Sometimes it is questionable, for sure…
Let’s take last night…when I woke up for the 14th time because I was having a hot flash, which of course with me, is like a mini panic attack and then 190° rush of heat…
All I could think was…
Seriously???
Why can’t I sleep through these fucking things? Why do I have to wake up every. single. time? It’s bad enough that I have to rip off my pajamas or throw the blankets on and off 50 times a night…I mean why NOT add a hot flash as well as some night sweats right?
Sure.
Or we could take today. At work. Keep in mind I am tired from hot flashing and throwing the blankets around all night. I am not supposed to talk about work on here, but I am gonna.
We say there are no stupid questions…that is our motto and most of the time there really aren’t any. Most days even the most basic question isn’t stupid. We rock like that…
Well some days, there are so stupid questions. Some days, people need to think a little before they talk, or before they actually make the effort to pick up the phone and call us, or in this case make their husband call us…with a stupid question that anyone with any kind of common sense could probably figure out with a second of thoughtfulness.
Because then this phone call happens…
“Do you have any orange flowers?”
“Um…yes, we do, what kind of orange flowers are you looking for?”
“Just orange ones. I don’t know…”
Really?
You could possibly call me yourself instead of getting your husband to call and then proceed to yell at him from across the room whilst he is trying his hardest to ask me your stupid questions. Why drag him into your shenanigans?
Be stupid by yourself. He doesn’t need to be involved at all. And I seriously wouldn’t have thought it was as stupid then. Just saying.
I totally understand that you don’t know what kind of orange flowers you are looking for, and we can figure that out eventually…but not while you are yelling at your old man and he has not got a frickin clue what you want.
AND WE ARE BUSY!!!
Then there was tonight on my way home from work.
I saw a girl, a very drunk girl getting out of an old man’s truck. By the bowling alley. Now I don’t know what the situation was there at all, but it didn’t look good. In my head I was like…what? the hell? was that…
I do believe I have seen said girl standing on the side of the street not that long ago.
My overwhelming thought was eww….’cause dude was old…like 80ish old…eww… and Campbell River streetwalker…ewww.
I was pretty glad my day was over at that point.
Sometimes I wish my imagination would keep to itself. Obviously.
And then my girlfriend Deb, sent this awesome blog to a page we share on Facebook…
Read this, every single woman alive, should read this.
Fuck Diets
My muffin top just took on a whole new perspective for me, she might have even changed my life with one blog.
And she swears like a logger…we all know I love that.
Oh and before we go any further I should apologize to my Dad. He hates it when I say fuck on the blog. Sorry Dad. Don’t read the Fuck Diets link…just saying.
I mean if you are my Dad…
Everyone else should. Because she is awesome, and possibly my new favorite super hero.
This is my favorite part:
When I see her hawking her line of Skinny Girl Margarita Mix or whatever the fuck it is, I want to vomit. I think, “Is this what you want for your daughters America? Cheap, shitty booze and slim hips?” Fuck that shit. I deserve a real-ass margarita. With sugar. I deserve to put fucking butter in it if I want to because I fucking worked all day. At a real fucking job, too. I wasn’t lying in a tanning booth dreaming of new ways to make other women feel bad about themselves.
Because yes. to all of it.
She is stirring shit up. I like that in a girl.
She is writing what we all think. Awesome.
There is lots of other stuff I want to bitch about, like that new Juicy fruit commercial on tv, but I am tired, and I didn’t sleep very good last night. So I will save it for another day.
Happy Tuesday everyone.
