Warning: Cranktankerous rant ahead. There are swear words and badittudes amok.
Still here? Okay, but you've been warned. This is an LLB (limited liability blog).
Life can sometimes be great. You're on top of everything, or--dare I say it?--even ahead of tasks and all that. Then there are days that start crummy before you have even gotten a night's sleep under your belt.
Randomblings....Then there are days when you're the statue. Er, bird shit. Er, something. Last night I walked past the front door and a bird flew out. I almost shit myself, but then I realized the bird had done that for me. Yeah. Statuesque.
These days find you lost in a sea of stuff and tasks that feel like they will never get done.
There is a floating island far off the coast of somewhere that is made entirely of garbage. It just floats hither and thither. We have one of those just of the coast of my bed. We call it "Laundry Isle." Whether it is clean or soiled has yet to be fully determined. The domestic archaeologists will sort it out later...when they can find it. It is said to be migrating east toward Couch in Livingroom.
The dishes have miraculously created their own boidiverse habitat. Like a lost city after a major catastophe, they sit naked and empty, strewn about every surface. They will not be moved as they have grown roots to their tabletops and have began to sprout dirty silverware.
Those few glasses which are actually holding some form of liquid or alike often suffer a more tragic fate than their sticky an immoveable brothers. They must suffer the asshole cat.
Ozzie Who has taken to playing, "topple." Full glasses are checked for fullness. If they fall on the ground, they were probably full.
My children, to my surprise, found two completely clean cups today, which they beat on the tables (after a broad sweeping motion rid said horizontal plane of bills, legos, puzzles, and raisins) whilst accompanying themselves in song. It's glorious.
This beautifully choreographed and delightful video is to blame.
It sent shivers up my spine as well.
But there are a few noticeable differences between these beautiful adolescants and my own spawn: 1) Where these teens tap and clap in a well-mastered synchronicity, my children beat their fists on the table like a drunken Jackie Chan unsuccessfully trying to break boards made of something real hard and real loud, and 2) Where this quartet of culturally diverse youth marry their voices in a way that only angels would, my children scream over each other like angry drunk white girls trying to outkaraoke eachother at 2 am.
At least it's not country music.
Speaking fo country music, it was country music day at work today. I love my bosses almost as much as one should love their wacky aunts/uncles, so I attempted to tolerate the country music. But let's get one thing clear: I do not care for country music. At all. I don't know what it is but the thought of twangy rednecks talking about guns and hearts and kisses and hugs and "rain makes corn and corn makes whiskey and wiskey makes my girl feel pretty durn frisky" that gets my gourd flaming.
Or it may be the fact that I'm getting divorced on Monday. Whatever the case may be, my poor bosses had to deal with this shit. All. Day. Long.
Bitchy resting face is a very real thing.
Right. The big "D" on Monday. The big "B" tomorrow--oh shit! I have to do laundry for my roller derby bout tomorrow. Y'see how I did that? That whole forgetting about something merely hours in advance?! I'd be more impressed if I were on top of this stuff. Right. Derby. Had a fantastic weekend of derby just last. BomberCon Deuce was a major success and brought 100 PNW roller derby participants to my little middle-of-nowhere and we learned a heap of--
--I'm telling you this now, because I feel that it is a metaphor for my existence at this, this right now very moment. Instead of placing a single scoop of laundry detergent into the washer, I just placed a single scoop of kitty litter into the washer. Shall we get existential about this right now? Sure, g'head. You fink, I'll grab a beer.--
Anyhow, I lost where I was going with that whole thing. Oh right! I'm totally off the ball. Right.
But I guess I was warned (as were you, you fearless blog reader-still here? Damn. You're good.).
My horoscope did tell me there was a moon or something in Virgo....I should probably figure out what the hell that means...it could be serious.
Oh well. In the meantime, I'm going to stare at this picture of serenity, get my hands into mudras till they cramp, criss-cross applesauce until my ass goes numb and recite my new mantra:
Namaste, bitches. xo