Today is May 1st. I should be rejoicing the coming of this day, for it is the beginning of May No Shave Month. Every year in the month of May, I shave nothing. No legs. No pits. No bikini area. I do it because then on June 1st I take a razor to sasquatch and it feels so unbelievably good. I also think it’s a celebration of being a woman – I mean, why do we have to shame ourselves into shaving off what is natural and there normally? Other cultures don’t. Why shame us for being ourselves, ‘merica?
Sadly, there was no rejoicing today. Or at least not much beyond the few moments I was deep in the heart of LA and able to again get away with driving like a total maniac (my natural state). To look at just why today was so lackluster and – well – horrible, we should look at all those I encountered today.
Oh darling. I would love to actually sleep a little in the morning. I know this is hard for you to comprehend and all, being the only person on the planet (in your mind). But every night I spend about 3/4 of the night waking up and taking the covers back from you since you’ve stolen them all; or helping one of the various people that has woken up and needed something. I am tired. So the next door you slam in the morning. The next bowl you smash onto the counter. The next wrist watch, keys, or wallet you drop onto the coffee table. The next electric toothbrush you use loudly with the bathroom door open. All of it will be inserted into your asshole next time you wake me up with your bullshit loud banging around in the morning.
And on the note of assholes…
Mother. The kid’s bathroom is also the guest bathroom. You know this because as a guest you have many times come over and asked to use the bathroom, and you have always been shown the door to that one. In the kid’s bathroom is a can of air freshener. For guests. Use it.
When I came home from dropping you and Grandma off at the airport, it smelled like a dog had taken a dump in every single corner of the apartment. I had to open all the windows to air it out. Please. Febreeze.
And on the note of bodily functions…
Lady At CVS
Lady at CVS. I get it. You were wiggling around in line in front of me, as I waited to pick up my dad’s prescription, because you had gas. I turned a blind eye (and my nose) as you ripped one so loud even the kid two aisles over started giggling. I’m not a fan of flatus jokes, I’m really not; I’m also not a fan of talking with strangers about what they had for lunch. I did not appreciate when you turned around and told me that you had too many beans at the Mexican place down the street for lunch. Next time, keep it to yourself.
And on the note of keeping things to ourselves…
Grandma, I kept it to myself as we traveled to the airport this morning, but I just have to say it: most of your kids and grandkids are jerk offs. I sent them an email about Mother’s Day and not a one of them responded. Not even to graciously decline coming to my apartment for BBQ. I get it. They hate me. My cousin Kevin informed me of that years ago. But I continue to extend olive branches to these people, because I know it’s what you want, and they just continue to take a dump on me time and time. And time again.
One additional open note for you, Grandma: you were right this morning when you joked that I need Depends more than you ladies at the assisted living facility do. It’s become pretty clear that my bladder is the size of a cashew.
And on the note of old people habits…
Dad. Shut the fuck up with your bitching about physical therapy. Shut the fuck up about your constant blathering about the situations you need the walker. You aren’t getting it. It’s time to suck it up or get out. I’m tired of sleeping on an air mattress on your living room floor. I’m tired of running 70 fucking errands a day for you. I’m tired of cooking all your meals all to your bullshit “I don’t like healthy food” specifications where I have to sneak healthy food into your food to make you not realize that you are eating well, because God forbid you fucking have a diet other than soda and Twizzlers. Seriously. Shut it.
And speaking of people that need to shut it…
People That Think Los Angeles Is The Greatest Thing Next To French Toast
LA is a shithole. Anyone that contends otherwise can for real shut it. Shut it hard core, or my fist will shut it for you.
Los Angeles is disgusting. Everything looks dirty. Everyone is angry. Everyone drives like a fucking maniac (which I do enjoy on the occasion I go down there, I will admit). All the freeways are dumps covered in cars full of people that should be at work. But wait! I’m starting to realize that people in LA don’t work. They talk. And drive. And drink their hipster lattes. And mooch off others.
After living in Los Angeles for two years, I cannot stand going there, except for (as I mentioned above) the fact that I have an opportunity to drive with my psychosis set on “high.” And on that note, I also want to mention to all those asscans that say “ohhhhhh…. you are just sooooooooo lucky to live near LA because you can go there where there is sooooooo muuuuuuch to doooooo.” Fuck you. Everything in LA costs a bagillion and one dollars, and even the shit that is free costs me 50 bucks in gas.
And on one last note of people who get a big fuck you…
Our Apartment Complex
Fuck you, Essex Property Trust. Fuck you Camarillo Oaks. Fuck you apartment complex management and apartment complex. I’ve reached my last fucking straw with you dickholes.
Today we got a letter that due to some incidents with the kids in the area (not mine) destroying people’s personal property, children are no longer allowed to play or even be out in the complex without the clear supervision of an adult. This includes the patios on our very own apartment – kids cannot play on them without an adult being out there as well. So while I understand legalities and all the apartment complex faces, I find it terribly disturbing that the management is just SO CONCERNED about someone’s fucking flower pot being kicked over; and yet, they are in no way concerned about the rampant drug use and sales that go on in the community.
Just a few minutes after receiving the letter, I saw and smelled someone smoking a joint out on their patio; then saw a bong in someone’s kitchen window as I got in my Jeep to leave that shithole to run more bullshit errands for my dad. Seriously. If you’re going to ruin my fucking life by making me sit outside with my Pookies at all times; and yet not break the very serious drug problem going on in the community, you can consider this our official end of lease.
A lot of assholes, asses, and related things going on in my day. You know why I’m so angry now? Do you faithful blog followers understand why my face is red and my blood pressure through the roof? When all of this bullshit goes on, I just want to hide under the covers and tell the world to go away.
But then what would I have to blog about?
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