Gonna burn for that last statement

I’ve been radio silent for a while. Honestly, I’ve been lazy. I have other shit I should be doing for spiritual maintenance – you know, basic dusting and pillow fluffing [not those pillows, assholes]. These days I’m lucky if I care enough to put on makeup and deodorant. I always brush my teeth though because I’m not a damn heathen.

I’ll briefly catch you up on recent happenings. I don’t have much to complain about. *shock and awe blanket the masses*

My kid starts middle school next year. When the fuck did this take place?! I mean, I know when the act of conceiving the little monster took place – give or take. I’m full of shit. Odds are I was hammered. What? You can shake your head if you want, it’s cool – I can’t see you, but that’s the truth. But seriously, when did I get so damn old? I feel like it was just a few years ago that I was choosing shoes based on ease of removal while intoxicated. Zippers = ok. Buckles = bad. In the nearly 5 years that I’ve been sober now, some things have changed and some have remained the same. Zippered boots are still just fine by me while buckled are still all bad. I really am not inclined to bend my ass over to try to hook those little bastards. My back is bad, and my eyesight fails me from time to time. Fuck all that

In the last couple of weeks, I’ve done some reflecting; not a lot though because that shit is painful, time consuming, and usually I’m not depicted favorably.

I got word that a friend had passed away suddenly. She and I hadn’t been on close or even friendly terms since grade school; never-the-less, the news of her abrupt death hit me rather hard. I was forced to look at how fragile this existence is. I’m not going to get all mystical and Madam Cleo on you. I won’t talk about astral projections, Ouija boards, visions, or preach to you about hugging your loved ones; I just won’t. All I know is she was younger than me and kinder to her body than I have been to mine. One never knows what’s in store. Live your best life or take the chance that you may go having never said and done the shit you wanted to. That’s why I’m eating the fuck outta these sourdough pretzels right now. There are plenty of opportunities for salad or fruit, but these sourdough pretzels have had nasty rumors spread about them making people fat and I needed to put an end to the bullying. Everyone loves to love a salad. Pretzels need love too.

While we’re talking about chips…

Prime rib chips? Anyone seen this abomination yet? The advertisement says that it’s the chip that eats like a meal. I’m sorry, when did we get to the Wonka Chocolate Factory? Are there different courses to this meal? Do we start with soup or salad and finish with a dessert? Are there options or just a set menu? These things are important to me when selecting a putrid sodium stick to throw my money at. I’m half way to diabetes, someone hand me a Coke-a-Cola.

I was heavy as a teenager. If you look at the picture of me and my friend, you’ll see that I was a big girl. We must have been in 8^th grade in this picture. Thank God we were done with neon colors by this point in our development. I think Aqua Net and Rave hairspray were still a thing judging by the curls I was rocking. My hair will not hold a curl like that for more than an hour and that, my friends, was a lunch time pep rally if I’m not mistaken. I remember that one because a bird shit on my head during that rally. Never went to another one.  

8^th grade me would have taken those prime rib chips and slammed them inside a flame broiled cheeseburger from Burger King on my lunch break and inhaled that bitch; but I never understood why I had weight issues. Math was never my strong suit. Calories in vs. caloric energy spent. I think I finally understand the fundamentals, I just don’t like them. I want to eat like a gluttonous slob and never pay the price – eat cheeseburgers for breakfast and model bikinis when I’m not rescuing animals and protecting children from abusive homes. Normal shit.

Work has even been tolerable recently. My co-workers haven’t given me reason to want to kill any of them and my boss has been more lenient than usual; merciful even. We had a discussion the other day in which he told me that he no longer wanted to type up any of his reports. He, without blinking an eye said, “I want to hire a little Indian boy to type them for me”. Without hesitation I replied, “Everyone knows you hire an Asian. Their hands are dexterous from all that denim stitching and computer building. That’s a no brainer…come on!” We had a laugh. Holy shit, she’s disgusting! You may be thinking to yourself – you wouldn’t be wrong. Hell, I might even have time to type his fucking reports if I:

a)     Gave a shit

b)     Wasn’t already busy doing my own shit

c)     Was properly compensated to do so; I’m poorly compensated for this job.

So…maybe I did find something to gripe about. I feel whole again.

More later. Googling "cheap Asian labor" [going to burn for this one]