Drowning In My Soap Box Bubbles Part 2

I don’t have a whole lot of tolerance for door to door solicitors. I probably should have made this #1 on my previous soap box list.

After being the victim of magazine subscriptions for starving college students that just need to raise money for a trip to Italy, or that $40 bottle of miracle cleaner that miraculously didn’t  perform miracles once added to my household cleanser collection, or the two hour vacuum demo that no amount of vacuuming you do to my carpet or lamp shades or curtains is going to convince me to spend $2,000 on a fucking vacuum ( I could buy a cash car for that and hell no I didn’t buy the vacuum), the one thing that annoys me the most, is people that try to sell me on their religion.

Holy mothers nipples.


Those arguments are the reason I stuck a NO SOLICITING sign on my storm door.

Here’s the deal: Don’t tell me what you have to offer is not in total disregard of my no soliciting sign. Don’t tell me you’re not selling anything. Because you are.

You’re trying to sell me on a belief I don’t want to hear. And I have  heard it before and don’t agree with it, so leave.

Don’t argue with me on my own fucking property and try to recruit me for your mission. Now get back on your bicycle, fasten up your helmet, and peddle away.

Why? Why is it okay to harass people in the name of religion?

Would they be okay with me knocking on their front door at an ungodly hour on a Saturday morning for the sole purpose of shoving my agenda down their throat? Probably not.

So don’t do it to me.

Don’t be the asshole that thinks my no soliciting sign doesn’t apply to you.

Because it does.

I clean my own house.

We mow our own damn yard.

I married a mechanic; I don’t need your lube job.


My roof is good. My gutters are fine. I was raised in church, and I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT.

Don’t get me wrong; I genuinely love people from all walks of life.

But it’s all about the approach.

If you approach me in a friendly, non-confrontational manner, I will  listen to what you have to say. I might even take your business card or flyer or religious tract.

But,  if I’m not interested, and I tell you “I’m not interested”, then go bother someone else, okay??

And don’t argue with me on my own damn porch. You won’t like my response.

Are you mad?



Bitch I might be

I’m thinking of changing up my no soliciting sign. I’m thinking of customizing it to say:

NO SOLICITING. Unless you have girl scout cookies or are offering free puppy cuddles. All others knock at your own risk.

Do solicitors bother you, or am I just an asshole??

Always end your day with laughter,

Olive Oyl Momma


Drowning In My SoapBox Bubbles

Everyone has a soapbox. Some of us have more than one.

I fall in the second category with having more than one. Or maybe I’m just really bitchy.


I woke up this morning (yes, I’m still in my robe as we speak), and thought I would share with all of you a few of the things that depending on the day, will get my butt on the box.

Here we go:

  1. Turn signals. Don’t you just hate slamming on your brakes because the jerk in front of you decided to turn at the last minute? For the love of all that is holy, use your damn blinker.
  2. Grocery store parking lots. These are the absolute worst. If I’m cruising through there trying to find a parking spot and come upon a pedestrian in the pedestrian lane, quit tip toeing thru the tulips and light a fire under your ass. You might have all day, but typically I don’t.
  3. School functions during flu season. This one gets me. My OCD kicks in and I can feel  the germ particles floating through the cafeteria. I try to breathe shallowly and lessen my chances of illness. I touch nothing. I use the strategically placed hand sanitizing stations like I’m preparing to perform surgery. And then that mom in front of you with the curious toddler (you know, the kid that walks all over the place and touches everything during the performance) coughs in your face. And not just any cough. A wet, chunky, green snot running into their mouth cough. FML I’m gonna throw up talking about it. (on a side note, the last cafeteria performance I attended, a kid puked 20ft. from where I was sitting. Good times.)

4. Screaming kids in public places. Okay check it, I’ve been there. I’ve been the mom with the screaming kid that pissed everybody off. And you know what? I removed him from the situation. Did I miss part of the performance? Yes. Did I go home hungry because I didn’t get to finish my meal? Absolutely. Did I have to go back  to the grocery store later because of the earlier tantrum? Of course. So here’s the deal: don’t be the parent that thinks you’re the exception okay?? Because the world doesn’t revolve around us individually. Even though some days we might wish it did.

5. The expert. You know what I’m talking about. Everyone has someone in their life that knows everything. No matter the subject, this person is an expert  on the topic. Unruly children? Call the expert, even though they aren’t parents yet. Dog won’t quit shitting on the floor? Call the expert, even though they have never owned a dog. Thinking of taking the leap and becoming a homeowner? Call the expert, even though they still live with their parents. I know, I know. You think I’m an asshole. Wait a minute….are you an expert??

Okay dear readers, that’s all I have for today. But don’t worry, I’ll pick up where we left off in the near future.

Have anything to add? What gets you on your  soapbox? Let me know so we can all be bitchy together.

Always end your day with laughter,

Olive Oyl Momma

Being a Jerk – Is This a Love Story?

I think we’re all guilty of it at some point.

Being a jerk to someone we claim to love. Someone we care about.

And I don’t just mean being jerk-like; I mean acting downright hateful. Condescending. Rude. Hurtful. Possibly a full blown a**hole.

Why do we do this?

Is it because when you truly love someone there’s a level of comfort that you feel gives you the right to say anything? Do anything? Be anything?

I’ve been on the receiving end of these things. Hurtful, awful things said in tones that make you question your self worth. Question even your existence. Question everything.

Even worse, I’m guilty of being the giver. I’m guilty of giving the verbal diarrhea to someone I love. And I’m guilty of justifying it because I was angry or hurt or afraid.

Why do we do this?

Why do we continue to hurt the ones we claim to love with our words?

Anyone who says words can’t hurt you are liars. They’re lying liars lying out of their lying liar holes because words do hurt. They stay with you long after the other person thinks they have fallen away.


They bounce around in our thoughts and minds and we focus on the negativity until we start to drown in a quagmire of self doubt and self loathing. They feed those parts of us that struggle with our own worth. They start to convince us that they’re true.

And for awhile, no matter how short or how long, we believe them.

But there’s another part to all of this. The part that sometimes, well sometimes it’s much worse.

And that’s what isn’t said.

It’s the elephant in the room following an argument. The invisible fog of tension. The gap of silence because they wanted to say it, they wanted to say that awful, terrible, hurtful thing and they didn’t.

But they thought it.

And that’s what you feel.

Why do we do this?

There is no justification. What we are is quite simply, human. And as we are human beings, we’re perfectly imperfect and prone to saying hurtful ugly things. We’re prone to letting the things that bother us build until we explode in frustration.

And sometimes, we’re not sorry.

I mean, we are, we just don’t want to say it. Or can’t.

How unfortunate that sometimes the things that need to be said the most are only ever said in anger.

I would like to think after writing these things down,verbalizing these intimate thoughts, that never again will I be the giver.

But I cannot say that with perfect clarity.

And I’m sorry.