Crazy, I may be, but I can’t help but wonder. I start planting living things around the house, I get stung by a bee. My poor pinky toe, an innocent bystander, was wounded in this first attack.
Then, after deciding gardening may not be my forte (which was proved by the fact that it is only 4 days later, and lo, my plants are shriveled), I attempt to paint my office/guestroom/bellydance practice room/brothel (for my friends who stay the night with sig others and boink on the couch…you know who you are). I begin by coating the cartoon animals on the wall with a layer of toxic/scary paint, which then gets all over my hands, cannot be washed off, and I have to bathe in paint thinner.
After a few days of silently waiting for the house to go to sleep. I attempt to cover the room with colored paint (to which Trent commented, “I like it. It looks like diarrhea. Good job”). All seems to be going well until my neighbor rings the doorbell incessantly until I run outside in my giant, paint covered t-shirt, with no shoes, and bang my foot on the front doorframe. I now have a blood blister on my other pinky toe.
Now I must go and attempt to learn how to golf with a bunch of engineers and then attempt to not lose another volleyball game while sober with a giant blood blister on my pinky toe. I think I should just get sloshed instead. Odds are I’ll get hurt anyway, so why not be singing Lindsay Lohen loudly and out of tune while doing it?
I awoke this morning and got into a little tiff with the sig other about something that he had absolutely no control over. I realized that he did not understand that I wasn’t upset with him, but the situation, and then spent the next 20 minutes bothering him to see if he was now upset with me because of my bad reaction to the news that was in no way his fault or under his control. He proceded to get annoyed with me and leave.
Then, while I’m at work fuming because “why, oh why, won’t he understand me?!” he calls around and gets the whole thing figured out, even offering to sacrifice a fun vacation to make me happy.
He then sends me an e-mail saying I am beautiful.
Now I am fucking tired because I spent half of the day pissed at no one, but just pissed at everyone, but not really pissed, just annoyed! (Does your head hurt yet?)
It’s true, I sweat the small stuff. And I have ADHD.
But at least I embrace it!
NOTE: I just thought of the best word to describe me…FREAKASAURUS. I’m copywriting that one bitches!
http://www.crazybananas.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/Crazy_Banans_Logo_WebsiteBanner.png00Meganhttp://www.crazybananas.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/07/Crazy_Banans_Logo_WebsiteBanner.pngMegan2005-05-03 15:45:382005-05-03 15:45:38Freaks Are More Fun
You know you’re a happy girl when you return home after eating massive amounts of cheese and feeling so constipated your stomach may just explode and to top it all off you’re rather hungover and your boyfriend tucks you into a warm bed, turns on Family Guy and rubs your back until you fall asleep. And then, when you wake up late and are freaking out trying to get to work on time, you find your keys with a note taped on them that says, “I love you.”
The Anguish
/2 Comments/in Blond, New House /by MeganI think the house is trying to kill me.
Crazy, I may be, but I can’t help but wonder. I start planting living things around the house, I get stung by a bee. My poor pinky toe, an innocent bystander, was wounded in this first attack.
Then, after deciding gardening may not be my forte (which was proved by the fact that it is only 4 days later, and lo, my plants are shriveled), I attempt to paint my office/guestroom/bellydance practice room/brothel (for my friends who stay the night with sig others and boink on the couch…you know who you are). I begin by coating the cartoon animals on the wall with a layer of toxic/scary paint, which then gets all over my hands, cannot be washed off, and I have to bathe in paint thinner.
After a few days of silently waiting for the house to go to sleep. I attempt to cover the room with colored paint (to which Trent commented, “I like it. It looks like diarrhea. Good job”). All seems to be going well until my neighbor rings the doorbell incessantly until I run outside in my giant, paint covered t-shirt, with no shoes, and bang my foot on the front doorframe. I now have a blood blister on my other pinky toe.
Now I must go and attempt to learn how to golf with a bunch of engineers and then attempt to not lose another volleyball game while sober with a giant blood blister on my pinky toe. I think I should just get sloshed instead. Odds are I’ll get hurt anyway, so why not be singing Lindsay Lohen loudly and out of tune while doing it?
Freaks Are More Fun
/0 Comments/in Grumples, Trent /by MeganToday I had a moment of enlightenment.
I awoke this morning and got into a little tiff with the sig other about something that he had absolutely no control over. I realized that he did not understand that I wasn’t upset with him, but the situation, and then spent the next 20 minutes bothering him to see if he was now upset with me because of my bad reaction to the news that was in no way his fault or under his control. He proceded to get annoyed with me and leave.
Then, while I’m at work fuming because “why, oh why, won’t he understand me?!” he calls around and gets the whole thing figured out, even offering to sacrifice a fun vacation to make me happy.
He then sends me an e-mail saying I am beautiful.
Now I am fucking tired because I spent half of the day pissed at no one, but just pissed at everyone, but not really pissed, just annoyed! (Does your head hurt yet?)
It’s true, I sweat the small stuff. And I have ADHD.
But at least I embrace it!
NOTE: I just thought of the best word to describe me…FREAKASAURUS. I’m copywriting that one bitches!
Lucky Girl
/4 Comments/in Trent /by MeganYou know you’re a happy girl when you return home after eating massive amounts of cheese and feeling so constipated your stomach may just explode and to top it all off you’re rather hungover and your boyfriend tucks you into a warm bed, turns on Family Guy and rubs your back until you fall asleep. And then, when you wake up late and are freaking out trying to get to work on time, you find your keys with a note taped on them that says, “I love you.”
Lucky, lucky girl.