It’s been a week. I feel like a raggedy ass rubber band that is one wrap around a bundle of paper away from snapping and hitting you directly in the eyeball. Let me try to explain this shit show of a circus, in which I am the strung out Ringleader. There are three legged dogs chasing drunken monkeys, who are being managed by one armed lion tamers, who are directing the Insane Clown Posse. And in the corner there are midgets on unicycles juggling the severed heads of one eyed sloths while singing The Wheels On The Bus. And I have to get these crazy fuckers into a tiny yellow Volkswagen clown car before I slice my wrists via tiny paper cuts because that’s just how fucked up my week has been. And this was all by Wednesday, y’all.
Let me explain. I was on vacation last week. And by “vacation” I mean a tiny cottage on the lake, with five teenagers whose lives were ending without WiFi and Fortnite, two toddlers who insisted on playing in the same 24” of sand, two dogs who either peed or dug holes every 6” in said sand, a husband who pretended NONE of this was happening because HE was on vacation, a fridge that only half worked so it devoured our food faster than we could eat it, two free bottles of wine that could not preserve my quickly wavering sanity and a flamingo floatie in a pear tree. Despite all of this, we found some really beautiful moments amongst the chaos, as we so often do. Me and my sister got to spend time together. The kids had fun building “cities” in the sand and playing in the lake. And the wine? It never stood a chance. And the sunsets were unrivaled by an I’ve ever seen before. And for a few days it was just me and my husband and we got to enjoy the quiet, watch some Netflix, and just BE. BUT THEN. Then, I returned to reality, aka the fucking circus and the monkeys and the juggling severed heads that are the payroll I process for a living. Because, all of the things that could have gone wrong while I was gone went so very wrong and I was left to clean up the bloody beheaded mess upon my return. The woman who did my job in my absence didn’t really take the time to adequately learn my job, then her husband suffered a mild heart attack so she was out of the office for part of the week and when she returned she gave ZERO FUCKS about doing my job correctly. Instead she basically gave the payroll a full send and washed her hands of the aftershock. For those of you who don’t know the term “full send” it’s the equivalent of needing to send someone a really important text, but instead handing the phone to your toddler and letting them type fjgndkskdbgbdkskandbfb and then putting a bunch of poop and middle finger emojis after it and letting the person on the other end figure it the fuck out. Full. Fucking. Send. So, my week has consisted of wearing the hats of the clean up crew, the eternal apologizer, the fixer of the fuck ups and the Queen of Chaos. My rubber band is fraying by the minute and ready to snap so hard that the backlash will be felt in offices worldwide. I am looking forward to Friday, aka wine-thirty. It’s my designated “get white girl wasted” day. It’s the day I allow myself to sit on the couch in my sweats, watch trashy reality TV on my DVR, drink until Mama June’s lazy eye almost looks even, and have dirty sex with my husband on the couch while my dogs look at us in disappointment. Hopefully my rubber band holds because murder is punishable by life and they don’t have wine in commissary and I don’t look good in prison orange. And I probably can’t watch Grace and Frankie on Netflix from my cell. So wish me luck friends.
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AuthorSarcasm is as much my defense mechanism as it my truth. I am unabashedly honest, I live my life off-script and I make no apologies for my crass humor. So, sit back, grab a bottle (or two) of your favorite wine and settle in for a few good laughs, a little TMI and some unwanted life advice. You're welcome. Archives
April 2023
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