Here's the thing. I don't really have anything significant to blog about, however, my head is full of crazy stuff. Like, it's a mess up there. This could be why I had crazy dreams of running from fire, mudslides, Russians and then saving some girl's My Little Pony comb from a cliff's edge last night. It's exhausting sorting this shit out.
Let's just start with something that I need to get out there. Something I need to come to terms with. Something I have been putting off for a long time. Something I have criticized, mocked and stood steadfast against. This thing I'm talking about...this thing that I must come forth and admit...it's too much. People, brace yourselves and hug your loved ones...I bought a mother trucking pair of LulaRoe leggings. I didn't mean to. I wasn't seeking them out. I didn't find them, they found ME! I don't have legging legs. I have legs that belong behind a long skirt, behind closed doors or behind hedges. They do NOT belong in leggings. But hear me out. I was minding my own business on the book of the face and there was Shark Bait's cousin selling her LLR leggings. And then, with God as my witness, the angels were singing in the background and right there...on the book of the face...there was a pony pair. It was as if fate had stepped in and said, "You will wear pony leggings that feel like butter and the universe has said it will be so." And so, what was I supposed to do? God sent them. I ordered the damn things.
When they arrived, it was just as I suspected, they looked ridiculous. I will never wear them outside the house, or when the curtains are open, but they are comfy. So, now I am just like all the other crazy people out there wearing these damn brightly colored animal print leggings. I thought I was a different kind of crazy. I didn't think I'd ever cave, but the ponies, I could not deny them.
So there's that. It's out there. Don't judge me.
In other news, there is a woman that works on a different floor than me at the Glass Palace, but she has been coming downstairs to poop in the bathroom on my floor. I call her the Third Floor Pooper. There is a luxurious bathroom on the second floor with many stalls to choose from. There is a bathroom on HER floor she could use, hell there are bathrooms all over that place, but she comes down to our bathroom, usually when I have to pee, and camps out in there and stinks the place up. It's bugging me. I wrote a poem in my head about her the other day as I had the misfortune to walk in the bathroom behind her. It goes like this, "I don't like your shirt, I don't like your hair-do, I don't like it when you come in here and take a poo. I wish you'd take a dump on another floor, you stink it up so bad in here, I have to run out the door." It bugs me...stinky Third Floor Pooper.
Something else that is weighing on my mind is the auto-correct on my phone. It's really bugging me. Piece of shit. You know, if it wants to correct me when I type the word "Fuck" and replace it with "Duck" that's fine, whatever. Pisses me off, but I get it. But when I write a legit word like "wide" and it replaces it with "wife" that's bullshit! Why? They are both words. What the hell does my phone think it's doing replacing that word? But if I write the word "wong" instead of "wrong" do you think it can fix that? Oh, hell no, then my phone is ducking clueless. I type in "callef" instead of "called." Again, Smarty McSmarterson smart phone doesn't have a ducking clue what to do! It doesn't have a suggestion. Here's a suggestion, stop ducking around with me and let me fucking swear when I want and choose my own sentences. Hey, Smartphone, the word is BITCH, not BUTCH. I'll let you know when I want to call someone BUTCH. Dammit!
And before you get all smart with me, yes, I know you can turn it off, but my phone is ducking possessed! I go to turn it off and it says it's already off. Look, I'm just one simple girl trying to take selfies and send texts, don't get all technical on me, but I still know how to turn it off.
Moving along, last night I had a conversation with Shark Bait. We were watching The Batchelor and I'm all like, "do you remember when you started falling in love with me? Saying I love you the first time?" Crickets. I'm like, seriously? I remember when I told you I loved you. I remember how you just had that dumb look on your face and didn't say it back because you weren't ready, whatever. And then how when you finally did tell me you loved me, it was over the phone when I was getting my hair done in Everett and you said, "by the way, I love you" just before you hung up. You didn't even say it to my face, chump. He's like, I don't remember. How come I remember that stuff? I said, so you don't even remember the first kiss? He's like, "I don't know....well, yeah, it was at your door and you kissed me." Do you see how I had to do freaking everything? So exhausting. Basically Shark Bait remembers the sweater I was wearing the first night we met and he remembers the first kiss, beyond that, it's all a blur. What else could possibly be up there in his head? Fishing stories, hunting stories, gun parts, jeeps, random facts about why ducks feet don't freeze in the winter and shit like that, but me? Not even there. I'm like his right arm...and he's left handed, so he doesn't even really need me. I mean, I'm there everyday, but unless he has a booger or has to hike up his pants, I'm just along for the ride. This might be a mild exaggeration, but seriously, no details? So, that's why I punched him in the gut ten times. Remember that, bitch.
I'm also pissed off that I'm looking a bit old and a bit haggard and that I am still fighting my weight years after my surgery. One of my Facebook memories came up the other day ( http://angry-pony.blogspot.com/2015/02/best-cry-of-2015.html ) and I re-read it. It brought back a lot of pain, but really is the root of my struggle since then. I'm really tired of this whole fight, but I can't escape it anymore than I could escape the spiritually placed LulaRoe leggings.
Anyway, I have a lot of things like this wearing on my mind these days. This is just a sampling.
Some other topics that I won't delve into now, but still floating around up there are:
Let's just start with something that I need to get out there. Something I need to come to terms with. Something I have been putting off for a long time. Something I have criticized, mocked and stood steadfast against. This thing I'm talking about...this thing that I must come forth and admit...it's too much. People, brace yourselves and hug your loved ones...I bought a mother trucking pair of LulaRoe leggings. I didn't mean to. I wasn't seeking them out. I didn't find them, they found ME! I don't have legging legs. I have legs that belong behind a long skirt, behind closed doors or behind hedges. They do NOT belong in leggings. But hear me out. I was minding my own business on the book of the face and there was Shark Bait's cousin selling her LLR leggings. And then, with God as my witness, the angels were singing in the background and right there...on the book of the face...there was a pony pair. It was as if fate had stepped in and said, "You will wear pony leggings that feel like butter and the universe has said it will be so." And so, what was I supposed to do? God sent them. I ordered the damn things.
When they arrived, it was just as I suspected, they looked ridiculous. I will never wear them outside the house, or when the curtains are open, but they are comfy. So, now I am just like all the other crazy people out there wearing these damn brightly colored animal print leggings. I thought I was a different kind of crazy. I didn't think I'd ever cave, but the ponies, I could not deny them.
So there's that. It's out there. Don't judge me.
In other news, there is a woman that works on a different floor than me at the Glass Palace, but she has been coming downstairs to poop in the bathroom on my floor. I call her the Third Floor Pooper. There is a luxurious bathroom on the second floor with many stalls to choose from. There is a bathroom on HER floor she could use, hell there are bathrooms all over that place, but she comes down to our bathroom, usually when I have to pee, and camps out in there and stinks the place up. It's bugging me. I wrote a poem in my head about her the other day as I had the misfortune to walk in the bathroom behind her. It goes like this, "I don't like your shirt, I don't like your hair-do, I don't like it when you come in here and take a poo. I wish you'd take a dump on another floor, you stink it up so bad in here, I have to run out the door." It bugs me...stinky Third Floor Pooper.
Something else that is weighing on my mind is the auto-correct on my phone. It's really bugging me. Piece of shit. You know, if it wants to correct me when I type the word "Fuck" and replace it with "Duck" that's fine, whatever. Pisses me off, but I get it. But when I write a legit word like "wide" and it replaces it with "wife" that's bullshit! Why? They are both words. What the hell does my phone think it's doing replacing that word? But if I write the word "wong" instead of "wrong" do you think it can fix that? Oh, hell no, then my phone is ducking clueless. I type in "callef" instead of "called." Again, Smarty McSmarterson smart phone doesn't have a ducking clue what to do! It doesn't have a suggestion. Here's a suggestion, stop ducking around with me and let me fucking swear when I want and choose my own sentences. Hey, Smartphone, the word is BITCH, not BUTCH. I'll let you know when I want to call someone BUTCH. Dammit!
And before you get all smart with me, yes, I know you can turn it off, but my phone is ducking possessed! I go to turn it off and it says it's already off. Look, I'm just one simple girl trying to take selfies and send texts, don't get all technical on me, but I still know how to turn it off.
Moving along, last night I had a conversation with Shark Bait. We were watching The Batchelor and I'm all like, "do you remember when you started falling in love with me? Saying I love you the first time?" Crickets. I'm like, seriously? I remember when I told you I loved you. I remember how you just had that dumb look on your face and didn't say it back because you weren't ready, whatever. And then how when you finally did tell me you loved me, it was over the phone when I was getting my hair done in Everett and you said, "by the way, I love you" just before you hung up. You didn't even say it to my face, chump. He's like, I don't remember. How come I remember that stuff? I said, so you don't even remember the first kiss? He's like, "I don't know....well, yeah, it was at your door and you kissed me." Do you see how I had to do freaking everything? So exhausting. Basically Shark Bait remembers the sweater I was wearing the first night we met and he remembers the first kiss, beyond that, it's all a blur. What else could possibly be up there in his head? Fishing stories, hunting stories, gun parts, jeeps, random facts about why ducks feet don't freeze in the winter and shit like that, but me? Not even there. I'm like his right arm...and he's left handed, so he doesn't even really need me. I mean, I'm there everyday, but unless he has a booger or has to hike up his pants, I'm just along for the ride. This might be a mild exaggeration, but seriously, no details? So, that's why I punched him in the gut ten times. Remember that, bitch.
I'm also pissed off that I'm looking a bit old and a bit haggard and that I am still fighting my weight years after my surgery. One of my Facebook memories came up the other day ( http://angry-pony.blogspot.com/2015/02/best-cry-of-2015.html ) and I re-read it. It brought back a lot of pain, but really is the root of my struggle since then. I'm really tired of this whole fight, but I can't escape it anymore than I could escape the spiritually placed LulaRoe leggings.
Anyway, I have a lot of things like this wearing on my mind these days. This is just a sampling.
Some other topics that I won't delve into now, but still floating around up there are:
- Why is my horse costing me so much money right now?
- Why is Shark Bait's dog shitting on the floor in the house 30 minutes after he comes in from outside when he just shit outside?
- Why do people ask me about vending machine refunds when I don't manage the vending machines? There's freaking 800# on the damn machines. CALL IT.
- Why do people think it is okay to go to break and never come back to work and never tell anyone? Why can't we be responsible adults?
- At what age will I finally stop getting acne?
- How did Facebook know that I was out at Petco on Saturday looking for pet beds? I got home and there were a bunch of pet bed ads on my Facebook page and on Groupon. What kind of witchcraft is that?
- As much as I see the Rug Doctor, am I now through my psychology Jedi Knight training and can I now put up my shingle and start a practice of my own? I've got a lot of good advice.
- Why do some people spell it "donuts" and other people spell it "doughnuts?"
