Short and Sweet...ish
(Insert socially appropriate greeting here) (Insert socially appropriate word for event here)
The best I can come up with is “Joyful Greetings on This Month of Colorful Paper and Whatnot!” Pick one, I don’t really mean either one anyway…
It’s winter in Florida with a high of 80…ish. The mosquitos don’t know that; they didn’t get the memo. But it feels wrong battling my way to my car through a cloud of mutant mosquitos wearing a fashionable sweater and closed toed shoes. It’s just wrong. (Who makes fashionable sweaters for mosquitos? There’s no money in that.) Side Note* OMG, that one was so LAME and I’m totally leaving it in! (Insert Gangta’ IDGF sideways peace sign)
“Christmas” started two months ago; my right eye has begun to twitch. (Hold up…that might be the beginning of a new song; put a pin in that one for later.) There are five shopping days left to find the gift that clearly states, “I don’t know you at all, obviously.”
This month’s schedule includes: “Please point me to the table of alcohol and fatty snacks. No, don’t speak, just point with your sticky finger. Thank you. You didn’t see me.”
Also: “Are you drinking at your desk?” “Honestly, yes; I didn’t think you’d let me drink under my desk; this is my compromise. Or I can drink at yours.”
Is it over yet?
Short & Sweet…ish opinion: Here’s hoping you don’t receive a ‘My Family is Better Than Yours and Let Me Tell You Why’ newsletter this holiday season. May your imaginary significant other be smokin’ hot and away on Super Important Business. Blahbity Blahbity Blah, Fa La La. Hope your bells get Jingled.
I Fake It Most of the Time
Smiling, that is. I’ve always heard that it takes more muscles to frown than to smile. Opinions vary on this, but apparently I have to coordinate around 10 muscles to smile at you, and hold it until you feel like I’ve smiled long enough. I honestly don’t care enough to make that much of an effort.
I’m actually a really nice person… for the first 5 minutes. After that you can probably bet that I’m faking it and looking for the nearest exit. If you REALLY know me, you can see by the set of my teeth how many minutes are remaining. I’ve graced you with my presence; let’s call it day, mmm’k?
“It takes more muscles to frown than smile, so why don’t you just smile?” Listen, Miss Merryweather, I was born with a natural RBF, (Resting Bitch Face); the key word here, is resting. I literally exert 0 muscles to stare at you until you go away. I call that a win.
“You’re too pretty to always look so angry.” It’s a disguise; it’s supposed to make me unapproachable out in the wild. The fact that you’re in my space leads me to believe I need to upgrade. Also, was that your idea of a compliment?
“Hey, can you do me a favor? Smile.” First of all, creepy-overweight-balding guy-I don’t know, you’re in my invisible hamster ball; back the Fuk up. I just want to do my grocery shopping and get home to my dark soup can and treats. And B: Here is the Fuk Off smile you requested. You’re welcome.
Short & Sweet…ish opinion: Smiling gives you wrinkles. RBF keeps you pretty. Also, stay out of my hamster ball.
I Work Out…ish. Ok, No I Don’t.
I know people who work out…you know them too. I know this one girl, (we’ll call her Felicia) that will post selfies all day of various “I look awesome because I work out” poses. STFU, Felicia. Seriously, I had to remove her from my feed before I tossed up the fries that I just ate. Jim, at McDonald’s took my order. I went back to Jim for more salt…does that count?
I’m 40 years old now and my news feed is full of 20 somethings posting yoga selfies like it’s their job. I’m lucky to get my knees to work first thing in the morning and these girls have their legs hooked behind their heads, while taking a selfie and eating kale. WTF, KALE? No, honey, C. A. K. E.
I have this other friend, we’ll call her Tammy. Ok, her name is actually Tammy, but whatever, she knew what she was getting into when she claimed me as part of her tribe. Tammy likes to run; she thinks it’s fun. I like bread. (It ain’t no fun unless it’s got a bun, hun.) She used to invite me all the time and I tried, sort of. After about my second time around the church, (you gotta wheeze for that salvation) she’s doing cart wheels around me while I’m searching the parking lot/offering plate for my lungs. Sorry, sister wife. I gave up after that; I’m already going to hell anyway; might as well do it with an iced coffee and a donut.
Short & Sweet…ish opinion: Go ahead, Felicia; post another ‘Look how hot I am, I work out' selfie so I can shove this bacon roll up your nose.
The 2017 Dept. of Defense budget is around 580 Billion dollars. I wonder how much of that is ammo and bombs. Back story: A few years ago for Halloween I decided to go all out on a Snow White costume. The dress was beautiful; partly because the yellow skirt was covered with, I mean, SAND BLASTED with…gold glitter. January came and went the following year and there was still glitter all over the radio station. We barely survived. Ever accidentally inhale glitter? Gotten it in your eyes? You pray for death to take you quickly. But death doesn’t come, because he hates that shit; he knows better.
Did you know you can send glitter mail to someone you hate? The enemy opens it and glitter explodes everywhere. That’s a great idea. Genius, and cheap. Even better, the cheaper the glitter, the more it hurts! I can go down to the Dollar General and get about 6 tubes of death glitter for a couple of bucks.
So, why haven’t we harnessed this power? Right now, we have 3 unstoppable weapons:
Angry oppressed women, angry oppressed gays, and glitter out the ass. 6 tubes will equal the destruction of an entire enemy nation. Glitter ammo, Glitter snipers, Glitter air bombs. Glitter gift basket delivery for Kim Jong Un. “Oh, look how pretty, it must be from my friend Dennis, Yay!” BOOM. DONE. NEXT.
Rumors will begin to spread that Americans murder fairies to harvest their glitter. Suddenly we’re fairy murdering monsters that ride flying unicorns. Yassss, excellent…
Oh, there are survivors? Have fun cleaning that shit up assholes. Don’t mess with America; we’re EXTRA rich now, and we fucking love glitter.
I like guns. People…meh. Being the introvert that I am, I could take them or leave them…People, not guns, because it’s the people we need to worry about. My gun doesn’t lie next to me at night trying to entice me into shooting up the neighborhood. If anything, it would be more concerned about my Netflix binging. My gun also isn’t going to invent a vendetta on its own and act on it. So, why are people out to get all the guns?
People have been killing people since forever, and they didn’t use a gun to do it. If you are a Bible believer, (that’s a whole other article for another day) Cain killed Abel with either a knife or a stone. Do you blame the knife or stone, or Cain for the murder? If “The Government” came to your door to take away your gun, and you were intent on killing someone, would you not then use a knife or even a stone if you had to? Or a rental truck from Home Depot? And, make no mistake about it: Crazies who have the desire to shoot people are going to get guns no matter what the law says.
It’s my short and sweet…ish opinion that it doesn’t matter what the weapon is; it is the reason a person chooses to use it. And in my case, if my gun has been taken away, and I have reason to do so, I have no qualms with beating someone to death with a half empty box of chocolates…just let me pause my Netflix.