Month: February 2016

An Explanation About Exclamations

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

I’m on a one-nerd crusade to stop the abuse.

Here’s the situation: Exclamation points are being abused all day every day, and it makes me nuts. When did it become okay to put a ! after every sentence that doesn’t have a ? No, really. When? PLEASE TELL ME WHEN.

Leave the water running while you brush your teeth. Throw your dirty clothes on the floor. Cry over spilled milk. Eat carbs and consume high-fructose corn syrup. Have a cocktail before it’s five o’clock somewhere. But please, Please, PLEASE do not abuse the exclamation point. Of course, there’s one exception to the rule, so keep reading or skip directly to “Should — multiple exclamation points.”

So not to throw you under the punctuation bus, here’s a handy dandy guide for when you should and shouldn’t use an exclamation point:

SHOULD — single use

  • Fire!
  • Help!
  • We’re engaged!
  • I’m having a baby!
  • A raccoon just crawled through the doggie door!
  • There’s a snake in the toilet!
  • We have winning lottery ticket!
  • Cheers!

SHOULD — in back-to-back exclamations

  • Crap! We’re out of wine!
  • Damn! You forgot to record Downton Abbey!
  • Get in here fast! Scandal is on!
  • Whoot whoot! My kid hit a grand slam!

SHOULD — multiple exclamation points

(anything positive about Buffy the Bitchy Blogger, such as:)

  • Buffy rocks!!
  • Lovin’ Buffy the Bitchy Blogger!!!
  • Buffy is not bitchy!!!!!!!!!

SHOULD NOT

  • There are raisins in your lunchbox.
  • His jacket is in the mudroom.
  • Our dog food supply is quite low.
  • I’ll fold the towels after I make the beds.
  • You need a new yard rake.

Believe me, folks, when I say your reputation is at stake. The overuse of ! and !! and !!!!!!!!!! will lead people to believe you are (i) a few marbles short, (ii) a sorority girl, (iii) the person who writes descriptions about houses for sale, or (iv) drunk.

If the overuse of exclamation points isn’t enough to make Buffy bitchy, I don’t know what is. But Buffy isn’t really bitchy, because all the really world needed was a simple, easy-to-understand explanation about highly overused exclamations. And you get two gold stars if you remember to exclaim only once each day.

Remember: You can ! all you want!!!!! in your head!!!!!!!!!!!!!… just not in writing.

So until next time, cheers!

 

 

 

 

 

The Sorority (w)Rec(k)

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

Every year, just around this time, college-bound high school seniors start planning for the upcoming fall semester at Their University (upper casing assigned intentionally). Also every year around this time, I receive between 20 and 40 e-mails, phone calls and texts asking if I’ll write sorority recs.

I’m happy to write, write, write because it’s what I do, do, do. That, and it’s the responsible, friendly thing to do for friends, friends’ daughters and Peep 1’s classmates. But let’s move on from me to the sorority candidates themselves, shall we?

I don’t need a crystal ball to predict the two things that will happen during the rec writing extravaganza. First, many of the resumes will have extremely inflated information because, yeah, it’s a resume. Second, not a single girl will tell me what she pledged after rush.

But back to the resume thang. Last year, one sorority-bound sue sent me, among other things, a 12-page resume that gave a play-by-play account of every move she’d made since what seemed like the beginning of time. You’d have thought she soloed every competition, taken home every trophy, volunteered ever waking hour not spent performing and accepting trophies, flown to the moon and back on a rocket ship she’d handcrafted from popsicle sticks, and started a business venture selling freeze-dried pickles made from organic cucumbers grown in her very own organic garden on land she’d purchased with money she’d made selling lemonade at a stand she’d constructed from wood she’d chopped down in a rain forest she’s traveled to on a middle school mission trip.

It got me wondering What. In. The. World. caused such a level-headed student to inflate her resume like a helium balloon. And then it hit me.

The expectations for today’s high school students are beyond ridiculous. BEYOND RIDICULOUS. They are expected to excel in academics, jump on the AP bandwagon, tackle at least four hours of homework every night, play at least one sport although two is preferred, volunteer relentlessly, attend church regularly, spend quality time with their families daily, exercise, eat balanced meals, have social lives, keep their rooms clean, change their own oil, compose music, have part-time jobs, save the planet, and get at least eight hours of sleep every night. And that’s just the list for slackers. It’s exhausting, if not troubling, to watch.

I would no more want to be a high school student today than a man in the moon. The loads they carry are a train wreck, and I honestly wish a simpler life for them. While high school should be a time of preparation for the future, it should also be fun. A lot of fun. For that reason and many more, I’m beyond happy to write sorority recs for students who live in a pressure cooker.

And if that’s not enough to make Buffy bitchy, I don’t know what is. Only Buffy isn’t bitchy because the next resume these gals write will be when they’re graduating from college and seeking employment in the workforce.

Good news, girls: Expectations will be more realistic. Much. More. Realistic.

Truth of Dare?

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

Today is National Honesty Day, so let’s put on our kid gloves to soften the abrasive truth, shall we?

Before I take off like a launched rocket, I’ll set the stage of honesty by going first. Here’s my deepest, darkest truth: I have a real weight and a driver’s license weight. Both are lies. The truth hurts. With the weight (pun intended) of the world now off my shoulders, let’s jump into some Very. Honest. Realities. that have very little (or perhaps a lot) to do with the world according to Buffy.

  • Let’s be honest. Whoever said we should forgive and forget never had to forgive and forget.
  • E is a wonderful letter. Honestly? We should be hacked off at whoever left it out of the grading system.
  • Whoever named W was dishonest and misleading. W is not u twice, it’s v twice. Thus, it should be pronounced “doublevee” and not “doubleyou.”
  • Whoever named bite-size candies “fun” was either a health nut or a knucklehead. The real fun-size candy is big, not bite size.
  • People bitch about the net worth of the KarTrashians. But let’s be honest. A bunch of someones somewhere are buying their stuff and watching their show or that clan of kooks would have real jobs.
  • Speaking of clans, if we’re truly honest, it’s annoying when families go off on some weird naming tangent. At the Kardashian household, Kris named her kids Kourtney, Kim, Khloe, Kendall and Kylie. And then there’s the Duggars. No, I’m not going to be honest about what the world (me) thinks about turning blue jeans into maxi skirts because we’re talking naming tagents here, right? There’s Joshua James (double J), Jana, John-David (J hyphen) Jill, Jessa, Jinger, Joseph, Josiah, Joy-Anna (another J hyphen), Jedediah, Jeremiah, Jason, James, Justin, Jackson, Johannah, Jennifer, Jordyn-Grace (enough with J hyphens already) and Josie. These two families have something in common. In the words of another J — Jay-Z, my least favorite singer on the planet — that shit cray (err, kray), ain’t it Jay? (K and J, get it?)
  • Schools place a ridiculous amount of focus on math. Let’s be honest because it is, after all, National Honesty Day. After graduation, those students will use the calculator on their iPhone 6000, not a four-step approach to addition and subtraction.
  • Republicans should have more children.
  • In all honesty, almost every sporting event goes on for far too long. I’m in favor of ending football games after halftime (which would need to be renamed gameovertime). A round of golf should be three holes with breaks at the beverage cart after holes 1 and 2, followed by an extended kick-up-your-spiked-heels break after hole 3. Baseball games would move the 7th inning stretch to the 3rd because that’s about the time my back starts to hurt, then we’d have a hot dog and a diet coke or brewsky before moving on to a few more innings. Basketball, however, does a pretty good job of keeping things moving. I’ve only been to one swim meet, after which point I withdrew my kids from swim team, so you already know my honest opinion about that. Dance recitals? (sigh) What are those teachers thinking? First you’re charged hundreds of dollars for costumes that become worthless immediately after one performance, they you pay admission at the door, qualifying you to enter a venue with poor lighting, a bad PA system and crappy seating to watch other people’s kids “dance” for three or four hours. I’d prefer a different watch-my-performer-then-present-her-with-flowers-and-split format, but hey, that’s just Buffy talkin’.
  • Honesty is a double-edge sword. Companies are required to disclose ingredients on product labels in the interest of transparency (= honesty). Is anyone else baffled that lemonade is made with artificial flavoring but furniture polish has real lemon juice?
  • The honest truth is that rioting is ridiculous. Period.
  • In all honesty, we’d be left with only a handful of politicians if honesty was, in fact, the best (domestic and foreign) policy. At that point, Republicans would regain control of the country. Hang tight. I need a break to raise my flag in favor of honesty being the best policy.

(break)

  • If honesty was the best policy, many of us would change our profile pictures on Facebook, Linkedin and other social utilities. And yes, that includes me, although I rather like my Linkedin profile picture from 2005 taken on the way to the SMU/Rice football game. It was a V.E.R.Y. good hair day and the camera was kind to me.

So what’s up with a day of honesty when we’re more comfortable with the same ol’ same ol’ day in and day out? Thanks for asking. National Honesty Day was created by a former press secretary of Maryland as a day to ask any question with the expectation of being given a truthful and straightforward answer. And if that’s not enough to make Buffy bitchy, I don’t know what is. Only Buffy isn’t bitchy because I can play by those rules… and invite you to ask whatever question you want. I dare you.

 

Ride ’Em, Cowboy

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

Today is Go Texan Day. Translation: Expect Traffic Delays Day.

Thousands and billions of trail riders from across south Texas will be making their horse-drawn way to H-town. The already jam-packed freeways of the nation’s fourth-largest city will add horses and wagons to an eclectic mix of SUVs, 18 wheelers, motorcycles, bicycles and every make of car on the planet and under the sun.

As a courtesy to the trailriding survivors for bringing their wallets to our city, Houston’s on-the-go crowd will come to a complete screeching halt on the feeder roads of six major freeways — 10, 6-10, 59 which is now 69, as well as 288, 45 and 290 —and countless congested entrance ramps and intersections. As a result, kiddos will be tardy for school, employees will be late for work, baseball-capped moms will miss their mani/pedis, babies will deliver themselves and the police force will work overtime to control those who missed their mani/pedis.

The consolation prize for inconvenience is even worse. Houstonians will “celebrate” Go Texan Day by sporting their western wear. The outcome is worse than Halloween because you can’t pop by Party City the night before for a costume.

Let’s break it down, shall we?

  • 79.5% of elementary-age students will wear a bandana (or dinner napkin) to school, of which 37% will also wear cowboy boots. 99% of those boot wearers will wear boots passed down to them by an older sibling. 100% of elementary school teachers and principals will also wear a bandana. One student will bring a toy pistol to school and make national headlines.
  • 3 middle school students, all recent transfers from the northeast, will wear a bandana. 437,244 of the remaining teenage set will wear jeans or khaki shorts, both of which are considered western wear on Go Texan Day.
  • 0 high school students will give a crap. Speaking of, truck-driving high schoolers will certainly drive over the trail of poop left by the horses, and feeder roads will be one long stench of the aftermath.
  • Millions of Houstonians will go to work today dressed exactly as they do every Friday. By definition, Friday is Casual Friday, and that most certainly trumps Go Texan Day. The exceptions to the rule are a handful of slutty sallies who will wear plunging necklines, painted-on jeans and out-of-style boots. The male equivalent is stone-washed jeans, a too-tight flannel shirt that reveals a beer gut, dress shoes and a bolo tie. PLEASE. DON’T.

If the traffic and nightmarish costuming aren’t enough to make Buffy bitchy, I’m not sure what is.

Only Buffy won’t be bitchy today because I grew up in a small town. We didn’t need a day to “celebrate” all things western, but if Go Texan Day gives Houstonians an opportunity to do so, then snaps and claps to the trailriders for giving them this one day.

So: *wince* Ride ’em cowboy.

 

The Beat of a Different Drummer

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

Some people march to the beat of their own drummers. I’m a member of the Some Club.

  • I have no idea what truffle oil is.
  • I have never been antiquing at Round Top and likely never will.
  • My daughter’s fancy mixer intimidates me.
  • I enjoy staying home.
  • BMW trumps all.
  • I proudly admit to watching “The Young and the Restless” almost everyday.
  • I would never even consider cooking something that has more than five ingredients.
  • I have never been to Florida for spring break.
  • I would never put a decal or sticker on my car unless required by law.
  • If I did put a decal or sticker on my car, it would be something about me, not my kids, because it’s my car, not theirs. (possibilities: Vineyard Vines whale decal, SMU sticker)
  • I do not have to talk on the cell phone when I’m driving.
  • I have one pair of dress pants — black ones, to be exact — and 2 pair of jeans that I really, really like. I wear them A LOT. In fact, I’m wearing the jeans now.
  • I grew up in the country near a small town of about 5,000 people. Two very excellent high schools not too far from my Houston home have enrollments about three-fourths that size.
  • I absolutely will not drink tap water because I did a months-long marketing project associated with the city’s water system.
  • I hate to grocery shop.
  • I also hate to shop for clothes unless it’s in another country.
  • Every Christmas present I bought this year was purchased online.
  • I’m exceptionally great at parallel parking.
  • Small talk isn’t my thang.
  • I prefer red wine that costs less than $15 a bottle… and that’s even a stretch.
  • Shorthand is my written language of choice.
  • I would never ever ever ever go in public wearing a sports bra without a shirt.
  • I have short hair.
  • I did not get an engagement ring. And here’s why: I. Did. Not. Want. One.
  • I do not run. And those that do kinda make me feel like a slouch.

And if feeling like a slouch isn’t enough to make Buffy bitchy, I don’t know what is.

Only Buffy isn’t bitchy, because in the end, pounding your joints on the pavement is a personal choice. Just give me an episode of “The Young and the Restless” while I sit in my comfortable upholstered chair wearing my favorite pair of jeans sipping an inexpensive glass of wine held by my hand that doesn’t sport an engagement ring in the home I love where my non-decaled SUV is parked outside and I’ll be happy marching to the beat of my own drum. Very, very happy.

Rule Breakers

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

Rules are a funny thing. Okay, maybe not funny, but interesting and perhaps a science. Unless you are a recluse or live alone in the wild blue yonder, you probably see at least one person break the rules Every. Single. Day. If you don’t, it’s because you’ve become immune to rampant rule breaking by people who don’t think the rules apply to them.

So let’s step on the soapbox together, shall we? It will give us a better view of the rule-breaking world.

I recently blogged about the no parking zone at The Children’s Museum and translated it for the Range Rover mom so she’d know the meaning: You (yes, even you… wonderful, wonderful you) can’t park here. All together now: d.i.t.z.y.

Just the other day, I popped by the grocery store to get a gallon of milk and some oranges. Oh, and bread. I MIGHT have tossed in some Pepperidge Farm cookies and a bottle of wine, too, but enough with the grocery list. A 30-something male pulled his trendy SUV into a reserved and very-close-to-the-store Stork Club parking spot. He was wearing lululemon workout gear and appeared to be headed to the gym (errrr, members-only athletic training facility), not from it. If you have an IQ over 10, you can easily tell from the signage that Stock Club parking spots are for expectant mothers. If the cute little stork graphic isn’t enough, the words “Reserved for Expectant Mothers” should be. Of course, the rule didn’t apply to him because, well, he’s him.

Carpool lines are a breeding ground for rule breaking. Precisely when moms and dads should be attentive, safety-minded, law-abiding citizens, they turn into crazed freaks. Everyone has an agenda, some more meaningful than others. Many parents are racing the clock to get to work while others simply can’t be late for their Starbucks coffee talk and mid-morning tennis matches. Susie and Bobby and Timmy and Cindy are instructed (forced) to risk life and limb because the rules don’t apply to their adult behind the wheel. As heirs to the rule-breaking throne, these children learn rule exemption before they’ve completed their first semester of intensive get-ahead-of-the-pack after-school tutoring at Kumon.

This next little diddy takes the kook cake. Every morning for an entire school year, THAT mom — you know her: the one to which none of the rules apply — parked her SUV in the driveway of our friend Kevin, who lives across the street from the neighborhood elementary school. You see, parking her shmansy vehicle in an actual parking spot or inching her way through the carpool line like the rest of the zip code was just waaaaaaaaaaaaay too inconvenient, if not beneath her. You can write the end of this story: Mom got mad when asked not to park there. Very, very mad. Oh, and she continued to park there. Snaps to Kevin for not having her towed.

The worst place to see someone break the rules is at a funeral. Yes, a funeral. Years ago, the hubs and I attended visitation for a precious friend who’d died. She was one of those incredibly awesome people who touched countless lives in a bazillion ways, and the countless lives she’d touched stood in line for more than an hour to have their turn to share condolences with the family. A friend couple decided the line was just too long for them and, because of the status they’d attained in the workplace and the perks that came with it, walked straight to the front of the line like you see celebrities do at night clubs. To say everyone else in line was shocked is an understatement, but no one was up for a fist fight or verbal exchange under those circumstances.

Breaking the rules is often for fools, and if that’s not enough to make Buffy bitchy, I don’t know what is. Only Buffy isn’t bitchy because my IQ is over 10, I park far, far away from other cars so no one can dent my doors, standing in line to pay respects to a friend is in itself respectful and carpool days will soon be in my rearview mirror.

 

 

A Calendar Sprinkled with Offbeat Celebrations

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

Offbeat celebrations sprinkle almost every day of the calendar year, and March 12th is no exception. In addition to Alfred Hitchcock Day, tomorrow is also Katie Fisher Day. We’ll come back to that.

Before we do, mark your calendar now for Friday, which is the 232nd anniversary of the discovery of Uranus. Let’s pause, shall we, so you can insert a discovering your anus joke here.

(pause)

March has a number of offbeat holidays and anniversaries, and maybe you’ve celebrated a few of them whether you intended to or not. This month kicked off with National Peanut Butter Lovers Day. If your student goes to a school that still allows peanut butter (and as an asidem, does it seem smart or equitable to ban peanut butter but waive vaccination requirements?), or if you’re a sack luncher at work, then you helped propel this one onto the map. The first day of March is also the anniversary of the Peace Corps, which took its first steps in 1961 when JFK signed an executive order for a trial mission. Snaps for that organization, because it’s incredibly awesome. (snaps)

If you’re into the same old same old, then March 2nd is your day: National Old Stuff Day to recognize the same old stuff you do every day. I don’t personally need a day to recognize the same old stuff I do every day because, well, I just do it without celebration. Getting kids and hubs out the door with a smile and a prayer, walking the pooch while I talk to God, licking the floors clean again (did I mention we decided to sell our house?), chasing the deadline clock at work, and being the shipping and receiving department for family life is a snapshot at my same old same old. So yeah, there’s that.

On a patriotic note, March 3rd — National Anthem Day — deserves a resounding round of applause. I love this great country, and I hope you do, too. I’m THAT person with a tear when the anthem is sung at sporting events. And I’m also THAT person who’ll knock the hat off the chap that ignores “the rules.” While I join the crowd in singing along, I also think about the sacrifices others have made on my behalf, even though they didn’t know me, and then I think about my two brothers and uncles and cousin and father-in-law and Tommy Chenault from my little south Texas hometown who served our country. To honor them, I keep my hand over my heart until the music ends. Sometimes I hold it there just a little longer.

Moving on.

March 7th is Alexander Graham Bell Day. He’s the guy that patented the invention formerly found in most homes until recently: the telephone. If you’re younger than 30, you probably thought AGB was the graham cracker guy. No. He. Wasn’t. The brainy guy’s celebration is followed by a weirder-than-weird one: National Panic Day, which “encourages you to indulge all of your deepest fears and let loose a rampage of unbridled hysteria.” So wait. Does that mean I should wear a sports bra in public? That might unbridle hysteria BY the public, which defeats the purpose of that celebration. Arg.

And that brings us back to March 12th and tomorrow’s celebration: Katie Fisher Day. Katie was the younger sister of comedian Matt Fisher, and she baked cookies for him every week for the four years he was away at college. Katie, at the age of 24, was killed in a car accident in 2010. Her brother declared “Katie Fisher Day” to encourage others to follow Katie’s example and send cookies to someone they love.

I’m walking the talk on this one, my friends. There are two bags of fresh-baked chocolate cookies headed out the door tomorrow morning. One bag is tucked in my daughter’s lunch tote with a note about Katie and her cookies, and I chose gal peep because this kid can rock the recipe world with her intimidating mixer and savvy cooking skills. The second cookie bag is for our pup pal’s dog groomer. I love Myriel (the groomer) so much. And she loves my pup pal. And us. I call her “friend” because she truly is one.

Confession time. I bought the cookie dough at the grocery store, and even stooped so low as to buy the ones that are already made into little squares that you just bake. In my world, that’s hard-core cooking.

I obviously didn’t know Katie Fisher. But here’s to her brother for allowing his sister’s spirit to live on through cookies and kindness and calories.

 

 

OU(ch)

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

This post is from Buffy’s original blog.com site from March 2015, marked by both spring break for many and a bad situation on a frat party bus ride.

 

Unless you’ve had your spring break head in the sand on an island that doesn’t have high-speed internet or cable TV, you’ve seen the nine-second video. You know: that one.

Endless media coverage tells us that two students were quickly identified, punished by their university and forever branded as “those guys.” Believe me, I’m not making light of their conduct or punishments or viewpoints. They’re jerks and a hot potato that’s not the focus of my thoughts today.

But this is. Tyrone Speller, President of the Phi Delt chapter at OU, wrote a letter that has gone viral. Since I sat down to blog, seven Facebook friends have shared it on their timelines. If you haven’t read Tyrone’s letter, you should, and here it is: https://www.phideltatheta.org/2015/03/message-tyrone-speller-phi-delta-theta-chapter-president-university-oklahoma/. This young man is smart and articulate; it’s worth three minutes of your time. I promise.

Another friend posted a similarly interesting article yesterday, titled “A Message to the World from an Anonymous Fraternity Member at the University of Oklahoma,” which you can read here: http://totalfratmove.com/a-message-to-the-world-from-a-fraternity-member-at-the-university-of-oklahoma/. Anonymous has plenty to say also, primarily out of concern for safety.

And while I’m linking you to links, don’t miss this incredibly insightful blog post by SMU professor Maria Dixon: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/mariadixonhall/2015/03/a-teachable-moment-how-ou-failed-transformation-101/

Thankfully, the students at the University of Oklahoma are now on spring break. The two students in the video are not only on break, but they’re gone for good. Whether or not the school had the legal right to kick them out remains to be seen, but they needed to get the heck Norman and go faaaaar, faaaaar away because they’re “those guys.”

The media is now reporting that the chant just might be a deep dark sickness shared by Sigma Alpha Epsilon chapters across the nation. I’m not buying it. If you’ve ever seen people chant at a sporting event or even on a picket line, it’s usually just something with a cadence and some words. Once the leader says them a few times, the others follow along. So no, you don’t have to belong to a fraternity, participate as protestor or be brainwashed to pick it up quickly.

I don’t know much about a lot of things, but I do know this: Our society gets the gold medal for talking out of both sides of its mouth. We’re told with a big wagging finger in our faces not to profile people or groups, and yet SAE chapters from coast to coast are now under the microscope and likely to be profiled as racists. According to Anonymous, the entire Greek system is under attack at the University of Oklahoma. My cloudy crystal ball predicts that it won’t be long before all fraternities, and possibly sororities, are All. Very. Very. Bad. At least they will be until something else becomes the new target of all media focus.

Anonymous tells about heightened security at OU. Oh the irony, as SAEs across the nation now have something in common with the police force: They’ve both been unfairly labeled. Fraternity boys are racists; cops are killers. And both of those labels are utterly ridiculous. Whether members of a fraternity, a police force, an exercise facility, a medical group, a real estate company (Krazy K comes to mind) or the PTO, there’s at least one jerk and two bad apples in every bunch. And that’s enough to make Buffy bitchy.

Only Buffy isn’t bitchy because Michael Jackson’s song “One Bad Apple” reminds us that it “don’t spoil the whole bunch.”

And it hasn’t.

 

Things I Don’t Freakin’ Get

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

Dear Buffy Nation,

Things I don’t understand fall into one of two categories: (1) don’t know/don’t care, and (2) WTF? Since my parents and possibly a few pastors follow my blog, I’ll rename category two: things I don’t freakin’ get.

This afternoon, someone was driving by my house and actually pulled over to debate this very topic. I fell asleep on the sidewalk.

Let’s skip category one and dive straight into category two, shall we?

Tops on category two’s list is the ridiculous reference by Aggies to the University of Texas as “tu.” Frankly, it’s ignorant. I didn’t go to The University of Texas, nor did I go to Texas A&M. I went to UMS (in Aggie speak). If I had gone the super-size me public school route, U.T. would have won hands down because I could have walked on the grass and wouldn’t have had to squeeze my crotch at sporting events.

Just under idiotic references about other schools are idiotic posts on Facebook groups. Just today, someone posted about getting a plastic surgery procedure and a group member warned her about being “under Anastasia for three hours.” Equally mind numbing are these posts that I could rip to pieces like a high-capacity shredder:

  • Car question. Should we get a nice sedan?
  • Need recommendations for my son’s birthday party tomorrow.
  • Gross question. Has anyone had an animal die in their walls?
  • Where can I get a grilled cheese sandwich?
  • What’s the best brand of baby wipes, or should I just wet a paper towel?
  • Can someone tell me how to (Buffy here, and I’m not even going to tell you what that one was about).

I’m an equal opportunity nitpicker, and Little League dads are up next. I have nicknames for many of them, and my favorite — actually my least fave — is Mr. Kravitz, the male counterpart of Mrs. Kravitz on my favorite childhood TV show Bewitched. Cravitz is sooooooooooo up in everybody’s business because he has waaaaaaaaaaaay too much time on his suspicious hands. More than once, I saw Kravitz park his wheels a block or two from the fields, and then peak around corners and from behind trash bins to make sure no one was using “his” fields. Kravitz got mad at the league this year and took his bat and ball elsewhere. I feel sorry for elsewhere.

Next up: bikini photos on Facebook. Sure, it’s possible to post a tasteful swimsuit photo of beach frolicking on family vaca, but 99.999999999999999999999999 percent of the photos I see are of tiny Triangl swimwear on teens, mommies with vavavooom implants and the 30a crowd — that’s a place, not a bra size — making sure we all know it’s vacation rental week.

I may have things out of order, because exercise photos also rank high on the list. I’m saving that rant for another blog day.

Constant chatter about elementary/middle/high schools has almost put me in a coma the past two weeks. Thanks to acceptance letters that went out recently, parents are fighting for airspace to debate “the best school,” which I have politely and weirdly blogged about. Missed it? Scroll down.

All this ridiculousness is enough to make Buffy bitchy, only Buffy has farrrrrrrr too much on her plate these days to give it much more thought beyond wondering FTW?

 

 

 

 

Questioning Questions

Posted on by buffythebitchyblogger

Yep: Another entry from Buffy’s original blog.com site. This one dates back to February 2015. If anyone ever finds out the answer to the bald question, let me know. 

 

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens. Yeah, that’s sweet, but Buffy isn’t known for her show tunes, so let’s move on to the obvious.

Some things just don’t make sense. And things that don’t make sense keep me questioning the world as we know it. The World as We Know It — upper casing has been assigned intentionally — encompasses two primary categories: (i) taken for granted, and (ii) political correctness. The latter is for another day because I’m typing at break-neck speed to get outta here and over to what will be most certainly be an efficiently run dance competition that ends the stroke before midnight. (Note to self: dance moms blog entry).

In the interest of time (mine), let’s jump straight into today’s dissection of the things taken for granted and never questioned. So let’s question them together, shall we?

• Do vegans count sheep when they can’t sleep?

• Why aren’t playoffs called playons? Similar question for cook-offs.

• Along those lines, why are crayons not called crayoffs?

• Why do golfers and tennis players demand complete silence when other athletes don’t? (Seriously, can you imagine being told to zip your lip and sit quietly at football, baseball, soccer and volleyball games?)

• Why do we stretch in the seventh inning and not in another inning?

• Why did Seinfeld have such a lousy finale?

• Why does Kim Kardashian get all the big butt praise?

• If the Theory of Evolution was correct, wouldn’t monkeys be gone?

• When parents tell their teens not to be too late, what time is too late?

• What color is bald on a driver’s license?

• Can you appraise a picture that tells a thousand words?

• Why doesn’t honey come in a plastic bee?

• Where do astronauts stare when they’re already in space?

• Why does grass only have a smell when it’s mowed?

• Does a cursing Frenchman say, “Pardon my English”?

• Why are buttons on a lady’s blouse opposite of a man’s shirt?

• Why isn’t Allstate insurance available in every state?

• What are quakes on other planets called?

• What made her a bad mama jama?

And if these questions and many, Many, MANY more aren’t enough to make Buffy bitchy, then I don’t know what is.

Only Buffy isn’t really bitchy, because I haven’t arrived at the dance competition yet.