Me this week:
“ain’t nothin gonna break my stride, nobody gonna slow me down, oh no! oh no! what is happening? ain’t nothin gonna break my stride, nobody gonna slow me down, oh no!”
Lather, rinse, repeat. All. Week. Long.
This week can suck my pretty pink penis.
We will not go in order of importance, we will follow the random patterns of my brain, as we have all become accustomed to.
I enjoy stomping in icy puddles and breaking icicles because it’s stuff you’re allowed to break. I break stuff on accident alawt. Being permitted to break things is refreshing and satisfying.
Bubba went back to hospital and they sent him to bigger, better hospital where they fixed him but he’ll have to mend.
One night, The Mister stayed with Bubba and I had to sleep alone
with my cats and my dog, off n on for the first time in seven years.
On Wednesday, I put in a 12-hour day. I wore yellow. And canvas shoes. And I went out for lunch and got myself a grilled cheese sammich where the edges are all crunchy and the middle is all soft and gooey and I had that with a big fat soda and a yellow cookie and the sun was all shiny and warm and I smiled the whole outdoorness time. Subsequently, I got a lot done.
What I looked like by the end of Wednesday.
On Thursday, I wore brighter yellow, but the day paid it no mind and I have concluded, via rigorous testing, just sos ya know, wearing a particular color has no impact on the course of one’s anyday. I officially give up.
Mercury’s in retrograde and the time changed and obviously the moon has grabbed on to something icky to wax to fruition.
On the one hand, I be all RISE ABOVE and on the other hand, I be all WHITE FLAG! WHITE FLAG! Y’all know I like things that come in white.
And so it continues —
NEVER PUT ME IN A GROUP TEXT. I complained about this, loudly, unto my family unit, and then two days later my husband put me in a fucking group text because as I suspected, he never listens to me. I cannot work with my phone vibing all over my desk, my bag, the floor, the drawer beside my bag — I was like Phoebe with the smoke alarm.
What if that’s my boss? I can’t ignore it, for fuck’s sake. Imagine that.
“Thank you for holding, this is Jolene.”
“Why aren’t you answering my text?”
“I’ve been placed in a text chat with 67 other people and I had to turn my phone off or kill myself and I otherwise have a lot to live for, so I turned my phone off.”
Reasonable? No, I think not.
I was dangerously close to sending a group text to every fucking one of my contacts: I DESPISE GROUP TEXTS. Choke on the salty irony of my announcement.
Plans were hatched and then canceled. Womp-womp.
Oh! This week I received an email asking me to send cash in with my kid and not tell her why, for a Surprise. WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?!? Clearly they do not have teenagers. Who the fuck gives money to a teenager higgledy-piggledy? (see that?)
This week, Sassy’s lunch account had run out and I had just paid Moo $9 and I told Moo to give Sassy money for lunch and Moo told me that when Sassy came to find her, she already had a one and made Moo give her $3 so I asked Sassy what the fuck she ate for $4 lunch and where she got that dollar she already had.
Surprise! We take accounting seriously over here, y’all.
–> Insert sections of topics I can’t blog about, but which can be summed up with don’t hang your shit on me, verily, all actions have consequences, racism looks bad on everyone, speak your motherfucking truth, and bitches be trippin.
It wasn’t all bad.
There was some making out at the stove on stew night.
Sassy and I played word games.
One night there was gelato.
It got warm and windy how March days sometimes do.
And there was that sammich…
HAPPY FRIDAY EVERYONE!
May this weekend give you no reason to rant!