This week’s re-run marks when I began testing the waters of being myself online and on this blog. I was curious how it would be received and if I’d lose readers. But ultimately I have decided that I am sarcastic, at times inappropriate, and enjoy profanity. Why not curate a space where we can all come and do exactly that?
So, without further ado…
**The following blog post is rated PG-13. Reader discretion advised**
You know that feeling where life is flowing as smoothly as a baby’s behind and just keeps going that way?
Yea, me neither.
For years I have been plagued by a shithead who insists that plans and budgets are for suckers.
His name: Irony.
We have spent many an unpleasant moment together and I must say that his attitude could use some adjusting. I got to reminiscing about some of our time together and I was reminded how obnoxious he really is.
For example, he will have me convinced that it is a great day to do some laundry. So, I wash everyone’s bed sheets. I am then rudely awakened by a puking child who cannot make it to the toilet or puke bucket and instead christens the newly washed and dried sheets with bodily fluids.
He will make me think that I have outsmarted my exhaustion by drinking a large cup of caffeinated coffee at 5 pm (it’s 5 am somewhere) so that I am not a crabby, cranky mess at bedtime. It never fails that will be the one night that my lovely children go to sleep without a fight and on time. I am left wide awake; the following morning everyone is up early and rested…except yours truly.
He gets me thinking that now is a good time to splurge on some “I am dying to get done” home improvement projects only to curse my much needed home appliances into non functioning pieces of scrap metal leading to a more than empty bank account and higher than high credit card bill.
He gets me all excited about nearing the end of a car loan only for said car to go kaput.
He watches me configure the week’s meal plan and even goes as far as to let me cook it a day in advance. Only for my family to decide they want carry out.
He gives me a free morning where I don’t have to wake anyone up before the sun. For some reason they get up anyway. Then, he sprinkles his magic sleep dust over my children on school nights so that when I try to get them up for school way past the alarm and one too many tuneless renditions of “Rise and Shine” later, leaving me to engage in an epic battle of “I don’t want to get up!” because they are too damn tired.
He gives me the grand idea to take the kids out somewhere to run off their energy. Turns out, the only one who needs a nap after, is me.
He has all the kids sitting quietly watching television on the couch so I decide to sneak away to write a little blog post and suddenly they are screaming, fighting, starving and dehydrated.
He is such a schmuck that the definition of what ‘irony’ actually means is unclear. So I have to google the word ‘irony’ to ensure that I am using it correctly in a sentence. Is that ironic? Google was unclear. But, it did bring back some Alanis memories.
Forget karma and her bitchiness; irony, you are an asshole.
Just for shits and giggles, let me introduce you to one another. Karma, meet Irony. Let’s see what kind of sadistic demon spawn the two of you can conjure up.
*Originally posted May 2017