Healing is overrated. Cookies. I fucking HATE motherfucking goddamn fucking shit fucking cookies!
But it's not the cookies. It's the lack of sense of accomplishment, right?
No, it's the fucking cookies. Fucking those stupid fucking cookies!
What Jew motherfucker decided it was a good idea to make honey cut-outs? Seriously, WTF? And before I get accused of being an anti-Semite, they were fucking Hanukkah cookies!! OK?!?! Obviously that recipe was made by a Sadistic Jew, or someone who wants me to hate Jews. WTF EVER! I fucking hate those cookies with the passions (of the Christ). Jews killed Jesus, Mel Gibson said so. Fucking Jews, validating the Bible, WTF? Honey is fucking STICKY which is not conducive to rolling it out on a counter top or scooping up the star-shaped pieces with a fucking spatula, ok? Get me?
And I burned my hand. I think I may have burned off my goddamn fingerprint! For fuck's sake, what in Thor's name possessed me to make these fucking cookies?
Yeah, maybe you read my last post and you were thinking "Go, Trbo! Take back your fucking life!" (but maybe without the fucking because maybe you don't have a friggin sailor-mouth like me).
Yeah, I thought the same thing, and we are Disappoint together.
If cookies were the metaphor for my life, if anyone smelled what I was cooking with the last post, then I am fucking doomed. I suck at cookies and I suck at life. There is no redemption here. No epiphany. Just some fucked up cookies, an aching back and a shitty mood.
I told myself I wouldn't do this. I am more than a little tired and I have a buzz going. I'm not, and by not I mean NEVER, an angry drunk. Something, many things, clicked tonight. And here I am, seething like a fat lady cheated out of a couple double cheeseburgers. So I told myself I wouldn't post a blog. After all, I felt the last post was insanely inspirational (for those of you who actually fucking got it for what it was) and I was hoping for a happy ending.
We all hope for these stupid fucking romantic comedy happy endings. This is real life, there are no happy endings. There are death and taxes. That's it, fuckers. No prince charming that falls in love with you despite you acting like an emotional douchebag and we all live happily ever after blah blah blah. Doesn't happen. You keep trucking, taking "one day at a time" until the days pile up on your to-do list like dirty diapers until you can't stand the stench and move out of your house leaving the mess for the landlord. And you keep running. Ok, maybe not you, let's be real here because we're talking about me. You keep acting like the charming bitch with a mouth that may be a bit too big and outspoken, yet has it all fucking together.
Guess what? It's not all together. It's been FAAAARRR from all together for a long time. And there is only so much pretending you can do, bitches, before it all comes back and bites you in the proverbial ass. I'm not going to lay out my gripes. I am going to let you chew on my convoluted metaphors til you choke.
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I text my mom:
Me: I will clean up tbhe rest of my mess in the morning. And if you so much as look at me like you wanna bitch at me I will shove a tray of goddamn cookies up ur ass... love ya mom.
I literally rolled on the floor laughing hysterically and crying at the same time. I need help. for realz.