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Want Some Class with that?
It’s a sad day in the universe when my husband thinks he’s the classy partner in our union. This from the man who pees on the driveway the moment he gets out of the car. This from the man who buys his beer in bulk, only concerned with price and alcohol content and not trivial things like oh, say, taste. As long as it’s cheap and has a higher alcohol level than a fermented potato, he’s a happy man.
The other day, he joked about how classy he was and if it wasn’t for me, well, he’d be married to Ivanka Trump. I’m pulling him down, apparently, what with my breeding and my social status.
“What the hell does that mean?” I asked, amused and somewhat disbelieving, as I was picking the underwear out of my ass. (I couldn’t help it. It kept crawling up and giving me a wedgie. It’s not like I did it in the aisles of Walmart with hundreds of people to witness my butt-picking. I was discreet. I waited until we were in the parking lot.)
“It’s nothing personal, love. I’m just saying that people who know us think I’m the classier of the two. By marrying me, you’ve been elevated. You know, in social standing.”
Snort. “Ya. Because you are sooo classy. A farmer’s son from butt-fack nowhere, whose idea of fun is mutton busting and hog tying livestock. Yer so classy,” I sneered. “I’m the one from the city. I’m the one with the useless, underused and overpriced education. I make art for a living. I use my words. I’m an artiste. You stand around and pick the nits off monkeys all day long. Real classy,” I snickered as I tugged at my nose ring.
“Ya, cuz you’re blog is so sophisticated,” he retorted. “Real artsy. Sayeth the Redneck Mommy.”
“Very funny. You know I was being ironic. Oh wait. You probably don’t know what that means, you hillbilly. Do you need me to educate you?”
We argued a little more about whose heritage was more upscale, whose father was more attractive (definitely mine) and whose job has more value. Certainly mine. Sure, Boo rakes in the dough while I hoard the pennies my writing actually earns, but writing has an intellectual value which enlightens and elevates society.
Even mine, I argue.
This is not the first time someone has dared called my blog less than sophisticated. Upon my uncloaking and going public, I mass emailed my family, friends, neighbours, the creepy guy down the road, the local inmates at the nearest prison and told every homeless person I saw about my blog.
Invariably, I was setting myself up for some disappointment. Cuz I’m a dumbass that way.
Eventually, word filtered down to me about what my loved ones (and not so loved ones) thought about this itty bitty blog. A relative of Boo’s informed him that “she could see how OTHER people thought she was a good writer, but this isn’t her cup of tea.”
Not all of it was bad. Some people actually reported liking my posts. Others, like the psych dude the adoption people sicked on us, thought I would be better served if I left the blogging world all together.
I take it all with a grain of salt. (Poured deeply into my gaping, wounded soul.) As in life, not everybody appreciates you. Even if you do their homework for them and buy lunch for them everyday, they still will label you a nobody. (Not that I know anything about that…snicker.)
Not everybody likes good ole Britney Spears’ music either, and look at her. Oblivious to her haters, and living the high life with her frappes and panty-free ways.
(Perhaps not the finest example I could think of to illustrate my point…)
But to have my own husband knock my blog, my writing…well, them’s fighting words.
“Are you saying that you think I should stop blogging?” I asked, while rubbing off the red lipstick that was smeared across my teeth.
“No, no. You know I love your blog. I wouldn’t dream of having you get a real job. Far be it from me to keep you from surfing the net at your leisure. Or encourage you to actually earn a living.”
“This is why I love you. You’re so supportive,” I crooned as we drove to visit Boo’s friends.
Joking aside, this crass, classless blog has done the better part of keeping me sane in my darkest hours. And it has served as a useful marital aide and communication prop from time to time. Nothing like a little passive aggressive sarcasm to whip the hubs into shape.
We continued to tease one another as we walked into the office where his friends were.
“Oh, good, T. I’m glad you’re here,” one of Boo’s friends said. “I was just reading the paper this morning and they are looking for writers. To tell stories. I thought of you.”
How nice of this matronly woman who has befriended us, I thought. See? I’m contributing to society. I’m bringing a bit of joy into this woman’s dreary life, I thought to myself.
“I’m determined to get you to use that talent for good, not evil,” she continued. “I’ll get you writing something classy, yet.”
Pop shot through my nose and burned my eyes as I snorted over her comment. Visions of her hiding in the back seat of our car, eavesdropping, flashed before my eyes.
I looked at Boo as I wiped my face; he was doubled over, killing himself laughing and he shot me a look of innocence. If I hadn’t been cracking the whip this last four days, I would have thought he set me up for this.
“That’s very nice of you, but I enjoy writing my blog,” I politely responded. Classy like.
“Oh, that’s too bad, dearie.” Yes, she actually called me dearie. “Well, one day, when you’re ready, I’m sure you will put your talent to better use. You’re too classy to be writing about boob rings and orgasms.”
“You hear that Boo? She thinks I’m classy.” I shot to Boo as our concerned friend went to look for the newspaper advertising for writers to contribute classy stories.
“Ya. Real classy. Now, are you gonna pick that spinach out of your teeth, or shall I?” he asked as our friend came back waving the newspaper.
I’ll show you all, I thought to myself, as I looked in the mirror to pick my teeth. I’m gonna get real sophisticated on my blog. Right as soon as I buy some damn underwear that quits crawling up my ass.
November 7th, 2007 at 10:20 am
Classy? No. But who wants that?
And just ditch the underwear altogether. If it works for Britney, it should work for you, too.
November 7th, 2007 at 10:30 am
Jayzus, if you’re not a triple A class act then who is.
Non-bloggers never get it. They never see why it is we choose to write for this medium. Sure, it would be good to make money from our writing too but this medium is simultaneously seductive and destructive. It feels real, somehow.
November 7th, 2007 at 10:40 am
Oh no she di-int! I don’t tell ANYONE about my blog; the only “real life” people I’ve told are the husband and my best friend, both of whom keep their mouths shut (in his case out of shame and in her case out of living way the fack on the other side of the country and not having any mutual friends with me and therefore I can believe whatever I want). The husband rags on me a lot about how I should do some “real” writing (i.e. writing that makes money), and how OMG don’t you have any SHAME good lord don’t put THAT on there, and seems convinced that he is the classier one in our relationship. Which is actually a complicated question, I mean does educated but nuttier as squirrel poo and drunk/high really trump uneducated, dumb as rocks, and ALSO nuttier than squirrel poo (but not drunk or high)? I like to think it does.
November 7th, 2007 at 10:41 am
Was referring to our families there. I am neither drunk NOR high, sadly. Ahem.
November 7th, 2007 at 10:55 am
See, I don’t even like it when you kid about closing up shop. I think you could write elsewhere, and if that happens, I think that’s great. But blogging is good for the soul.
{I love the real life folks that I know are reading because they just know things I’ve said there - and then they deny it. Like it’s a dirty little secret. I guess they aren’t fans…}
November 7th, 2007 at 11:01 am
Oh Good God.
You’re the classIEST.
November 7th, 2007 at 11:17 am
Okay, see, I don’t even get how you go public to your friends and family. If I did that, well, I couldn’t bitch about them on my blog. WH knows about the blog, and is surprised about my willingness to share certain things ON THE INTERNET. Something like “you would die if your Mom found your blog, but you don’t care if the INTERNET at LARGE knows this stuff? To which I say: *sniff* You OBVIOUSLY know nothing about blogging.
November 7th, 2007 at 11:23 am
Pfft.
What does HE know about classy?!
November 7th, 2007 at 11:34 am
I have one family member that reads my blog, and I would die if the rest of them did.
Definitely my space to use as I see fit - and I think that applies to you, too!
November 7th, 2007 at 11:38 am
I love hearing about your boob rings and orgasms…..
November 7th, 2007 at 12:11 pm
“Joking aside, this crass, classless blog has done the better part of keeping me sane in my darkest hours. And it has served as a useful marital aide and communication prop from time to time. Nothing like a little passive aggressive sarcasm to whip the hubs into shape.”
A-freakin’ Men.
And underwear that doesn’t crawl up your ass? I didn’t even know they made that kind.
November 7th, 2007 at 12:20 pm
Change one little freakin’ iota of this site and I’ll hunt you down and give you a wedgie myself.
If you have to have a classy family-type blog, just start another one. And don’t give me the url.
XXXXXOOOOO
November 7th, 2007 at 12:54 pm
what they said! What they said! No closing up shop and we all come here because you are you!
November 7th, 2007 at 12:59 pm
Don’t you change one thing classy lady (said by the chick who just opened her beer with her teeth).
November 7th, 2007 at 1:00 pm
Dearie? Where do these people come from? If you need an ego boost, come by my site. I posted about you today.
November 7th, 2007 at 1:07 pm
I’d like to think that was a well planned revenge for the kitchen fiasco. I have to believe that because please tell me Boo isn’t serious?
While Ug may pitch a fit whenever I put pics on my site, he figures that what I write there is less jabbering at him, so I can write until my hearts content. What he doesn’t realize is that I am perfecting my arguements through my blog, thus he really has no chance of winning now.
And anyone calling someone dearie can not be taken seriously. Espeically when it comes to the English language and what is considered classy.
Don’t change one thing here, we like the real you, that redneck class and all it’s glory.
November 7th, 2007 at 1:09 pm
Especially… apparently I need to learn how to spell said English language.
November 7th, 2007 at 1:09 pm
Everything I read here is like gold. Pure gold. And gold is classy, so I wouldn’t change a damn thing.
And I love that someone else refers to a hometown as butt-fuck, Canada. I thought that’s where I was from!
November 7th, 2007 at 1:42 pm
Oh my goodness!!! That is so hilarious!! I myself can pretend to be classy with the best of them, but underpants that ride up, must be taken care of immediately!!!! I will do it in Walmart if need be. I love, love, love your blog!
November 7th, 2007 at 1:50 pm
All I can say is granny panties….ugly as sin, but they get the job done without driving you nuts!
November 7th, 2007 at 2:04 pm
Just so you know … my “real job” (as opposed to my blog) is probably what you’d consider classy writing. You know, I write about pensions and public investments and marketing and all of that.
I love my job.
But, I’ve never made anyone laugh - or cry - or anything.
And you do that on pretty much a daily basis.
I love your blog
November 7th, 2007 at 2:13 pm
First, always discount whatever is followed by “dearie”
Only over the hill waitresses call people dearie.
Second, a thong gives a controlled wedgie. Small amount of fabric, no uncomfy feel to it. One need never pick thier undies out of butt crack with a thong.
Love your site!
November 7th, 2007 at 3:02 pm
My dear, you are the epitome of class. But what do I know? I was raised by rednecks.
November 7th, 2007 at 3:43 pm
Honestly!! Freaking hilarious!!
November 7th, 2007 at 6:52 pm
Hey Dearie…Diary…dear E…I’m now confused.
Get a real job like working a convenience store… or stocking groceries at WalMart…or like… ah shit. That’s the stuff I’m looking at. Sell some dildos at the Mexican border like REAL women do. You can hike up them britches like REAL women do in New York and Paris.
Send me am e-mail t. Wanna know what’s going on with the adoption Warlocks.
November 7th, 2007 at 7:04 pm
For one horrible, angst ridden, soul sucking moment I thought this was a goodbye post and I was going to have to come to Canada and become your neighbor just so I don’t miss out.
Please, don’t start getting all classy on me. I get that bullshit from my sister, the millionaire’s wife. I love you just the way you are.
*wanders off singing Billy Joel*
November 7th, 2007 at 8:28 pm
Don’t even think of closing up shop. Don’t let one word of what either of them say make you doubt the perfection that is your blog.
November 7th, 2007 at 9:04 pm
classy is boring. you are anything but.
now stop knocking the homies.
November 7th, 2007 at 10:13 pm
You kill me.
The first thing my Husband does each day is check if I updated my blog; which happens maybe like 3 times a week on the fifth Wednesday of Never.
I think you are classy, even with your sexy soft core literary porn site…..
November 7th, 2007 at 11:49 pm
“the man who pees on the driveway the moment he gets out of the car.”
I’m sorry. He should have nothing to say regarding sophistication.
All women are married to Homer Simpson when you get down to it.
November 8th, 2007 at 12:22 am
don’t you dare cancelling your blog, your butt-picking intelligence is one in a million…a daily must read for me…!
November 8th, 2007 at 3:57 am
He may be “cl-ASS-y”, but who gets the laughs, baby? You do, momma.
November 8th, 2007 at 8:56 am
P-LEASE! I’m sure this Klassy broad is related to your asshead neighbors. Please don’t stop writing on here. I’ll have to purchase a subscription to some unknown local Canadian paper.
November 8th, 2007 at 9:01 am
I’m with you . . . there’s no money in blogging, but it’s a hell of a lot cheaper than a padded cell. Keep posting good karma!
November 8th, 2007 at 10:27 am
If I wanted class I’d go read Martha Stewart Living. Or I’d call my mother-in-law.
November 8th, 2007 at 10:33 am
You’re gonna get real sophisticated? Where’s the fun in that? I come here to get away from daily bullshit, not be reminded of it.
Oh and if it’s a thong that’s crawling up your ass, ditch them. God didnt intend underwear to be worn that way.
November 8th, 2007 at 12:49 pm
oh, GOD! K loves to pee in the GD driveway.
November 8th, 2007 at 2:18 pm
Really Julie is right on the granny undies but if ya want your hubs to be interested you would get some as my old man put it “um sexier panties”. Yeah, I have plenty in my drawer UNDER the comfy ones. I wore a pair the other day and he was too busy to care that I showed him my panties, that was an invite that he didn’t even get. Thats Classy!
November 8th, 2007 at 2:29 pm
i love your blog! and the nipple rings and orgasms are the posts i actually read to my husband! keep ‘em coming! classy people are boring!
-oh and noone but my hubby has access to my blog, and he doesn’t want to read it, then he would have to know what i think!
November 8th, 2007 at 2:32 pm
Did you ask Boo and everyone else what that says about all of us that read and are quite entertained by your blog…eh who cares…I’m not above being “un-classy”
November 8th, 2007 at 2:54 pm
You can change your blog in any which way you want and pour a pint of shit sauce on it and I’ll still be a die-hard fan. Take that Boo!
November 8th, 2007 at 6:39 pm
…mmmm. Ass!
November 8th, 2007 at 11:41 pm
P-S-I-B really does suck butt, no pun intended
November 9th, 2007 at 5:39 am
Never you mind, T. You’re a lcass act, and you know it. More importantly, the people that read you know it. As for the rest… F ‘em.
November 9th, 2007 at 3:36 pm
Dude, what the hell is it with guys peeing outside? Dave would rather walk to the backyard than piss in his own toilet.
November 9th, 2007 at 3:37 pm
Oh — and I’m really sorry you’re sick (just read the above post). Julia’s had it for two days — yesterday was ass pee and today has been puking. BLECH. Hang in there, love!
November 9th, 2007 at 5:26 pm
I definitely feel elevated in class just from reading your blog. I don’t know why people have such sticks up their butts! *cough*psychguy*cough* I bet he feels threatened. I always say blogging is better than therapy….
November 9th, 2007 at 5:38 pm
Here’s the thing: all these so-called “classy” people who publicly claim to be disinterested (or whatever) in your writing? I’d bet my bippy (whatever that is) that they’re the FIRST people to read your blog every day. They keep on coming back for more. Trust me on this. They’re just repressed and they’re living through you.
You keep doing your thing because it’s BRILLIANT and hilarious and, without a doubt, CLASSY.
November 9th, 2007 at 11:23 pm
Eh, fuck class. (am I allowed to say that here?) Funny and smart is better. LOVE funny and smart.
November 10th, 2007 at 12:16 pm
Some people may have classier blogs, but they aren’t nearly as much fun as you - you who tried to show me your nipple ring in public.
November 10th, 2007 at 4:56 pm
Cheers to your pierced tits and your orgasms!
(I’m raising a bottle of expensive import. That’s right…a bona fide beer snob is toasting you. You’re now classy simply by association.)
November 12th, 2007 at 8:16 am
I love you just the way you are. Classy, Sassy and talented as hell.
November 12th, 2007 at 8:39 am
I guess that makes me un-classy too. Because I love your blog. And you.
Piss on ‘em.
November 12th, 2007 at 10:32 am
I can’t get passed “pees on the driveway”…