I’m not much of a complainer. (Please ignore my husband laughing hysterically in the background.)
The fact of the matter is I don’t fancy myself much of a whiner. Instead, I see the glass as half full, especially when it involves anything alcoholic. I’m the cat’s pajamas, the bees knees, an ideal human specimen exuding kindness and understanding at every turn. (Please ignore my entire family chortling wildly now.)
Despite my enhanced sense of self (I should have been a millennial), I’m not above a slight grievance from time to time. Truth be told, I dip my toe in the petty pool every so often, and I’ve decided to share my rumblings with all of you, simply so you know I’m just a regular Joe blow, without being an actual Joe or engaging in any blow. Synthetic substances aren’t my thing.
In any event, here’s a list of things I’ve been harping on lately.
Whenever I read about 45 (cough, not my president, cough) I see red, and I don’t just mean the Republican hue. I mean rage red, shake my fists at the sky red, mutter foul words under my breath red. I don’t understand how anyone voted for this narcissistic buffoon. Even if you agreed with only one thing he said, you had to know it came with a side of idiocracy, racism, sexism, homophobia, and anti-Islamic sentiments to name just a few.
Speaking of which, why do we get all hyped up about terrorist acts, yet ignore all the atrocities, which far exceed the former, committed by white men. I’m absolutely more concerned by a shifty Caucasian with an unfortunately small penis and an inferiority complex than I am by a black male in a hoodie or a woman in hijab. It’s 2017. It’s past time to let go of our intolerance and fear based judgements.
On a much lighter and less political note, I despise mosquitoes, also known as blood sucking rats with wings, mainly because they prey upon my flesh whenever they’re in my hood. I don’t know why they find me so appealing. Don’t they know I have zero self control and will unknowingly scratch my skin raw before I realize what I’ve done.
In that same vein, summertime and shorts don’t play well for me. It’s bad enough my legs are whiter than white, but they’re also covered in contusions. Everybody else is focused on their beach bodies and meanwhile, I’m trying not to get yet another black and blue on my glowing appendages. I literally got a bruise on top of a bruise this week. Who does that?
What is the deal with people validating their diet soda consumption? I don’t get it. I mean c’mon you drank a zero calorie pop, not snorted cocaine off 45’s bright orange navel. Why not just consume a drink with gasp, calories?
The Thirty Minute Baby Nap. You’ve finally managed to use the bathroom without a toddler clinging to your thrice bruised shins, shoveled a quick morsel of food down your throat so you don’t collapse from exhaustion and poured a glorious cup of coffee. You’re all set to sit down for a few minutes when Bam, the baby is awake.
On that note, the tiny dictator really is awake, which means I need to nip this post in the bud and tend to her needs. It’s probably for the best because nobody loves a whiner. Wine, on the other hand, we can bond over.
Thanks for letting me Think Out Loud, Ms. Amanda.
What are some of your pet peeves? Tell me I’m not the only one who struggles to keep their legs bruise free in the summer. I swear those corners leap out at me.