If You Don’t Have Anything Nice to Say…

As I was crossing the parking lot back to my car, I passed 3 older women. Right after I passed them, I heard…

Old Lady: Town whore.

My thoughts: Wow, she sounds pissed off. Is there going to be an old lady smack down?

I kept walking.

Old Lady: ::even louder:: Town whore!

My thoughts: Uhhh…is she talking about me?

What I Wish I’d Said: Takes one to know one!

I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure she was talking about me. What the….

I just ignored them because there were 3 of them…and they were bigger than me and had weapons. One of them had a cane, and all I had was a cup of chicken noodle soup.

How rude. Is my sweater dress a little short? Probably. But my ass isn’t hanging out. It passed the fingertip test.

Passed the fingertip test with a couple inches to spare!

Or maybe it was the boots? Is it because they’re knee high? Because they have ties in the back? I always thought they were pirate-like. 

Ties = Whore not Pirate

Maybe it was my makeup. I was only wearing mascara, but I did layer it on pretty thick. Two coats.

So there you have it: The new definition of “whore” is having sex with 1 person for the past 4.5 years.

Since when does someone’s clothing reflect their sexual actions? I suppose if I had been raped while wearing it, I would have been asking for it, too.

Grrrr…why are people so flippin’ mean? If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

What should I have said? Obviously, I need more practice with comebacks.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I’ve got a ring but is there a Give-The-Husband-The-Cold-Shoulder-Till-He-Unloads-The-Dishwasher-Day?”—Tori Nelson 

Someone Is Fighting a Harder Battle Than You

Dear Bitchy Lady on the American Airlines Flight from Baltimore to Miami  on November 2,

You don’t know me, but just the fact that I’m using the B word to describe you means you suck…big time.

The same day I was leaving for my vacation I found out I was miscarrying. Again. And your attitude while we were boarding made my day worse. So thanks. Thanks a lot for that.

Let me refresh your memory….

B Lady’s Nice Friend: Oh, they’re in Group 3, so they should go ahead of us. We’re Group 4.

B Lady: You’re in Group 3?

Thoughtsy and Kiefer: Yes.

B Lady: Well, I certainly wouldn’t want to cut in front of a Group 3. Oh no! Please go ahead of me, Group 3 people.

Then you repeated that for the next 5 minutes while we waited to board the plane. Boo and Radley were more mature than you.

B Lady, I’m sorry you can’t count. I’m sorry the airline put you in a group behind us. I’m sorry you got in line before your group number was even called.

I’m sorry I didn’t let you go first just to make you feel like an ass. But I was tired and bleeding, and I just wanted to find my seat, go to sleep, and forget that I was miscarrying.

I don’t know what prompted your attitude, but whatever it was, I’m sorry. I hope you’re feeling better today.

You see, I try to be nice to everyone because I know no matter how bad of a day I’m having, someone is having a worse one.

That said, if I ever see you again, I’m punching you in the face.

Insincerely,

Thoughtsy

They’re Stealing Food From My Mouth!

When I came home from work, I noticed an empty box of Cinnamon Bun Frosted Mini Wheats in the recycling bin.

Huh…I thought I had enough for the rest of the week? Ooooo…right. Boo and Radley probably finished them off.

My eyes darted nervously to the cereal shelf.

They ate ALL of my cereal. Four boxes of cereal in 2 weeks. Gone.

I had to run to the grocery store…again. Then Kiefer came in and asked if he could heat up some of my soup for lunch from the freezer for the boys for dinner.

Thoughtsy: Suuuuuuuuure….

First my breakfast, and now my lunch. Is nothing sacred? At least the salad for my dinner is probably safe.

Kiefer: Do you mind if they eat your soup? If so, I can make something else.

FLASHBACK! This is exactly like when my roommates ate ALL of my Oreo truffles. I think I’m hyperventilating….

Thoughtsy: I don’t mind (::head nodding that I totally mind::).

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Moving in together means sharing. I knew this was gonna happen. I knew I had the yummier food. And that it would disappear before my very eyes into the mouths of two hungry boys.

Thoughtsy: It’s ok. Take the soup.

Kiefer: They don’t want it.

Thank God!

Kiefer: I’ll just run to the store instead.

As soon as Kiefer left, Boo complained of a headache and asked me for some Advil. One pill dropped from the bottle into his hand.

Thoughtsy: Do you take one or two?

Boo: Two.

I watched as the second pill dropped into Boo’s hands. It was the last pill. Of course.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I’ve decided I’m waiting on it to come out in 3D.”—Bonnie

Salmonella: The Biggest Conspiracy Ever

Time to test your knowledge. Are the following items real or made up?

• Aliens
• Bigfoot
• Nessie the Lochness Monster
• Abominable Snowman
• Salmonella

Hopefully you answered “real” for all of them except one. Salmonella is the biggest conspiracy ever. It’s not real. Let me explain….

Raw Cookie Dough

I’ve been eating raw cookie dough for years, and I’ve never had salmonella.

Salmonella isn’t real. It’s just something parents made up, so there would actually be dough left to make cookies. And because parents don’t want their children all hopped up on sugar running around like mini-maniacs.

The Name “Salmonella”

Say “Salmon.” Now say “Ella.” It should have sounded like “Sam-on-Ella.” Want me to use it in a sentence?

Look behind the bleachers, and you’ll see some Sam-on-Ella action.

When you’re talking about the fish, you don’t pronounce the “L.” Suddenly, when you’re talking about the bacteria, you pronounce the “L.”

That smells fishy to me. Sounds like someone tried to kill two birds with one stone catch two fish with one worm by stopping children from eating raw cookie dough while correcting the pronunciation of the fish.

The Symptoms (and My Potty Mouth)

You know what happens when you contract this so-called salmonella? You get faucet butt. That’s it. Then it passes.(Bwahahaha! It passes!) So how do you know if you had faucet butt from salmonella or if you got the runs from something else? You don’t know.

In conclusion, if you have children, perpetuate the salmonella myth because that means more raw cookie dough for you.

You Call That a Crab Cake?

Dear States Other Than Maryland,

I live in Maryland. Home of the crab. Crab dip, crab cakes, crab anything—We do it right.

When you order a crab cake in Maryland, this is what you get:

Note that there is more crab than filler.

A dome of chunky crab meat. Mmmmm….

While visiting another state (I won’t point any fingers), I made the mistake of ordering a Maryland crab cake. A mistake that I won’t make ever again.

Because when you order a Maryland crab cake while you’re in another state, you get a freakin’ crabby patty that’s more bread than crab. Seriously? Pathetic….

I should sue you for pain, suffering, disappointment, and other damages. The State of Maryland should sue you for slander or false advertising. Lawyered!

Please take immediate action. On every menu that lists Maryland Crab Cakes, please remove Maryland Crab Cake and replace it with Mediocre Crab Cake or Not-a-Maryland Crab Cake.

Thank you for your prompt attention in this matter.

Very crabby,

Thoughtsy

PS: If you don’t have Old Bay, don’t even bother serving crab. Did you just say, What’s Old Bay? I can’t even look at you right now I’m so upset.