Domestic Goddess-in-Training Kicked out of Mt. Olympus

Erin Pietre strove to be a domestic goddess like many wives today by battling being a soccer mom, keeping a spotless house, and raising her two children with a high self esteem.

To aid in this, she joined Mt. Olympus, a community group that gears more women to focus on the home.

“Being domesticated, a Martha Stewart, is what’s in now. Women are going back to their families,” Pietre, 32, said.

I’ve tried so many websites that use multi-tasking, Pietre said. From Flylady.com for domestic organisation, Sparkpeople.com for weight, and Joe’s Goals for a tracking chart -- it seems becoming an efficient multi-tasker has created more stressors for the middle-class family.

“I don’t admit this to the other goddesses,” she said.

The other moms are too embarrassed to be associated with Pietre for using paper plates, letting her children finish their own homework, and letting herself go at 144 pounds.

“This is really humiliating,” Pietre said near tears.

“I gave up finishing my master’s in business administration to devote myself to this.

“Fuck Martha Stewart! I’m getting a real job!”

There's What We Say . . . and There's What We Mean

With the rise of political correctness and euphemisms, people must now decipher the true meaning of the written word. Teacher comments on report cards such as "not working to his full potential" really means "he sleeps in my class and his drool is warping the cheap particle-board desk top". Also, when we say a child "needs to improve his social skills", we really mean "I think your kid is psychotic and in need of professional help -- I'm afraid of him".



A classic example of euphemistic writing is the recommendation letter. Below, I have the original recommendation letter for a former colleague followed by the recommendation letter and what I really meant to say. Sometimes, reading between the lines takes the thoroughness of a psychoanalyst.

Here we go:






20 September 2006


Admissions Counsellor Search Committee Chairperson
[withheld] University
Admissions and Financial Aid
[withheld], LA 70402

Dear Search Committee:

I am writing in support of Cynthia Mangum, who is applying for a counsellor position in your department. Cynthia has been a transfer counsellor at the University of [withheld] since November of 2005; and, in that time she has diligently proven her strong characteristics such as self-motivation and the ability to connect well with both the administrative staff and incoming students. Being a team-player is an essential part of any university accord, and Cynthia greatly aids the office’s dynamics.

As a colleague and instructor to Cynthia, I find she proves to be an extremely reliable, organised, and hard-working employee. She rarely misses work and has laboured very long hours in admissions, including weekend and holidays to resolve departmental setback due to high number of student interviews and tasks since Hurricane Katrina. Her enthusiasm and stamina to exceed the 40 hour work week with such a jovial attitude is quite remarkable. Cynthia tackles all assigned projects with the focus and thoroughness required of a high enrollment urban university; hence, I predict a smooth transition to the college she attended from 1999-2003.

Cynthia is extremely intelligent, poses questions when appropriate, and understands what she is doing in the context of the broader office picture. I believe all of these attributes will ensure success at [withheld]’s Admissions Department, and I highly recommend her.

If I can provide any other information about Cynthia's work values or personal characteristics, please contact me at thewittybrit@gmail.com at work 504.200.0000 or by mobile at 504.909.0000.



Sincerely,




Margaret Bietermin, MBE, M.Ed.
University of (withheld)
Department of Education
Room 247
2000 Someplace Drive
(withheld), La 70000







20 September 2006


Admissions Counsellor Search Committee Chairperson [or, nameless entity who fumbles with mail]
[Withheld] University
Admissions and Financial Aid
[Withheld], LA 70402

Dear Search Committee [i.e. Mail Dude]:

I am writing in support of Cynthia Mangum, who is applying for a counsellor position [to escape her current employment hell-hole complete with weirdo eavesdropping supervisor] in your department. Cynthia has been a transfer counsellor at the University of [withheld] since November of 2005 [10 truly gruelling months]; and, in that time she has diligently proven her strong characteristics such as self-motivation [to keep colleagues off her ass] and the ability to connect well with both the administrative staff [saying hello at the microwave for a 90 second awkward chat] and incoming students [psychologically talking them down before they have an episode and go ape-shit on her]. Being a team-player is an essential part of any university accord [even though I'm not sure what that means, I thought the words “university accord” would look good on paper], and Cynthia greatly aids the office’s dynamics [for starters, she hasn’t quit yet].

As a colleague and instructor to Cynthia [or office comedienne/shrink], I find she proves to be an extremely reliable [always has sweets], organised [bell on door to warn for unwanted intruders], and hard-working employee [creatively inflating her daily work statistics to get the monkey off her back]. She rarely misses work [for need of food for husband and felines] and has laboured very long hours in admissions [like she had a choice], including weekend and holidays [huge understatement] to resolve departmental setback due to high number of student interviews and tasks since Hurricane Katrina. [Who has ever heard of mandatory over-time without pay? Don’t those idiots realise that is an oxymoron?] Her enthusiasm [most probably drugs] and stamina [coffee] to exceed the 40 hour work week with such a jovial attitude [hehe…hehehehehhehe] is quite remarkable. Cynthia tackles all assigned projects with the focus and thoroughness required of a high enrollment urban university [see first paragraph for phrase “hasn’t quit yet”]; hence, I predict a smooth transition to the college she attended from 1999-2003 [hereby crippling her (hopefully) former employer, if you so accept this grovelling entreaty to save my poor friend].

Cynthia is extremely intelligent [started job hunting months ago], poses questions when appropriate, [“god, I’m not sure if I still believe you’re real; but if you are, do you think you can get me the hell out of here?”], and understands what she is doing in the context of the broader office picture [such as praising her boss for his mass furniture purchase and trying her utmost to feel that a new leather chair will make up for the snowball of continuous misery]. I believe all of these attributes will ensure success at [withheld]’s Admissions Department, and I highly recommend her.

If I can provide any other information about Cynthia's work values or personal characteristics [she is a truly resilient person. Believe me; other people would have cracked from the pressure long ago], please contact me at thewittybrit@gmail.com at work 504.200.0000 or by mobile at 504.909.0000.



Sincerely,




Margaret Bietermin, MBE, M.Ed. [concerned friend and citizen]
University of (withheld)
Department of Education
Room 247
2000 Someplace Drive
(withheld), La 70000

Moving Tails . . . and Other Unsuccessful Attempts at Murder

My name is Quotes. This is my story.

After watching my pet human start to rearrange furniture, I became nervous. Then, when she starting putting stuff in boxes, my curiosity grew. Then, after standing in a bare house with the two other eejit cats, my human shoves ME in the jail carrier. And the other two? Oh, one got to sit in her lap and the other sat mockingly atop my cage, gloating that she wasn’t in it.

See this picture on the right? This is a mocking smile.

I made my fierce roars heard throughout the car “*%E&&%I%I#*$#”, but my human just said in a patronizing voice, “don’t be scared, Quotes, we’ll be in our new home soon,”. That’s right, “Quotes”. This is a gross form of verbal abuse and I demand that the ASPCA arrest this woman for cruelty to animals. Although it could have been worse . . . I could be named Snowball or Fluffy or "Italics" like that menacing furball on the right that pretends to sleep all day. Still, a crime is a crime. But I disgress. . .

My human interpreted my anger as fear. Even as my ferociously violent display of spittle flew with my eyes narrowing and pupils dilating, I thought she’s get the message. God humans are so stupid.

I’ve tried to escape from this new “home” on numerous occasions. I tried to push my 20.5 lbs body down the four inch dryer shaft, but I got stuck around the shoulder blades. Hence, my over-padded muscular tummy and legs kicked spastically like those annoying character air balloons in front of cell phone stores and going out of business sales. I knew if I waited long enough that gravity would ensue, but my stupid human interpreted this escape as a cry for help.

When a neighbouring human brought a floor heater to her, I used this opportunity to flee under the house, checking out my possible landing pad from the dryer shaft. Then, multiple humans gathered on each side of the house with flashlights and stupid “here, kitty kitty” calls. Eventually my human tricked me with shaking the food surplus while one of her newly befriended minions grabbed me and brought me back to my warden for captivity.

My pet human sat down with me and began to scratch my head as though I were some creature in need of attention*. Humph. I decided I would show her by killing her in her sleep. Of course, it took a few days to catch her in the act. She seems prone to days of wakefulness, hence spoiling my ultimate plan. Some claim killing a defenceless person is cowardly, but I think it to be quite astute. I tried to sit on her face while she took a small doze, but she awoke, held me in the position of a human spawn they call infants, and said I was a "sweet little guy". She silently mocked my weight (not that I’m fat . . . it’s a six-pack with additional padding) by rubbing my massive (yet muscular) tummy.

Still, I’m watching . . . and waiting. She has to fall asleep again sometime.

*(Note: could have done a better job behind my left ear).

The Manager Shoe Conspiracy

Incident 1:

There you are at your desk, working away in that happy, productive way of yours. As you fiddle in your desk drawer for change to get a Hostess Cupcake, a quarter drops on the ground. Your arse sticking up in the air, you bend over to pick it up, and lo and behold, there he is: your manager. You have the ears of a hawk, the smell of a hound, and yet you did not sense the presence of the man who looks you up and down with a disappointed facial twitch before walking off.


He’s never there when the soothing, rhythmic clicking of your keyboard fills the silence.


Incident 2:

After lunch a co-worker takes a pen off your desk and puts it in his pocket while you playfully try to retrieve it. Your hand down someone else’s pocket looks like . . . what it looks like.


. . . and there he is: Mr. Manager, giving you that same look, retreating with his affective facial twitching. Should you go and explain it’s not what it looks like?


Would it matter?


Incident 3:

Then, alas! The workday is complete . . . until you realise you locked your keys in the car. You’ve maxed your auto club visits, so you go back inside to get a wire hanger and screwdriver. Diligently, you continue to break into your car with the deft determination of a woman who wants to go home for no particular reason than just to get the hell out of there. And in a parking lot you swore had contained nothing but a handful of cars, yet was devoid of people, there he stands: Mr. Manager.


On your ride home, you’re certain that your boss now thinks of you as a fat-assed thief prone to giving unwanted sexual advancements. To add insult upon injury, these instances are never discussed and never forgotten.


But how did he get there unnoticed?


Conspiracy Theory:

I would like to open with Retail Conspiracy No. 2: The Manager Shoe Section of Footwear stores. Although Retail Conspiracy No. 1: The Sock-Eating Washing Machines has yet to be proven, we know that despite the overwhelming lack of scientific evidence, washing machines eat socks and recycle them by transporting them to a remote location were little elves match them up again to resell.


In the vein of other popular conspiracy theories, we believe that in the back of every reputable shoe store, behind the “Employees Only” swinging doors, lies the Manager Shoe Section. Although we’ve interviewed employees at various shoe stores who have refuted this theory (or took two steps backwards and called security), they are not creative enough to be in league with the Manager Shoe-Making Leprechaun, Kevin.


Plain-clothes managers walk in to select their shoes, then walk out with an evil grin of sadism and an instruction manual on carrying out sadistic tactics should it not come naturally. Of course we cannot prove this manual exists as Manager Shoe-Making Leprechaun Kevin ensures that the manual disintegrates page by page after each sentence is optically received by its new owner.



There is no escape, I’m afraid. It is only your paranoia that can save you. To aid you in the meanwhile are a few tactics created and carried out by a former college admissions counselor, Amber, who has (and continues) to feel your pain.


1. When possible, now is the time to don that degree of yours on the wall. Black matting works best. Should you not have a degree, a framed poster print (with dark colours) set in the right place should let you detect movement behind you by reflection so no one can sneak up on you. Mirrors work, too; but they are much too obvious.
2. Keep the sleigh bells (four or more bells welded together) from Christmas, and hang them on the inside of your door. Close your door partially or completely. Intruders will set off this pathetically primitive (yet effective) alarm.
3. Hire a lookout. Entry level lackeys lower than you (if possible) can be bought with Hostess Cupcakes and Snicker bars. If they say 'no' at first, do not be discouraged, they’ll get hungry soon enough.


In adulation for Amber.
Let us offer up praise and sympathy as she is caged by felt covered boxes that ineffectively purport a private, distraction-free environment. Hang in there, kid.

Schools to Jail Students for Overusing the Word "Like"

“This absolutely has to stop,” said many English teachers throughout Corely County Schools last Tuesday.

At first, many attribute the abuse of the helping and main verb “like” into space-fillers to teenage girls.


Inherently true, it has also spread to boys, college campuses, and workplaces across America.
Even worse, Claire Donelly, English 10 teacher, reports that exchange students from Central America, Iraq, Iran, and Russia have added this “trash” to their second language.


“If you’re going to be unoriginal, at least curse where there are a good 15 swears words for different occasions,” Donelly retorted straightening papers. "Sure you'll get in trouble for it, but the variation is a bit comforting," she said.


“I just can’t take much more of it. Not only is it in speech, but in writing (if that weren’t poor enough in the first place),” Donelly said.


She proceeded to read an excerpt from a test essay on Dicken’s Great Expectations:

“Finn loved Estella but she was like a total meanie and let him like love her without like loving him back. This fizzes the rules of love and that is like so not cool”.

Zoe Caterall, 10th grader

The fact that Finn became the Hollywood name for Pip was a major indicator that the student watched the movie instead of reading.

English 12 teacher Margot Pelie also muses over this tragedy.

“When I was in college, I had an economics professor who used “um” a great deal. It was so habitual that it was nearly customary for all students to tally the amount of times he said this and compare marks afterward,” Pelie said.

“Only instead of taking tally marks when my students do this, I want to throw my shoe at them -- maybe even slap them around a bit,” Pelie confessed.

Along with other teachers in the lounge, all expressed that bus, recess, and lunch duty are sheer torture when hearing "like" in the teenage vernacular. To discourage this public display of verbal abuse, Principle Harris Manner proposed to hold students legally accountable for their actions with a faculty vote of 38 to 7.

PTA members favoured the same with a unanimous 40 to 0 count.

“We love our daughter (who abuses the word "like"),” Honour roll parents Jack and Helen Dial said.

“But we have the urge to smack the shit out of her when she says it,” the Dials said.

“And twice if it comes with back-talk or attitude,” Jack said.

Overuse of this verbal abuse results in dire consequence that will appear on a teen’s public record. Using the word like out of context more than two times in a sentence warrants 4 hours in the county jail cell.

Verbal abuse is a learned and addictive behavior. If you or someone you know needs help, call Like Anonymous (LA) at 1.866.LIKE. Operators and attitude adjusters are standing by.

Area Man Murders Neighbour for not Returning ‘Stuff’

“We never suspected a thing. It just happened.”
That’s what many of the neighbours in the Bellevue Subdivision said last Saturday morning.
Milos Kranz, 45, snapped when his neighbour of 12 years didn’t return Kranz’s gardening shears.

“I know you think it’s trite to murder someone over a pair of shears, but it was more of pent-up anger. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back,” editor of Daily Vice said. It started small, Kranz reported, with items like a DVD, the crescent wrench from his father, a lawn mower, and even his Jack Terrier, Sparky.

“You know, even when he canceled his internet service to LAN ours, I knew he was a cheapskate. I was just hoping he’d be more of a considerate one.

“He does bring most of my stuff back; he just takes a really long time. He borrowed Sparky (telling us 3 days after we phoned various shelters) to impress some girl at a bar with ‘knockers like rocks’. I wasn’t paying attention. I was wondering where the hell my weed eater was and if he choked it again,” Kranz complained.

It turns out the ‘knockers like rocks’ girl phoned the police when she found Gavin Carter bludgeoned to death with his own universal remote.

“Gavin who?” Kranz asked. Despite not knowing his neighbour’s name, Kranz shared many of his items for over a decade.

“I’m a nice fucking person. See what happens when you try to be altruistic. I didn’t even get verbal gratitude – so my hopes for a batch of brownies became a long lost dream,” he said.

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