Just Say Fork
Posted October 28, 2012on:
I’m back, bitches.
It’s been a helluva year. Lemme share some of my miseries with you:
2 carpal tunnel surgeries
Shingles, again (yay, me!)
The Dingus lost his job
Moved the famdamily to Richmond, the armpit of America
My dreamhouse sits empty, 3 hours away, waiting to be sold
Been in this shithole 4 months, and still not unpacked; took 2 months to find my pots and pans, for crissake — they were in a box labeled, “Office Supplies” — silly me! (those Romanian bastards who packed us up must still be laughin’ their slavic asses off)
My kids are homesick as hell, and they bitchbitchbitchmoanfightfightfightcrybitchbitch 24/7
Convinced I suffered mercury poisoning as a child, thus enabling me to cause all electronic gadgetry in my general vicinity to malfunction. Been through 4 cell phones and 3 laptops in just under 2 years — not a one mishandled; they just STOP working
Just broke another molar (this is my 3rd one; Twizzlers and popcorn, be damned!); must shell out $1300 for a crown this time (it better be bejeweled)
My favorite misfortune: DIVORCED The Dingus’s
clan of soul-sucking vampires family (wait…listen…do you hear the faint strains of the Hallelujah Chorus too?)
It’s taken me a full year to get my shit together and get back to writing. I hereby dedicate my quality time to myself and to my ‘craft’, my ‘therapy’.
I hereby clear my schedule to make writing my priority. (Okay, okay, it can come after that mom-thingy, but then that’s it; The Dingus is on his own.)
Henceforth, The Viv Shall No Longer Participate In Any of These
Time- and Life- Suckfests:
• ALL clubs, groups, committees, panels and pseudo-governing boards
• Dumbass ‘parties’ schlepping food/jewelry/purses/candles/lingerie/sex toys/BPA-laden plasticware
• Volunteer ‘OPPORTUNITIES‘
• Any activity where I may trade work in exchange for money
One thing this move has helped me to do is to JUST SAY NO.
And I’m not even nice about it anymore.
Our neighbors held a friendly bonfire a couple of weeks ago. One chick asked me to join the HOA’s ‘Women’s Club’.
I blew out a mouthful of wine and friggin’ SNORTED, I laughed so hard.
I told her I’d have to check with my parole officer. It was too easy. I didn’t have to Just Say No; I didn’t even have to show off my homemade house-arrest ankle bracelet — which I was kind’a pissed about; I worked really hard on it.
After that, I didn’t need to further kibbitz and make nice with my new neighbors.
They gave me wide berth and let me swig in peace until the marshmallow skewers came out; then they all swarmed to protect their young’uns, afraid I might just fork the little fuckers.