My Life

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playing the game

Published August 12, 2013 by snowhillofdoom
dear pain in my ass defender at my over-30 soccer game which i joined in order to have fun,
i have always been a fan of the game. i was put on a team as a wee lass, and it has continued to be a big part of my life to this day. there is always more to learn, on the field as a player and off the field as a spectator. i have a sincere appreciation and respect for the game and its players and fans. it is, after all, the greatest sport ever invented, in the entire universe. everbuddy knows dat.
support for this wonderful game depends on many people–those of us who truly love the sport, and, unfortunately, those of you who truly love to act like complete jackholes.
i tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, and i tried to teach you the rules of the game, but every time the ref made a call, or didn’t make a call, you questioned his authority. he explained a few of the calls to you and your team, but he’s a ref, not a schoolteacher, so there just wasn’t time to explain everything.
because i was marking you, i tried explaining the calls (or non-calls) to you (and your teammates) because i sincerely thought you were just trying to learn the game. if someone is trying to learn the greatest sport ever invented, you bet i’m going to try to teach them whatever i can. it raises the level of competitive play. it creates understanding of the game. the more you understand, the better you play, the better i play. i’d rather play against someone who is knowledgable and can challenge me, otherwise, what’s the point?
soon i realized that you were playing the game as if you didn’t know your ass from your head, and you were damned proud of it–rules?? shmools! there are plenty of em but who the f*ck needs em!
this completely insane and purposely blatant ignorance of any and all rules was appalling. you’re that kid on the playground that gets tagged and cackles, “nope, i ain’t ‘it’, ha ha HA! i’m just gonna keep on running and do whatever the f*ck i want because i’m a huge annoying IDIOT wheeeeeeee look at me shake my ass, i’m totally farting right now, it smells soooo good, ha ha HA!”
throughout and after the game, YOUR teammates were coming up to ME and “apologizing” for YOU and your shmattitude. you didn’t even shake my hand much less apologize. but if you HAD apologized for your shmattitude, i would’ve put my hands in the air and said, “whoa, you don’t need to apologize for your ‘tude, what you NEED to apologize for is your lack of SKILLZ wha-WHAT!”
let’s review: when you stick random parts of your body out and the ball luckily bounces off of you, it’s not considered a “pass” or a “trap”. you couldn’t learn to trap even if you were IN one. when the ball bounces off of you, and you look at me and smile as if you have something to be proud of, and that your proudness of yourself requires no words because i should know what you’re smiling about, it just makes you look like you’re wearing an even bigger ass-hat than you already were–you silly gangly sloth-person, i beat you at every foot race. when i run i leave my floppy clown shoes at home. all i could hear as i whizzed past your crooked horse teeth were comments from your teammates–“wow, look at that girl run, she’s fast”. and, after you caught up to me, and caught your breath, you still had the gall to talk smack about MY ass?? un-fucking-buh-lievable. take a look at the stat sheets you freak. i think you “won” a total of 3 (maybe 4) balls the entire time i was marking you, and that was because of shortcomings on MY part, not because you excelled at YOUR defensive game. the rest of the time i was taking you to school. and i’m not even that good. (newsflash, your report card came, it says you got an F in defense.)
anyways, where was i.
there were a couple of plays that happened. firstly, you blocked my teammate with your body and didn’t even go for the ball. my teammate called “obstruction” on you and you were like, “obstruction my ass, what the hell is obstruction, that wasn’t obstruction, why are you yelling obstruction!?”. and i said “because obstruction means you used your body to block her without going for the ball, it’s against the rules” and you said “chuh, what-eh-vur!” and ran off.
secondly, the next play it was you against me. i tried to get past you but i tripped over your floppy hoof and the ball ricocheted off you and you immediately got in my face and said, “what, are you gonna call obstruction on me again, go ahead, call it, call obstruction” and i said, “no, because that wasn’t obstruction, you didn’t use your body to block me” and you said “chuh! what-eh-vur!” and galloped away.
then there was a throw-in for my team. you yelled at the ref, “hey, they have a ton of players offsides ref, call offsides, holey crap, what, are you blind?!” etc and so forth. when the ball went out of bounds you asked the ref why he wasn’t calling offsides, “there were a ton of them, can’t you see them, they’re ALWAYS offsides”. and i said, “there’s no offsides on throw-ins”. again, you used your extra large vocabulary to snap “chuh! what-eh-vur!” and gallop off.
sometime after that, i beat you to the ball and sprinted toward goal and the keeper had no choice but to take me out. this is against the rules but it was just instinct and it was a soft tackle and he did apologize. he said he panicked and had to do it. (this was because you were ineffective at your j-o-b and he once again had to pick up your slack). no one got hurt so i was fine with it, but then out of nowhere, your stupid horse face appears (took you a few seconds to catch up to the play) and you proceed to once again push your shnozz into my personal air bubble just to heckle me and say “ha ha ha, how did you like THAT, huh!?” or something to that effect. your keeper is apologizing and helping me up while you continue to serve your signature smack sandwich. your keeper tried explaining to you why what he did was against the rules, and you said something along the lines of “what-eh-vur! she deserved it”. gallop gallop gallop.
then some random dude on the sideline asks the ref if he can sub in for your team. the ref had the decency to ask our team if we thought that was acceptable, which we did not, as we had less players during the first half of the game and 2nd half you had a player leave so we were playing 8 players to your 8 or 9 players. well, you threw your arms in the air and said “aw come on! just let him play! what’s the big deal! it’s just one guy! you guys are such whiners! your team whines too much! i can’t believe you won’t let him play! this is so STUPID! man, you guys really like to whine, you’re such whiners! just let him play, we’re just playing a friendly game! you won’t let him play, seriously?! oh my god your team is a bunch of whiners! i’m so sick of all your whining!”
and on. and on. and on.
the game commenced, without the extra player, and you were still complaining that we were a bunch of whiners, so i finally turned to you and said, “actually, if you listen carefully, the ONLY person whining RIGHT NOW and for the last few minutes is YOU, so why don’t YOU quit YOUR whining. you’ve been WHINING the whole entire game. if you’re SO tired of listening to WHINING, YOU have to stop. YOU are the BIGGEST WHINER here”.
and then you said, pointing your hairy wrinkly hoof at me, “YOU listen to ME, i’m OLDER than YOU, i’ve been playing this game LONGER than YOU’VE been ALIVE”, and then you pointed at me super a lot and opened your horse eyes wide and raised your horse brows as if to say, ‘you better respect, beotch’.
(and, i thought to myself, wow, YOU just burned your SELF and you THINK you just burned ME. interesting. nice work. definitely dealing with a psycho.)
so i sez, “well i’m SO glad i’m NOT YOU, because you ARE old, and if i were YOU, i’d be SAD, because you’re an OLD PERSON picking on someone YOUNGER AND SMALLER than you, congratulations, you know what that makes you, a big fat BULLY, that’s what you are, A BULLY” and i pointed at her as i ran past, eyes wide open with brows raised high and a nice smarmy smirk on my face.
and now, my favorite part. you yelled at me as loud as you could and lunged towards me, probably to make me pee in me drawers because you felt that you were pretty scary. all 5 feet 4 inches and 130 pounds of you. i might have peed my drawers but it was likely from laughing at you. i think you screamed something like “oh YEAH, well YOU’RE the biggest FUCKING BITCH blah blah BLAH!!!”
seriously, that was the best you could do? i’ve been called a biggest fucking bitch so many times in my younger, smaller life by people much more entertaining than you, please, don’t waste your best material on me. my own mother has called me that and plenty of other more colorful names, while trying to kick me out of her house, ripping my phone cord in half and jumping on top of me while simultaneously trying to strangle me. you can’t compete with that shit, trust me. i felt bad for you because i knew you were saving that particular morsel the entire game, building up to it so that you could whip it out and get extreme satisfaction from the climax of your dramatically stellar performance, bravo bravo, “real housewives of seattle” is FINALLY going to snatch you up at the next tryout. i’ll send them a letter of recommendation on your behalf.
it was just so perfect. you enunciated very well, and projected your voice–directly at the back of the ref. the ref turns around and blows the whistle to stop the game, tells us to split it up, and you’re STILL talking smack. then, because you’re a super classy gal, you immediately perform a foul, and as is custom, bitch and whine about it (because you haven’t learned any rules yet, even though you’ve been given at least 60 minutes’ worth of complimentary instruction), and i’m about to take the free kick, but i’m waiting for you to give me 10 yards. everyone and their brother is yelling at you to move back. the ref blows his whistle and tells you “she’s asking for 10” and you’re completely oblivious to everyone and just have your flaring horse nostils pointing at me, eyes glaring, like you’re about to charge me. you’re doing your weird “dance”, shuffling from hoof to hoof, saying “come on, kick the ball already, what’re you waiting for, kick the ball, you’re taking forever, what’s wrong with you, kick the ball already” and i’m just standing there rolling my eyes, they can’t roll back any farther, and you’re still heckling me. you look like a skinny bobbleheaded puppet with large fake wooden teeth, a marionette being made to look goofy and gangly and uncoordinated, i hoped i wasn’t paying to watch this show. the ref actually had to come over to you, shove you in a box and physically try to move you back. which you still didn’t do. it took a lot for me to refrain from kicking the ball directly up your shnozz. you can thank my therapist for that, she is obviously doing a smashing job.
you were still heckling me after the fact and the ref yelled at you, like a mama dog to his bad baby dog, “I ASKED YOU BOTH TO STOP, SO YOU NEED TO STOP” and you flapped yer yap and he said “BUT YOU WERE THE ONE WHO STARTED IT and I ASKED YOU BOTH TO STOP”. gee whiz. what do you want, a written invitation?
my teammate sensed that you and i were having severe domestic issues and offered to switch positions with me. i thanked her and said, loud enough for your horse face and teammates to hear, “great idea because i’m about to kick someone’s ass”. (get it, “ass”, horse, donkey…? no? too soon? aw, forget it.) i got some looks from your team that indicated they were taking me at my word. the new girl i was marking was careful not to stand too close. the thing is, everyone else on your team was so NICE. if they accidentally bumped into anyone, even if it was only a tap, they would still say “oops, sorry about that!”. i had conversations with several other players, the normal chit chat and joking around about this or that. you couldn’t have been any more annoying even if you’d tried.
in any case, i almost forgot why i was writing you this letter. you did everything you could to get a rise out of me, to push my buttons, and all after i’d had 2 super crappy days in a row. you were really testing my patience. this is something i’ve been working on during the past few years–trying not to lose my shit at the drop of a hat around assholes like you. you were a true test. not once did i take you out, nor did i drop any eff bombs–and no, i’m totally not fucking with you–i did not cuss, not a once, not a ever. that, my friend, is what you call ‘progress’. also, it is called, “i. am. so. AMAZING.” because god knows, i am always talking shit. and i mean, always. so. thank you.
please tell me you haven’t borne any children.
in conclusion, the next time we meet on the pitch, i give you this–my personal guarantee–i promise to make your life extremely difficult. i can assure you that my henchmen have also received the memo and look forward to our meeting.
bye bye you silly frito! i’m outta here!

love story

Published January 19, 2013 by snowhillofdoom

company work party. theme: casino night. location: tasty brewpub.

a man and wife. condition: happy and sober.

wife: knows her limits, eats the company-provided dinner before consuming several pints, is feeling relaxed, chummy.

man: is blitzed and has already increased likelihood of chauvinistic-based lawsuit before introduction of appetizers (“coworkers’ wives vs smack-talkin’ sex-maniac”). skips food, strictly liquid diet. location: follow trail of poker chips dropped sporadically across casino floor. condition: swaying and humming to music ain’t nobody can hear. forecast: natural disaster of mass proportions.

man, very courageous, has light bulb: time to take party out of enclosed party room to public dining area downstairs. double light bulb: night perceived as young + plenty money left = drink more beers. bonus light bulb: must fulfill immediate urge (triggered by live music) to drunk-dance despite presence of many strangers.

wife: pretty sure bad idea but too late, man awkwardly holding wife tightly. location: upper left arm. condition: swinging, spinning, shaking. lots of shaking.

man: unknowingly uses wife to wipe out half of dance floor. dancers flying left and right. new form of dance-fighting invented but debut not well-received. man slurring, “yeah, you godda hang uvvit, dat’s right”.

wife: “godda hang-a-whaahhhh???”. feel weird and definitely not feel like dancing. people watching probably thinking same thing.

finally make it home. so happy made it home. mmm, bed. fluffy fresh and clean. look so comfy. like bunnies n clouds.

wife: crawl in bed go seepy-time.

man: bed? attack! pillows? blankies? attack! attack!

translation: BARF! BARF! BARRRRRRRRFFFFFF!!!!!

wife: sigh. change bed. clean all barf. change clothes. blech. sleep in other room.

man: not even bother wake up. just BARF! BARRRRF! BARRRRRRRRRRFFFFF!

wife: blech! change bed! clean all barf! change clothes! sleep in other room!

man: argh! still BARFING?! why so much barfing?! for gods’ sakes man wrap it up already!

wife: BLECH! CHANGE! CLEAN! CHANGE! SLEEP!

man: “want! blanket!”

wife: “newsflash! pukestorm! everything perish! all gone! only one sleeping bag, mine! no sharing!”

man: “you make man sad. juss want sleep bed.”

wife: “cannot sleep bed. you, human puke fountain. bed, giant puke-sponge. need burn bed. all febreze on earth not fix!”

man: “but me cold bwahhhhh me turning into grown man-baby! me crying waaahhhh!”

wife: “you cold because you not wearing clothes! this not rocket science! this ridiculous!”

man: “me no wann wear clothes! me wann blankie! why you not let me have blankies? you so MEAN! what, you a blankie police now?”

wife: “juss TAKE me SLEEPING BAG! TAKE! now for love of GAWD, SLEEP! or me punch you in stoopid puking fountain face!”

repeat cycle throughout night, til, finally, man snoring in 2.5 seconds flat.

wife awake til sunrise. not good mood.

man wake up complaining. “my neck. my back. my neck and my back!”

wife don’t care. ignoring.

man keep talking. digging deep hole. digging. diiigginnnng. still more digging. man not remember ANYTHING. unbelievable.

wife: too tired to kick ass. saving energy to plot revenge in form of blog entry.

taking the crazy train to cuckooville

Published January 11, 2013 by snowhillofdoom

dear _________ (name of person/s not in the room),

why do you insist on making my life

a living _________ (name of a place, full of burning)?

when i say i __________ (plucking) hate dealing

with your __________ (poop), it does not mean

‘please continue to torture me with your evil shenanigans’.

when i say ‘get your ________ (poop) together’

it does not mean ‘cry like a _________ (shmucking) baby

plus whine about all of the pretend problems you created”

and it also doesn’t mean

‘please use my face as your personal dung-bucket

during _______ (any or all major bank holidays)

for you to unload your drama-infested-freakout-baggage into’.

ahem.

when you are clearly an insane person existing alongside those who are NOT,

there are a few things you will never know even as i explain them to you now–

1. a non-insane person will not believe anything you say.

because. you. are. clearly. INSANE!

2. a non-insane person is not going to sympathize or empathize!

there will be no thizing!

3. a non-insane person who appears to be listening is actually

fighting the urge to tear their own arm off to beat you with it

AND trying to scratch and claw their way into their happy place

while waiting for your psychotic ass to shutthefuckup!

why this addiction to drama when there are so many other more fun things

to be addicted to? like gambling. gateway drugs. gerbils.

i don’t give a _____ (flippin’ hockey puck rat’s ass)

what the _____ (hockey puck) it is! just ______ (FLIPPING!!!) DO it!

why am i even writing you a letter.

obviously this is for my benefit only and not yours.

because even if i DID send you this letter, you’d just tell yourself

that i accidentally sent it to you instead of my other friend with the same name

because i am addicted to gateway drugs and gambling gerbils.

that i am so silly because my face looks nothing like a dung-bucket.

which means that YOU will learn NOTHING

and I am RIGHT BACK WHERE I BEGAN.

FLIPPIN’HOCKEYPUCKRAT’SASSHOCKEYPUCKHOCKEYPUCKHOCKEYPUCK!

dirty bird

Published December 19, 2012 by snowhillofdoom

her–whut wuth dat burd doin’?

me–what bird?

her–it was in the road

me–was it movin?

her–no it wasn’t moobing it was fwat like maybe sumbunny car run it o-burr

me–then it was probably hurt by a car

her–or dead?

me–yes maybe it is dead

her–how long is it dead for? forever?

me–yes forever

her–well who run it o-burr

me–somebody probably ran it over accidentally with their car

her–but WHO mommy WHO run it o-burr

me–i don’t know, i wasn’t there when it happened

her–but MOMMY WHY YOU NOT KNOW

me–because i wasn’t (FREAKING) THERE!

her–but mommy, i think YOU ran it o-burr!

me–I DID NOT! WHAT ARE YOU FREAKING TALKING ABOUT

IT WAS DEAD BEFORE WE SAW IT IN THE ROAD!

her–but i think you DID it mommy because it dead

and we don’t know nobuddy else who did it

me–ARGH ARE WE REALLY HAVING THIS CONVERSATION

YOU BETTER NOT TELL PEOPLE YOUR MOMMY IS

RUNNING OVER BIRDIES BECAUSE I DIDN’T RUN IT OVER

YOU WOULD’VE HEARD ME RUN IT OVER

O MY GOODNESS YOU DRIVE ME CRAZY!

anyways, why i got sucked into that trap i don’t know.

so far i haven’t heard her spreading any rumors

so it will probably come out later on

when she is at show n tell in the 3rd grade. bah!

o my gawd, seriously?!

Published December 12, 2012 by snowhillofdoom

who ARE these people who think they can just walk all over you?

why are they such bullies?

when i used to work at an art studio, an ART S-T-U-D-I-O, i got bullied all the FREAKING TIME.

getting bullied all the freaking time wasn’t anything new, bullies have given me a hard time my whole life, but come ON, it was an ART STUDIO. you know there is something wrong if you get bullied in an art studio.

i was the floor manager so i had the pleasure of dealing with all sorts of weird situations. most of the time they were entertaining. and then a situation would come along that made absolutely no freaking sense whatsoever, so much so that i wouldn’t know what to do except become a deer in the headlights.

so the owner from the store next to the art studio opens the front door, keeps it open, stares me down across a crowded room of families who are sitting at tables quietly painting or standing in line to pay (i am at the register which is far away from the front door) and who are all now staring at her because she is just standing there with some sort of mysterious but urgent purpose.

i know who she is, she’s the witch next door who owns a children’s store and hair cutting biz, and i got customers up the yahoo so she is definitely last on my list of priorities. she “ahems” me from across the studio because her presence has not gotten the royal welcome she was trying to suck out of me and i barely look at her out of the corner of my eye and, get this, she literally says “it smells like dirty diapers in my store” with such an air of authori-TAY and as if it’s all my fault. at this point i have already gone well past my tolerance of her witchy brew and i’m not sure what company protocol is in this sort of situation so i just keep doing my job and click my heels three times to try to wish her away.

it doesn’t work. she continues. “it smells like dirty diapers in my store and it’s COMING FROM YOUR STUDIO.” and i’m like, woop dee doo lady, thanks for the tip, bye bye for now, nice catchin’ up with ya. of course, the customers are like, wtf is going on, is there going to be a gang fight soon, should we be hiding under the tables or should we just continue painting? they look at me as if i know what the fuck to do and i’m like, uh, hello, she is clearly a psycho, and psychos can’t be dealt with, everybody knows THAT, and, NO, i don’t know what to do. HOWEVER, if anyone has any suggestions just feel free to blurt them out at any time. anyone? anyone???

so the witch is still not getting the desired results and her posse (worker bees) have now assembled themselves by her side (like they do in music videos when they’re about to break it down) and they are advancing into the studio towards me while she continues on her weird rant about “stinky diaper smells coming from here” la la la la blah! her posse is all smarmy looking, hands on hips, some of them are filing their nails even, surly expressions all pointed in my direction, while their queen just babbles on and on about dirty diapers. god, people are so fucking weird.

i try to muster up any sort of maturity i might have hidden somewhere so as to appear professional even though this situation is clearly insane. and then i decide that i must throw myself into the fire and let the art studio customers continue their afternoon without having to see this strange and stupid spectacle. it doesn’t even make any goshdarned sense and it’s just uncomfortable when you are a guest somewhere and something weird happens and you’re trying not to react or stare but you don’t want to be rude and just ignore what is obviously going on. what i SHOULD’VE done is formally introduced her as “the witch next door, in case any of y’alls wanna get ur kids’ hairs cutted after y’alls done paintin’, uh hee hee.”

i go for the simplest solution and just start walking out the door of the studio and into the witches’ store next door, hoping they will follow me. sure enough they follow me without missing a beat. the queen is still flapping her hairy wrinkly yap and her posse is still hands on hips and surly. and then as if the whole situation wasn’t already weird enough, they form a circle around me–some are sitting on merchandise shelves, some are behind the counter, some are actually lying the fuck down on the floor, all the while there are CUSTOMERS in the store and some random kid is getting a haircut, and the person cutting his hair comes over to join the circle. hell, they even rang out a customer while all this was going on. i mean, seriously, a customer actually BOUGHT something in this environment (she gave me a questioning look but i was like, dude, why does everybody think i have the answers, i don’t even know my ass from my face at the moment).

what’s even WEIRDER is that i haven’t even said one fucking word yet. not a word. not even a dirty look. nothing. i guess i was just in shock and also waiting to see what they were going to do so that i could come up with a clever response. hopefully something involving kung fu fighting and plenty of judo chops. but they really didn’t have anything for me to respond to because it was all just nonsense. you can’t reply to nonsense with sense, everbuddy knowed dat!

so i’m just standing and turning ’round to kind of hear what they want to throw at me in case there IS by chance SOMETHING, ANYTHING, i can work with. but there ain’t. it starts with “the dirty diaper smell is coming from your studio” to “oh my GOD the dirty diaper smell is coming from YOU!”–i kid you not. NOT ONLY did they say THAT and then all AGREE, they all (get THIS) took turns leaning in to “SNIFF” me, and THEN said “oh my GOD the dirty diaper smell is coming from YOU” and then they thought it was so funnnnyyyyy, oh, so much laughing, so much, so much, can’t, breathe, so, funnyyyyy.

now, what kind of peoples do these sorts of things exactly?  i wasn’t sure what was going on, it was probably one of the most surreal times of my life. and even up to THAT point i STILL hadn’t said ANYTHING, not a peep, not a dirty look, nuthin’.

but after the last dirty bird had “sniffed” me, and they had finally run out of stuff to say, AND they were done laughing, i was like, uh, wow it’s really quiet now, awkward, ok, i guess the party’s over bitches, good meetin’, let’s do this again sometime, peace out! and so, i walked my dirty diaper smelling ass out of the store (i had to step OVER the girl laying on the floor to get out of the circle first) in total silence, and went back to my studio, still unsure about what exactly had happened and why. when i told my coworkers what had happened, one of them said, “next time she comes in here complainin’ about the smell, tell her to check her upper lip!”.

i thought i was over all that, but then today, TODAY i got picked on AGAIN.

the afternoon was going as well as it could’ve been considering i have a cold and feel like poop.

we get home from school and everything’s fine and then i tell my kid to stop whatever he is doing so we can do homework first. well he doesn’t want to do it and he’s too tired and he’s whining and writing his letters all weird and acting stupid etc and i’m trying to keep him on task. i’m thinking, gee WHIZ, all ya gotta do is draw shapes, count circles, write the letter “m”, what the HECK, just hurry up already, you’re KILLIN’ ME!!! i’d do it myself but my handwriting is WAY nicer than yours!!!

he just gets worse and worse. then we are almost done and by then the other kid has chimed in with her 2 cents’ worth and then all of a sudden they are just talking down to me, and saying stupid things like “you always say no to everything”. and i ask, “to what exactly?” and they say, “to having candy and anything fun”. et-cetera, et-cetera, et-cetera.

the whole time they are bullying me i am calm and telling them dumb things like “i say no to candy because i care about your teeth” or “i want you to make the next letter nicer than that one” or whatever, managing both of them at the same time, and i didn’t raise my voice at all or “punish” them or threaten to take anything away.

and then one of them goes to the fridge and takes down the drawing of us that i love and rips it to shreds. uhhh, what?! as IF!

it reminded me of that art studio story. it was so petty and surreal when that happened and this time with my own kids i was like, are you FUCKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS SHIT O HELL NO. it was the same situation then as it was today–sometimes people mess with you because they’re trying to get some sort of reaction out of you–and if you don’t react, they just keep poking at you and poking at you til you hopefully explode.

i was just dragging my ass around, surviving and getting through the day, and then all of a sudden they decided to fucking pull some shit out of their asses and fling it all over me. what the FUCK. man, they seriously got me all riled up and then all these feelings from the art studio and–GAAAHH!

you want a reaction i’ll give you a reaction! JUDO CHOPS ALL AROUND!!!!

what IS wrong with me.

Published December 6, 2012 by snowhillofdoom

there comes a time in your life when you have to start admitting some things.

when you have to begin to accept stuff.

like accepting that you have no idea why your thumb is screwed up because you don’t remember injuring it.

or admitting that stairs are not your best friend.

or, for that matter, neither are your feet.

sometimes you have to accept that the universe is telling you something.

like, “i hate you!”, or, “die! earthling!”.

and then sometimes you feel like it’s saying, “what, you think i’m playing around? you think falling UP the stairs is all i got for you? oh no, no no NO my friend. YOU will fall up the stairs NOT ONE but TWO times, and then, THEN, you will fall DOWN the stairs and fall straight on yo’ ASS, mwah ah ah ah ahhhhh!”.

i still can’t believe i have been falling so much up and down the stairs, it is seriously pissing me the f*ck off. when i’m careful, i’m careful. but then i guess my mind likes to check out for a split second and boom i’m down without even a chance at some sort of reaction. is it because i black out and don’t realize i am f*cking myself til i’m kissing the stairs or is it because i’m falling so damn fast i CAN’T react or am i just in la-la land, i really can’t figure it out.

i’ve fallen with and without socks. i feel like such a f*cking idiot you don’t even know how much i was stressing out about it last night. plus i couldn’t sleep because my ass f*cking hurt as well as my back neck arms and legs. i am such a f*cking mess i don’t even know what the hell is going on with me. and my goddamn thumb hurts from god knows what and it isn’t even related to falling up or down the stairs.

RAWRRR!

don’t get me wrong, i AM a clutz sometimes, but not like this. it is seriously driving me up the freaking wall. whatever the f*ck is going on it f*cking sucks and i swear to god it feels like i’m slipping on air or the rug is being pulled from beneath me except that there is no rug. it happens so smoothly and it just f*cking sucks! holey hell muther of god what am i freaking doing i mean what is freaking WRONG with me that i can’t walk up and down stairs? i’m just a freaking idiot lately!!!!

goshdangitall! i know lots of “fallers”, but i am not one of them! when a “faller” decided to wear roller skates instead of a good ol’ trusty pair of shoes, and then go partying all night, who was there to pick them up and dig gravel bits out of their knees? i was. when we were at a concert and one of our friends was having trouble standing, who was there to tell another drunk friend to please hold the other drunk friend up so that security wouldn’t notice and kick us out of the club? uh, ME. when we used to party a lot, someone would have to police other people’s sh*t and organize a bunch of drunks to kindly rid the party of the drunk person who had the potential to hurt themselves or someone else. yes, that was also me, i policed other people’s sh*t. and who drank so much that they actually blacked out (or maybe fell asleep) standing up, in a room full of drunk dancing people, and stood propped up against a bookshelf for gawd knows how long? uh, yup, THAT was ME. i was propped up against the bookshelf all by myself and i did not fall.

you see??? I am NOT the FALLER. i am there for others if they happen to fall. sure, they may end up outside face down in the bushes for a few hours at some point during the night, but if you fall down a flight of stairs and roll straight into my tv set and you’re not quite sure how or why it happened, and then you’re not sure why you’re lying on the ground with a bike helmet halfway covering your face and your legs and feet are propped up over your head and lying against my tv (and you also scuffed my tv with your shoes and are wondering where those scuff marks came from because you’ve never noticed them before)–uh, HELLO, it’s time for you to go outside.

especially if i was in the middle of making homemade stove top mac n cheese for a house full of drunk and hungry football fans. anyone who knows me KNOWS that i get easily distracted, and if i get distracted while i’m cooking, well, food doesn’t turn out the way it’s supposed to. mashed potatoes, the kind that come in a box, even THOSE can turn out totally wrong if i am not completely focused on the task at hand. sometimes i end up inventing a new recipe, like “twice-washed soup”. or an apple pie that tastes not like apple, but LEMON rather. damn. i hate baking.

ANYWAYS! I. AM. NOT. A. FALLER!!! RAWRRRRRRR!!!!