Rude Bitches Make Me Tired: Slightly Profane and Entirely Logical Answers to Modern Etiquette Dilemmas by Celia Rivenbark
Authors: Celia Rivenbark
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is swell until you realize that his party cost nearly a million and the check was just to make him look like slightly less of an asshat. Didn’t work.
It should be noted that I don’t begrudge the hardworking young. The Biebs bought himself a Lambo for his sixteenth. God knows he earned it, what with fending off marriage proposals from raspy-voiced twelve-year-olds every night. Très exhausting! Ditto Miley Cyrus, who worked hard for the money even as her nitwit dad was whining that Hannah Montana ruined his family. Oh, puleez. Disney doesn’t kill families; families kill families.
As parents, we are charged with raising honest, capable, compassionate, well-mannered future leaders of America. These rich kids seem to have little knowledge of the world outside their own Rodeo Drive bubble. They’re all “acting ugly.” Pity.
chapter 13
Politics: The Elephant (or Donkey) in the Room
We know that it’s impolite to talk politics, but sometimes we just can’t help ourselves. So we dive in, with all good intentions of converting the ill-informed, the ignorant, and the outright idiotic, and, well, as you can see, things get nasty fast.
We just don’t see things the same way. It’s not our fault that you are so impossibly wrongheaded about all things political and we just can’t understand why you bristle at our gentle corrections, which, yes, occasionally end with a “and your greasy grandmama !” followed by a slammed door.
Why do we all behave so rudely when talking politics these days? It’s not just Rush Limbaugh, although his routine labeling of women who disagree with him as sluts, prostitutes, and “feminazis” certainly doesn’t elevate the dialogue.
Politics is brutal business, not for the faint of heart and definitely an etiquette minefield.
We should all make an effort to have civilized discourse that relies on facts, logic, reason, and measured tones instead of name-calling, screaming, and finger-pointing.
Early on in the Obama presidency, I wondered if—and I’m being quite serious—he might not be a little too nice for the job.
If it had been me standing there, giving the 2009 State of the Union address when South Carolina congressman Joe Wilson screamed, “You lie!” I would’ve paused and quietly instructed the sergeant at arms to remove the old fart from the building, and possibly the planet.
Alas, he basically ignored this huge breach of congressional etiquette and continued as though nothing had happened.
Obama would make a lousy poker player. He’d be the pleasant sad sack who showed up every week in some buddy’s heated garage, toting a six-pack of a nice pale ale and a decent amount of cash that he’d lose every time.
“Read ’em and weep,” he’d say, fanning out a hand that boasted a one-eyed jack and not much else.
When trounced by assorted flushes, ace-high straights, and even two pair, he would remain evenhanded and calm.
“Just not my night, fellas,” he’d say after going “all in” with a pair of deuces. Then, as they chuckled behind his back, he’d put on his black leather jacket and head into the cold night to live with his mother-in-law.
When Israel comes calling to ask if he’ll drop everything and help them bomb Iran, Obama responds with an even tone and invokes the need for diplomatic rather than nuclear solutions.
He is Politenessman, which is laudable but frustrating to those of us who aren’t quite so Zen about things.
I’m remembering that capitulation on unemployment benefits to the Republicans, who, as we all know, can’t sleep at night if their billionaires are fairly taxed. Even Nancy Pelosi’s cream cheese face melted into queso dip when Obama caved on that one.
He should’ve stood firm because I’m sure Boehner & Co. didn’t have the Triscuits to return home at Christmas and tell their constituents they were cutting off their unemployment and Happy freakin’ New Year!
These are challenging times. Can you imagine, even a
It should be noted that I don’t begrudge the hardworking young. The Biebs bought himself a Lambo for his sixteenth. God knows he earned it, what with fending off marriage proposals from raspy-voiced twelve-year-olds every night. Très exhausting! Ditto Miley Cyrus, who worked hard for the money even as her nitwit dad was whining that Hannah Montana ruined his family. Oh, puleez. Disney doesn’t kill families; families kill families.
As parents, we are charged with raising honest, capable, compassionate, well-mannered future leaders of America. These rich kids seem to have little knowledge of the world outside their own Rodeo Drive bubble. They’re all “acting ugly.” Pity.
chapter 13
Politics: The Elephant (or Donkey) in the Room
We know that it’s impolite to talk politics, but sometimes we just can’t help ourselves. So we dive in, with all good intentions of converting the ill-informed, the ignorant, and the outright idiotic, and, well, as you can see, things get nasty fast.
We just don’t see things the same way. It’s not our fault that you are so impossibly wrongheaded about all things political and we just can’t understand why you bristle at our gentle corrections, which, yes, occasionally end with a “and your greasy grandmama !” followed by a slammed door.
Why do we all behave so rudely when talking politics these days? It’s not just Rush Limbaugh, although his routine labeling of women who disagree with him as sluts, prostitutes, and “feminazis” certainly doesn’t elevate the dialogue.
Politics is brutal business, not for the faint of heart and definitely an etiquette minefield.
We should all make an effort to have civilized discourse that relies on facts, logic, reason, and measured tones instead of name-calling, screaming, and finger-pointing.
Early on in the Obama presidency, I wondered if—and I’m being quite serious—he might not be a little too nice for the job.
If it had been me standing there, giving the 2009 State of the Union address when South Carolina congressman Joe Wilson screamed, “You lie!” I would’ve paused and quietly instructed the sergeant at arms to remove the old fart from the building, and possibly the planet.
Alas, he basically ignored this huge breach of congressional etiquette and continued as though nothing had happened.
Obama would make a lousy poker player. He’d be the pleasant sad sack who showed up every week in some buddy’s heated garage, toting a six-pack of a nice pale ale and a decent amount of cash that he’d lose every time.
“Read ’em and weep,” he’d say, fanning out a hand that boasted a one-eyed jack and not much else.
When trounced by assorted flushes, ace-high straights, and even two pair, he would remain evenhanded and calm.
“Just not my night, fellas,” he’d say after going “all in” with a pair of deuces. Then, as they chuckled behind his back, he’d put on his black leather jacket and head into the cold night to live with his mother-in-law.
When Israel comes calling to ask if he’ll drop everything and help them bomb Iran, Obama responds with an even tone and invokes the need for diplomatic rather than nuclear solutions.
He is Politenessman, which is laudable but frustrating to those of us who aren’t quite so Zen about things.
I’m remembering that capitulation on unemployment benefits to the Republicans, who, as we all know, can’t sleep at night if their billionaires are fairly taxed. Even Nancy Pelosi’s cream cheese face melted into queso dip when Obama caved on that one.
He should’ve stood firm because I’m sure Boehner & Co. didn’t have the Triscuits to return home at Christmas and tell their constituents they were cutting off their unemployment and Happy freakin’ New Year!
These are challenging times. Can you imagine, even a
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