It’s nice, all these sweet posts about the holidays. This isn’t one of them. Heads Up: Foul Language Ahead.
It’s the holidays, I’m broke (and my husband’s bitching at me about staying on a budget), and I have a virus. So while all the nice people are taking the time to give gratitude and share love and blessings, I’m just basically pissed off at the world like it was just a normal fucking Thursday.
You know what I want for Christmas? Sure. Big stuff, like world peace, an end to hunger and war, and ANYONE ELSE IN THE GODDAMNED WORLD TO BE THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. But what I really want?
Bobby pins. I have shoulder length curly hair (not the cute kind; the kind that looks like I’ve just been hit by lightening.) Unless I have literally three hours to spend styling it into submission, my hair is in a messy bun or a ponytail, which requires approximately 48 bobby pins. And at the end of the day, guess how many bobby pins I have left. Like, ONE. Where are the other 47? Your guess is as good as mine. I buy them in mass quantities, yet when I need them, all I can find are two stretched out ones and a hot pink one that some kid left at school.
A towel that absorbs water. I have nice, pretty, bath towels. They smell excellent. They match my decor. And they all just move the water around on my body. Useless pieces of shit.
A printer with a cord that’s long enough to reach a plug-in without my having to move it to the edge of my desk where it sits precariously and I bump my elbow on it while typing. Like I just did. Motherfucker.
20 pounds to be miraculously lost. Between my neck and my ass are 20 pound of fat that need to be gone. I have gone past apple and now I’m pumpkin shaped. I’m not lazy or stupid…I know it will take getting back into running and eating wiser in order for it to happen, but if someone can write a stupid song about a kid wanting shoes for his dying mom to wear when she meets Jesus at Christmastime, then I can wax poetically about wanting a Christmas weight loss miracle. Shut up. It’s my blog.
Lastly, I’m heading out to the mall for last minute shopping with my budget-minded husband, who hates to shop, but is insisting on coming along in a supervisory position. I’d like for two things to happen. I’d like for the line at Olive Garden to be short, and I’d like for him to stay in the car. I realize I’m more likely to see a quick presidential impeachment than for either of those things to occur, but it’s a nice dream.
Merry Thursday to you all.