So, I’m having a crazy week, but yet I refuse to mess up my post-a-day quest over something like a pesky move. That means the race is on. Will I get this post up before 12 midnight, SoCal time? I don’t know. I’m writing the finishing touches while I sit in a Pollo Loco (Grilled Mexican Chicken Chain Restaurant, for the rest of the world. If you directly translate Pollo Loco it means “crazy chicken” and that’s just what the feck I am right now, a CRAZY CHICKEN…back to post). Anyway…***
*** Full disclosure, I’m finishing this post the next morning. Yep, I didn’t post yesterday. I leapt for the departing post-a-day, ferry and fell in the water and almost drowned. But, thankfully, a dolphin brought me to shore and here I am. (I think it was the Pollo Loco chicken that swayed him to rescue me.) I’m not too worried about missing yesterday’s post. My goal is and was to post everyday for an entire year. Due to yesterday’s gaffe, it sounds like this project will now be extended one more day. (He, he.) I know, I know, big goal, but I’m loving this and that’s the goal I’ve set for myself and I want to hit it. The terms are 365 posts by hook or by crook. Now it will be 365 posts in 366 days having missed yesterday. I want to chronicle of a year’s worth of writing and I want to see what it does to me as a writer.
As for last night, I didn’t put up this post because it just wasn’t there yet. That’s the other thing – I don’t love everything I put up on here, but I DO work my ass off on my posts whether they hit the money or not. If it’s not there, if it’s not up to those checked and cross checked and creativity-tapped standards, well, then, it waits. So, last night it waited. But, by the end of my coffee today, it will be at an acceptable, publish-worthy level – this I know.
Anyway, things are nuts. And if you think I’m not reading the comments section, you are dead wrong. I read them while I’m in bed, making breakfast, and petting the dog. I even read them when I’m on the toilet. (Sorry, but I do.) The community that reads this Sweet Mother blog is so wonderful, I wouldn’t miss a day of it for the world. It’s honestly the best online community I’ve ever experienced and I’ve tried out a few others. I’m grateful for you guys. Seriously. Grateful. So many of you left wonderful comments to Thursday’s “Offline Connections” post and still I haven’t had a minute to respond to them all yet. But, I have read them.
Now, in particular, Ms. Cristy left me a wonderful comment to Thursday’s post. It was thoughtful and sweet and dead on. The gist of what she said was – “don’t try to be a Katie if you’re not a Katie.” (For people who didn’t read the piece – Katie was an old co-worker of mine. She was a charismatic master of office and people politics, sort of like a Bill Clinton without the fellatio.) Katie could work a room like Oprah at an OBGYN clinic. She was that good. I want (wanted?) to be like that. But, then Cristy said – “you just might be one of those people who other people either love or hate because you feel what you say and say what you mean.” Now, I’m paraphrasing, but it was something like that and it hit home. She was dead right. I’ve always been a highly annoyed person with a big heart. I can see myself at 5 years old watching some other mental patient at my Catholic school kindergarten eating crayons. He finishes all 64 colors and then cries because he ran out. I can see Mini-me. Mini-me would shake her head at my peer’s insanity and then selflessly handed him my box of crayons because even at 5, I knew, just knew, that it was the only thing that made this little, crazy, feck happy. Screw it, give him the crayons. We’ll deal with the perforated bowel later.
So, in heeding Cristy’s advice to be my godderm self, I’m going to take a page from VH1‘s Best Week Ever, but tweak it and make it my own. Let’s just call it…
Most Annoying Week Ever
In one form or another I saw a glimpse of these things in my periphery as I went about my crazy life this week. Picture a cyclone going about her business, but at the same time noting, “What the feck is that?” as she moves from one project to the next. All these things annoyed me. Here they are.
My Strange Addiction – This is a show on the Discovery Health channel. I only saw the promo. Seeing the promo was enough. On My Strange Addictions, there’s a guy who makes-out with his car, a girl who drinks nail polish, a woman who digs into her ear with a pair of scissors, and other such nonsense. Apparently, these fine specimens are addicted to these practices. I’d like to add my talents to the roster for this show. Just call me, “the girl who will slap the shit out of you if you make-out with your car, drink nail polish, or do anything else annoying, etc.” However, I’m not going to do a goddamn thing if you dig in your ear with a scissors. I’m going to let the scissors pierce your eardrum and then I’m going to let the searing pain do the tsk-tsk-ing for me. Sometimes you have to let the dumbass stick the fork in the socket. This is how evolution happens.
I find death annoying. You mean I’m supposed to work this hard and then die? You’ve got to be feckin’ kidding me.
Hoarders – Dear Hoarders, let me solve your problem. THROW YOUR SHIT OUT. Stop it. Bathe your kid and take out the trash. And stop wasting high definition space with your garbage. Literally.
Samantha Brick Daily Mail Piece – Okay, synopsis – there’s this British chickie who wrote a piece in the Daily Mail where she says and I’m paraphrasing, “Other women hate me because I’m beautiful. It’s so hard for me to go through the world because other woman see me and my gorgeousness and they can’t help, but cut me down to size. They are jealous, envious, vagina-carriers, and they will not let me succeed.” Let me work on this for a second — Okay I’ve got it – here’s my statement, “Samantha, women don’t hate you because you’re beautiful they hate you because you’re an a-hole. Any woman who goes around talking about the incredibly hard time she has because she’s so pretty needs to shut the feck up and definitely not write for a paper. Honestly, keep your thoughts to yourself because my vagina cried when you tromped out this tired conversation again. Now, since you’ve naturally taken my advice and are soon to give your two weeks notice at the Daily Mail, here’s my suggestion for what to do with your free time — Why not whore it up? I mean really, anything else would be such a waste of something that is sooooooo pretty.” She-sus!! (Like Jesus, but a lady. And I don’t hate her either.)
Pregnant in Prison – Really, like children don’t have enough problems? They have to deal with texting, bullying, and morbid obesity due to the excessive fun-ness of video games, and now, now…your jailbird mom?!! Good god. What’s next? Dance Moms? Oh, yeah, that’s already happening…
Is that black spot on my dog, just a black spot on my dog, or is it my perfectly placed hair dye? I was dying my hair black the other night when my frenchie walked into the room and then walked out. This is my only clue to the crime and it is haunting me. Now, like a murderer whose guilt is making her clean and re-clean a a bleached white, spotless, floor because her conscious is dirty, I can’t stop staring at this feckin’ spot on my dog’s fur. To quote Macbeth, “Out, OUT, damned spot!” I have been saying this for days, “out, out, damned spot!” but I have yet to actually wash the dog.
Thanks for making food delicious, She-sus! (Like Jesus, but a lady…I can’t stop.) And now you want me NOT to eat it? Here’s a tip, Lady She-sus and God, you should’ve made those apples in the garden taste like dirt. But, you didn’t, now, did you? I hope heaven is filled with fat people, so you can see what you have done.
All Vaginal Issues
Apparently, if you do not push a baby out your vag by the time you approach 40 nature will give you a series of things that you’ll need to clear out of there. It seems that when you don’t use that storage area for life-growth, god likes to turn it into a warehouse for his bric-a-brac collection. At least that’s what it feels like every time Wifesy and I have a doctor’s appointment.
Automobile Ownership and All of Fecken’ America Being Built Around the Car
Someone asked me the other day, “If I were a superhero, what would I want my superpower to be?” I immediately said, “Flight.” I want to fly. And I realized I ONLY want to fly so I can avoid purchasing a goddermned car. I mean, COME ON. It sucks and it breaks and you have to insure it and there has got to be a better way. But, not in LA, oh, no, not in LA.
Lying to Doctors
Wifesy lied to her doctor about the amount she works out. And because of that lie, I was subjected to working out with her several times this week. Thanks, medical questionnaire! Now I can’t feel my calves.
And that concludes this annoyance rant-post. Please comment, if you so desire, as your comments NEVER annoy me. I relish them. Sweet Mother is updated daily. If you’d like to follow this blog, you can do so by clicking the “follow” button at the top of the page. If you’d like SOME MORE, please check out the archives section.