Rude Bitches Make Me Tired: Slightly Profane and Entirely Logical Answers to Modern Etiquette Dilemmas

by Celia Rivenbark

  You have to be firm about this because studies have shown that families who eat dinner together at least four times a week really get on one another’s nerves by that fourth night. No! I meant to say studies have shown the kids are healthier, happier, and make better grades than those who don’t eat with their families at night.

  It doesn’t count if she’s texting her friends while you’re trying to be Perky Caring Mom, inquiring about everyone’s day. Nobody gives much of a happy damn about your day, of course. If the texting continues (“Mom, you are so lame! What difference does it make?”) you can smile a little drunkenly as you pass the tuna noodle casserole she actually likes and say, “If you don’t put that phone in the other room during dinner, I will crush it, along with your spirit, beneath the wheels of the car you will never drive. Sweetheart.”

  Because you’re just a little drunk, she will believe you. Trust me.

  Question: How can I get my teenager to understand that it’s very rude to act bored all the time. Also, he never looks adults in the eye, just stares down at his feet all the time.

  Your kid sounds like pretty much of an asshole. I got nothin’.

  Question: I’m a teenager who gets tired of my mom always asking, “Who are you texting now?” “What are you talking about?” “Who are you texting now?” “What are you talking about now?” She never stops asking intrusive questions when I’m texting my friends. Is it too much to expect her to show good manners and respect my privacy?

  Oh, you poor, dear, sweet, misguided child. Of course it’s too much to ask. She is your mother, the one who brought you into this world after what felt like eleventyhundred months of swollen ankles, hormonal back acne, and twenty-four-hour puking. But you go ahead and text your little friends. I’m sure that they would’ve sacrificed shellfish, soft cheeses, and vodka at the same time without a second thought just like I, I mean, your mother, did. One day, you’ll miss hearing those nagging questions about what is most certainly your private and personal business. Little missy.

  Question: My mom wears the same clothes I wear, and it’s embarrassing. What can I do to get her to stop without hurting her feelings?

  Clearly your mom did something right because you are interested in sparing her feelings, and that, my cherub, is the heart of good manners.

  This is a sad trend, according to a study by the Journal of Consumer Behavior. Teenage girls are a huge fashion influence on what their mothers buy—not the other way around!

  I was talking to the Princess about the study and realized that she was staring at me but not saying a word. Her eyes moved from head to toe. She took in my Toms shoes, jeans (not mom jeans—I’m not a damn Duggar, after all), and a T-shirt I bought at the Never Shout Never concert, which was totes cool, b-tee-dubs.

  Said the Princess: “The study shows that we want our own identity, and then you copy us!”

  “Yeah? Well, I want a million dollars. If you like the study so much, why don’t you marry it?”

  Part of the problem is a lack of choices for modern moms. Department stores are the worst for making us feel matronly what with their ghastly collections of plaid shirts layered over sad pedal pushers for the “mom on the go!” She must be going to rehab because she’d have to be crazy drunk or high to buy that shit.

  What can I tell you except that you’re right. And we’ll try to do better. Cross my heart and hope to die (in Forever 21)!

  Word to the wise: Teenagers don’t always have a sense of humor. For instance, the Princess asked me to buy her student pictures with the “retouched package,” which, for an extra fifteen dollars, removes blemishes, scars, flyaway hair; whitens dull teeth; and evens out skin tone. I said, “Sure, but you don’t have flyaway hair,” which seemed to piss her off.

  Question: I am appalled at the language that I hear when I pick up my teenagers at school. Why must teens drop so many F-bombs? And what is wrong with them that they don’t even seem to know you aren’t supposed to curse like that in front of adults?

  Yes, well, ahem, er, cursing. Right. Cursing is bad. No, strike that. Cursing is bad if done by young people in front of their elders. No, strike that, too. Okay. Young people should not curse, because, as everyone knows, cursing is a sign of limited intelligence. Someone read that to me from a book one time. Teenagers curse to sound grown-up, always have, always will. It’s exacerbated because so many of the “cool people” they watch on TV curse constantly. Consider this made-up but totally possible convo from Jersey Shore, which is particularly popular with the teen demo.…

  MIKE (“The Situation”):

  Snooki is just a dumb (bleep) that I’d like to (bleep) on her (bleeping) (bleep) till she (bleeped), and then I’d be all like (bleeping) A!

  SNOOKI:

  Mike’s so stupid and he won’t ever (bleep bleep) on you. I know that because his (bleeping) (bleep) of an ex-girlfriend (bleeping) told me that (bleep) and I (bleeping) believe that (bleep), (bleeping) A!

  Now, it doesn’t take a (bleeping) rocket scientist to figure out what each and every bleep means. It’s like those word games people post on Facebook, where none of the words have vowels but you can easily read the whole thing anyway? The mind knows that shit. I mean stuff.

  My advice? Give your best mean-face to the cussing teen. If that doesn’t work, fuck it, you’ve done what you could to shame him.

  Question: It’s not as bad as cursing, but I find the new “vocal fry” very annoying. First it was using “like” every other word, then it was “uptalking,” right? And now this weird guttural speech pattern. How can I correct this without being rude about it?

  Ah, yes, vocal fry. To those who haven’t been around teenage girls much, it refers to the odd lazy endings on words. Example: “interesting” becomes “interesteeeeeaaaaaaaaang.”

  I believe that, like toe socks and Clay Aiken, this will quickly become a thing of the past. Sorraaaaaaaay, Clay. Look, if drawing out a few syllables is the worst thing your teen does, count yourself lucky. He could end up on Anderson Cooper, talking about huffing glue and cinnamon or strangling himself to get high. By and large, today’s teens aren’t that much different from their parents at that age. Honestlaaaaaaaaaaay.

  Question: My daughter, who will be sixteen soon, has been watching all those TV shows about rich people’s kids having Sweet Sixteen parties, and now she expects a huge party and even a new car! How can I let her down easy?

  By easy, do you mean a pan of brownies with a candle in the center and having a couple of girlfriends over for movie night? ’Cause that’s what I plan. You know why? Because, unlike Timbaland, I can’t afford that crap. I watched Timbaland’s huge sixteenth bash for his son—whose name I forget, so I’ll just call him “Splinter”—and it was nuts. I warned the Princess that she would not have a million-dollar bash featuring Lil Wayne, Missy Elliot, and live tigers.

  “You don’t want a party like those brats, do you?” I asked the Princess as we watched the daughter of the Ed Hardy T-shirt empire flicking her extensions about while auditioning male dancers for her soiree. Bubbles McVacant’s dad gave her a pimped-out Land Rover for her sixteenth with her name written all over the outside of the car. Who does that? I mean besides Domino’s.

  Moments earlier, we’d watched Sean Combs’s son present a ten-thousand-dollar check for Haitian relief at his party, which 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 Americ
a. 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 few years ago, that you would see people holding signs saying THANK GOD FOR BREAST CANCER! as we did at Elizabeth Edwards’s funeral? Being civil, returning deliberate, thoughtful responses to the crazy people is exhausting, isn’t it?

  I don’t even know why someone would want to run for office. In a survey, fewer than half the people interviewed on the street knew the name of the vice president. And I’m not talking about an old dead vice president like the one who served under Zachary Taylor Swift. I’m talking about the one who lives at 1313 Mockingbird Lane, Washingtonville.

  Not only did they not know his name, a scary number thought that there were only fifty-two U.S. Senators and members of the House. Total. I suppose the thinking is one per state with a couple around as understudies in case somebody is too sick to perform that day or perhaps two Miss Congenialities.

  It must be frustrating to spend $500 million to win an office only to discover that the average citizen doesn’t know your name. You’d be better off changing it to Bob Evans, so at least people would say, “Love your stacked-and-stuffed hotcakes. Your Honorship.”

  Question: I think that so-called push polling is the height of rudeness, not only because of the nature of the questions but also because they call only at dinnertime.

  I know, right? And I love the way they say, “This won’t take long, maybe thirty or thirty-five minutes.” Honey, you have no idea what I, and every mom I know, can get done in thirty-five minutes. It is staggering.

  Push-polling is a dreadful—but dreadfully effective—political strategy. To those of you who don’t know what it is, here’s how it works.…

  POLLSTER:

  Would you vote for Candidate A if you knew that he wanted to gamble with the financial security of your children and grandchildren?

  YOU:

  Huh?

  POLLSTER:

  It’s true! And did you realize that Candidate A juggles dead puppies for his private amusement? Hmmmmm? He also wants to ship your job to China. Oh, and he wants you to pay twelve dollars a gallon for gas.

  None of this is true, of course, but it sits in the back of your mind and marinates until you regurgitate it to someone else and they tell someone else and so forth until it morphs into “sorta fact.” If you have the time, you can have some fun with push polls. For instance, if they go to the gas scare, say, “I’m so relieved to hear that. I’ve long thought that Americans shouldn’t be paying roughly one-third as much as Europeans for gas. Don’t you agree?” I’ve used this tactic more than once with pseudo-charities that call regularly.

  PAID FUND-RAISER FOR RIP-OFF “CHARITY”:

  Wouldn’t you agree we need better fire prevention education in our schools?

  ME:

  Heavens no! How else are our young American arsonists going to learn if not by experience?

  See how easy?

  Question: My friends ask me whom I’m going to vote for in every election. I think this is rude because I was raised to believe that voting is a private matter. Isn’t that why they have those curtains around the voting machines, after all?

  I guess so, but to me, those curtains are kinda weird. They look like really poorly designed dressing rooms. I’ve often thought it would be high-larious to close the curtain and then take off enough clothes to freak people out. When the bra hits the floor of the voting booth, that would be so funny, am I right?

  I always leave the curtain open because I am proud of whom I vote for. This curtain business makes it seem like voting is something that should be done in the dark and is somehow secret and shameful, like attending an Adam Sandler movie.

  But, of course, you are right. It’s ill-mannered at best and nosy at worst to ask someone whom they’re going to vote for. I’m happy to put up yard signs and even knock on doors for a good candidate (back in the ’70s, this was rewarded with what we called “bong hits”), but not everyone is eager to share.

  So, my advice would be to smile and say: “I don’t like to discuss politics.”

  If they start yammering about why you should vote for their candidate, you can say, “I don’t like to discuss politics.” Repeat as often as necessary.

  Question: A neighbor who is running for reelection to local office is always in “campaign mode,” no matter where she goes. I’ve even seen her show up at a funeral wearing her buttons and badges and (!) handing out magnets and bumper stickers. I’d like to set her straight but don’t have the gumption.

  Quick question: Is gumption grandpaspeak for “balls”? Thought so. While I do love a good refrigerator magnet because there’s always some piece of kids’ “artwork” I need to hang, having a candidate corner me in front of the corpse is fairly tacky. Local politicians can be surprisingly aggressive even when running for goofy offices like Soil &
Water Conservation Supervisor. I’ve seen this sort of misbehavior in person, and it’s off-putting at best.

  Next time this happens, find your, uh, gumption and tell this opportunistic buffoon that “this is neither the time nor the place.” Say it in a very imperious Downton Abbey kind of tone for greater effect.

  Question: How can I convince my family not to talk politics when we get together for the holidays? My husband is the only non-Republican in the room, and he feels “ganged up on” most of the time. He’s been a pretty good sport so far, but he often wants to go home before we even get to the pumpkin pie to avoid my father’s bourbon-fueled soliloquy on how all liberals are Communists. I honestly can’t blame him.

  Holiday dinners are always minefields of misbehavior, aren’t they? It’s the rare family, indeed, that can sit down, have convivial conversation, and enjoy a nice meal without even a whisper of tension.

  The only thing you can do is to ask, in advance, that your family shape the hell up and stop being so disrespectful of your husband’s opinions and beliefs. Really, it doesn’t matter what party anyone belongs to. Mutual respect and consideration are the point. Hot-button topics like politics have no place at the holiday dinner unless you’re sure everyone’s on the same page. If so, yes, have a side of sanctimony with that corn bread dressing and green bean casserole, by all means. If not, talk about the weather or how the only begotten grandson performed so beautifully in a small but telling role as “third broccoli on the left” at his first-grade play.

  I’m not saying it’s going to be interesting, but at least your husband won’t feel the need to stab anyone with a meat fork midmeal.