her other posts consist of what she's eating for lunch (mostly tuna or grilled chicken lest her old fat self resurface) or the rigors of her workout routine.  It's obvious she has a serious need to convince herself, and the Facebook world, that she's rich, super important, and super healthy and fit.  Don't forget she's a second degree black belt in taekwando. Super cool!  

Upon perusing her wall my suspicion that this chick is a self absorbed a-hole was solidified by posts like, "Got the hubby gold cuff links for Valentine's day!" and "Can't wait till Indy. We get VIP tickets."  and one of my personal favorites, "LL Cool J is doing a good job" referring to his hosting the Grammys.  First of all, who wears cuff links? And gold ones to boot!? I have a sneaky suspicion that these Mr. T style atrocities donned the hubby's monogram also.  I wonder if she got them at Things Remembered.?  Nah, that's such an original gift idea I'm sure she scoured high and low to find them!  It's Valentine's day, not graduation...and it's also not 1987 anymore.  Get the dude an iPad2 and some head phones so he can play fruit ninja in silence while you absentmindedly ramble on with your nonsensical wisdom between blinks.  Secondly, I find it absolutely hilarious that she felt the need to state her approval of LL Cool J's hosting abilities.  This heifer thinks so highly of herself she thought the Facebook world could more easily enjoy the Grammys now that she had bestowed her blessing upon LL.  He's LL COOL J you stupid bitch.  Of course he was doing a great job.  And neither he nor your minions needed your divine wisdom to pick up on that.  I wonder how many of her friends that were watching the Grammys paused it to look at her Facebook wall, saw her approval and thought: Rock on, LL!  This gold cuff link monogramming, ex-fat-ass-nobody approves of your performance!

Back to the genius "mood altering prescription" post.  I have so many problems with this statement it's hard to slow my brain down to form a coherent thought.  But I'll try my best.  While I appreciate the fact that everyone is entitled to their own opinions, I also think people overlook the fact that in order to have an opinion you must first have a CLUE about the subject matter for which you are giving your opinion.  For example:  Say your dog is sick and you take him to the Vet.  Do you explain your precious pooch's symptoms to the doggie doc and then give your opinion on how the good doctor should treat Fido?  Hell no, you don't because your ass didn't go to veterinary school!  You have no freaking clue how to fix your dog, therefore your opinion on the matter in invalid and shouldn't be given.  Same goes for our ex-voted-most-likely-to-be-forgotten-after-high-school here.  She obviously hasn't done any research on depression or any of the other illness that may be treated by "mood changing" drugs.  Otherwise she would know that clinical depression and similar illnesses are a disease and can be treated effectively.  The fact that she doesn't have a clue about life in general negates her opinion on the benefits of such drugs.  God forbid hubby loses his practice and they are forced to file a bankruptcy and turn over the memberships to country club.  I bet a nice Xanax and a margarita will be sounding pretty freaking incredible in that situation.  I won't even suggest the reality of an actual tragedy occur in her life for fear that her too-big-for-her-body head will explode.  My favorite part of her status is the end where she declares "I just deal with stuff."  This is especially funny because it further proves my point that she thinks WAY to highly of herself.  I don't think any of the medicated folks who read her post thought to themselves: That's the answer!  I shall throw my Paxil into the wind and just deal!

Since this post got so much attention on my Facebook page (especially by my fellow friends who suffer from mood altering illnesses and take their medications) I invite you to share this blog post with friends and family.  You never know, it may just alter someone's mood.  I also invite you to read some of my favorite comments from the post on my Facebook wall.  I will post them below.  Do yourself a favor and read them all (especially the last one) they are pure comedic gold!  I'm off to sift through the kids' Valentine's chocolate while I think about doing the laundry and going to the gym.  T-minus two hours until pre-school pick up and car pool.  Son of a...

My favorite comments regarding this post on Facebook:
"<--- totally just took my prozac and klonopin...Life is a Beyotch.. sometimes u need a little chaser..Some of us have been through stuff you just can't "deal" with...People are ignorant and judgmental...No shame here" -S

"I am completely ANTI mind altering meds, but that said I compassionately understand the reasons people choose to take them. Also, don't believe anyone can speak for others, I haven't walked in your shoes nor have you mine, what affects one person may have little negative effect on another." -A

"Hahaha!!! I know exactly which post your talkin about... I'd much rather be around a HAPPY MEDICATED person!!!"  -Z

"I take mood altering medications if I find my mood to be particularly shitty...and I ate a krispy creme donut for dinner. She must think me to be the anti-Christ." -Me

"A girl I went to high school with posted this status and I unfriended her. I had been annoyed by her for quite some time. "Sharing a tuna salad with my husband" "at the gym, I did strength training and hubby did body pump. He had to leave twice to catch his breath. I'm glad I have 10 year of taekwondo training" blah blah. She spends too much time trying to convince Facebook that she's fabulous. I bet she pisses glitter." -Me


"U r awesome! I always felt sorry for her n high school. She needs to learn You can't generalize on such a sensitive topic.
she constantly posts her work outs and her healthy meals because she was a total fat ass in high school and she's trying to convince everyone, especially herself, that she looks good. She has a low self esteem... Back n the day she self medicated with candy bars. Now she's too self absorbed to notice how f****** ridiculous she is." -B

"Someone should tell her the braces she wore for 5 years to fix that bunk grill of a mouth was "the easy way out". -B

"somebody should call that chick out on her coffee drinking. Like, I don't know why you have to drink coffee to wake up everyday. I just like wake up! (valley girl voice)" -R

"That girl should meet my family. We should just have a prozac lick installed in our house... Not only that but the only thing that kept me from killing my first husband was prozac! He was mood altering.. prozac was life saving!!!" -J

 "I'm not a doctor but I thumbed through Psychology Today in line at Publix yesterday and based on the few comments I read on her wall, she seems to suffer from a severe case of narcisism. I can't spell it but it is a word." -R

"Narcissism, maybe. There are definite delusions of grandeur, though. That skank always had a candy bar or a **** in her mouth in junior high and HS so the irony of telling someone that she "deals with it" is laughable at best." -B

"I don't really want to go overboard with all the things I can do, but really I don't know why anyone would wear glasses. I mean, I just see! Glasses are the easy way out. At least shove contacts in your eyes to show you're making an effort." -R

"I was a psychology minor in college and thought I could shed even more light on this subject...Sorry, I'm on a mission. Depression and other mental illnesses are caused by an imbalance of serotonin in the brain caused by either trauma or heredity generally. Some people are predisposed to have it due to their family history, others because of major life events that throw the chemicals off kilter. So there you have it, from the scientific standpoint. I know I'm a nerd. Can't help myself. ;)" -B

"Had it not been for [my sister] informing me of this I would have totally missed it.....the last time i read a post of hers it said "it's shake weight time!".... That was enough for me!" -L

AND MY FAVORITE QUOTE OUT OF ALL 150+ QUOTES:
"I'll chime in again. I personally blame her mother. Have you met that lady? True story.... when we were wee little ones at [church daycare] her mother came up to me on the playground and called me a trouble maker and an instigator. I started to cry and what she didn't know was that my mother was walking up behind her at the time. my mom jumped over the chain link fence to literally kill her and had to be held back by [the director]. then my mom went to their house because she wasnt finished yet. Her poor husband had to explain that she had a chemical imbalance and asked very nicely that my mom not kill her. I bet later he wished that he just let my mom do her thing." -C