mmm...farts...

Us Bitches are Bitches, Dude.

We do it to our damn selves, you know.

I’m talking about women. I’m talking about men. I’m talking about Americans. I’m talking about the new Sprint commercial I just saw that suggests that multi-tasking by having your phone so that you can do work and talk on the phone while you eat breakfast during your commute. I’m overwhelmed by my life and the sheer immensity of things I have to do.

Women in the old days, they say. Women USED to be able to have dinner on the table by 6 p.m. Women USED to get all the ironing and laundry done every day. Men USED to be home for dinner every night.

Yah, right. And women USED to be able to AFFORD to stay home. Women were expected to clean the house and cook the meals and watch the kids. The End. Now, it’s infinitely more complicated, and its our own damn fault.

Take as example, if you will, Christmas. Let me paint a picture for you. Cut down the tree, put it up, hang some decorations, wrap the gifts, bake the ham. Beautiful. Like, 100 years ago. Here is a more accurate picture of the expectations that society, and more specifically OTHER WOMEN, have for me this Christmas season:

Cut down the tree. That much is the same. Don’t go into the woods and do it, because if your tree has any empty patches, you might as well just kill yourself. Go to a farm where they trim the trees into a cone all year long. Hang some decorations, making sure they are heirloom quality and all the same color scheme. Take pictures because you have to spend all of next week scrapbooking it. Don’t forget to shop for the kids. Did you get that gravy boat for Aunt Clara? Help Jimmy with his homework and while you’re at it send that email to your mother in law who needs pictures of the kids.

Wrap the gifts. There have to be 150 of them or the tree won’t be completely full underneath. Use the regular wrapping paper with a dozen different decorative ribbons and handmade gift tags. Make your own bows.

Take the kids to see Santa. Wait in line for 1 hour. Leave to take 3 year old to bathroom. Wait in line for 90 minutes. Spend $20 for a 5x7 photo. This is after you spend no less than 6 hours on 4 separate days looking for their photo outfits. Spend one hour prepping kid’s hair and clothes for Santa.

Guests are coming for the weekend. Make no less than 4 different kinds of intricate, decorated cookies. Two different fudges and 2 kinds of punch. Remember the decorations: garland, candles, fire in the fireplace, delicate handmade paper snowflakes.

In the midst of this, go to work, because you work 40 hours a week too. Keep the laundry clean by doing a load every day. Maybe two loads. Don’t forget to iron your work clothes and take that cashmere sweater to the dry cleaner. Idiot. Only idiots buy clothes you have to dry clean.
Grocery shopping. Get the Lexus washed and vacuum out the inside. People are coming over, you need to rearrange the furniture. Spend more time with the kids. Spend more time with your husband. Check the smoke detectors. Have you put the moving, light-up deer in the yard yet? Now watch a movie. Hurry up and relax. Watch the new Heroes or you won’t know what anyone is talking about. See the new movie, hear the new song, keep track of the new clothes and hairstyles. And for god’s sake shave your legs, get your nails done, wax your crotch and pluck your eyebrows.

Did you get to the gym? Well, go. And while you’re on the treadmill, read that self-help book and write a list of things you need your husband to pretend he’s doing around the house.

Okay, so you BEYOND get it now, right? Good.

Now stop pitying yourself, because it’s your own damn fault. And no, I don’t mean it’s your fault because you put so much pressure on yourself to excel. It’s your fault because you do it to OTHER women, and that makes us think its okay to do it back. And pass it on. And what the hell is wrong with you. We’re all adults here. Haven’t you learned yet that our success and failure can change at the speed of light? That at any moment you can find out you married the wrong man? That you can get in a horrible crash on the way to Nordstrom’s and go from a happy, ideal mother to a sad, childless story that people tell. Your beautiful face can become a memory. Nothing is guaranteed. NOTHING. So where do we get off doing that to each other. Why does my mother in law think I’m not a good daughter in law anymore because I let my husband do most of the cooking. Why does my grandmother think I’m wrong for going back to work. Why does my old friend think I’m losing everything, losing myself, because I don’t have time to finish that novel amidst the utter chaos that is my existence.

This year I decided to simplify my life because it’s the first year in 5 years that I’ve done Christmas next to a work schedule. I’m skipping a lot, but nothing you’d think. I’m skipping the handmade, delicate snowflakes. I’m skipping the homemade wreath. I’m skipping the hand painted ornaments and the gingerbread house with candy cobblestones. I’m ditching the light up, moving reindeer for the yard, and if you came over right now, you would ONLY see garland on the tree. That may seem reasonable to you, but you aren’t me. You aren’t going to be me, making the rounds to all the houses where the women are pulling all that shit off. I want to think I’m sacrificing style for relationships, and that I’m growing a stronger bond in my marriage and family because of the time I award myself by neglecting all those things, but I don’t believe it.

Us bitches are bitches, dude. And its getting old.

slurpees rock your sweet ass