motherinlaw-main_fullAfter mercilessly bullying me about my possessions, the in-laws went to unload their vans. What’s this? They had taken it upon themselves to bring with them every single thing Mr. P had asked to store over at their place. Useless shit that was fitting perfectly well inside their cavernous empty nest. Things like the record collection Mr. P had inherited from his dead grandfather- ooooh, Lawrence Welk! Perry Como! The collected works of Pat Boone! Shit he was too polite to just throw away! Shit we don’t have the necessary storage cabinets for! Shit we will never, ever listen to! Not even to be ironic! They even brought over Mr. P’s childhood furniture- his twin bed, complete with Mom-in-Law’s choice of pukey, frilly, country bed-in-a-bag comforter set and a pair of the poly-cement-whatever FIRM pillows we have to suffer with when we stay over at their house. Seriously, they MADE the BED. In MY guest room. In MY house. Who does that?! But the worst part is that they tried to put that ugly abomination in what is soon to be my art studio/exercise room (as soon as I get my drafting desk and easels and such out of storage). Mom-in-law was all, “Where are you going to work out in here? (gesturing towards different, tiny, insufficient sections of floor) You could do it here, or here. Where should we put this bed?” And I’m all, “you don’t know my life, bitch! Put the bed in your ass!” Seriously, I am not about to try and explain the intimate goings-on of MY personal space to someone who is trying to monopolize my new home. It’s Mr. P’s fucking ugly baby furniture, and it’s going in HIS spare room, not mine. I don’t care how cramped it is in his space, it’s his problem for pack-ratting oversized yet under-functional children’s furniture as an adult and for not standing up to his overbearing momsbeast, who obvi wants to carry around his testes in a silk bag. So yeah, the Bed of Emasculation is in his room.

Anyway, (more…)

motherinlaw-main_fullMoms like our Trixie are rare, y’all. I just read her lovely post about her horny son, and it just served to underscore the horrors of my 2-mom weekend. The following may come off a little harsh, because I’m still reeling from having my rectum stretched Octomom-huge from accommodating a couple of menopausal screech owls for the last two days. Read on, you poor saps, read on:


Welcome back to Married With Buttercups!, where we answer all your questions on dating, mating and marriage-berating from four unique viewpoints — the twice-divorced Trixie, the avowed single Tailfeather, the married-with-an-attitude kadinsky and the blushing newlywed, BiscuitDoughJones.




BCP Reader Befuddled in Brooklyn writes;


Dear cherished Buttercups whose relationships are more successful than my own and whose wisdom I wish to absorb,

My boyfriend and I are seriously in love, and I have no reason to expect he won’t be a really big thing in my life, either as a long-term friend or a long-term partner.  So the fact that this seems like a relationship that might, in the best of worlds, go somewhere, makes it even more important that I figure out what to do about his mother.

We finally met this Thanksgiving, and she gave me weird vibes from the start. Normally I’m a total parent charmer. . But she was prickly and domineering over the holiday, criticizing my smallest behaviors, like how I filled her kettle to boil water. I was intending to help her with the Thanksgiving cooking, and contribute some dishes of my own, but she didn’t seem interested in helping me find the right (basic) ingredients (or even in helping me get to the store in an unfamiliar city) and warned eerily that on Turkey Day her oven, and every mixing bowl she owned, were scheduled down to the hour, so I ended up not making anything. I felt awful. Worst of all, she waited until my boyfriend was out of the room to pepper me with questions that were borderline hostile. (She broached topics to do with weight and body image, as well as how much money I make. “So, you sort of live hand-to-mouth, then? That must be strange.” Etc.) I’m game to talk about almost anything with someone I expect to have an important quasi-familial relationship with, but she seemed more snarky and passive-aggressive than motivated by genuine curiosity or friendliness. I tried to parry the assault politely, but I was very uncomfortable. (Whenever my boyfriend came back into the room, she would stop.)

So, I suppose my question is, how do you set boundaries with your in-laws? What strategies have you employed in similar situations, with what results? I feel like now is the crucial time for determining the patterns and scope of our future interactions, and looking back on last week, I think I just failed, big-time. I rolled over like a puppy in the face of her questions, when my instinct was to tell her politely to mind her own business. I had no issues with my boyfriend’s dad. He was awesome. But what can I do to get off on the right foot with his mother, without feeling like I’m making myself her patsy? How do you each negotiate these delicate maneuvers? I’m at a loss.


Befuddled in Brooklyn

(P.S. The boyfriend, for what it’s worth, is completely supportive. He warned me his mother could be a little difficult, and whenever she made any comment in his presence that struck him as even slightly disrespectful or undermining, he dealt with it very well, quickly changing the subject or saying, “Come on, mother,” or something similar. But even though he makes an excellent proxy, I need to know how to relate to her myself.) 


The Buttercups give their thoughts, after the jump (more…)

So, my majorly Christian mother-in-law send this to me. She’s sweet, and not trying to do us any harm, but really this is a fat sack of bullshit. I mean, there’s a high, wafting scent of Creationist panic in this email, not to mention that it’s all FALSE. The snopes link at the bottom of the email disproves the ENTIRE point of this email, which is that not having your period is against God’s plan and WILL KILL YOU! Why post a Snopes link with your hysterical chain email if that link will completely bust your myth? Several times over, and on every single point you try to make? The answer: because people who send chain emails are stupid fucking pricks with an agenda, who have a singular distaste for fact-checking. Worse yet, is that their tissue-thin agenda exploits a dead girl probably against her wishes, as said deceased woman was a young doctor and probably knew better than all of the garbage non-facts in this email. And people who BELIEVE chain emails? Too. Sad. For. Words. Not to mention, that the woman who sent me this layer cake of medical FALLACY is herself a Registered Nurse. QUESTION MARK/EXCLAMATION POINT?! Put on your tinfoil bishop’s hat, pull your thigh-high farming boots on, and get ready to wade in a wild river of fecund bovine feces after the jump. (more…)

It’s 2 weeks until Mother’s Day here in US America. Joy. Soyjoy. My own mother and I don’t have a super close relationship, so Mother’s Day means I send a $100 bouquet of some sort, she (usually) calls to thank me, tell me it wasn’t necessary and either (a.) jokes about there being no money included with the flowers or (b.) half jokingly tells me I could have just sent her the cash price of the blooms. Yeah, forgive me for not wanting to just write you a fucking cheque, moms. I’ll waste my money however I see fit, thanks very much. But this bitch is not about my momma, no, this is about one of my mother-in-law’s – because I am a lucky bitch and I have TWO – so allow me to introduce you to MIL #2.