I’m done my whining and bitching over the unfairness of life, and I’m good. Thank you all for cheering me up and reading my depressing jaunt down “I hate life” lane. It was a good break, and I needed it. Sometimes it’s good for the soul to wallow in misery. No, I’m serious. It is. You see, when you drag yourself out of the pit, you realize how lucky you are to have good shit waiting for you.
It also helps you to accept a few dirty truths about life and fate and all that nonsense. Here’s what I’ve learned. I hope this shit doesn’t only happen to me.
· If there is a right way and a wrong way to do something, and the wrong way is going to result in horror/death/catastrophe, you can bet that some jackass will do things the wrong way, just to confirm that fact. It’s just a fact. Kind of like how every time I utter the words “humans can’t possibly get stupider,” someone proves me wrong. I’ve learned you can’t fight this. It’s better to use the time you would have spent trying to avoid total devastation building yourself a nice cozy bunker stocked with booze, canned goods, and porn.
· I’ve learned that as soon as I clean the floors, an animal must piss or shit on them. Same goes for the cat litter. The litter box must never be totally clean. I suspect the world ends if this happens. I’m not sure. I just know if there isn’t something shitting or pissing in this house every minute of the day, bad things will happen.
· The secret to life is not living without regret. It is to do things that are worth regretting. No, I’m not talking about that one night stand you never told even your best friend about because it was so…never mind. I’m talking risking your heart on that person you knew was completely wrong for you because deep down you know you’ll never feel that way about anyone ever again. Or like that night you and your friends (all of you way underage) got drunk and went on a “tour” in someone’s boyfriend’s truck with a bunch of people you vaguely knew, where you got lost down the back roads twice, at least one person misplaced her bra, another refused to wear a shirt because he was sticking it to the man, and another ended up with poison ivy on their whatnots due to an unfortunate accident while peeing in the woods. And you can’t recall laughing quite like that ever again. Yeah, those regrets.
· I cannot train anything. Not dogs, not cats, not kids, not husbands. I’m the world’s worst teacher and I’m okay with that.
· There is nothing good about feet.
· I used to think that if I didn’t make eye contact with weirdos, they wouldn’t talk to me. I was wrong about this. It doesn’t matter where I am, who I’m with, or what I’m doing, the weirdest, most annoying fucknut in the place will track me down and talk to me. Sometimes they even touch me. Once a woman who smelled like urine and Cheetos hugged me and I thought I’d have to slit her throat. I would like whoever put the whackjob magnet in my brain to die a horrible death, with fire, and screaming and much pain.
· Sometimes people tell me I’m unique, or original, but they’re wrong. I’m no different than everyone else. My personality is just louder than theirs, so it’s hard not to notice me. Try it. Then you’ll be unique too.
· I’m 100% certain of the quality of story I’m writing until I finish the outline and actually begin to write. At this point, I’m 100% certain the story sucks and I will never show it to another living soul. Until I type “THE END.” At this point, I’m 50% certain it sucks, 50% certain it’s brilliant, and 100% certain if I don’t show it to someone I will spontaneously combust.
· If I mop the floor, someone will spill shit on it. If I clean the tub, someone will go roll in mud and then take a bath. So why bother? If I dust, it will come back, so again, why bother? I’m fighting an uphill battle with pet hair and fleas and I’m kind of losing the will to continue the fight. Also, I hate dishes and toilets, and why can’t we order takeout every night? The thing is, it’s my house, my dirt, and my crap. If you are embarrassed about my poor housewifery skills, you simply don’t have to visit. Actually, I’d prefer you didn’t.
· I swear a lot. I will never stop. Get used to it. If people would stop getting offended over stupid shit like whether I call someone “hot” or “fucking hot,” then we could have world peace, or something equally as nice and fuzzy.
· People who like crowds of strangers are not normal. Stay away from them, they’re not trustworthy. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
· Life is not a race people, and it’s not a competition. Sure right now we’re all concerned about who has the biggest house, the shiniest car and the fattest bank account. We like to get the prize for the best this or that, and turn our noses up at the have-nots, but consider this: We all end up in the same place, without any of that shit at the end. Who’s the winner now?
· I know I will die while trying to put the fitted sheet on the fucking bed. Either my heart will just give out due to my utter hopelessness at this task which I must do for four beds every damn week, or my brain will explode out of sheer frustration.
· When I grow up, I’m going to be famous. Don’t you tell me I’m not. It’s the truth. You’ll see.
10 thoughts on “Dirty Truths”
"There is nothing good about feet."Amen sister!!!
I can barely tolerate the ones I have. Ever notice how other people have to like, touch you with theirs and shit? Nasty.
"I’m 100% certain of the quality of story I’m writing until I finish the outline and actually begin to write. At this point, …"Love this! And seriously, people got offended by you saying "fucking hot"? What a bunch of dipshits.
Thanks. 🙂 And some people don't see the value of profanities as adjectives. Shortsighted fuckers, eh?
I like my feet. They've got me out of some very bad situations.
Yes, I suppose they're handy now and then, but why can't they be more pretty and not so much like deformed hands?
http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/show/551556<–My new favorite quote.I did the giggle snort thing with the feet comment. And I would have paid money to see you fend off the cheeto lady. Too funny.
To be honest, I was stunned at first. Then when those flappy biceps got closer and her mammoth boobs came at my face, I completely froze. I think I might have whimpered, but no one could hear me through the sound-cancelling mammaries. Is that spelled right? Anyway, it was awful.
I don't get it. You're a heck of a lot scarier than I am. Yet I never get hugged (or mashed between mammaries)Ref: husbandsHands down, the hardest creatures on earth to train. I've been at it for 37 years and he still manages to throw me curve balls.
My theory is that crazy isn't scared of anything, so…