I had FaceTime therapy this morning because technology is wonderful, but now I have to, like…think about things? Like, what I…want from my life? Specifically re: relationships.
Um, isn’t that what I pay YOU for? You have a degree in Life. I have a degree in radio journalism. You tell me what to do, I announce it in the fancy news voice that belies my shitty Philly accent.
Get on that jawn, yo. I’ll be over here eating Brownie Brittle for breakfast. Report back.
One day my filter will fail and I will not be able stop myself from asking another full-grown adult, likely a coworker, “How the FUCK do you not fall down more often?”
BOY, BYE. 🖕🏼
The other day my mother told me she thinks he should be acquitted, because “It was the ’70s, that was just what happened.”
MY MOTHER.
But also, this particular conviction was for some 2004 shit, so you can fuck right the hell off, MOM. (I seriously might call her.)
So far my favorite part of #TakeYourChildtoWorkDay are the notifications from all my child-free coworkers who are also opting to work from home.
An acquaintance posted on Facebook that a bad stretch of depression had caused her to gain back weight she’d lost, and some cheery fitness fucker commented “Awe, you can do it again with exercising and eatting healthier again! It’s mind over matter. Everything in moderation. Tell yourself you can do it! 💪😁👍”
OK, obviously I don’t know your life, but also? Blow me a little.
Who doesn’t know about diet and exercise IN THEORY? Everyone KNOWS about it, bitch — you ain’t droppin’ science. Don’t talk to her like she’s an idiot like she doesn’t already feel bad enough. Ass.
And it’s not “mind over matter” if your mind is what’s telling you cake will fix things, and guess what, cake DOES fix things.
Finally, UGH, the “Awe” instead of “Aw” — I think we can all agree those people can’t be trusted.
As always, Shonda Rhimes said it best…
I spent the day with some family, and just went to text their latest gossip to my sister. But then my brain went, “You really wanna start THAT conversation? Remember, insurance hasn’t started supplementing therapy costs yet.”
Good call, Brain.
This is actually a handy system, minding my mental efforts according to how much it’s going to cost me to fix the anticipated outcome.
Speaking of, who’s proud of me for lying to my stepdad’s face when he asked how my car’s been running? 🙋🏻
Show me all the Mother’s Day jewelry and flower ads you want, but I just realized the “perfect gift” for MY mom this year will be a gift certificate to my therapist.
Suck it, Pandora bracelets.
Once again, Amazon taking the boldest of leaps with my search terms…
There’s a Chris Rock bit where he talks about men talking too damn much and ruining a woman’s desire to fuck them — “You say the wrong thing, them panties are comin’ up mighty fast. A woman wants to fuck you? Shut up, let it happen.”
(I’m QUITE sure this also happens when women talk too much to men — I have most assuredly DONE it, I know my own.)
But I went out tonight to see a friend’s band play at my local townie bar, and immediately wanted to bang one of the singers — hot, glasses, tattoos, super muscle-y arms that could throw me all around… UNF.
But then dude started talking. And during the course of his performance, he said someone had “killed hisself,” and he also dabbled in some light “jokey” homophobia AND as a bonus, mocked his friend for saying something kinda intellectual-like — you know how we hate all that book learnin’.
Also, he swore so much that even *I* was like, “GodDAMN, man. You wanna fuckin’ dial that back?”
So. Alas, tonight was not the night I lured an unsuspecting male back to my lair. But hope springs eternal!
Smug Singleton 