Witty Rants

Carousel of Fuckeries

I’m alive. I’m not quitting my blog. Ok that’s all the explanation I’ll be gifting everyone about my absence. And now, without further ado ladies and gents…. a throwback of last months’ seemingly endless fuckeries.

Last month, there was a portion of my so-called life that lasted about 2 weeks or so that can be best described by a clear mental image of a bearded, white-robed Jesus Christ himself, brewing a colossal amount of bitter, straight black, heavenly-boiling hot coffee into a planet-sized mug that reads “FUCK YOU, ELY” and then deadass pouring it directly over my life. He then proceeds to slowly turn his face wearing a blank stare, and just like, walks away floats away? Listen Susan. I don’t know what the geographical landscape in heaven is like. But if Jesus is a ghost then he can’t really step on anything solid without falling through it right? Or can he? Because if he falls where would he land if he can’t really “land” on anything. Ok I am mind-blowing myself here. I’m just saying, maybe he floats away. Right? Ok for the sake of this post let’s just assume he floats away like the Mac-Daddy-Boss of the criss-cross. Oh my god what in Jesus’s name is wrong with me.

[This is the part where I contemplate deleting that entire paragraph or just altogether giving up on this post and leaving it to rot in my drafts section as I crawl away to a corner somewhere far from humanity and curl into fetal position until someone saves me.]

The paragraph stays.

Now. A few of you who tragically follow my personal Instagram page already know where this post is headed because contrary to my filtered selfies (I’m just not that pretty bro) the one thing I refuse to filter is my life. I :::clap::: SAY :::clap::: AND POST :::clap clap::: WHAT :::clap:::THE FUCK :::clap clap::: I WANT. :::clap clap:::

And so the Carousel of Fuckeries began with a minor car accident. While no one was hurt and the damages were barely even worthy of the term “accident” I admit that I was at fault. I wasn’t paying attention and ended up just barely 6th-grade-pop-kissing this old lady’s Corolla from behind. It was just an innocent kiss. At least that’s the way I felt but this lady? Oh no. This lady felt like I raped her and left her to die in the back alley of some underground bar called “El Diablo”. She was that fucking dramatic.

Honestly? The nerve! I mean I legit scratched my front bumper and added a few more scratches to her already damaged back bumper. I gave you a touch-up, hoe! There wasn’t even a dent. The only dent that occurred is in my insurance policy and my monthly payment which I’m not looking forward to next month. Oh And yes. The cops were called. For a scratch. Even after I fucking said I’d take care of it and have it painted and fixed out of my pocket. But no. Do you wanna know what her response was?! You do. You wanna know. I can sense these things.

I’m a Christian woman. I want to do things the “right” way. That was her cunty Christian response. Someone bring this heffer a “Do The Right Thing” certificate and a motherfucking bumper sticker to match that.

Anyways, being the model citizen that I am, I respectfully responded with: Christian?! You are a CHRISTIAN woman?! Lady. You’re going STRAIGHT to hell! And proceeded to walk away. I believe her jaw is still there on that pavement somewhere.

Then there was the classic, humiliating mistake where I accidentally sent a text meant for my husband, to my boss…who is a highly respected surgeon by the way. Yea. Yea that happened the day after my accident or something like that. If you didn’t see that post here’s how it went down:

The ground could’ve opened up beneath my feet and swallowed me whole in that very moment and I would’ve gone down without a fight. Dignity is SO overrated and SO last season anyways. I mean let’s pause here for a sec and consider who’s currently leading the Free World….

Oh but the Carousel of Fuckeries was not over.

A couple days later, I was sitting on the toilet at work on my phone and sure enough, forget to lock the damn door. Yes, that happened. Can my life get any worse?

So to paint a bit of better picture though that makes me slightly uncomfortable, I’m sitting there on the porcelain throne minding my business when my co-worker who is a young, 6 foot 5 inch tall Jamaican man…opens the door.

And here’s the thing. I have a really slow fight or flight response system. Like it takes me forever to react to unexpected things like this. And the other thing is, this isn’t your typical small restroom. No. The distance from the toilet, to the door, is about 5-6 fucking feet which may as well be the other side of the planet. There was no time to get up and run and slam the door shut. None. So I just sort of sat there in shock, pants to ankles, ass to porcelain, as we locked eyes for about .6 seconds before I did a mini-jump-and-shriek and scared the shit out of him (or of me? Omg LOL) to which he responded with a mini-jump-and-turn-and-slam-the-door-shut.

You had to be there. But I’m glad you weren’t. The entire office heard me shriek like a pig being stabbed in the gut. I mean…. it was bad. And in that horrifying moment, all I could keep thinking was:

Because that’s what happens when you’re constantly seeking funny inspiration to write about and you’re totally nonchalant about humiliating yourself. Meh. The world will move on and this post will be long forgotten.

And then I stayed stranded without gas on my way home. I pushed my car to its limit all because I just refuse to pump gas. I mean it’s not even a joke. I avoid gas stations like the fucking plague. I’d rather have someone pull the little hairs on my arms out with an eyebrow plucker, one by one. I hate the lights that beam over my head in the gas station. I hate the dirty pump I have to grab. I hate standing there awkwardly while the old man in front of me stares at me standing there or the bitch waiting for the pump behind me, stares at me from her car. I hate it ALL. The whole experience is painful and unnecessary.

Honestly? Those entire few weeks of my life were painful and unnecessary. Why can’t life come with a CTRL-ALT-DELETE option? Whatever you guys. I guess in the end, all I can do is laugh at myself.

And I don’t know how to end this post, honestly. I can’t even think straight after having to mentally relive all of the above insanity. So I’ll leave you with a classic:

9 thoughts on “Carousel of Fuckeries”

  1. The great thing about a carousel is that it goes around and you may be on the side that’s not so awesome, but it’s gonna keep spinning and you’ll come around to the side that’s a lot better. Like when you’re a kid, riding the thing, there’s that part where you come around and see grandma smiling and waving, but the other side can make you feel lost. How’s that for a counseling analogy? Pretty bad, I know… Glad you’re able to laugh at it and share it on your blog, though. Some people would have that kind of month and just go on assuming the worst.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. This is so great! I love how you took my Carousel analogy and ran with it! You’re absolutely right. There’s always “the other side” with a different view and a different experience waiting for us. And if we can’t laugh at ourselves what’s there left to do? Cry?! Meh. Tears haven’t solved much for me in the past that’s for sure! 😁😌

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Seriously. Sure, a good cry can be cathartic at times. But it pretty much just leads to blurred vision, a runny nose, staggered breathing… it’s a mess. Laugher is much more fun.

        Liked by 1 person

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