Want to know something good?

Something good.

Want to know something even better? 

You’re getting two presents from us today:

1. A brand new pile of tripe from our email in-box
2. Input from me AND Brass Knuckles

Here’s the tripe:

Hello itty bitty and Brass Knuckles,

This past year my husband and I divorced, and I have had money problems, moved to a new town and started a new job.  At my new job I became friends with one of my coworkers right away.  We have done things like go to lunch and movies.  It turns out she’s in a horrible marriage and has lots of money problems.  Instead of dealing with that she seems to think I’m some sort of ‘fixer-upper’ project and won’t leave me alone.  She’s always bringing up everything I just went through and acting like I’m still depressed.  But I am not depressed and have moved on.  I’ve told her to back off but she’s a complete bitch about it.

What should I do?

Thank you,

No Boundaries

Hi No Boundaries,

 Do you know what Brass Knuckles’ weapon of choice is?  Of course you do, you fucking genius; a pair of brass knuckles.  Do you know what she drinks her coffee out of every morning?  Of course you do, you fucking genius; a pair of brass knuckles.  

Do you know what that means?  That means Brass Knuckles likes to pass out broken noses and concussions first thing in the morning just to get her day started right.

When Brass Knuckles read your tripe she said,

1. You already know what to do.
2. Drop the bitch
3. Pull the plug

My response?  I could not agree more that this is exactly what someone should have told your co-worker friend when you started buddying up to her at work.  You remember that, don’t you?  The way you went slinking into that new town and that new job wearing your divorce and financial problems on your sleeve.  The way you could have made friends with any one of your new co-workers and chose the one who was most likely to take care of a pitiful wretch.  The way you invited her to lunches and movies. 

Oh?  It was the other way around?  She was the one who invited you?  Well that changes the whole thing around now doesn’t it?  Not really.  You still went with her when she did the inviting and have spent at least enough time with her to end up calling her your friend.

And now your focus is all about how much you’ve moved on and she’s dragging you down.  Have you ever even bothered to tell her how much better you are feeling?  How you got there?  What tools you used to move from A to B?  Of course you haven’t, No Boundaries.  You’re too busy being what is called a ‘Fair Weather Friend’.  No.  That’s too kind.  You’re too busy being a lecherous witch of the darkest kind and trying to get rid of someone who seems to have been a good friend to you.  You, who showed up in a new town, at a new place of work and reeling from a divorce and financial problems.   

1. You already know what to do.
2. Drop the bitch
3. Pull the plug  

Until then, get off your fucking ass and try.  Try as hard for her as she tried for you.  If you don’t?  If you don’t I am going to wake Brass Knuckles up one day and give her no coffee.  And then I am going to give her your address.  I assure you, if that happens you will be given a whole new meaning of ‘No Boundaries’.

Dear itty bitty and Brass Knuckles,

We are BFF’s and are writing to have you settle an argument.  One of us is dating a really good guy who has two little kids from his past marriage.  He sees them on the schedule he and his ex-wife set up.  He will also see them extra if his ex-wife asks him to — even if he has to cancel a date to do so.  One of us thinks it is a great thing that he will cancel a date to see his kids.  The other one thinks it is very selfish. 

Who is right?

Sincerely,

Buffy and Buffy

Dear Buffy and Buffy,

Do you know I’m all about clarity?  You know, that thing where mature people mean what they say and say what they mean.

Let me give you an example:

That  Buffy and Buffy shit is so stupid that it caused me to wonder if, together, you posess enough brain cells to accomplish the complicated task of chewing food.  It makes me want to summon up the willingness to stop Christmas shopping immediately so I can create a scheme to have you both removed from society. 

That, Buffy and Buffy, is perfect clarity about how stupid I think that Buffy and Buffy shit is.

Some assumptions:

1. You failed at least 2 high school classes or 6 college courses together
2. You still frequent the bar you were frequenting 10 years ago
3. You have fucked, at the very least, seven of the same guys
4. You think ‘BFF’ means ‘Best Fuckin’ Friends’
5. You write notes to one another in a code language that, because you are both so stupid, took you 4 years to create
6. Neither one of you can remember enough of your code language to actually know what the other one is talking about 75% of the time
7. The Buffy who is not dating the guy with kids has her crooked little fingers crossed in hopes that the other Buffy breaks up with him so she can fuck his brains out

Let’s keep moving forward, shall we?

1. If you want a ‘really good guy who has two little kids’ to see when ever you want, break up with him.  You’ll save yourself the trouble of having to use your 2.3 brain cells to figure out why he calls you a selfish bitch and kicks you directly out of his life.
2. If you want a ‘really good guy’ who gets it that his young children are irreplaceable and nasty, gravity laden asses like ‘Buffy’s' are a dime a dozen, stay with him.
3. Don’t worry your very empty heads about #2.  My guess is that whichever ‘Buffy’ is dating the ‘really good guy’ has already bitched and complained enough about him spending time with his kids that #1 is going to happen before Christmas.

The good news?  He might just be ‘really good guy’ enough to fuck the remaining Buffy and you two would have another shared experience to write notes to each other about.

itty bitty and Brass Knuckles:

Blaaaggh!  I cannot believe I am sending an email to complain about my family during the holidays.  What a boring topic.  But I don’t know how to have a sense of humor about how crazy they are.  They are hysterical people about everything.  It’s all a competition.  A few examples of this – a) My youngest cousins are eight and eleven.  They get threatened so much about being perfect before the family gatherings that they are little statues who are afraid to move.  Last year the eight-year-old spilled a glass of water and was hysterical because he thought he’d ruined everything.  I felt so sorry for him.  b) All of my Aunts end up running all over each other in the kitchen trying to out-clean and out-cook each other and not hearing anything the other one says because they’re always interrupting each other with stories about how perfect their kids are.

I end up getting so stressed out with all of the perfection that I always end up alienating myself by blurting out inappropriate things or telling someone to ‘take a fucking chill pill’.

The need to be perfect is exhausting and I want to have a sense of humor about it.  How?

From:  Stressed by Perfection

Dear Stressed,

Do you know what one of the definitions is for the word perfect?

The soundness and the excellence of every part, element or quality of a thing frequently as an unattainable or theoretical state.

Do you know what would be happening right now if your special little itty bitty had a heart?  I would cry over that exact definition being applied to the human form.  I would cry even harder, start blurting out cuss words, and hurling breakable objects across the room over this definition being applied to a human form that is eight or eleven-years-old.

When applied to the human form, especially one that is young, perfect is nothing short of awful, painful, destructive, cruel, debilitating, ugly, mean and simply very, very wrong.

We humans are messy.  As we attempt to find our way we are more often than not the epitome of words such as floundering, wandering, off course, attempting, failing, falling down and blabbering.  But you already know all of this, don’t you.

Have you ever heard that saying,

If one of your fingers is pointing at someone else, there are four fingers pointing back at you.

In case you are wondering, Stressed, me typing that phrase about finger pointing is the part where this whole conversation turned a corner and  itty bitty started taking  your sorry ass to school. 

I like you Stressed.  I really, really do.  I like anybody who has compassion for some eight-year-old kid who is driven to hysteria by his/her parent’s drive for perfection.  I admire a person who recoils at empty, competitive conversations about who has the best kid.

However, you have four fingers pointing back at yourself and I suspect you know it.  To be fair, when talk of perfection and competition abounds, it is easy to take it in, judge it as shallow, throw it aside, and walk away.  The operative word here is, of course, easy.  But your email did not say you are looking for easy.  It said you are looking for humor.

In my observations of humor in stressful situations, it is normally those who have first found compassion who are most often able to relax and have a good laugh.

Questions I asked as I read your email:

1. Does Stressed have compassion for those competitive Aunts, or simply judgment and disgust?  Does s/he understand how genuinely painful a belief in human perfection can be for a person?
2. Is Stressed willing and able to plan, organize and manage fun events for the young cousins during the holidays?  What would the other adults think of having the kids out of their hair for a good portion of the day because they were playing board games, cards, Charades, etc…with a responsible adult?  Is Stressed willing to be that responsible adult?
3. Does Stressed realize s/he may very well be guilty of expecting perfection as well?  That s/he may indeed be expecting perfect relaxation out of people who may not be capable of it?

And don’t think I missed this, Stressed:

I end up getting so stressed out with all of the perfection that I always end up alienating myself by blurting out inappropriate things or telling someone to ‘take a fucking chill pill’.

That makes you sound like a pyromaniac throwing gasoline on a fire; simply adding negative energy to a situation that sounds negative enough as it is.  Knock it off, get busy planning fun things for the kids now, and next time you see one of your Aunts see if you can’t look at her through eyes of compassion rather than judgment and an expectation of perfection.

I also want you to know I better not find out your family looks like a bunch of perfectionists to you because you are actually a scurrulious dog who has been taking the messiness of being a human being to the point of leeching off of or emotionally blackmailing them to get them to clean up your mess.  If that turns out to be the case I will personally make you wear a horribly uncomfortable, ugly and stupid holiday dress and make you practice getting perfect posture by walking around in my living room with a book on your head.

Don’t make me do it, Stressed.  You have no idea how ugly it will be if I have to take time away from making my perfect holiday candy just to torture your sorry ass.

Color me ready to wrap the Christmas lights that my sexier-than-your-husband husband strung up a few weeks ago around a selfish mother fucker’s neck.

Dear I & B,

My New Year’s resolution was to become a vegetarian.  I was prepared!  I had read a lot and also attended a seminar on it.  I’ve been vegetarian all year long with NO help from my family.  Every family event has included NO vegetarian food at all.  I gave my mom some recipes for vegetarian main courses so we could have vegetarian food for our family Christmas dinner too.  She said she’s only going to make her usual stuff.  Turkey and ham for main courses.  I told her I wasn’t coming for Christmas if there wasn’t a vegetarian main course.  She got mean and said, “If you’re going to be uncomfortable, you don’t have to come.”  What the hell?  I know I should go to my parent’s house for Christmas, but don’t think I should have to if they’re not going to respect my way of life.

What should I do?

Sincerely,

Proud Vegetarian

Dear Proud Vegetarian,

You asked,

What should I do?

Here you go, you over cooked piece of shitty tofu:

• GROW UP:   Your saying you’ve had ‘NO’ help from your family when it comes to your choice to become vegetarian sounds just like that really fun drinking buddy we all had in high school or college.  You know that asshole; lots of fun during our school years, kind of fun after that, the one we avoided when he was calling at 2am every other week to get his drunk ass bailed out of jail.  The one who, when he got sober in AA, thought anyone who wouldn’t stop drinking just because he did was being mean to him.  Yeah, that asshole. 
• STOP LYING:  Saying, “Every family event has included NO vegetarian food at all,” is the statement of a petulant child who will lie to get his/her way.  It is not true as long as there were vegetables, fruits, grains or lettuce.  (This kind of dishonesty makes me want to serve your vegetarian ass a bowl of dirt and tell you it’s an entire fucking meal.)
• FIND YOUR RUSTY FRYING PAN:  Since the main course vegetarian recipes you gave to your mother are apparently good enough for Christmas dinner, make them yourself.  Go into your kitchen, find your piece of shit frying pan, turn on your filthy stove, and prepare your oh-so-fucking-wonderful vegetarian recipe.
• KEEP GIVING ULTIMATUMS:  I dare you.  See how you feel when you’re old and have nothing and no one.  You will be looking back as far as your half-blind, crusty eyes can see and realizing all you’ve got is one pathetic attempt at emotional blackmail after the other.   You will know in your weak and pathetic heart that your attempts had nothing to do with standing up for yourself and everything to do with trying to create relationships in a way that is about as effective as the prematurely ejaculating cock of that guy I thought would be such a great fuck back when I was in college.
• TELL YOUR MOTHER SHE IS A SAINT:  Because she is for that line about, “If you’re going to be uncomfortable, you don’t have to come.” That is the way mature people talk when they think you should shut your insignificant and ungrateful mouth, and would prefer you not be in their drive way, much less their house.  Do you know what, Proud Vegetarian?  I am not mature, and I do think you should shut your insignificant and ungrateful mouth.  I think you should call your mother and ask if you can clean her house, hang her Christmas lights, and help her wrap presents (including that moldy, leech covered piece of dog shit you would be getting if your mother wasn’t such a fucking saint).

Don’t be so sad, Proud Vegetarian.  I’m going to wrap this up by making you very happy.  I’m inviting you to my house for Christmas.  Why?  So I can shove one of those tofu turkeys straight up your poop shoot that I’ve carefully stuffed with a little note just for you that says,

Dear Proud Vegetarian,

Next time you even think of sending us an email you will first ask for permission to refer to us as ‘I & B’.  You will not be granted permission because immature, dishonest, and selfish children with insignificant and ungrateful mouths like yours are only allowed to refer to us as ‘Madame itty bitty’ and ‘Madame Brass Knuckles’. 

In other words, try that ‘I & B’ shit again and I will shove that tofu turkey up your ass with a handfull of sand.

Especially this:

Dear itty bitty & brass,

My husband had an affair with one of our in-laws a few years ago.  For all I know it’s still going on.  I can’t bring myself to ask.  One way or the other he is completely unwilling to go along with arranging holidays and other family events in a way that doesn’t include her.  There is no need to include her.  She has children and grandchildren of her own that want to be with her.  But he keeps insisting he and I go along with participating in and sometimes even planning big events that include everyone.  I was around her at Thanksgiving and felt sick for two days afterward.  What can I do so I don’t have to participate in this any longer?

Signed,

Sick Of It

Dear Sick of it,

What the fuck?  I say this delicate phrase for two reasons:

1. How is it the in-law hasn’t had the shit beat out of her and is, thus, able to partake in Thanksgiving dinner without the assistance of a feeding tube?
2. Is your husband’s name ‘Inbred Jed’?  What did he think he was doing?  An in-law?  This information is making it almost impossible for me to resist going down a very long and very twisted path of telling very bad inbred jokes.

Fuck it.  A few of them are simply too irresistible:

Q:       What did Inbred Jed say when his son ran home on his wedding night and complained that his new bride was a virgin?

A:       Son, if she ain’t good enough for her own family, she ain’t good enough for ours.

__________________

Q:       What does Inbred Jed’s daughter say to him every night when he’s in the middle of telling her a bedtime story?

A:       Get off me daddy, yer crushin’ my cigarette.

I know!  I am one funny bitch!

Now back to the part where I was being an incredulous bitch and saying,

What the fuck?

My greatest concern actually has nothing to do with the fact that your husband is Inbred Jed and dipping his wick into the in-law.  My greatest concern is this this,

For all I know it’s still going on.  I can’t bring myself to ask.

I suspect the reason you are not asking is because you don’t want to go through one of the three following things:

1. He would tell you the truth and, should he still be dipping his wick, you would be crushed.  Again.
2. You already know he’s a lying sack of shit and wouldn’t tell you the truth anyway, so why bother.
3. You would believe him if he said he wasn’t dipping his wick in the in-law, but would be left with the feeling he’s probably dipping it in somebody else (i.e.  your cousin’s husband’s brother-in-law’s dog)

In other words, you’re either too afraid or too defeated to ask, and I’m not going to try to convince you to.

I am, however, going to have a little chat with you about something I like to call,

Balls for A Day.

Balls for A Day is about getting things into perspective.  We often avoid doing something we are afraid to do because we are thinking in terms of having to do it forever instead of choosing to do it for one day.

What would happen if you chose to have Balls for A Day?  Not forever.  Not always.  Just.One.Day.

I would like to suggest picking a date in the future to have Balls for A Day.  Something for which planning has yet to begin so you can inform your husband in advance regarding the fact you have no intention of:

1. Participating in the planning of an event that includes the in-law
2. Attending an event at which the in-law will be in attendance

Christmas plans have probably already been made.  Don’t worry about that.  Pick another event for which planning has not yet begun.

Since your husband’s assery ranks high on the scale of assery, I’m guessing he will go ahead and:

1. Plan an event that includes the in-law without your help
2. Attend the event that includes the in-law without you

Therefore, you need to be fully prepared to do something else that day.  Something you love to do.  Even better?  With a friend you adore.  Make plans now.

Keep in mind, this is for just.one.day.  When it is over, evaluate your experience with having Balls for A Day.  Did it invoke the end of the world?  Did the earth crack into pieces?  Did your house fall down?  None of these things will happen, but I’m not sure you know that.  And you won’t until you have Balls for A Day.  Just.One.Day.

Once you figure that out I’m guessing you will try having Balls for A Day with a few other things as well. 

Oh, and about those Christmas plans.  If they happen to include the in-law,  I would like to suggest you have Balls for A Day by putting on your best hoochie mama outfit and enjoying every moment.  Especially the moment when you walk directly up to her, look her directly in the eye, smile and say,

You look like a tired old bitch who likes to fuck other people’s dogs.  Can I get you a bowl of water?

First I suppose I should say something to welcome our readers, this being our first post and all.

Welcome.

Sorry, that’s all you get.  I’m not feeling very friendly today due to the tiny vial of jealousy our first student has dared place into our box.

Oh, thank you.  Thank you for making something sexual out of the fact that I said,

…into our box…,

in reference to our receiving an email.  I cannot tell you how impressed I am.

Let’s get to our first student’s email, shall we?

Hi Itty Bitty & Brass Knuckles,

My boyfriend and I have been together for seven years and have lived together for the past six.  We like to visit his family in his home town, but sometimes he goes without me if I have to work.  I don’t like it when he does that because his high school sweetheart lives there.  Now it’s even worse because we moved a few months ago and I found a box full of old cards and letters from her.  He said he had forgotten all about it.  But when I wanted to throw it out he got pissed and said he would like to keep it.  It is in our attic.  I gave him the ultimatum of either throwing the box out or never going to his home town with out me again.  He said I am being selfish and childish.

Is that true?

I guess I’ll take my chances now and hit the send button.

Sheila

Hi Shelia,

Looks like you’re the best student for this, our first post.  Why?  Because the title of this post fits what I was thinking when I read about that little (I say little in the way of small, tiny, petty) ultimatum you’ve given your boyfriend of seven years:

Well, well, well…aren’t you a selfish little bitch.

I’m also wondering if you aren’t a lazy bitch as well because you didn’t do much typing when it came to things that would cause me to raise a red flag and suggest we turn you over to Brass Knuckles.  She’s all about dealing with things that have to do with other people.  But I assure you, this one is all about you.  Jealous, petty, suspicious you.

Your missing ingredients:

• There is no mention of past indiscretions on the part of your boyfriend
• You don’t bring up any current cards and letters from your boyfriend’s high school sweetheart
• Not a word is spoken about his high school sweetheart being on the scene when he visits his home town without you

Do you see where I’m going with this?

No?

How about if I bring your attention to the fact that you said you and your boyfriend have been together for 7 years and lived together for the past 6?  How about the fact that you said you two have recently moved?

Being willing to move with someone is always a good sign.  Even if that move was precipitated by something awful (i.e. financial problems, job loss, health problems, etc…)  It is a sign that a couple is sticking together.  Moving up or down or out…together.

So maybe you’re not a lazy bitch after all.

Maybe you’re only an uptight and suspicious bitch?

Yes, I know Shelia.  I know you’re going to bring up the fact that he doesn’t want to get rid of that box of old cards and letters from his high school sweetheart.  But you know what?  You don’t want to get rid of your old box of cards and letters from some old flame either.  No, you may not literally have a box of old cards and letters sitting around.  But, at the very least, you do have old memories that you cherish.  Memories that you would be terribly remiss should you decide to let go of.

Old flames, high school sweethearts, even past relationships that were bad are the yarn that was used to knit you together in a way that made you capable of sticking with your man for seven years.  Whether we keep those old flames in a box in our attic or in our mind as a memory, they are important, they are lessons, and they are ours.  We should never let them go.

In answer to your question, yes.  Yes you are being selfish and childish.

Let him have his memories and I would even recommend taking time to appreciate your own.

In other words, chill the fuck out.  You’re being selfish, childish, suspicious, jealous and petty.  In case you don’t already know, that is a recipe for ruining what seems to be a pretty good thing between you and your boyfriend.

All of this is of course being said while keeping one very important thing in mind:

If you should happen to discover your boyfriend in the attic jacking off into that box of old cards and letters, drop us another email and we will have an entirely different conversation.

Until then, knock it off with the petty bullshit and appreciate what you’ve got.