Are you shittin' me?

That’s what I asked my Mother in Law as we left the Homegoods today.

Yes, I know it’s rude to announce “ARE YOU SHITTIN’ ME” in the middle of the Homegoods. But it needed to be said.

In the check out line before us, stood a woman, some item in her hand, red sticker to indicate that it was half off stuck upon it, demanding her money back.

That’s not at all rude. One should ask for a refund when one is unhappy with ones purchase.

However, according to the Poor Dude Behind the Register, the SKU indicated that the particular item she was trying to return was purchased in May, 2009.

Because there’s some bullshit tradition about the customer always being right, this Poor Dude Behind the Register was able to offer her half off from the half off she paid for it during the last decade. That’s pretty generous, considering this item had probably been regifted (red sticker in tact) about half a dozen times, and eventually banished to a plastic bag from another store, where it sat in the trunk of this woman’s 2010 leased Mercedes S Class, since December 2010.

Bitch wasn’t happy. She asked if she could get the full refund if she came back with a receipt, to which I declared “ARE YOU SHITTIN’ ME??”

She’s got to be shitting someone. She can’t be real. I had to rub my eyes and make for sure I was looking at an actual woman. Because it took a seriously jumbo size pair of nads for ANYONE to walk into a store and demand a full refund on some shit they bought two years ago.

This chick has never heard of Ebay? Or Craigslist? Or Goodwill? Because times are tough. Someone else could really benefit from the $5.00 refund she was going get back to use at the Starbucks across the lot. (Where she'd demand a Sanka, I'm sure.)

I could have used it for a tank and a half of gas. Or better yet, to buy some poster board and glitter markers so I could have made a giant sign that said "ARE YOU SHITTIN’ ME" and protested against "Absurd Refunds" outside of the store.

Because...are you shittin’ me? If you’re going to nut up so hard core you need to demand a refund like that, at least do it gracefully, and humbly. Say please, thank you, so sorry for the trouble, and tell a white lie like “I don’t know where the time went.”

“I’m coming back with the receipt.” Why didn’t she come in with the receipt in the first place? As if that’s her trump card. She’s getting that $5.00 at any cost!! You know bitches mean business when they bust out a tore up, faded receipt that probably once served as a plate for the chewed, flavor drained gum from her pool boy.

The bees say “She’s not shittin’ you. Now stop swearing in public, you resolution buster.”

Holyshitballs,

Bootsy

Tis The Season!!

Last Friday I had the pleasure of dining with the amazingly awesome Jen. We had a hot lunch date, and upon getting to the Party in Hades known as “the mall parking lot,” I received a text from Jen warning me that “bitches are cutting each other for parking spaces.”

A few weeks ago, poor KayDee had her brand, spankin’ new car keyed by some lunatic who couldn’t bare the fact she’d have to walk a few extra feet to get to the front door of whatever Big Box store she was going to spend her rent check in.

What’s up with that? Why all the parking lot hate? It’s just a spot to stick your car while you spend money you don’t have on shit no one really needs? Maybe that’s where the REAL rage comes from? Not from the repetitive, circular driving, all the while being stuck behind some chick who is going one mile an hour, investigating every spot she comes across just to make sure there’s a car actually in it before she moves on to the next, bumper to bumper isle.

Personally, I try and spare myself the agony. I have long sucked at the Honey Pot of Parking Lot Etiquette to have a solution that works for me.

May I suggest...

...don’t try and park in the good spots. Go park in the depths of hell, way far away. Park so far that your spot could possibly be in another zip code, and you need a shuttle bus to get to and from the store to your car trunk. Park so far away that it’s easier to send the shit you just bought to your house Fed Ex rather than carry it to your car.

Why?

Because no one else wants your damned spot, and you don’t have to take your life into your hands to get it. No one is getting cut for the shit spots, and no one is getting keyed. If anyone is trying to cut or key you in the hell-spot, then run like hell, because odds are it’s a serial killer. No one in their right mind should be slumming in these places to begin with. Bring mace and a GPS. You just never know. But at least you can drive and park all easy peasy like, and there’s something to be said for that.

Try this simple approach next time you find yourself begging for mercy to the Parking Lot Gods. I think you’ll be satisfied with the results. At the very least, you won’t get cut by a bitch, and that’s just a gift that keeps on giving.

Happy Merry to you all!

Bootsy!

Pre-planning NYE Resolutions

I, Bootsy, have decided that come 2011, I am going to wash my own mouth out with soap, and cut down on my potty language.

That's right, you're seeing it here first, all posted on the nets in attempt to keep my ass accountable.

No more shit-fuck-damn-piss-hell for me unless the situation REALLY calls for it. My favorite words, such as shiteous, shitballs, shithead, fucktarded, fucker, fuck my life, punk ass bitch, bitch ass punk, bitches bitch, bitch and half, two bitches, bitches as is, ass bastard, sucks ass, and douche lord will only be spoken for special occasions, such as birthdays of the damned or encounters with those sent from hell to thwart my attempts to be pure, holy, and well mannered.

You bitches better not jinx my ass and place money bets on how quickly it takes me to fuck it up. Like, by 12:01 AM and some shizz.

At least give me to 12:30 AM.

But until then, it's a fuckin' free for all. Bitches.

*Alcohol related incidents are excluded and excused. Damnit.

** I will also cut out the word "like" as a bridge to other words. Kelly Bin Simone I am...like...not. Also, being raised in the era of the Valley Girl is no longer an excuse. I'm almost 40. Even I know that...like...saying like all the time..sucks ass.