That Bitch, Karma

I just get all tingly in my nether regions when I know that karma is going to bite someone in the ass. Call it a karma boner. I don't like getting lied to, screwed over, made fun of, abused, shit on, stepped on, spit on, sworn at, talked about, or even sneezed on. So when individuals in my world choose to act this way I know they'll get exactly what they deserve. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but someday life is going to pull them by the back of their neck and say "Uh-uh, I don't fucking think so. Time to pay up, you shit stain."

I make it sound like I'm some kind of crazy evil bitch who can use her mind to make bad things happen to people who have wronged her. I can tell you right now if I DID have that skill I would legit go all Sissy Spacek in "Carrie" and there would be a hella ton of pigs blood being dumped here, there, and everywhere. How kick-ass would that be???

You might ask yourself, "Jivemommy, how can you be so secure in your prediction that karma really exists? " Two words: Teenage Daughters. They are living, walking, bitching, expensive proof that karma is a powerfully frightening force. I wish I would have heeded my own mother's warnings back when I was a hormonal tornado of straight-up bitch, Aussie Sprunch Spray, and self righteousness. Nope, never listened. Know why? Because I knew EVERYTHING.

I was a rotten teenager. I didn't do anything crazy like steal a car or have raging parties with booze and boys (well not at least until college...). I was just a mean, spiteful brat. I was crabby, pissy, moody, irrational, difficult to be around, irritable, and impossible to please. I was nasty to my parents but my mom took the brunt of it. My poor sweet little mom. I asked her why she didn't slap the shit out of me and she told me that with her mere 5-foot stature versus my 5-foot 9 frame I was hard to catch. I deserved to be lassoed and hog tied to the fence in the back yard but cowgirl wasn't a skill my mom had on her impressive resume. She was too busy driving me to dance, working, paying bills, cooking, grocery shopping, keeping our house clean, creating family memories, and building a thick armor of emotional resistance to make my sulking little hissy fits not even phase her. God damn, looking back I didn't even realize what I beast she was. She was a straight up gladiator.

Fast forward and here I am with not one but TWO teenage daughters. I will describe this experience of being their mom like being on a sketchy carnival roller coaster that is completely in the dark that races at speeds up to 150 mph, has massive drops without any warning, and throws shit at you along the way that slaps you in the face.  There are loud, booming speakers that randomly screech phrases such as: "Where the fuck are my socks?", "This is all YOUR fault!", "You're ruining my life!", "All my other friends are going!", "You are so mean!", "But I took the dog out last time!", "I hate you", "This tastes like shit.", "You're going to wear THAT?", "Maybe you should do laundry more often!", "I have nothing to wear!", "I need money for [yogurt, movies, water park, candy, makeup]!!", "I don't have to do that because I am my own person!". You are shoved onto the ride with no idea when or if you will ever be able to get off. Occasionally you pop out of the darkness into brief moments of light and peacefulness. But no sooner has the sun kissed your cheeks then you are sucked back into the Teen Abyss of Mom Hell. Enjoy the ride and buckle up. No refunds issued here!

I was told multiple times as a teen that "Someday you will have a daughter who is exactly like you and maybe she will be twice as mean." I am positive I responded with the classic giant eye roll/WHATEVER, MOM!/ stomping away. It's a move perfected by teens across the centuries. I mean how can parents be so damn annoying and stupid?? It is humbling to be a mother of a teenage girl. Just when you think you maybe got it right, you are shamed for having "ratchet eyebrows",  camel toe with your workout pants, nothing funny to say, no sense of style whatsoever, bad hair, inability to read minds, and being a horrible judge of whether a watermelon is any good. The biggest compliment you might expect to receive when you cook a meal that is tolerable is "Wow, Mom, you didn't completely jack this up!" Thank you. Thank you for making me feel like not being a failure is a level of success.

Karma pulled up into town about 3 years ago. Her flight landed earlier than expected. She perched herself nicely on my front porch and if the wind blows just right, I can hear her cackling like a damn witch. But that's only if my teens are not having a hormonal rage disorder screaming match because they are freaking LOUD. My mom tends to laugh at me if I expect an ounce of sympathy. If you take my boobs, wrinkles, over processed blonde hair, and slight despair at my lot in life away, you have an exact replica of me in my 15 year-old. Thanks, Karma, you have totally earned your name. You are a straight up BEE-OTCH.