Rules of Life – Part One

Do we need to have this conversation? Really? Again? Well, alright. Here goes.

Mama Leanne’s Life Rules – Version 1,137

No 1.

One of, if not The stupidest rules I’ve ever heard is “Don’t go to bed angry.” What bollocky bullshit! Anyone in a long-term relationship or marriage has had the Stupid Fight that without warning spirals out of control into something ridiculous, inane and hurtful. We get emotional and each of us in our own way goes for the jugular.

Your toenails are like Eagle Talons! You fucking know you are leaving scars on my ankles EVERY night! It’s deliberate, I know it!

Oh yeah? Well my mom is a better COOK than you!

Gasp! Hurt tears. Plotting of untimely death of spouse…

Here’s my rule. Leave the fight. Go have a bath, hide in the office, take a walk, whatever, but Leave it. Let it lie. Sleep on it. Sleep is the great cure for nonsensical bullshit.

Note: The bed is also a great spot for passive/aggressive release. If you are still pissed off, you can steal covers, fart repeatedly and if you are in a slaughtering, mischievous mood, you may also place your obese feline friend ever so carefully across your partner’s throat. All of these work well to defuse anger. I’ve heard.

No 2.

If I work with you but barely know you otherwise, DO NOT tell me your problems. First, I probably don’t give a rat’s ass beyond the level of concern that I would give to a kleenex I just blew my nose into and second, it’s WORK, not free therapy. I don’t need to hear how your husband is an asshole, your kids are dildos and you have a hemorrhoid the size of a goat! Find a friend, get some help but as a rule, leave your fucking co-workers alone! It’s WORK! That’s why they call it that. ( And if I continue to feel your hot breath on my mid-back as you sneak up behind me to spew your dullard view of life, I will start walking around with my elbows out. You are short and if I turn fast, you’re gonna get it in the throat. Accidentally, of course.)

No. 3

There is absolutely no call ever to belch in public. Ever. There are no exceptions to this. Unless you are in a Burp Off, at which point you may be a semi-professional belcher and I might like to hear that. But otherwise, no. Just no. Same goes for a public crotch scratch. Don’t do that. (Why is your crotch so itchy anyway??? For the love of god, you’ve been going at that thing non-stop for like a minute!  I think you may need to see a doctor, Lady.) *moving back from the scratcher several feet.*

No.4

This rule goes well with No.3.

If you are going to offend someone, do it well and out loud. No point in being all namby-pamby. *shakes head at self, calls self a silly twat, wonders why self is referring to self as self, thinks self may have finally cracked up, possibly due to the overnight fart and cat smother fight self and husband had.*

No. 5

This may be the most important rule of all:

Never, never, ever, EVER go to an inexperienced waxer. Never, ever, ever. *wandering around with a bow-legged cant and a small bag of frozen peas on what is Formerly Known As The Black Hole, now known as %&*@!#&@%, singing ‘Purple Rain’ softly*

That’s it for now. If you need more, let me know. I can likely save the world with this blog. Probably.

Disclaimer: All resemblance to persons living, dead or zombified, and any similarities to any circumstances that you may think you’ve been in are purely coincidental. Probably. Except that crotch scratching one. That was totally you. Seriously, go see a doctor. Now.

An Open Letter To A Blogger (Not You.)

Dear Well Known Blogger: (No, not you, or you, or you.) (Quit it! It’s not you!!!)

I read you for a couple of months a year or so ago. I liked your writing and you had a great back story. Very sad, indeed. But you wrote it well. I followed you on the twit and Facebook. I wanted to know you. I really wanted to like you. I imagined gleefully meeting somewhere, having a beer. I wanted to like you as a person, not just a bloggy face.

But then…

Well, I have issues with the whole social media thing. I do. This spring I bore witness to the worst aspects of it, when a blogger got bullied and chest butted by another blogger’s husband over what I consider something so benign as to be laughable. On twitter. For the world to see. What I found so incredibly disturbing was that this was a case of cyber-bullying, in essence, by a person that brands himself as a family man. I think I get it. He mistakenly thought he was standing up for his wife, yet the way he went about it left me to wonder what he would have done if he’d had physical access to the person that offended him.

Is this what we’ve become? Is social media just the new jungle gym to knock someone else off of? Does anyone think of the embarrassment that they may cause? Or the pain?

Back to you. I stopped following you on the twit after I saw one of your tweets congratulating a country on their killing of a madman. Like Yay! He’s dead! Way to go! That just flat-out gave me pause. If you are a person that advocates for others (which you do), why would you ever tweet about anyone’s death like that? I didn’t get it. I unfollowed you and stopped reading. But like I said, I really wanted to like you. For you.

I just came back to you a few days ago. I was almost excited. Like reconnecting with an old friend. But you did it again. You insulted someone on twitter. Someone that had done a lot of work, laid themselves out in front of people. Someone who didn’t deserve to be made fun of because they were sharing their truth as they see it. You called them a name. I ask you; if that person read your ‘harmless’ little tweet, what do you think they would feel? What if that person made their living this way? Who are you to piss on them?

Again, I think I get it. I’m of the mind that you think you are as famous as The Bloggess. www.thebloggess.com. That just maybe, you can call people out and be rude when you feel because you are “famous” and no one will take you to task. Well, I’ve read almost all of Jenny’s work and I will say this. If she has to get into a shitfight, she manages to still do it with humour and dare I say, a semblance of class. If she calls out her minions on twitter, all of us now happy members of The Unicorn Success Club, she also can call us all back. Do you know why? Because we are all nice people. We read her because she has a good heart and like attracts like.

Having said that, if I have to be a social maven who is rude, mean and thinks others are beneath them to be successful at blogging, I guess I want no part of it.

I think I’ll happily stay here in my own dimly lit little corner of the web. I hope you are aware that if I tweet, as I’ve been known to do, the biggest person I make fun of is myself. And I never high-five anyone’s death. I don’t care who it is. That is just bad form.

I think that’s it. If you do read this, I can only hope that you realize that fame is fleeting. Someday soon you’ll be second-hand news. I also hope you learn that an inner censor is not a bad thing. You are better than some of the things you’ve put out to the world.