If I had a penny for every single time I’ve whispered “what the FUCK” to myself by the end of any day-
I’d be rich. I’d be able to pay off my credit cards. I’d be able to half-ass-afford my own Starbucks addiction without willingly overdrawing my bank account-I don’t think you’ve been able to grasp the “realness” of my caffeine struggles guys.
And if you recall that regrettable moment when I shared the exact monthly dollar amount that I spend on Starbucks, then you’d know my addiction is otherworldly and mad shameful. And I’m not talking, slap-on-the-wrist-shameful. No, no, no. I’m talking, walk- down-the-center-of-a-medieval-village-butt-ass-booty-naked-with-a-psycho-nun-leading-the way-as-she-rings-a-bell-chanting-“Shame.-Shame.-Shame”-while-the-commoners-aim-rotten vegetables-and-fresh-spit-at-my-head-shameful.
Oh my heart. What ever WILL you do when Game of Thrones has ended. The world knows nothing of the unfathomable void that shall remain.
The thing is, I’m a middle-class woman with a little-rich-bitch habit. Wait, wouldn’t that be like cocaine? Isn’t that what “rich girls” get hooked on? And also, am I even middle-class? I mean, I can’t be 100% sure but I’d like to say my social status in this country is parallel to exactly where I
am was recently standing on the BMI scale:
Yep. Borderline obese which is the equivalent of borderline poor. One foot in and one foot out. And then we do the hokey pokey and we turn ourselves arou- what? Too much? Fine.
And also, I speak for myself and every Hispanic woman in the world with a
Chubby thinner than before waist
Thick legs in shape
Rump shaking both ways
Make you do a double take
Planet Rocka show stopper
Flo froppa head knocker
Beat stalla tail dropper
when I say fuck off B.ullshit M.ade I.diotic chart. You’re politically incorrect, stereotypical, racist as hell and while we may be “too” curvy for you, at least we’re not square like you are! Seriously…you look like an amputated Spongebob covered in number-vomit. So take that!
Well then. Here are all the other what-the-FUCK-whisper-worthy “things” humans do that tend to gnaw at my brain like a dozen starving micro-rodents:
- You’re a fitness junkie. I totally respect you. I may even be low-key stalking you because I’m starving for motivation. I mean you look bad ass and I WISH I was nearly as committed to regaining my sanity as you are to your muscle mass. But for real for real- is it necessary to take your post-bod or transformation selfies in a bra and underwear for all eyes to see? Obviously the same goes for the fellas except if you’re also wearing a bra then I’m not done with you because I have more questions bro. And please do not hit me with the “it’s a two piece bathing suit” comeback; no, it is very clearly not a bathing suit.
And yes, we can all very clearly tell the difference. That being said, why not just actually wear the bathing suit?
- Why do you insist on violently beeping at me, and then aggressively cutting me off to prove your point? Especially considering that the light was already yellow when you honked your horn-of-death and was red by the time you cut me off as if *I* were the gangrened-toe of Floridian drivers. And would ya look at that? We both got to the same exact spot, at the same exact time. Hate it when that happens.
- Why do you insist on continuing to procreate if you’re already on welfare, food stamps, WIC, live in a government funded apartment in the projects, and are a meth-junkie? Have you considered that abortions are an easier route and would be for a greater good? No? How about- and let’s say this together now sloowwwllyy ready? C-o-n-d-o-m-s? Negative? B-irth con-trol? Nada? Well then I guess we’ll just have to set your uterus/testicles up to get run over by the next bus. Seriously, how petty and selfish can you be? The only ones who end up suffering here are the innocent children that ultimately land in the fucking system: juvie, foster care, or a morgue. To say that people like you piss me off, is an understatement. Lucky for you, I am no one. But at least I’m not the fungus here.
- Why do you do that “thing” where you label yourself as “humble” and then immediately dive headfirst into social media to post countless pictures of every single purchase you make (price-tags clearly visible) and stacks of cash-money choked in rubber bands? And then to sprinkle your own shit with a cherry on top (so gross), you add captions like #thisisforthehaters and #behumble. I mean like hold on…where exactly are these “haters”please point them out dude and who exactly ever told you that you’re “humble”? And did you maybe just return those expensive things after that photoshoot? It’s nothing personal. But it’s a problem once it becomes a pattern. I’m not sorry you think you’re bigger than the rest of us when you’re just a tiny -ant of a person. Ignor-ant. Arrog-ant. Irrelev-ant. Insignific-ant. and I can r-ant all night about this but you’re just not that import-ant. And you know what i like to do to ants? I traumatize them by blocking off their perfect marching lines in random spots; then I sit there and watch them lose their shit over the abrupt disarray.
- Why do you need a physical PLACE to go worship J-Dawg and his pops Biggy-G? And why do we have to keep a schedule to do this? Like WHY on Sundays? And why do you give part of our pay checks or “donate” money to these places? Do they pay your mortgage or rent? Do they help you when your T-Mobile bill is 200$? Also- what’s with the spooky lighting and the uncomfortable smells?! I’m all set. Biggy-G said he’s “in the trees and the rocks” and i have plenty of that in the comfort of my backyard.
- Why do women always want to lie about being younger? You know what I do?
“How old are you Ely?”
Me!? Oh I’m 38.
“WHAT? Dang girl! You look AMAZING, what’s your secret?”
Welllll…. I wear my sunscreen, I use Vitamin-E oil every night, and oh yea also I lie about my age by adding 6 years on top, just to fool people because I prefer the shocked reactions paired with compliments as opposed to the “oh… you’re younger than I thought” soul-sucking and awkward comments.
- What IS IT with you people and the plant based diet rages? I’m not a botanist, nor a dietician but I am pretty fucking sure the fruits and veggies in the U.S. are also affected by hormones, and pesticides, and other chemicals that you’ll ultimately end up ingesting. So now what? You get the organic versions of the organic stuff? Like when and where do you draw the line? I just don’t get the compulsive dieting fads that are dominating our lives. It’s sad to think about but I bet you anything that same lady who pledged her life to sacrifice delicious fattening-as-fuck food so that she can live a longer, healthier life– is going to die crossing a street; or of an infected mosquito bite; Or a shark attack; or a hot air balloon freak accident. Because that’s what the fuck life DOES, doesn’t it? So I’m sorry. I’m going to die some way or another but in the meantime, let’s not taco ’bout it and let’s enjoy these tacos.
I think that’s enough of that for now. I’m slowly turning into an insomniac and I have GOT to deal with this sleepless monster that I’ve become. Perhaps a lullaby will help me end this-