When people talk about laundry I am usually like, ‘c’mon dude, don’t talk about laundry like a loser, be cool.” But guys, my laundry is really, really piling up. No matter how many loads I do, I always have two full baskets of dirty clothes, plus a huge pile on the floor in front of the washing machine. The pile is extra problematic because other shit always ends up in there. Last week I accidentally washed a dirty diaper, a plastic giraffe, and a pair of goggles. And fuck all of you with your new Netflix standing-up folding techniques because I am over here throwing BALLS of clothing into my kids’ drawers. I don’t even care.
I am also in awe (more boring talk) at the amount of dirt and crumbs that accumulate on my floor every day. Like, did you all roll in mud and then have a sword fight with pretzel rods?! And I remember when I was younger and would have to ‘clean up’, I would see that on hard-to-reach fermented old strawberry on the floor and think, “eh, someone else will get that one.” Well, now I am the fucking someone else. It’s me. If I don’t get it, I’m gunna be living in a house filled with old dirty rotten fruit! It’s a lot of pressure!
Shifting topics—I think I need to delete my Instagram or something because the bloggers are making me crazy. Like, how HOW HOWWWWW do they look like that after three kids? How do they have time to get ready and how is their house so clean? And every time I scroll through my feed I add another four pink sweaters and a seventy-five dollar eyebrow pencil to my cart. Oh, the perfect pencil skirt I never knew I wanted and have nowhere to wear? Yup. The one-of-a-kind (sponsored) tweezers to grab my hard to reach neck hairs? Sold. And you think these tanning drops will give me an extra glow? And, what? They always sell out? Hell yeah, I’m on it. I’ll take two. I leave feeling broke, and sad, and sloppy, and uncool. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. But, I keep going back for more. Fuck you, Courtney Shields and Krista Horton. You are crack. And how are they all an extra small? “I got this in my normal size (little smile), extra small.” So like, are you a miniature person? I mean it makes sense because when I look at how cute they look and then order these things and try them on and realize I look like a 6 foot tall bottom heavy donkey with no tits---but really, EXTRA small? Only extra I want in my friends is the extra sauce and mayo on their large three-way order. (If you don’t know, I can’t help you.)
Blah, Blah, segway….both boys have fevers now and I would say that someone in my house has been sick for at least two months.
Even when they aren’t officially sick at least one person is snotty and gross and red-cheeked. I am really tired of quarantining everyone because they keep passing it around and all of a sudden I have become a weird isolated hermit who only interacts with people at the grocery store. Oh, and dealing with their crankiness when they don’t feel well has led to two months of candy, m&ms, pizza, and booze for me. And I hardly shower. I think my drop-off look has Rocky’s teacher officially concerned for my well-being at this point. SLAY BABY, SLAY!
Oh, and Happy Monday.