Upon seeing a glazed mini donut that someone had dropped in the parking lot:
Damn. That looks delicious.
Okay, it’s gross, I know. The thought was very fleeting, and then I quickly corrected myself with the reminder that I am a disgusting human being and that is an absolutely repulsive thought. However, in my defense, I had been shitting since Friday night and basically been on a diet of 7-Up and Saltines, so I was really, really hungry. On Friday, I followed some Pinterest inspiration and made a slow cooker meat loaf recipe. Bad idea. Horrible, awful, fucking idea that led to a horrible, awful episode of diarrhea. So, I was hungry. Lay off, bitches. I didn’t actually pick the damn donut up and eat it. I kept on walking, and I really should pass up Pinterest too because my projects and recipes never turn out quite right.
This is the meatloaf. You would think parking lot donut looked good too by comparison.
When a student was telling me about the girl from out of town he “hooked up” with over the weekend:
Shut the fuck up, kid. You are so full of bullshit. And what makes you think I want to hear this crap? The fuck?
Really, do I need to defend myself here? What made this fourteen year old kid think I wanted to hear about his made up girlfriends? This kid always thinks he needs to impress me. Last week, it was by telling me that some girl in a nearby town had sent him a naughty text message. The girls always conveniently live out of town. I really hope this means he’s full of shit because the world is fucked if this dumb ass kid is actually sexually active. He never tells details, though, just loves to tell me that “chicks love him.” I am an adult. What is he hoping for from me? A high-five. So, I didn’t tell him to shut the fuck up, but I did tell him to tell someone who actually cared.
After reading Outlaw Mama’s post about the angels in her life:
Damn. This woman is so talented. Bitch is gonna win this shit again.
My only defense here is human nature. Women are genetically built to be jealous bitches. I think I remember learning that in biology class. Yes, yes, that’s correct. Okay, but in all seriousness, this is a beautiful, endearing post written in response to the tragedy in Newtown. I read the post over on the yeah write challenge grid. I honestly love yeah write for the act of writing, not the chance of winning, but I wish I would have written a post like Outlaw Mama's (which you need to click on and read). I think we should all take some time in these coming weeks to spread love and kindness and thank those angels along the way. Did you have someone who inspired and encouraged you? Thank them, instead of thinking awful, bitter thoughts like I do.
Upon learning that my place of employment was closed due to dangerous weather:
Hells yeah! I don’t have to shower today!
I have explained this before. It’s not that I love my own stench. I just hate taking showers because it means I need to be away from my kids, and I neurotically worry that the worst is going to happen while I’m washing my hair. At least it’s winter now so I’m in the shower for a briefer period of time because I don’t give two shits about shaving my legs in 20 degree weather. Of course, my husband really appreciates this and I am one fine, sexy bitch.
After laying my five month old son down for a nap:
Damn, Emily, aren’t you tired? It’s been weeks since daddy and I have fucked.
First, I totally love my kids, but it’s true that sex has been quite infrequent. Further, I recognize it's crude to use the word "fuck" when referring to intercourse with my adoring husband and father of our two awesome miracles of children. However, when the act basically becomes a race against the possibility of a crying, waking baby, "making love" sounds like a big lie. My husband no longer needs to whisper romantic or seductive words into my ears to bring me to bed these days. The cue for sex is now: “Honey, both of the kids are asleep.” About twenty minutes after this thought, he said those words. Yes! I should have shaved my legs.