Guess Who’s Back Again, Back Again

No, no, friends. It’s not Eminem this time.

It’s Hello Kitty Toaster.

Those of you that have been around for a while (and I mean a while) know that I used to refer to my sister in law as Hello Kitty Toaster. The point was simple: she is pointless, a mere novelty in a world that has very little use for her. She is somewhat irrelevant, few people even know she exists. She is vacuous. An eye sore.

But I digress…

Well a lot has happened since I blogged about her last, most importantly that she no longer lives anywhere near us (so she’s not usually even a flicker of a thought in my head); and, she and my brother in law are on the outs. The divorce kind.

They have a kid now, our niece. She’s 7 (so that gives you an idea how long it’s been since I posted about her). You would think that having a child would have made Hello Kitty Toaster grow up a little since the days of outright arguing with me publicly on Facebook over whether or not vegetables are good for you (her position was that they are, in fact, not)… but no.

I think if it’s possible for people to grow less mature as they age, she is living proof of it.

So flash forward to now, in the divorce she ended up taking a number of things from their home (not sure she was supposed to do that), and one of them was a television that had originally been at my in law’s house. At some point in time (we are talking close to a decade ago), we had logged in to our Amazon Prime account for our children to watch some tv show or movie on there – a common occurrence back in the days before the pandemic, when people could just get together and hangout without having to worry about killing each other with their breath. I’m pretty sure that in the time between then, and now, we have changed our Amazon Prime password a countless number of times, and yet somehow – it turns out – she was able to log in to our account through that TV.

How did we find out? Buckle up, this is a doozy.

About a month and a half ago, after not hearing or even thinking about her for years, my husband received a text message from her that said “Can you and your wife please log out of my Prime, thank you.” This turned into a little bit of a back and forth, where she accused us of using her Amazon Prime account – a little odd, not only because we have our own account, but also because we hadn’t talked to her in nearly a decade at that point.

Finally, my husband grew frustrated and, at the same time, realized she was trying to actually use our account on one of his parents televisions that she took, and just said “you’re probably on one of the televisions you stole from my brother, you need to use your own account and stop involving us in your issues.”

Right before he blocked her number, she fired off the doozy, and had the audacity to even demand we give her the Pin to reactivate our account on the stolen television:

Ha, thank you, all I want is the pin to let my daughter watch the Sound of Music. Last time I checked when you’re married it isn’t stealing, maybe you need to hop on to my Prime because you have a deadbeat wife and two jobs excuse you. Next time you talk to me with ‘authority’ make sure you aren’t making a fool of yourself, so the Pin please.”

So much to unpack here, but above all we’ll stick with the fact that Hello Kitty Toaster, my friends, is a fucking psycho.

The conversation came to an end at that point. We went back to our lives, she I assume went back to hers. Stopped thinking about her anymore until today, when my kids and I decided to watch Bowling for Columbine on this, the 23rd anniversary of the Columbine school shooting in Littleton, CO.

I logged on to our Prime account from my phone to rent the movie, and lo and behold I saw that my sister in law (well, ex-sister in law) has somehow still figured out how to create her own profile on our Amazon Prime account, hasn’t even code-named it something inconspicuous – just straight up used her name – and that she’s been continuing to use our account since that ridiculous text argument over a month ago.

The. Audacity.

This time I was able to get a hold of Amazon (both online, and on Twitter) and we were able to remove her device from our account, remove her profile, change the password – the whole shebang. Of course it likely falls short of falling under being defined as fraud in the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, but I will say I do plan to go through all of our purchases for the last several months, and cross them with our bank statements, to make sure everything matches up.

There’s a lot more about this situation that piques in my mind as worthy of discussion, though. One is that this woman, Hello Kitty Toaster, has charge of our 7 year old niece for 50% of every week. What kind of an example is she raising this child into? Is she even mentally fit to have that kind of influence over a young child? Certainly this trailer park trash town hillbilly behavior doesn’t warrant an emergency custody order, but the sense of entitlement to other people’s things – people you have not even spoken to or been involved with for close to a decade – seems, to me (in my totally unqualified and unprofessional opinion) to speak to some larger mental health issues that could turn into a problem down the line for this innocent kid of theirs.

“Guess who’s back again, back again” – for those of you unaware – is Eminem’s ode to himself; how rap/hip hop would be useless without him. Apropos of nothing, Hello Kitty Toaster seems to be one of those people that just squirms her way back in, commanding the room and demanding we all listen to her self-serving bullshit.

Well I, for one, am done with it. Done with the abuse. Done with feeling like I have to give free rent in my head to people like her. Narcissism is a bad look on a novelty toaster, which is why I’m over it. She can text my husband and call me a deadbeat, she can try to steal all the passwords to all the streaming services we subscribe to (of which there are too many) until she’s blue in the face. I’m over it. She’s been out of our lives for close to a decade, and unlike Eminem, her return is not even occasionally welcome.

With that being said, I’ll be sure to let you guys know if we find out she made purchases on our account, because then this shit’s going wild…

Waltz of the Big Booty Bitches

734132_652927266913_1041377468_n

So on Saturday evening we were celebrating my birthday, a little early. I turn 31 on April 15th, but my dad is having hip replacement surgery next Friday and I’ll be spending most of April taking care of him. All we have is each other here, so we celebrated with a little Game Night with cake this past weekend. There were maybe 15 people there, including my mom.

I was walking into the kitchen to get myself a drink and my mom walked over to me.

Trailer Trash Mom:

trailer_trash-barbie

“So how much weight have you lost?”

Me:

Untitled

“I don’t know, mom … I don’t believe in using scales.”

Trailer Trash Mom:

trailer_trash-barbie

“Oh, well aren’t you just better than the rest of us big girls…”

First, thank you mom for implying that I am one of you “big girls.” And, to further imply that you think I used to be grossly overweight. To be fair, I weigh considerably less than my mother does. I may not be model-stick-thin, but I’m certainly no candidate for an obesity weight study either. My mom is a big booty bitch, and not in the way I’d use it as a term of endearment like with most girls deserved of the title. A Big Booty Bitch could be someone heavier; someone with just a big booty; or someone stick thin with a big heart. By contrast, my mom is overweight, like most mothers. She’s had periods where she was a lot heavier; and periods where she was a lot thinner. Like most women. She’s never been into dieting or exercising, though, so I’m not too sure why she gives so much of a shit about scales and weight tracking. Unless, of course, it’s just a facade to put people down and make herself feel better about her own physical appearance. I assume this is the case.

I didn’t give it too much of a thought until I read this article an HuffPost’s Facebook page today. It was about a poll they had done, inquiring whether or not weight gain was a justifiable excuse to divorce or commit adultery. I won’t go into the details of the article – you can gladly read it yourself if you are interested; I will not even respond to the opinion of the author (who I largely agreed with, actually).

I want to talk about the fact that we – as a culture – are even doing polls and having conversations about this.

Big Booty Bitches Respect the Sanctity of Marriage

(Not Physical Appearance)

One thing the article discussed was the double standard. If a man packs on pounds – for whatever reason – a woman should understand, and try to inspire him to get healthier. If a woman becomes a Big Booty Bitch from a weight perspective, we start discussing whether or not a man should feel justified to cheat on her, or divorce her big booty butt.

Perhaps the reason why we don’t even suggest this when a man’s previously firm areas begin to jiggle is because the Big Booty Bitches respect the sanctity of marriage, rather than a person’s physical appearance. I mean, I would never consider cheating on my husband because he packed on a few pounds. I further would probably only talk to him about it if it became a health concern; and even then, I would try to influence him with the meals I cook and the actions I, myself, take, rather than inflict the emotional harm that a conversation beginning with “hey, you’re kind of becoming a fat fuck…” can cause.

Because of the sanctity of marriage, it doesn’t even enter my mind to consider that it might be justifiable to even discuss options like divorce or cheating. Your vows say “…for better, or for worse…” for a reason.

Big Booty Bitches Are Faithful

(In Ways Other Than Staying Faithful)

Faithful is more than just not cheating. It’s not considering leaving or straying when the going gets tough.

To suggest that we should consider the acceptability (or lack thereof) for divorce or cheating because a person gains weight implies a lot. One is that all people who rapidly gain weight are doing so because they are lazy shits that do nothing but watch TV. This is just not the case – there can be many, many health reasons (physical, medicinal, and mental) why people put on weight. Two is that if a person’s physical appearance changes in any way, that now we should talk about whether or not it’s OK to abandon ship. This would be to say that if a man gets ball cancer, and a woman thinks a man with only one ball is unattractive sexually, she would be justified in divorcing him. Big Booty Bitches would never consider this, though, because sexuality and physical appearance is about a microcosm of what makes up a marriage and a happy life together.

As was the case with the “…for better, or for worse…” there was also a vow “…in sickness, and in health…”

Big Booty Bitches Do Not Find Divorce or Infidelity an Option

(On Most Matters)

When I walked down the aisle, I didn’t think to myself “well, I can always get divorced.” When my husband started acting like a jerk to me because he wanted me to give up my Ph.D. program, and stay in California, I didn’t say to myself “I’ll just go fuck someone else.” That isn’t the way marriage works.

If every time something didn’t go our way, we ran out and screwed our milk man or filed for divorce, we’d have a high divorce rate in this country. Oh wait, we do. Is it because things genuinely don’t work out? Or is it because people consider divorce and infidelity an option from the get go? While there are many instances in which a couple truly tries and tries, or one person has issues that make trying an impossibility, and it doesn’t work; there are also so many people in this country right now who will abandon ship for any old reason. I know a lot of them.

For myself, I don’t believe that divorce is an option, nor infidelity. Maybe it’s the Catholic in me, that has some backwards religious views engrained into my soul. Or maybe it’s because I take a commitment seriously, and don’t just bail when the going gets tough.

I took my vows seriously, and the fact that our culture has become so superficial and material so as to even enter into this discussion about weight gain sickens me to my very core. It makes me want to spew vomit everywhere, and on everyone. Marriage and relationships are about so much more than sex and being perfect for each other. In fact, I always thought they were about the ability to be imperfect and still be loved. What a crazy world we live in where this no longer seems to be the case.

The B(itch)’s Brain Gruel: Happy Birthday Nick, Are you on DivorceBook? and an Award with a Side of STFU

This may possibly be the most random conglomerate of things the B(itch) has to blog about, ever. But after the last few weeks that I’ve had of chaos, drama, and things just not going right, we’re lucky I can form a complete sentence – my mind really feels that mushy at this point. (Hopefully this does not portend to the way 2012 will be going…) It’s like a steaming hot bowl full of gruel, my brain right now – filled with the things I need to do, say, and get out there. So let’s just get right to it.

Happy Birthday Nick!

That’s right, it’s the life-partner’s birthday tomorrow and chances are that until he gets home, I will completely forget to wish him well. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact that my mother is coming over and asked what he wants, and that we’re making a party chip birthday cake (whose box has been set on the counter for about a week now), I may have forgotten altogether. So I’m doing it on the ol’ B(itch)log in hopes this will negate the hurt feelings when he gets to work tomorrow and sees no text (I’m usually not even awake by the time he gets to work), gets no call, and has no surprise “early” birthday gift waiting in the office for him to open. He’ll be getting none of those, actually.

And people wonder why he hates me.

So Happy Birthday Nick! Hopefully your 31st year doesn’t turn out like my dad’s did when he was your age, which can be summed up in one word he knew all too well by the time he rang in his 32nd birthday: comb-over.

Are you on DivorceBook?

Here’s something completely random that I’ve been wanting to blog about for a few weeks now, but haven’t had enough to justify writing an entire blog: DivorceBook. I’ve said before that they may as well rename Facebook the Major Life Event Announcement Site. Everyone is up on the ‘Book these days as it would seem to just post photographs of their children, announce wedding events, brag about their new job, and show off their ugly ass engagement rings. Well now that I’m getting close to 30, and a lot of my friends have been married going on five, six, some even seven years now, we’ve hit the most awkward of Major Life Event Announcements: the divorce.

What is sad about it, though, is that people are actually using that whole “So and so is now Single” as a way to let people know that they are now divorced. As if the phone no longer exists, or even a private message wouldn’t suffice. No, I’ll just tell them by letting them see and comment on my pathetic relationship status! And if someone is connected to you on Facebook, but you wouldn’t actually ever call them to tell them about the breaking of your marital vows – well, then why the hell do they need to know about it anyway? Why not just leave that shit off your page altogether? This is just another level of Facebook relationship drama, and it’s just as stupid as the couple that flops back and forth between “In a relationship” and “Single” more often than my moods do from complacent to flippantly irritated.

The real reason for this post … another Award!

Special thanks to Lolabees and MrMary… for nominating me for the Versatile Blogger award!! (And a SPECIAL thanks to MrMary… for calling me “the flyest bitch around…”) Lolabees talked about something I have thought myself in her post, whether these blogger awards are really like chain letters – but her conclusion is akin to mine: who cares, I’ll take it!

So you are supposed to first pass it along: Talinorfali (your writing is beautiful, lady, as are your recipes – and I greatly look forward to reading more in the future); Becoming Cliche (I just recently discovered this blog … but I love it and cannot tell you how much I identify with the tagline “my journey to becoming my mother” – her posts are versatile and witty to boot); Disseminated Thought (I’m pretty sure he already has received this, but I’ll nominate him again anyway … great writer, hilarious person – on all manner of things); JWo (love the posts, and each new one is always different than the last); and last but most certainly not the least, Frugalista (not only for her versatility and sheer awesomeness, but for inventing the acronym AYFKM).

Then you are supposed to tell seven more goddamned things about yourself. As if I didn’t offer up enough confessions in my 7X7 award, or in my New Years Day post. Here goes nothing:

1. I mentioned before that I love gangsta’ rap, but I have to admit my #1, all-time favorite song is and always will be: Vanilla Ice’s “Ice Ice Baby.” Don’t judge.

2. I really and truly believe a lot of people to be stupider than me, and I feel awful for it. I don’t mean stupider in the sense that I know more, but stupider in the sense that they seem to think they know everything. I am a virulent Socratic – I believe truly that the only thing I really and truly know is that I know nothing. As a result, the majority of people I come across that talk so pompously as if they know everything, or are highly skilled on one thing – well I realize how truly ignorant they are. And it actually makes me sad.

3. The level to which I am a princess and a prima donna makes me a little sick to my stomach. But at the same time, I like it – I am a walking paradox.

4. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with swearing, which is why I do it so much. A word is a word; just because a group of people decide it has a bad or morally wrong connotation to it doesn’t make it less a word than it is. Words are among the most beautiful things on the planet – I have no idea how anyone could call one “bad.”

5. 9 times out of 10 that I eat Mexican food, I moan (literally) in ecstasy. Since I moved to California from a suburb of Chicago whose idea of Mexican food was the combination Taco Bell-KFC drive-thru, authentic Mexican food has been a staple part of my diet. That means that at least once every couples of weeks, I moan orgasmically – often in public – when I bite into a chip loaded with salsa.

6. Some days I wake up missing my friends and family, and my life in Chicago, so much that I feel like it’s all I can do to get up and take a shower. No matter how long I’ve been in California, it will just never be the same. How do I get over it, you ask? I read all the incessant bitching and complaining on Facebook my friends that still live there do about how hot/humid/cold/freezing/tornadoey the weather is.

7. I have an unhealthy obsession with PhotoShopping my head onto seemingly bizarre people or things. My housewife blog from a few days ago contained one I am quite proud of…

Can I get a side order of STFU with that?

As I mentioned about 900 words ago, the last two weeks have been exceptionally shitty. Everything seems to be going wrong, entire days are being wasted in fruitless efforts to get things done, the class I was going to take this semester got canceled due to low enrollment, and so it would seem 2012 has brought on the Year of the Asshole. I don’t want this year to be bad, so have decided that we should all agree we will not hesitate when staring in the face of the need to shout a resounding STFU. I don’t care if it’s your mom, your dad, your husband, or the dumb bitch in the Burger King drive-thru that can’t catch the difference between “Sprite” and “fries” – if the need for an STFU arises, do not hesitate faithful blog followers. I know that in the interest of preserving my own sanity, I won’t be hesitating one bit.

Five Marriage Myths Debunked

Right now – at this very moment – there is a bridal shower going on in the neighbor’s backyard.  Besides the obvious annoyance of the fact that the street is completely overrun by cars and SUVs parked in front of people’s driveways (rude, much?), the party has grown to be so loud that I would leave the house … if only the driveway were not blocked by a very large, yellow Hummer.

The worst part of this party is that the woman hosting it has got to have the loudest voice in all of California.  Whether I am inside or outside; on one side of the house or the other, I can hear her loud, blathering words like a series of ice picks piercing through my head.  And it isn’t just her annoying chatter that is on this misanthrope’s nerves this fine, Saturday afternoon; it’s the content of it as well.  Every few minutes I can hear her belting out more “you know they say”s… about all the reasons that marriage is the next best thing to chocolate pudding.

Now if I were truly antisocial, and intent on ruining the bridal shower altogether, I would march out into the back yard right now and belt right back all the reasons this woman’s “you know they say”s… are nothing more than myths.  It isn’t that I’m against marriage, I’m just against misinformation.  We’ve talked about this before – about people that go into marriage in essence ruin it as a result of having an unrealistic idea of what it was going to be like.  Here is what I would have screamed:

#1 “Listen here, loud mouth!  Being married does not always guarantee you never have to find a date again!”  Actually, it’s quite the contrary.  Since I have gotten married, I have probably gone to more things as a “party of one” than with my husband.  And oftentimes, I feel as if I have to go that way, rather than taking a willing guy friend, simply to dodge the gossip that would inherently follow over my being seen with another man in public.  The fact of the matter is that, while your marriage and lives together are numero uno, dos, and treis, on the sequence of priorities, sometimes your spouse has to work.  My personal goal for the rest of the year?  Get over the concern of what others think if I show up with a guy friend by my side instead of my husband.  The truth is that some things are detestable if you don’t have someone there to scoff at it with you.

#2 “And while I’m at it, mouth-o:  the bride-to-be’s husband will very likely not always be her source of absolute truth.”  I realized that my husband would rather tell a lie than suffer my wrath about a year ago when I asked him if he had left my freshly baked brownies uncovered all night.  He claimed he had not and that he had just uncovered them to throw some in his lunch, although as soon as he walked away to take his shower I looked and there were no brownies in the lunch bag.  The truth to the matter is that a lot of men would rather tell a white lie to avoid confrontation (the path of least resistance) than just fess up to the truth.  Top piece of proof we have this is true?  The lady blathering that ridiculous myth about husbands always being honest clearly doesn’t have an honest husband, for if she did she would know her tone is obnoxious.

“#3 is just plain stupid!  You no longer have to worry about making a full load of laundry?”  At this point I asked to myself – “where does this woman get this crap?”  I don’t know about any of you, faithful blog followers, but as a woman I have absolutely no problem putting together a full load of laundry.  Between my husband and myself, we have more clothing than any two people should probably ever have.  Laundry (dirty or clean) is no issue for us, except where to put it all.

#4 “Ma’am, if you would shut your loud yap for a few minutes, I could explain to you exactly how your spouse does not always understand how weird your relatives are!”  My husband and I both have pretty eccentric families, or at least eccentric pockets within the family at large.  And no matter what either of us does to try and understand the weirdness, we don’t.  Family events are always a shocker to the both of us.

#5 “And for the love of God, loud neighbor I never knew could be so loud:  marriage does not mean your spouse no longer cares about how you look!”  This is the worst thing anyone could believe:  that once they get married, they are with someone who doesn’t care how you look anymore.  It’s true that we marry people who should love us for our selves, rather than our looks, but that doesn’t actually mean your spouse thinks you look wonderful no matter how you look.  On occasion, my husband lets his hair grow out, but not only does he grow it longer, he just lets it go completely.  It’s disgusting – there are tufts of hair everywhere and he looks unkempt and sloppy.  Sure, I still love my husband; but I do care if he lets himself go like that.  And while we should all feel beautiful even in our sweatpants, we should also take pride in doing things for ourselves – like getting a new haircut, making our nails look nice, and dressing up once in a great while.

Good luck to the bride and groom, especially in the event that they believe my loud neighbor’s promises!