In case you missed the part of my “About Me” page that mentioned a friend and I had a blog on Facebook last year, well here’s one of our most popular posts..
Don’t you just love when you hop onto Facebook and you see that one mom who has the cleanest house, the perfect wall decorations and/ or holiday decorations where it looks like Pinterest just threw up in their living room; the kids are always smiling and dressed in their Sunday best, complete with penny loafers and Mary Jane’s; you can practically smell the vanilla bean candle burning, filling up their home with a sweet aroma that reminds you of a freaking Martha Stewart magazine? Yeah, we can’t stand it either. It single handedly has got to be one of the most annoying things ever. Partly because my house is never that clean and partly because we all know that no one is as perfect as they try to make their lives appear on Facebook.
Posts such as “my sweet, sugar-baby, lovey-dovey, snookum-pie-lolly-pop-baby doll perfect angel face little Susie just recited her full ABC’s and wrote her name in perfect cursive, and is only 1 years old! I am just so proud of my little smart pumpkin doodle apple crisp!” Excuse me, but I’m sorry that is not real life. There are times that I question my own ability to recite the ABC’s and half the time I can’t even read my own god damn hand writing. When you post shenanigans like this, then I see your child out in public acting like a normal 1 year old who is barely talking and sticks a crayon in their mouth, and not to the paper; I know you’re full of skittah (that’s Greek for Shit). At times I catch my kindergartner sticking crayons in their mouth or trying to put toys in their nose and when you ask them what they are doing they look at you like you’re stupid. Yup that’s it, I’m the dumb ass over here. Let’s also be realistic about the situation of having the cleanest house… OK you have kids; me personally, I just found a measuring cup under my couch and a sock that had a stain where I had to question whether there was shit on it or mud? Also this always having no laundry ordeal… umm seriously I could ski down the mounds of laundry in my house on a good day. But to clear this all up you have all day to do crafts with the kids, make the house spotless and do all this laundry… I’m lucky if my kids get out of their pj’s or put on clothes.
Now when it’s your child’s birthday or first day of school, it’s totally acceptable to make a 20 minute long post of how it’s bittersweet and post 9 thousand pictures because we all have those #proudmommamoments. But please, for god sake make the post sound more sweet than bitter; I thought these were happy times? No? Nothing is worse than when we can read your sorrows and your own depression in a post that is supposed to be happy and exciting. If you’re an emotional wreck, steer clear from posting anything on Facebook or any social media site for the day and/or take a Xanax; borrow one of little Bobby’s Adderall’s then continue to post from a happier state of mind.
Another favorite (and by favorite I mean f*ing annoying as crap post) is the “God blessed me with the perfect husband/wife and I’m so blessed to have found him/her. He/she was just what I needed and wanted in my life.” There’s nothing wrong with being proud and letting the world know how “blessed” you are. However, these posts get to be a little…hypocrital, shall we say, considering just a few hours prior, you were informing the world of how he/she was lying and cheating on you. So now we all know that Mr. /Mrs. Wonderful has been blessing other people’s lives (and beds) as well.
My life is a complete shit show and I’ll admit that it’s not even close to “perfect glitter shitter status” but I love my messy house, my sticky floors and happy kids who have been in pj’s for days. I’ll be the first to tell you that I love my husband but he is a down right moron sometimes, pain in my ass but I love that son of a bitch; I’m not the lucky one he’s the lucky one that found a great wife like me who smacks him in the back of the head to show affection.
So on that note, while you June Cleavers are bleaching your house (and probably your asshole as well, for that matter) for the 12th million time today (praying for that Billy May’s shine on your floors) folding your panties and your kids are like robots sitting there in silence reading Moby Dick at 3 years old, I’m going to continue to stare at these piles of clothes that I’m assuming are clean (they don’t smell or look dirty so they must be clean right?) and enjoy my wine.