Dearest Aunt Fatty,
I’m friends with a handful of co-workers on Facebook. I recently made a vague post referencing work in a comedic fashion and was reported to my supervisor. I wasn’t written up and I’m in no way in fear of losing my job, but I’m upset that one of these so-called ‘work friends’ ratted me out over something so harmless. What should I do? Should I block all work friends on Facebook? Should I post a feckless comment about how snitches get stitches? Help!
Snitches Gon’ Get Stitches
Dear Snitches Gon’ Get Stitches,
OH HELL NAH.
This kind of backstabbing career climber bullshit is why I have to keep my mouth kinda shut about work on Facebook (I have a really hard time doing this, because I have some important shit to say). Some snitch did the same thing to me last year. I made a comment about being aghast at the behavior I witnessed on the first day of school and not even a week later I got an email from my AP about how he was disappointed by my comment, didn’t think I was happy at my school, etc.
The joke was on whoever tried to tarnish my record, though, because I was evaluated as Highly Effective (the highest rating you can get) last year, so…
Now, I do believe there ought to be some kind of standard when it comes to posting about work, but unless it’s damning, downright nasty, or it reveals information that violates HIPPA, I say people need to get off their high horses and worry bout themselves.
What I would do is block your work snitches from your posts. They won’t know you did this, but it protects you and your free fucking speech. But, before you block them from your posts, share some super snarky passive aggressive post because that’s what professional adults do. Let us know what you do!
Your Aunt Fatty (who is really pissed off for you)
Check out Snitches Gon’ Get Stitches’ blog!
Dear Auntie Fatty,
A huge invasive snail vine on the opposite side of my backyard fence is out of control (which I constantly battle to keep from choking my Toyon tree and my Cape Honeysuckle shrubs). I usually win that battle but recently an entire extended family of opossums has taken up residence in the vine (and a couple of rats – EEWWHH!). I don’t mind the opossums – they are cute in an ugly sort of way. However, my dog Shiro thinks they are a puppy snack. He is constantly leaping to the top of the six-foot fence and plucking them off. Luckily, it is true that opossums play dead and I can usually get him in the house and the poor critters have scuttled away by the time I go to check on them. Obviously, this is not an ideal situation for my dog or the opossums!
I want to talk to the neighbors about removing the vine but here is my conundrum – they have only lived there a few months and I have never gone over to introduce myself and welcome them to the neighborhood. So am I a shit-head if I go over now and say hi but please tear out your ugly, invasive vine? What would you do?
Tired of the Opossums (check out her blog here!)
Dear Tired of the Opposums,
Where do I even start with this? I’m kind of speechless and that’s pretty much never happened in the whole of my entire big-mouthed life. I don’t know if I should start with the opossums or the rats or your new neighbors who have moved in, next to not only a human family, but AN EXTENDED OPOSSUM FAMILY.
Now, I can’t help you on the plant issue as you were basically speaking Chinese to me and I kill any and all plants within a square mile of my being with just my…being. So.
Oh, but after reading your submission again, you’re not asking about the fucking plants, anyway.
OK, so for your neighbors. I, too, am guilty of being that neighbor who never introduces themselves until I need something. “Hi, I’m your neighbor you see leaving the house in no bra and ratty pajama pants to go to 7-11 for Ho-Hos, nice to finally meet you when I have a bra on. So, could YA NOT BLEND SMOOTHIES AT FOUR IN THE FUCKING MORNING? Thanks. See ya around.”
I think you need to do this in stages.
Stage One: Bake something delicious and take it to your neighbor and introduce yourself. People are always more willing to go along with things when you bake them something they can’t say ‘no’ to.
Stage Two: Next time your dog tries to eat an opossum family, make a big production about it, so they come outside to see what the racket is. When they see you wrangling your dog, a pack of possums and some mangy rats, they will see there’s a problem with opossums that can’t be ignored.
Stage Three: Mid-battle make your plea. No one being asked to help someone who is literally wrangling opossums will be difficult. When they see how backwoods fucked up your situation is, they may just do what needs done then and there.
Please update us on the opossum situation. Better yet, send pictures.
Your Aunt Fatty (who is worried about what kind of opossum-rat diseases you have now)
Dear Aunt Fatty,
How the fuck do I get my husband to open the frigging curtains in the morning?! Seriously, it’s like he has some weird allergy to it. Or he doesn’t like daylight. Maybe he’s a vampire! He never opens them. Anywhere in the house. He just leaves it to me to open them all. It’s like what my mother used to say when I lived at home and left any curtains closed, “THE NEIGHBOURS WILL START THINKING SOMEONE DIED IN HERE!”
Open the Fucking Curtains Once in Awhile Will Ya? (Check out her blog here!)
Dear Open the Fucking Curtains Once in Awhile, Will Ya?,
Girl, I just witnessed the dude who lives here pass the HAND towel to dry his hands on the DISH towel. The hand towel is the one closest to the sink for ease of drying one’s HANDS. The dish towel, the towel that is reserved for drying CLEAN DISHES, is at least 12 inches further away from the sink than the hand towel and he goes for the MOTHERFUCKING DISH TOWEL every time.
I wish I could help you with your problem, sister friend. The only consolation I have for you is that millions of other women are also standing, dumbstruck, in the kitchen or the bedroom or bathroom, just staring at the socks that are in front of the hamper or the wet towel on the floor right under the towel rack or the curtains that seem to be invisible, right this very minute.
What I do know is that men don’t give a fuck about the different designation we give to towels that essentially look the same. They don’t give two shits about opening the curtains (he probably doesn’t even know you have curtains). They don’t ever think about how the decorative pillows on the bed should be arranged (and, he probably wants to mutilate them).
When he doesn’t open the curtains, message me with your favorite, most apropos Michael Scott meme and I’ll send one back and you’ll be all better.
Your Aunt Fatty (who totally gets it and has a twitching eye because of them* too)
I forgot to link to the lovely, Raili’s blog on my last post. Check her blog out here!
Have a personal problem? In a crazy conundrum? In the middle of a sticky wicket? Send them to your Aunt Fatty, and I’ll make it better for you. Submit them here.
*We love you, men. We wouldn’t be able to live without you. We’d have clean dish towels, yes, but we’d also have empty hearts. So, don’t hate me too much. In fact, send me a problem you have regarding the fairer (more annoying) sex and I’ll make it up to you.