I’m The Reason We Can’t Have Nice Things: How To Not Make Friends

Mean what you say - it was a combination of Dr. Seuss and 2PAC that taught me to speak my mind. It's also the reason we can't have nice things.
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I’m the reason we can’t have nice things. If by nice things you mean like dinner conversation at a reasonable volume and fake ass people in our life, then yeah, I’m the reason. If by nice things you mean not getting thrown out of an establishment or tossed off a team because my opinions are loud and my sense of justice strong, then yeah, I am the reason.

I'm the reason we can't have nice things - and other realizations. I am the unfiltered mom.

You know what I consider to be nice things? No drama. If my spidey-sense alerts me to a person in my circle wanting to start unnecessary crap I preemptively shut-that-shit down. If I sense someone is lying, being fake or exaggerating the truth – I have no filter. With the dry and dead-pan delivery of an expert call-you-out-on-your-shit -er I will do just that; call you out on your shit. Not in a way that provokes any more drama. Nope, just in a way that frankly states “sounds weird, I think you’re lying.” I usually have a numbered list of receipts to back up my claim and then I move the fuck on.  

When I first had my kids I had great expectations. None of that ‘my kids will behave in public, only eat organic food and I will always have my shit together’ fantasy bull shit, but realistic expectations for myself. I vowed to be involved in school and the community.  I was going to join the PTA,  volunteer with the Neighborhood watch, be active in supporting their sports teams. This is where I was certain to find like-minded kid-having people with which to commiserate. I was going to make friends and people were going to like me.  I was going to be known in our small community among the other movers and shakers as someone who can get things done – but not too much, because, well, I’m not that committed. I had the expectation that I could magically tolerate people and their collective bull-shit on a scale that most normal people do.

Anyhow, That’s how its done, right? You do things, put your self out there, be social and helpful and bring snacks and the parent friends just appear, right? You go to the school functions, sit and eat donuts at the community watch meetings, help fundraise your happy ass off for sports you don’t even understand. You talk to people and be yourself and people like you for it. Unless you’re me.

I got called a bully today.

I am not a bully.

I would never intentionally make someone feel shitty about themselves. I would never, ever say anything behind someone’s back that I would not certainly say to their face. This sometimes makes an incredible surprise as to what I am willing to say to one’s face. I am sarcastic, especially when I am right but I am not rude.

 

And here I sit, like Kermit, sipping my tea on my porch looking out into the community where I thought I wanted to be. Now, don’t get me wrong – I like people… or I like the idea of people. Like, you see a cute puppy, bring it home, it’s so lovely and then it shits on the floor and eats your favorite shoe. I find that most adults shit on the proverbial carpet right away, so I don’t waste much time on them.  I apparently have high standards for the level of fuckery which I am willing to tolerate and therefore most folks don’t pass that bar. This low tolerance for fuckery coupled with the gift of Absolutely No Filter and the blessing of Few Fucks to Give (none of which are reserved for anybody else’s nonsense) makes it hard to make mom friends. Beyond that, it makes it difficult for me to make small talk at football practice or dance class or the check-out line at Wal-mart. My friends are truly a special breed.

Cheers to all the other asshole parents who politely tell people to back-the-fuck-off their kids. Here’s to all the asshole moms who won’t tolerate being bullied or brushed off or are just really sick of everyone’s shit. Here’s to all my friends that can still stand behind me (even if its wayyyy behind me – I’m talking about you, Whole Assed Honey who pretends he doesn’t know me when shit is about to get real).

“Mean what you say and say what you mean. If you’re gonna be real, there’s no in between.”

I am not sure if it was Dr. Suess who said this or 2Pac – but it’s true.

When you think about it I am like a little mix of both. When it comes to life and parenting I can be poetic and profound… also I can be a little, well, I will remove my earings if necessarry. 

 

I am the asshole mom who won’t tolerate you jacking around the whole team of football players. I am the mom who will outright say to you that you are doing it wrong. I won’t ridicule you, I will hug you. I will offer to help. I am the mom who makes points so valid under the heavy weight of sarcasm that I get called out for being a keyboard warrior – so then I take my words to the real world and everyone cries. I am the mom who will absolutely call the police on my neighbors for speeding down the road where my children walk and then bring it up to your face at the neighborhood watch meeting while you feed me donuts. I will write angry emails to every single city council member until they repave my damn road so the old people will only have my loud ass children to bitch about as they live a long, healthy life free from COPD caused by dust. I will passively tell you that you are being ridiculous and then move right along. I will openly call you a liar, fraud, and fake if you are those things. I make liars, fakes, and frauds nervous. I make assholes not want to be around me. I am both dismissive and aggressive which is a lot to handle and that’s why I don’t have millions of friends, the support of the community, people lining up to talk to me. I am friendly and polite, but man, I am such an asshole when I need to be.

So if by nice things you mean people who can’t handle the truth, yeah, I’m the reason we can’t have nice things.

 

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