Sometimes I feel like my hormones are being controlled by two guardian angel divas that both don't like me and secretly talk about me behind my back, or on my shoulder. Seriously, I can't seem to shake my crabbiness. I get irritated off of shit that really wouldn't be even a 1/3 as bad if I took up more herbal past times.
Speaking of herbal past times, I had my cousin break down the difference between the regular 4/20 and the type that has you mentally blending in with your furniture. I mean, it wasn't a big deal for me pulling in the vapors of happiness back when I was in my early 20s, but now I feel like I just don't want to smell like it, I'd rather be "happy-productive" than "happy-knocked the fuck out while the clock ticks away and makes me a day older with stinky breath".
Music is the only thing that really calms my nerves, but my playlist game is about the same as Cousins taking the lead on the Redskins' offense. And if you don't know what I mean, just look at their record this season.
That's my truth. I'm lost in "Fuck Everybody Universe" desperately trying to locate an exit. I just want to punch a old lady in the knee caps right above her corrective socks. I don't even know if there is such a thing as corrective socks, but I'm sure I just jinxed myself for 2050 when my Social Security and AARP membership will be on deck. I'll be coming out of my health care building and somebody with boots made out of steel or something 2050-ish will probably kick my knee caps inside out.
It's all good tho. I accept my negativity at the moment. It's called being a real human. All you "happy-all-the-time" internet people can kiss a Port-A-Potty toilet.
Rude-tastically Yours,
La Doodlebug
PS: My song called "The World Doesn't Need A Hug, It Needs A Vibrator" will be dropping on iTunes for Inauguration Day. #YourWelcomeDammit
