Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Am I Wrong? Because Jay Say's I'm Wrong.

**This post is rather mean. I make fun of fat people at the end. So leave if you don't like making fun of obese kids.

***I am not saying at any point that I am perfect. I have weight to lose, and I bet I am a prime candidate for psychotherapy. But this post is about other people, not me. So, again, you've been warned.

So there are 3 things that I have to vent about. I've discussed (meaning: I've yelled and screamed, which I call venting, but Jay says its bitching) these with my husband, and he says I need to learn to be nicer, and let things go. And that I should discuss my problems with people that irritate the fuck, I mean, ......people that are dumb as...OK, so I don't know how to phrase it without sounding mean. But you totally know what I mean, right. Of course you do.

1. If you insist on driving a trailer, boat, r.v., or crap with your truck, make fucking sure you can see the next lane before you JUST MOVE ON OVER BECAUSE GUARAN-FUCKING-TEED, SOMEONE (ME!!!!!!!!) IS IN THE NEXT LANE. My husband spent the rest of that car ride explaining to me that laying on the horn and calling that stupid ass every name in the book, would do no good. And neither would me speeding up so that stupid ass can't get into my lane. All I am going to do is cause an accident. Whatever, I would blame that retard anyway. And flash boobs so I would totally get away with it.

2. Imagine if you will, sitting on the bleachers at the edge of the swimming pool while your children take lessons. I am on the end of the bleachers and NO ONE is sitting on the other side of me. Until, this dude and his obnoxious kid sit down about 2 feet from me. No big, I ignore the monster and keep watching my kids. Until, his wife and other monster come over. The bitch sits ON MY KIDS TOWELS, and when I go to move them, she goes "Oh, thanks." and I'm like, why the fuck are you sitting right next to me, whore? But I say nothing. Until she moves fucking closer.

Now, I must point out, that I am totally one for having my own space. I like to keep 6 inches between me and most people, at the least. Even my own husband knows to keep outta the bubble. I get quite pissy when people get all over my bubble room. Nothing pisses me off more than close talkers. Ugh, get outta my face before I kick you out. Grrrr..

But, back to this lady. Her child is sitting on her lap and is poking me while he wiggles around on her. I glare him down, and look past her and her annoying brood to see that NO ONE IS SITTING ON THE BLEACHERS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF HER HUSBAND. NO ONE. She does not get it, apparently, and just goes along in her own stupid mind.

Finally, I turn to Jay and say (not so quietly) "This bitch is sitting on me. For no reason. Look, no one is sitting on the rest of the bleachers. Why is she sitting on me?" and Jay looks, and says I should tell her to move. I know, however, that I will say something along the lines of "Are you fucking stupid, move off of my leg before I throw you and your dumbass family in the pool. Whore!". Which I'm sure would get me, and unfortunately my kids, too, thrown out of the pool. So I say nothing.

But she is physically sitting on my outter thigh. No shit, she is on my jeans, and my leg inside my jeans. For. no. fucking. reason.

The final straw is when I get poked again by her dumb kid. Then I jabbed her hard in the side, and she looks at me, kind of startled like, and says "Oh, sorry" like she had no damn knowledge that she was sitting on me the whole time.

Jay says some people just have no knowledge of their stupidity, but I find it hard to believe that this woman didn't take notice of the whole open side of the bleacher before she sat down on my damn lap.

I told Jay I elbowed her and he just shook his at me. He says I should have asked her kindly to move. I say the bitch should pay fucking attention and she should apologize to me for sitting on me the whole fucking time.

3. Again, we are at swim lessons. Now in the girls locker room. Usually, after class, I take Kenzie in, rinse her in the shower and dress her quickly so we can go home, bathe, and go to bed. Today, I was kind of distracted by this girl. Now, I won't call her little, because at 7, she is the size of a killer whale baby. And I am barely, and I mean, barely, exaggerating this at all. She weighs no less than 130 at 7. SEVEN years old and over 100 pounds. Child abuse in my mind, but whatever. So, this girl in the past has a bad habit of not paying attention and running into people with her elbows, or knocking peoples stuff on the ground as she runs across the benches. But today, she is naked and running around the locker room, slapping peoples butts. Her little sister, again, not little at all, but maybe 3, takes her top off and starts chasing after her sister, and smacking peoples asses, too.

Now, I must point out that their mother is obviously not paying attention. To them in the locker room OR in life, or else her kids would not be the size of elephants before they are really old enough to know that a pound of bacon a meal, and a whole carton of ice cream twice a day does not keep the doctor away, but in fact, makes him rich off your kids obesity.

Finally, before I had a chance to trip Chubby and Shamu, a mother, that knows the girls, I'm guessing, since she knew their names, starting calling to the oldest. Of course, Chubby didn't hear her at all and kept going. And the lady kept yelling at her to stop, but the girls kept going. The mother never turned around, the whole time this is happening, the whole time someone is calling her daughters name, she never ever turns around. Finally, the lady grabs Chubby and Shamu by the arms and yells in their faces to knock it off.

Finally the mother turns around, and I'm expecting her to be pissed, right, because another woman is man-handling her fat kid and yelling at her. But the mother just smiles and goes "Oh, come over here" and that was that. She pulls Chubby and Shamu over to her and gets them re-dressed. She didn't question them, or the mother. She just was laughing the whole time.

I ran out of the locker room, loaded up the kids and Jay, and proceeded to tell Jay all about it. Because I was so happy that someone (finally, not me) took care of the situation. Because, again, I am just not very nice to stupid people. I would have been horribly mean to Double Butt (mommy had a stomach that honestly hung to her knees) and her fat kids.

Now the problem here is that Jay says I had no reason to be upset with D.B., Chubs and Shamu. Even though they ran into me a few times, even though she knocked Kenzie down once, even though blah blah blah (I stopped listening for awhile), I should have more compassion and not make this out to be how people are all out to get me.

I understand that the dumbfuck truck driver was not purposely trying to kill me and my children. I get that. It doesn't mean I shouldn't get to use my horn and yell at him. That distresses me.

I also understand that Bubble Invader was not out to torment me for the whole swim class. I understand that she is probably socially retarded and doesn't understand the idea of personal space.

I also get that Double Butt probably does notice how fat and ugly her kids are, but finds it easier to shove McHeartattack in her kids mouths than try and fix the obesity and dumb kid thing.

However, as my husband, I say I am entitled to bitch up a storm to him about things. Why? Because who else has to listen and can't leave. Your spouse, of course. He bitches to me often about idiots he sees throughout his day. And I bitch to him about stupid people I run into. See, give and take.


Monkey Girl said...

First let's answer the question, "Are you wrong?"
Wrong, is such a subjective word. I prefer...normal.
You, my dear, are totally normal. Everyone needs a bubble. 6 inches for you, 2 feet for me.
Here's the deal. Your husband loves you and probably doesn't want to see you have an 'all out' stress-induced husband calls them 'hissy fits'.
Frankly, you handled it wonderfully. I just start punching the air with my fists and if people happen to get in the way....well, I can't be held responsible.
Just be glad you don't live in Asia.
Any Asian country = no bubble whatsoever

Christie said...

Monkey Girl: She was Asian, and Jay pointed out that they shove people in tiny little spaces over there. So I guess it is a good thing I don't live there. I would be the obnoxious American backhanding anyone that touched me.

Kelly said...

We're sisters. Really. I think I love you! You had me at hello!

There used to be a HUGE fat kid in our neighborhood when we lived in The Heights (of NE Mpls - ghetto, white trash heaven and I loved it there.) Anway, she was really fat and had a mullet, the whole neighborhood called her mom Burger King Lady, because I guess she worked at Burger King. Original.

She ALWAYS had Cheeto dust on her hands. I didn't have kids back then, I had my ape-shit-nutso-in-training dog, who was my BABY. I took the f-ing dog to bars with me, I must've looked like a real douche.

OH! Cheeto dust girl would come waddling up to me and in that weird fat voice (you know, it's deep and kind of like they're under water) to ask if she could pet my dog. EVERY time - I shit you not - that bitch had Cheeto dust on her hands. NO! You can't pet my dog you dirty shit! AND who is feeding you Cheetos? Who is letting you bother me - I mean wander this neighborhood of tramps and theives by yourself? AND why do I have to deal with you? Couldn't they see I was princessifying a retarded dog?

Grossest part: I discovered her Cheeto hands only after my dog was licking that stuff off of her hands once. Ick.

So, yeah. You are totaly justified and I just wrote a book in your comments. Sorry.

Monkey Girl said...

When we lived in Singapore, my husband said I used to get this look in my eyes, and he knew I was about the 'lose it'. Usually it was when we were in a shopping mall. Crazy crowded and dozens of people bumping into you. Used to drive me crazy. He'd quietly 'escort' me out and take me home to calm down.

Christie said...

You guys, Costco drives me fucking batty. I cannot stand when people stop smack ass in the middle of the aisle, or when they push you aside to get to the snack packs. Fuckers, all of them.

Maybe I am a little high-strung, but I've always been that way. So why is hubs acting all surprised by it now? Well, he's not, actually. He's been making comments about it for years. But whatever.

Lindsey said...

I totally made fun of obese people on my blog today too. Crazy!

captain corky said...

There are alot of fucking stupid people on this planet. As a matter of fact I almost ran over a young redneck yesterday who decided to cross the very busy street on his bike without bothering to look.

Sassy Blondie said...

Christie, I think you know how I feel about obnoxious drivers. I feel your pain here, and I consider it my duty to honk and shoot them the bird.

I also have a rule about strangers touching me: if I can swing my arm and hit you, you are too close. And it is true about the Asian culture being close talkers and such, which makes sense because you aren't supposed to make big arm movements near them. No shit, you can't because they are uncomfortably close to you.

I really worry so much about childhood obesity. I don't understand how people, no matter their own weight issues, would not take more care with what they give their kids to eat. It IS child abuse when you are effectively killing your children by dooming them to heart problems, diabetes, and constant torture at school.

Anywho, you know what I mean...

Beth said...

ahhhh girrrrrl, I loves ya! and if we ever meet, I have to tell ya, I'm a hugger. sorry in advance! ;)

shamu and chubs...LOVE IT!!!

Kelly said...

LMAO I love you, friend. :-) HUG (oops, sorry... space... gotcha!)

Jay said...

Nice of you to deny my comment, loser.

Mighty Dyckerson said...

The pool story would have been much better if it had ended with a hair pulling cat fight with you and the whore in a pool filled with Jell-O.

Brooklyn said...

I am crying I am laughing so hard. SO thanks. Now everyone knows I'm not working.