…we are experiencing technical difficulties.
Oh, quit your bitchin’. It ain’t all about you.
Come back and see us next week for all new material that doesn’t suck.
But since you are here already, why don’t you revisit some of The DG’s (that’s what the kids are calling it nowadays) greatest hits or head on over to “Love Letters with Fritz und Hilde” for a little life affirmation. Let them talk you off that ledge for a change. I need a nap.
…with Your Inner-Self (ves)
Dear Fritz and Hilde,
Boy, am I in a pickle! Like most people, I have spent the better part of my life following the expert guidance of the voices in my head. Lately, however, I find the voices have been losing their touch. First, as per their urging, I helped my wife escape her daily doldrums with a couple of glasses of Coke/antifreeze. Next, following the advice of the Alpha voice, I skipped the standard stuffy funeral practice and buried her under her favorite pear tree. So far, so good. But here’s the problem: now the voices just laugh and laugh every time the police visit–their normal guiding influence is painfully absent. What should I do? Have they left me for good?
Silent in Syracuse
…then Jesus should be eating off my kitchen floor.
***Mops are for slackers***
A girl can always do a better job on her hands and knees.
Scrubbing floors is hard work, ladies. Remember to stay hydrated.
Happiness is a job well done.
…when DFCS Pays a Visit
- I’ve already fed them once this week.
- Well, I only planned on breast-feeding him for next fifteen years tops.
- Certainly, we recognize the Sabbath in our home—the Black Sabbath.
- Just scoot those beer cans over and have a seat.
- We consider the roaches to be our pets.
- That sock in her mouth really cuts down on the noise. Don’t worry, I washed it.
- When you said all kids like to whine, I thought you meant all kids like wine.
- He needs those laxatives to get the sin out.
- Certainly, I believe in gentle discipline. I gently discipline him at least four or five times a day…with this cattle prod. It’s set to low.
- Go ahead and take ‘em; I can always make more.
Man is little more than a domesticated animal. We are bred from a certain stock, raised in the corrals of a certain society and set forth to labor in the fields of a certain occupation until we become old and useless, at which point we will be slaughtered by our children for whatever inheritance is left and made into dog food. The circle of life continues.
Life is work however you look at it. Man must toil if he is to survive. Even that unpleasant looking fellow perched on the side of the interstate off-ramp by my home had to enlist some sort of effort to create that “Spare some change/God bless you” poster, not to mention the fact that he spends hours roasting in the heat of day, wearing at least four visible layers of clothing—may not be so labor intensive in the classical sense but intense nevertheless.
Therefore, it is of great importance to instill a positive work ethic in your child very early on. They will be forced to spend their adult lives proving their worth to society anyway, why not start from the very beginning? The transition from that lackadaisical wonderland of childhood to the endless monotony of work-a-day maturity is usually terribly unpleasant. Why not eliminate the experience altogether? You cannot miss what you’ve never known. What a wonderful gift for your children! They would be certain to thank you for it if it weren’t for the fact that they’re YOUR children, thus physically unable to be grateful for anything you do for them.
Shut up and Listen!
You are a unique individual—witty, intelligent, full of interesting anecdotes and insightful yarns. Your opinions are worthwhile and astute. You’ve perfected the art of clever banter, and your charm is as irresistible as freshly baked brownies. You never tire of the sound of your own delightful voice regaling the exciting exploits of your daily routine: “I saved $10.00 at the Kroger today… My aerobics class got a new instructor; her name is Gail… Have you seen the Anderson’s new dog? It’s a pug; her name is Gail… Finally got rid of those pesky mouth sores; now, if I can only cure those pubic warts… I saw a fabulous movie on Lifetime this morning with Nancy McKeon—you know, “Jo” from Facts of Life? Let me tell you all about it… ”
Now, wake up! Empty your mind of these grand delusions. No one wants to suffer through every mundane detail of your pathetic suburban existence—not your family, not your friends, and especially not your fellow Kept-Keepers, who are certainly suffering through a pathetic suburban existence of their very own and do not deserve a painful rehashing over chai tea and store-bought shortbread cookies. There is one simple, solid truth that many a doomed housefrau has overlooked to the point of her own premature demise—no one cares! No one cares about your tofu meatloaf that tastes just like real meatloaf. No one cares about your coupons. No one cares about Nancy McKeon. Even if on the rarest of chances you are actually as charming and witty as you believe you are in your own mind, even if you hold the answer to all life’s secrets inside your brain, not a single person would ever know for no one is ever listening to you. You might as well be reciting the lyrics to Ice Ice Baby in a constant loop throughout the day. In fact, you will probably get a more attentive reaction if you did.
Though it somewhat pains me disclose this little factoid (though not really), the individual that is least likely to ever heed a single utterance from your L’Oreal-tinted lips is probably the one person you wish most to hang on your every word—your husband. Denial is a strong coping mechanism within the walls of the Domestic Graveyard. Observing your spouse inhaling his dinner like a Hoover on SpeedSuck, you think to yourself, “boy, does my man love this tofu meatloaf that tastes just like real meatloaf! I must share the long, detailed recipe with him. He’ll enjoy that,” when in reality, he desires only to finish consuming his sustenance as quickly as humanly possible, so he might escape your nightly ranting and go watch SportsCenter in peace.
The Other-Worldly Housewife knows the benefits of curbing her tongue—lips frozen in perfect pouting position, the only movement occurring in the gentle batting of her long, dark lashes at her darling hubby’s every divulgence. Without a doubt, his accounts are just as irritatingly monotonous as yours for no one over thirty, male or female, has anything interesting to say, but that truth is inconsequential. Your job is to sit quietly, look pretty and make sure the tofu meatloaf tastes like meatloaf. Yes, it may be quite challenging to always seem fully engrossed by the same pedestrian tales retold day after day—how he stuck it to that asshole in the cattycorner cubicle or dazzled some half-witted client. Yawn. Making sure you are in a proper mental state should help (see Tenets of the Other-Worldly Housewife: Lesson 1), but it is wise to practice a bit in front of the mirror beforehand. Authenticity is the key to any well-executed manipulation.