THE GRANDMA

And it feels so very good.

Let me tell you about it.

This morning started like any other Tuesday morning, waking up at 7:35, getting dressed, brushing my teeth, putting on make up, ect. So imagine the look on my face when I step out my door to be confronted face to face with a writing spider.
Now do any of you know what a writing spider is? Just in case you didn’t here’s a lovely picture.

Also I don’t know if you guys know this but the writing spiders bite is just about harmless. However, if you have ever seen one you know that these bad boys are HUGE and still horrifying.

And in a fit of panic I stumbled backwards into the house and unfortunately brought the awfully large spider with me.
So now I’m screaming and cursing because it’s in my house. IT’S IN MY FUCKING HOUSE. The place I sleep and eat and shower and poop. IT’S INSIDE MY HOUSE.
And I can’t step on it because what if I feel that sucker squishing beneath my feet. I would never be able to walk properly again, that’s how serious that is. So what do I do?

I scream some more as if my screaming might just scare the damn thing to death. But of course it doesn’t. So I still have this huge, horrifying, harmless monster in my house. After screaming some more and doing the “HOLY FUCK THAT THINGS HUGE” dance (you know the one that we all do when there’s something grossly large or scary around) I decided it was time to make my move. I run to my room, grab a good sturdy shoe and squash that motherfucker. 

And as I stroll out of my house feeling like the proud champion I was, I noticed that across the street were some construction workers, and then sitting on their porch were my neighbors, and walking her dog was the old lady from down the street, and all of them, YES ALL OF THEM, were starring at me in a “WTF” kind of manor. They had all heard my over exaggerated screaming and repeated “OH FUCKS!”

“There was a spider” I mumble and continued to my car.

And that was how my morning started off.

Now includes talking to kids about douching and slang for the word vagina!

I’m stuck in bed because of a bad back. What is this, am I 80 now?

“I saw Big Nina last night. We talked about you.”
“Oh yeah? That’s nice?”
“Yeah, she was with her man”
“That’s cool?”

First of all “her man”? Who talks like that? You mean her boyfriend? AND YOU TALKED ABOUT ME? What a general statement. What about me did you talk about? How did I get brought up? Why did I get brought up? Was it good things? Bad things? WHAT? Also why would you tell me that? You talked about me? What is that?

Sometimes I wish we were just slippers and pajama pants kind of society.

“It’s my marijuana”
“No it’s my marijuana. I smoke it 24/7”

I didn’t even know about marijuana when I was 10 so how is that my 10 year old brother and his friend are making jokes about it?

I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER! I GOTTA DOCTOR WHO POSTER!

My mother is coming down Sunday. She’s not coming alone either, my brother along with his friend Danny, will be accompanying her.

I’M GOING TO DIE

“Mk. Also feel free to let me know if I’m being a awkward creepy ex girlfriend.”
WTF DID I JUST SEND?!?

So yesterday a black man with an artificial voice box pulled up next to me at the gas station. He rolled down his window and proceeded to dedicated a song to me. I think what bothered me most about this situation, isn’t that he was black, or old, or that it was incredibly creepy and awkward, it’s that he didn’t even get GAS.

Also that whole situation begs the question of “Why do I always get hit on by old, creepy, black men?” Because honestly I’m not the greatest looking person and I definitely don’t have an ass worthy a black man’s attention. But maybe that’s just a stereotype. Maybe it’s my “tree trunk thighs” which aren’t really tree trunk like, just a bit on the meaty side. Maybe I seem easy. Maybe they’re just desperate. MAYBE I REALLY AM  ATTRACTIVE. But then why is it just black men who ever only hit on me? Maybe it’s just that they’re ballsy enough. Or maybe they aren’t put off by my chronic bitch face. MAYBE MAYBE MAYBE MAYBE. 

Also I miss my best friend.

“Where’d you get those fries?”
“From behind your seat,”
“Uhnu Burger King,”

I’m doing it wrong.