Tag Archives: rant

gotta blog it out

  • I’m sad and disappointed. I have today to figure out what I’m going to say to my kids tonight about this…about why half of our country supports hate. My son thinks Trump is a literal monster, so I need to defuse that situation. I need them to feel safe and loved.
  • I never want to hear again that women and men are on the same playing field. Not even fucking close. Misogyny is alive and thriving in this nation of ours. Being a bigoted, racist, sexual predator is preferable to being female. That much is clear. Thanks for letting me know where I stand, guys.
  • Congratulations, white people. We did this. I hope you’re happy.
  • D and I have been up most of the night. We are both bummed and a bit shocked. So we have decided to stay home today and have a nice day together.
  • As bummed as I am, I’ve gotta say there are some real gems on social media today.
  • Oh and stop saying you’re moving to Canada. Canada doesn’t want your ass. STOP. Stay here and help clean up the fucking mess. We have four years to get shit done and then vote this motherfucker out.
  • I still believe love trumps hate.
  • For what it’s worth, I do very much hope that Trump surprises us all and is a good (or at least not a horrible) president.
  • Peace out. I’m going to go hang with my man.

*insert middle finger here*

D’s parents have finally admitted that they refuse to meet me. Not because they hate me or anything, but because they simply cannot accept our “situation.”

Our situation…you know that situation where we are in a long term, loving relationship, and are happier together than either of us have ever been otherwise. Yeah, that situation.

Our happiness is something they cannot condone because it resulted from infidelity and divorce, and they, being fine and upstanding Christian people, could not possibly forgive such actions. (I’m paraphrasing here, as they don’t actually have the balls to put it so bluntly. Though they’ve so eloquently referred to me as the “floozy” for years, for what that’s worth.)

I wish I could tell them the full truth about the supposed infidelity. I bet their heads would fucking explode.

They can manipulate and emotionally abuse their children (and grandchildren) and be judgmental, racist, classist, homophobic douche-bags. They can forgive their other son for making a fucking sex tape with some skank and being stupid enough to leave it for his wife to find. They can forgive their son-in-law for being investigated for rape. But they simply have to put their foot down here. Because divorce is wrong.

These are the same people who believe the world is only 6000 years old, so I don’t really know why I’m surprised. I’m sure Jesus is super proud.

Honestly, making the decision to not meet me is probably very smart because I would fucking own them. Unlike every other woman in their twisted little family, I would go straight for the fucking balls, and I’d never look back.

friday fuckery

Woke up this morning feeling very blah. Headache, etc. We had too much fun last night, and now I must pay.

It’s going to be a long day. After work, I have to pick Jackson up, take him shopping for a gift, and then take him to a two hour ninja gym birthday party, where I will be forced to make awkward small talk with random parents. Fuuuuuuuuck.

I might need some hair of the dog…

Yesterday was cut and color day, and my stylist really stepped up her game without me even having to say anything. My hair looks amaze-balls. Blue-black hair for the motherfucking win. I look sort of gothy. I like.

But now I’m like, oh fuck does she read my blog? Did she see that post where I bitched about my hair? I texted one of my besties who also uses her and told her my suspicions. I blamed it on “that fucking tit pic.” I swear to fucking god, you post one pic of your inflamed, irradiated tit and all anonymity goes out the door. Haha.

So yesterday I met with this dick wad client of mine, and he was like, “Oh did you have your baby yet?” And I was thinking: are you fucking kidding me right now, fuck face?  What I said was, “Well the only baby I have is almost seven  years old now, so…”  Fuck face was like, “Oh I thought you were about to have a baby.”

I don’t have the best body image or anything, and I think I need to lose like 15 pounds (though I’m technically well within my healthy body weight), but I didn’t/don’t even look remotely pregnant. Especially not pregnant enough to be about to fucking pop a baby out. Also, why do people still feel like it’s acceptable to ask a woman if she is pregnant? How fucking stupid are you? Why are you even commenting on my body anyway, you stupid fuck? If I’m pregnant and feel like discussing it with you, I will bring it up. Please go die in a dumpster fire. Thanks.

In the next breath, he tells me that he and his wife have separated. SHOCKING, dude. Fucking shocking. I mean, you seem like such a catch and all.

I came out from the meeting and told the girls, who were like: yeah well there is something seriously wrong with that fucker so don’t even take it seriously.

Oh and on the way to work this morning I was almost involved in two accidents because people cannot be bothered to look before they start moving into the next lane over. So that’s how my day is going.

At least it’s Friday!!! What?!!

 

grumpy jenn is grumpy

Pet peeve alert:

A group email goes out with information about an event. In this case, it’s a happy hour for local female bankruptcy attorneys. There are probably about 100 people who received this email. Great. Cool. Whatever.

But then it starts…the people who hit reply all when they RSVP.

Grrr.

I don’t give a fuck if you are planning to go. Fuck…who even are you? I don’t know you. I don’t care. Reply to sender. This is a simple fucking concept. You are attorneys. This shouldn’t be so hard for you.

 

you stupid dumb shit god damn motherfucker

Despite the fact that he had all fucking day to do so, my ex decided to wait to run an errand until ten minutes before the previously agreed upon time that I would be dropping our child off. So then he calls me and gives me some long drawn out story about why, like I give a shit. And so now I’m sitting in my car outside his place waiting for him to show up. He has no respect for my time and it is infuriating. In fact, I’d love to kick him in his one remaining ball.

Fuck you, dude.

dude, wtf?

I’ve gotta get my rant on:

So I pick Jackson up from school this afternoon and he doesn’t have his coat. It’s 35 fucking degrees outside and so I’m obviously like wtf? He explains to me that his dad was running late this morning (*let me mention here that it was already a late start day, which means school didn’t start until fucking 11 am) and told Jackson he didn’t have time to go back for it. Despite the fact that he lives fucking five minutes from the school and has no place to be because he has no job. Then I’m like, so what did you do during recess? And Jackson explains that his teacher had him wear a coat from the lost and found, which I’m obviously grateful for because it was cold and all, but still…ugh.  Now we look like incompetent asshole parents and I am fucking pissed. I would never have allowed this. 

Maybe I’m overreacting…I don’t know. I’m pissed though.

THEN…

I call him and I’m like yeah I need to come by to get the coat. He acted all put out by this and sounded as though I had woken him up. It was 4:15 pm, btw. Anyway, I go get it and he’s completely unapologetic about it. I wanted to talk shit, but I won’t get into it with him in front of our kid because I’m not trash. 

On the way home, I had to stop at the drug store because we needed children’s Advil, and Jackson jumped out of the car without his coat on (he had been buckled in when his dad threw it in the car, so he didn’t put it on then). I reached back into the car to grab it and hit my head so very hard against the top of the door. So hard. I saw black spots. I got dizzy. My vision blurred. I became nauseous and felt a stabbing pain behind my eye. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.

So I’m pretty sure I have a mild concussion. I’m home now. Still hurts. I’m grumpy as fuck and I have decided to blame it all on my ex.

The end. 

Bye, Felicia

I read something earlier that made me ragey. 

If any of you ever send me a message telling me that I need to “consider my audience” when posting content, I will tell you to fuck off and then hit the block button. I don’t give a single fuck what you want to read. If you don’t like it, unfollow. Nothing here is about you.

I posted a week or so ago that I don’t like Bernie Sanders and lost like 20 followers. I don’t give a fuck. Bye. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out. 

don’t fuck with mama bear

I have to vent about something so I can get it out and move on with my night.

I went to pick Jackson up from his bus stop today, and he wasn’t on the bus. About five or so kids walked off the bus, and Jackson wasn’t one of them. The bus driver asked, “Who are you waiting on?” I said, “My son, Jackson.” She said, “Jackson didn’t get on the bus today.” It felt like someone punched me in the throat. If you’ve ever had a panic attack, you may understand how I was feeling. 

It took about ten minutes (where I think I held it together pretty fucking well all things considered) to figure out that he was on a different bus. The bus dispatcher and the other bus driver acted like complete assholes about the entire thing, even though it is the school’s responsibility to make sure that kids, especially Kindergarten kids, get on the right buses. It took approximately forty minutes, and driving around Chesterfield like a crazy person, until I finally had my kid.

Jackson was mildly traumatized by the entire thing, and said the bus driver was mean to him. His teacher is apparently the one who put him on the wrong bus. I get that accidents happen, and so I’m not mad at her.  However, I am fucking outraged by how transportation handled it, and someone is going to get an earful of livid, lawyer mom’s righteous indignation first thing on Tuesday morning (since Monday is a holiday). 

come at me, bro

My ex has been talking shit about my boyfriend to my son and then telling my son to keep it a secret. I’m furious about that for reasons that are so obvious I don’t think I need to express them here. 

The most mind blowing part is what he has been telling him. He told Jackson that he shouldn’t try to be like Dave, because Dave doesn’t have a real job and just sits around pretending to work. Dave has a PhD in electrical engineering and is the head of a research and development group. My ex is a wannabe comic book writer who has made all of $1400 from his writing in the last ten years, and, up until a month ago, lived in his mom’s basement.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW? 

Jackson told me he disagrees with his dad, but doesn’t want to get yelled at. He also said that it makes him sad to be put in the middle like this.

*deep breaths*

I’m trying to calm down so I can think out my next move.Â