For sitting on my ass about 10 hours, I sure got a lot done today

Every once in a while, we have to take a step back and ask ourselves: am I spinning my wheels?

Am I running on empty?

Is something burning me out?

Two things happened last night – besides that whole food thing I wrote about earlier today – that contributed to me sitting on my ass for the majority of today. I think it was about ten hours, in total.

1. My daughter broke my heart and told me, completely out of the random and for no reason at all, that she sometimes thinks of me as a birthday candle that tries too hard to stay lit, but as a result has very little left because it’s all burned away.

She’s very wise for her ten years.

2. My old friend Period Pants showed up, and not in the subtle way she normally does. There was no taking her sweet fucking time to get going, giving me a day or so to prepare myself for the carnage of her monthly hormonal fluctuations. I had no opportunity to “pre-med” (take plenty of Ibuprofen the night before shit gets real so as to minimize the pain.)

Nope, this time she just came stomping in the door, around 11:30 at night.

When I’m really stressed out, she does this. First I get sick, then in about 45 seconds I develop cramps no amount of over the counter painkillers could fix. Then I get really hot and headachy until my brain catches up with my body, realizing that I need to slow the fuck down and relax while Period Pants resets my body.

It’s all in good fun, and yes I’m sure you all didn’t want to hear that much detail. But it’s not like I’m talking about freebleeding under my dress, or knitting sweaters with fallen pubic hairs or anything; so just get over it and understand my point. This happened, forcing me to slow down and calm down and remember that my body is going to tell me when I’m going too far on the stress-o-meter.

Needless to say, when I got up this morning I had – again – remembered the point of this all. I asked myself those questions: am I spinning my wheels? Absolutely. I’m cleaning and yet nothing is really getting clean. I’m cooking food that isn’t being eaten. I’m making efforts when I know the effortlessness of others will make it all moot anyway.

Am I running on empty? You bet I am. It isn’t that I’m physically tired, it’s that I’m mentally exhausted. I can’t think straight most of the time, and I’m so scattered I have a hard time even paying attention to the book I’m reading, the painting I’m painting, and the blanket I’m knitting. And then there is that simple fact that – for the fifth time in a day – I put my keys in the freezer. My brain is trying so hard to escape this situation, it’s become almost nonfunctional.

Is something burning me out? Yes. Activity is burning me out. Constantly having plans and activities and errands and projects and expectations from others and of myself is burning me out. Life is burning me out.

So today I decided I was going to take a break. I mean I’ve really tried to make an effort to cut back on activities and giving a fuck for some time now. I wear yoga pants and comfortable sweaters most days of the week, now. I’m worrying less about things like the placement of the towels in the bathroom as well.

But this overwhelming sense that I need to justify my Stay At Home existence with constant movement and nonstop commitments has me occasionally heading down this path of bodily pain, and metaphorical burn out, that tells me I haven’t done enough to have a healthier balance in life.

I started out planning – intending – to spend the majority of my day on Pinterest and in front of Netflix. As I started to destress, though, I thought that what I’d really like to do is write. (So I wrote 20 pages of good, solid fiction.) Then I destressed even more, and decided I would get up and bake some Valentine’s Day cupcakes for my husband to take to work later in the week. And as I calmed down more and more, feeling Period Pants calm her ass down as well in the process, I decided to write a blog, do some marketing, and I even did a Fiverr gig I had waiting to be done.

So what I’m saying here is that I got more work done today while I sat on my ass than I have probably gotten done in the past couple of weeks.

What I didn’t do was run errands or return phone calls I had no interest in returning. I also didn’t worry about making a fancy dinner; and – for once – I just let the laundry from the last two days continue to pile up.

The moral of the story is – I think – that when we force ourselves to slow down, we realize the path to do more meaningful, balanced things.

My local taco shack now serves douchesauce

Yes, that’s right: you faithful blog followers are getting a double dose of the B(itch) today for I have come to something of an epitome that cannot wait to be shared: apparently, my local taco shack now serves douchesauce.

Awhile ago, I had a bad day and posted about it. Included in there was a pretty (retrospectively speaking, of course) hilarious story about an asshole sneezing in my tacos. We have a local taco shack that we go to maybe once a week or so; being a non-native to California, I gobble up Mexican food like my next door neighbor gobbles up drug-related misdemeanors. In other words, I’m stuck on salsa and tacos and all things spicy. Okay, but I’m a pretty picky eater too and like the healthy food kid options at the places that are a step above your average my-Dorito-is-a-taco-joints, so this taco shack pretty much remains my regular go-to. When I posted about that dude sneezing in my plate (I mean, he literally bent over and sneezed right into my food), it was there. I considered it a one-time incident and can laugh about it now.

The last few times we’ve been there, some pretty bizarro things have gone down, though. There was a fight going on in the parking lot when we left one time. Another time – I shit you not – I heard a guy say to his girlfriend ‘don’t worry about it, baby – you can pay me back later’ as he pointed towards his pants region and winked. So I guess you could say I’ve started to realize this place attracts a particular type of person. That person is – in a word – an asshole.

Today was no exception.

After ordering our food and picking out our table, I was waiting for our number to be called and I noticed a pregnant lady waddle in with the baby daddy. I knew it was the baby daddy because she said as they walked in the door “oh, the baby is kicking so hard right now!” and he said “that’s my boy!!” It was also obvious, though, that they were not really together; and in the event that I’m wrong and they are, the situation is clearly messed up.

So pregnant lady ordered her food and went to pay for hers separately from the baby daddy. Her card declined. She looked around embarrassed, made excuses, said she was just at the bank, then rifled through her wallet for money. Now, let’s not impose judgment on this woman one iota about how if she has no money she shouldn’t be eating out; or any other such thing. Let’s focus on what the baby daddy did – just fucking stood there. When she finally found her cash and was able to use that, he ordered his food and paid for his and then made a comment while they were at the salsa bar that really put his status as douchesauce over the top – “maybe you shouldn’t have maxed out your card on the crib and just had the baby sleep in bed with you, like I suggested.”


Then we finished eating and I was going to throw away our trash and leave our tray on the top of the trash can. Standing in front of the only trash can there, though, was a guy about 50 and clearly angry with the world. I said “excuse me” and he didn’t move. I smiled – looking him directly in the eyes – and said “excuse me, can I just throw out my things?” and he moved about 1/2 an inch, crossed his arms, and scowled as he waited for his food. I squeezed in to throw away our trash and then his number was called. He jumped a little and bumped my tray, knocking all our empty plates, leftover rice, and used napkins on the floor.

He walked out without a word of apology.

No wonder our children in this town are either bullies or bullied. It seems almost obvious that so many kids are on medication for anxiety and depression around here when parents are such jerks – even to each other. I’m pretty horrified by the way some of the people in my community treat each other; and apparently my local taco shack is the Grand Central Station of it all.

‘Now serving douchesauce’ should be included on their menu. Of course, I won’t stop going – the tacos are good and the company has nothing to do with the assholes that eat there. But one day I’m going to finally speak up and be the b(itch) I am on this blog. Then it’ll be b(itch)sauce that’s being served.