Tag Archives: refugees

Saying The Things You Shouldn’t Say

I’ve been accused more than once of being unedited. Hell, I’ve even been fired from a job for writing the things I was thinking in my head. Sometimes, I just get really tired of people not saying what they’re thinking, so I will be the one. Sadly, by the end of this post, I may come off as a huge bitch. But sometimes a long bout of holding in what I’m actually thinking results in a bad case of virtual verbal diarrhea.

People be having some UGLY babies- Am I the only one who thinks all these babies people are having on Facebook aren’t as cute as they should be? Let me be clear- the premature ones don’t count, because they just wanted to hop outta the oven before it was time. I’m talking about all the other ones. And when people keep commenting, “Oh, I’m so happy for you, your baby is adorable!” and “What a cutie!”, I just want to comment too (in a Spanish accent, of course), and say, “You keep using those words. I do not think they mean what you think they mean.” I know people don’t have control over what their kid looks like, but GEEZ, I don’t think I want one if the majority of them look like Gollum.

If you’re completely miserable with your spouse, or boyfriend/girlfriend, be done with them- This may seem harsh, and if you have children with this person, it’s a bit harder situation to get out of, but no amount of drinking or bickering or pretending is going to do any good for your kids. Yes, marriage is supposed to be a life-long commitment, but there are just some people who were silly enough to marry someone they didn’t like very much, with the idea, “Hey, it’s ok. I’ll just go out with my friends a lot and drink to drown the fact that my wife/ husband is a complete bitch/ asshole.”  Well, enjoy your perfectly pretended life. As for you all who are not married to your asshole, dump him/her immediately. And no, I am not going to be the person to make your life better with amazing sex, because I am smart enough to be with someone who does NOT annoy the shit outta me.

That chic shouldn’t be wearing that/ or SHOULD be wearing that- sometimes people shouldn’t clothe themselves the way they do. Yes, I’ve preached tirelessly about fat people in stretchy pants, but I am also including here the sermon about skinny girls with love handles who continuously wear low-rise jeans. Just ’cause you ain’t got no cushion for the pushin’ don’t mean that you’re toned. As evidenced by the cellulite once sported by my size 00 ex-sister-in-law. And Miley, put some damn clothes on, already. Yes, we get it. You’re edgy and controversial. Or suffering from multiple drug addictions.

Kids are sometimes not your entire world- I realize that since I have borne no offspring from my loins, I cannot fully understand how a child changes you and makes you devote your entire being to them; however, I have known enough people who have little to no patience for their humanoid cubs, and would rather be out partying with their friends. I know that no parent is suppose to come out and say, “I’d like a day off”, but I urge each and every one of you to realize that it’s ok to admit parenting is at times a trying and monotonous task, and is sometimes best replaced with a stripper pole and a shot of whisky. This doesn’t mean you love your children any less, it just means you have not joined the Stepford community.

Why don’t we let educated people into America?- I realize Lady Liberty is all about giving refuge to the starving and the destitute, but wouldn’t our country benefit a little by letting in someone who is not hungry and can actually support themselves? Instead of giving a bunch of monetary support to people who don’t even bother to learn our language, why don’t we give free visas to people who ALREADY know our language and have their own money? I’m not being prejudiced. The uneducated are welcome too, but they should be given the same opportunity as I- that is, the opportunity of working more than one job just to make sure I don’t have to move to Florida in order to sleep outside and not freeze to death because I am homeless.



Filed under Beauty, Children, Entertainment, Family, Fashion, Humor, Life, Money, Sex, Uncategorized, Work

No Speaka English? Do You Understand My Middle Finger?

Hello, my Lovelys. If you’ve been wondering why I’ve been MIA this weekend, it’s because I’ve been experiencing the joys of full-time Pizza Sluttism. I have been informed that I’m doing very well in the pizza making category; and after the little incident I had to deal with last night, I must say that I prefer being stuck in the sweltering hot kitchen instead of dealing with the general public.

I have noticed in the last 2 months that people not originating from the U.S. adore pizza as much as the natives. Sadly, I have also noticed the number of non-English-speaking individuals is alarmingly high. This is a source of constant irritation for me.

Parental Advisory: the following paragraphs contain strong language and are not appropriate for children under 18.

Sidenote: I am not in the least bit racist, and I do not believe the behaviors of one or two individuals of a certain race reflect the behaviors of that entire race; however, when every person that I come across of a certain race acts exactly the same, I will be forced to form a somewhat biased opinion.

Last night at work, we were (as my manager, Awesome, words it) fucked hardcore in the ass- or extremely busy. As I was flying around being the Sparkley superhero waitress that I am, a man and two women arrived, and parked themselves in the midst of EVERYONE’S pathway. They were speaking loudly (and rudely) in a language that was NOT English, and seemed to think that they were to come first in being helped, though there was quite a long line of customers ahead of them. I will not say from which country they originated, except for that it rhymes with Fromalia.

The man placed himself directly in my way and rudely proceeded to tell me what he was expecting, though he knew only about 4 words in English. When I calmly tried to say one or two words I figured he would understand, a plethora 0f foreign words fell from his mouth, accompanied by a multitude of words from one of the women with him. She spoke louder than he, trying to drown him out, and expected me to know what it was they wanted, though I have never been to the country that rhymes with Fromalia. I shook my head and asked calmy again for them to repeat themselves, but in English. The man kept repeating what he wanted, NOT in English. After about 10 minutes, and three order changes, (and many stares from customers) I finally placed their order.

I explained that it would be ready in 20 minutes, and asked for them to step out of the pathway of those coming and going. They remained stationary, ignoring me. After 10 minutes, the man caught my arm and said, “We need table, give us table.” So they DID speak some English. I was very irritated with them at this point, and pointed to the only empty table in the restaraunt.

All three decided they wanted to eat from the salad bar then. I have no problems with Muslim customs, but I DO have a problem if the people trying to follow said customs cannot do so without my assistance. One of the women heaped her plate full of salad, (as in, dripping all over the floor with dressing,) and then put bacon bits on it. I am well aware that Muslims are not to eat pork, but if you are not to eat pork, wouldn’t you have figured out what it looks like so as to keep from committing a mortal sin? The man grabbed my arm again (rudely) and told me (rudely) to take the plate away. (As if it was my fault they don’t know what pork looks like.) I proceeded to bring their order out and leave them to it.

When they came up to pay, the man was furious. He began berating me for having messed up his order, and demanded that I give him the chicken wings someone was boxing up for another order. I explained that I would put in an order for chicken wings if he wished, but he would have to wait for them, or I could take them off the bill and he could be on his merry way. He opted not to wait. (Thank God.)

Here is my fucking problem.

If you are going to move to my country, and expect to be treated with respect, then you had better fucking treat ME with a little bit of respect. I will do my best to understand you, despite the fact that you are in MY country, and in my opinion, should at least TRY to learn the language. If you are going to repeatedly grab my arm (rudely), and fuck up my entire night at work with your bullshit because you can’t speak English, I am going to eventually fucking blow a gasket and you are going to be extremely fucking sorry. Fuck you, anyone who doesn’t take the time to learn whatever language is primary in WHATEVER country you live in. Fucking fuck you, you motherfuckers.

P.S. I’m sorry if I offend anyone, but I’m pretty sure anyone I will have offended can’t fucking understand my posts anyway.


Filed under Humor, Life, Uncategorized, Work