Why Women Eat Their Young
There are five hung over people in my basement.
One is son.
Two are son's friends.
Two are son's friends' girlfriends.
It's okay to be hung over in my basement.
It is not okay to wake me up in the wee hours while you are striving for the hangover.
It is not okay to spill your beer on my sofa. No, not even if you're that pity-inducing sort of girl whose eye-black looks more NFL than Avril Lavigne because you got a little weepy after you puked noisily in my bathroom and came out at three in the morning to be asked, "Who the hell are you and why are you puking in my bathroom?"
It's not okay to slam the door between cigarettes smoked under my bedroom window. In fact, under my bedroom window, it's not okay to joke and laugh or do anything but silently smoke and contemplate how the hell you're going to create a future for yourself that provides you with your very own private home in which to party 'til dawn.
It's not okay to litter your butts on my lawn.
It's not okay to spill your beer on my upholstery. It's not okay to spill your beer on my upholstery. It's not okay to spill your beer on my upholstery.
Thank you for turning your motherfucking "motherfucker music" down after I asked you to. Common sense and courtesy means I should not have had to ask.
All things considered, I'm only a little sorry that I just can't scrub my kitchen floor this morning without playing George Thorogood and the Destroyers's version of "Willie and the Hand Jive" on maximum volume, over and over and over and over, perhaps until my ears bleed.
One is son.
Two are son's friends.
Two are son's friends' girlfriends.
It's okay to be hung over in my basement.
It is not okay to wake me up in the wee hours while you are striving for the hangover.
It is not okay to spill your beer on my sofa. No, not even if you're that pity-inducing sort of girl whose eye-black looks more NFL than Avril Lavigne because you got a little weepy after you puked noisily in my bathroom and came out at three in the morning to be asked, "Who the hell are you and why are you puking in my bathroom?"
It's not okay to slam the door between cigarettes smoked under my bedroom window. In fact, under my bedroom window, it's not okay to joke and laugh or do anything but silently smoke and contemplate how the hell you're going to create a future for yourself that provides you with your very own private home in which to party 'til dawn.
It's not okay to litter your butts on my lawn.
It's not okay to spill your beer on my upholstery. It's not okay to spill your beer on my upholstery. It's not okay to spill your beer on my upholstery.
Thank you for turning your motherfucking "motherfucker music" down after I asked you to. Common sense and courtesy means I should not have had to ask.
All things considered, I'm only a little sorry that I just can't scrub my kitchen floor this morning without playing George Thorogood and the Destroyers's version of "Willie and the Hand Jive" on maximum volume, over and over and over and over, perhaps until my ears bleed.
posted by anonymous at 12:00 PM
16 Comments:
Shit.
You OK?
They repentant?
Did the sick come out?
Bloody hell.
Oh my. I just can't WAIT til mine are teenagers.
Time for some tough lovin', sista.
George Thorgood was a nice choice.
I think I may have gone for a Barbara Streisand and her soaring high notes something that might have been painful for me to listen to, but not nearly as painful as it was for them.
Way to Go MOM!
Fark, thats good.
Farking great.
Can I farking borrow it?
No shit.
Excellent.
I'm putting George on now.
Aloha!
We once played the childrens "Veggie Tales" supa dupa loud when the neighbours had a night that ran into about 5ish of the morn'.
They didn't like the blaring (and I mean seriously blaring) of the anoying "Veggie Tales" so much. We didn't like the rap-crap. You keep my kids up, I get your arse outta' bed. Take that sista' party person.
once again,I feel supported in guiding my children towards the mellowness of pot when they're of the age to hang out abusing substances in my basement - having read your tale of noisy, vomitous woe, I envision quietly paranoid, safe teenagers keeping their digestive juices to themselves.
(But I'd still play George Thorogood, too!)
ha ha.. what a great payback moment.
Spilling beer? My God, if I have to turn off all the bloody lights in the house ONE MORE TIME I'm going to buy some fava beans and a nice chianti
Heeeeeeeee, I know it was pure hell for you, but this post was one hoot and a half for me.
Thanks anny, I really needed that.
Generally, when that happens at my house, and it is a weekend, I join the party. They seem to be amazed at "old school."
Weekdays? Uh not quite.
Of course, as mrs. g said, weed makes the party much more mellow, can't quite figure out why....
If they made the mess, THEY should clean up the mess.
There has to be accountability somewhere in there.
Great post - it really made me laugh :-)
lol
been there. I sure don't miss it.
Hang on, it only gets worse.
Lucky I discovered my husband is an Aspie before I spread on his DNA!! So no kids for me. To late now, I'm 45 and exhausted most of the time because I am choosing to stay with the Aspie I love.
If I wasn't so tired and interdependent within this relationship, I'd be single with plenty of energy and armed with a radar for spotting and then avoiding Aspies like the plague.
It's exhausting, hectic and hard work to control him with the Failsafe diet (which only WORKS because my husband is pretty compliant most of the time.)
When he's off the opiates, he's a wonderfully considerate, loving husband.
When he has any of the forbidden foods/drinks/environmental toxins, he turns into a grumpy unpleasant whinging pain in the arse. Insensitive, nasty, argumentative, self-righteous, superior, knowledgeable and snotty.
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