trying to make me

This post was written on what I think was a Thursday, but I know it was the 5th day in the month of January in the year of 2012.

Gah … this whole first week of January is just a royal pain in my ass. I get so tired of being asked about what resolutions I’ve made. Like it’s something I HAVE to do and woe to me if I don’t make some choices that are meant to change my life for the better.

Feh …

Winter is no time to be making ANY kind of life-changing decisions. It is the MIDDLE of what is obviously the nastiest part of the year and people are disgusted with everything about themselves and their lives. They can’t stand their own reflection in a mirror, much less the sight of their spouses lolling in front of the television watching EVERY-FUCKING-BOWL-GAME that’s being played. If they have at-home kids, they want to just stuff ‘em in a closet and don a set of sound-muffling earphones. The screen their phone calls because they don’t want to talk – to anybody. Their bodies are the color and consistency of potatoes. Oh, not firm, fresh potatoes, but sloppy white mashed potatoes. All people want to do this time of year is crawl under the warm covers of their beds with a heating pad and a book.

Just me?

Whatever.

Still a bad time.

We are setting ourselves up to fail and my theory is backed up by the experts (don’t believe me? Do a Google for new years resolution failure) and most of us do it before the second week of January.

Sorry to harsh your New Year’s mellow.

How the Fuck Do You Title This …

This post was written on what I think was a Sunday, but I know it was the 20th day in the month of June in the year of 2010.

They’re not mine to grieve over, my friends; I didn’t make time for them, even knowing how short it all is. I don’t deserve to share in the grief, but I DID love them and I WILL miss them.

Both such GREAT BIG parts of my life at different times, so much happiness taken from them and from being with them.

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Smoke and Mirrors

This post was written on what I think was a Sunday, but I know it was the 28th day in the month of March in the year of 2010.

Things aren’t always what they seem, are they?

I walk around making jokes and being everybody’s back-up, but sometimes I’m the one who needs a shoulder and a good joke to make me forget what’s on my mind.

I’m NOT whining … I am fully aware of the fact that I don’t share much with people and when I do, it’s in the form of a joke or a rant to make them laugh. I am a comedian at heart. I’m just saying that sometimes it would be nice if someone would just ASK instead of waling in the door and starting in with their drama du jour.

Someone DID ask today and before I could even get an answer out, he just continued on with his own personal agenda – wanting my feedback, wanting my support.

Of course, I’m here for my friends and family, but just every once in a while … y’know?

Down on My Knees

This post was written on what I think was a Thursday, but I know it was the 11th day in the month of March in the year of 2010.

Givin’ it my best shot these past weeks – don’t know how well I’m doing. You know it’s really hard being the person that everyone comes to when they have problems and knowing that I don’t have anyone to go to.

I know I whine a lot and I bitch and moan a lot – the majority of it is for effect. I like to make people laugh. I’m opinionated and I have a goddamn answer for everything. I NEVER (or seldom, let’s say) complain or bitch about what’s really wrong with me, or what’s really bothering me. I have friends who have been going through so much worse that I am that it would be a sin for me to bitch about my piddly problems.

But if anyone knew how bad it really was I’m pretty sure a lot people would be surprised.

I haven’t been sleeping well these past weeks. I hate it when BigD is out of town – HATE IT. I can’t sleep without him, even if I can’t sleep when he’s home cuz he’s a crabby old ass. But at least he’s home and even if one of us are on the sofa, we’re in the same house and if I need him,he’s there.

When he’s gone, I don’t sleep good. I fell asleep at 7pm last night (I know, right?) and was up at one a.m. putting new memory in my computer. By 2am I was a slobbery, whinery, snotty mess. I was just so fucking lonesome. My back hurt so bad, and all I could think was that they’ll never find out what’s wrong with me.

I started crying so hard that I started coughing – this goddamn cold won’t go away, it’s been over a MONTH. I keep thinking about my mom – she went in December and got a completely clean bill of health (she had to have physical cuz she was working at a nursing home). Five weeks later – a fifty cent piece spot of cancer on her lungs.

She was dead less than a year later.

Shit like that goes through your head when you’re home alone, night after night, after night.

So …

Yesterday I was supposed to get my tat worked on by the Tattoo God and then have lunch with a new friend (who happens to be the TG’s lady). My fucking car decided I wasn’t going anywhere and that I need a new ignition module.

Yay.

When to town w/the baby today. She makes me laugh and that’s a good thing. Right now I need all the laugh I can get.

Imma get my Jim Beam on … yeah, pickin’ up the ghetto talk, lol.

I gotta go … nothing to see here, move along.

Whoop.

Never Lookin’ for Approval

This post was written on what I think was a Friday, but I know it was the 28th day in the month of August in the year of 2009.

Two weeks of vacation and I am about to shoot myself … or some-fucking-body.

This vacation has me so stressed out that my hair is falling out in clumps, the FM has my fingers swollen like little fucking sausages, I’ve had not one, but TWO BG cysts (yay, fun!).

Plus I wake up every morning coughing like to split my head open.

Fuck vacation.

So … 30th class reunion last weekend. Whoo!

Whatever.

The only reason I wanted to go was to give my husband’s ex-asshole-boss a piece of my mind; God knows he needs all he can get. The man is dumber than a fucking post – with Elvis hair.

At the last class reunion, he was wearing a Garth Brooks shirt – with the Elvis hair. This year we got a circa 1978 Anchorman turtleneck and sports coat.

With the Elvis hair.

Anyways, I really tried to avoid his stoopid ass, because BigD kept telling me to behave and God knows I love my husband. But the dumb-ass (ex-boss, not BigD) just kept trying to talk to me.

Not too swift on his part.

So I proceeded to rip him the new asshole he’s had coming for the past five years.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

You chased his ass for five years, begging him to work for you. Fuck you.

“You don’t understand.”

You own the company. Fuck you.

“I couldn’t do anything about it.”

You sign the paychecks. Fuck you.

“HE’S not mad.”

He’s a better person than I am. Fuck you.

“You’re so mean.”

Uh, yeah, I am. And what are you, twelve?

Then the whiny fucker went and pouted in the truck for an hour waiting for his ride. Yeah and that’s how 48 year old MEN act.

Whatever.

Grow up and be a man, asshole.

Also went to one of my BFF 50th birthday, the same night.

THAT was fun.