I’m full of caffeine, but I’ve been thinking. Okay, it may be the caffeine talking here, but I HAVE been thinking.
I literally live my life with Cheeto stains on my clothes. Hell. I will eat Cheetos off the damn floor if the dog doesn’t snatch it up first. Sometimes it’s a real competition to see who can get to dropped food first. There’s growling and biting…and the dog can be aggressive too sometimes.
I cannot compete with Victoria Secret sexy hair and fucking lip gloss. Are you kidding me with that goddess shit?
And the ladies that can put on those fake eyelashes.
Damnit woman! You are killing it in ways I do not even understand. I have sweat pants with holes in the crotch that I consider part of my casual dress wear. My husband had to take them away from me and explain that you could literally see all of my Barbara Bush before I would surrender them. Then it was only so they could be patched up. I still wear them. Just sans Barbara exposure. She added a little something to the party if you ask me. A pinch of flare! A dash of untamed wilderness.
I tried fake eyelashes once. ONCE. Followed a youtube video and everything. Glued my entire eye shut for three days…but I looked fucking fabulous. I would have banged me. If I could have seen me. I just sat and smoldered like the sexy idiot I was.
I have sat and stared at women for longer than was socially appropriate. Just admiring their make up and hair. I have actually been so caught up being mesmerized by how well put together and beautiful another woman was that I had to tell my husband I was late because I had been watching a breathtakingly gorgeous woman read a book in a Barnes Noble and lost track of time. Do you realize how insane that sounds?
“I’m sorry, dude. Yeah, I know I’m three hours late, but you should see this woman. She’s like some kind of glowing princess. Even the way she reads is beautiful. How can I look like her when I read? I feel like I look like stink when I read. Like, that’s just the image that I give off to people. She looks like she smells like some kind of dessert. Like you kinda wanna take a bite out of her, or lick her. I mean, I do and I married a dude if that tells you anything. You wanna see a picture of her? I can take a picture and show you….no, yeah, you’re right. You’re right. That’s probably an invasion of privacy of some kind.”
(whispers) “sorry pretty lady”.
And I have adult acne now too. That’s a thing. They should make PSAs about it that don’t involve a famous adult because I tend not to believe that shit. Like, excuse me Adam Levine you gorgeous son of bitch. You look like you are made of 100% rutting bucks, lumberjacks chopping wood, and moist panties. Do not. Even. Start with me.
One day I woke up, and I just looked like the teenage version of me that had lived a really hard life. Like, maybe she had seen some shit, or went to prison and had traded all of her commissary for cigarettes to chain smoke in a cleaning supply closet somewhere.
It’s rough having acne and wrinkles, plus watching what you eat. How is that even fair? It should be a trade off. I thought that was the natural order of things.
Okay, so I have acne, but I get to pile drive all of these cakes into my face, dive head first into a ditch full of french fries, and not gain any weight. Who messed things up?! What has happened? You shouldn’t have to suffer with acne, worry about getting diabetes, and wonder if your retirement fund is solid.
I don’t know. Maybe I should not drink this much caffeine at night…or ever.
I’d apologize if I cared. I do not. If I had a mic I would gently place it on the ground and punt it across the room. Also, my heart might explode soon.