Good day.
It's Wednesday...for those of you that would say "Happy Hump Day", I'd like you to stop. Immediately. It's not cute or even remotely close to clever. You can thank me later for saving you from yourself and your Hump Day shame spiral.
Two things happened this week that are monumentally important for me to talk about:
1. Husband's new tattoo [and subsequently my seething jealousy].
2. Drama-ridden 40-somethings.
There are very few things in life for which I am crippled by jealousy. They are as follows:
-people who own mansions in Malibu
-Husband's adorable Irish nose [if you've seen my honker, you understand]
-new ink
Husband's new tattoo is awesome. Next time you see him, you should ask him about it. I'm hoping to get one soon to assuage my tattoo envy. I have it all drawn out and ready to go. I can hardly sit still because I want it SO BAD. I believe that "tattoo addiction" is real and like any addiction, people are affected at different levels. I'm only truly affected when I see new ink on a friend or something really cool on a perfect stranger. I stare them down, stewing in my own jealousy, picturing that stranger's ink on my body. It should be mine, I tell you, MINE.
Other people get tattoos whenever they feel the urge. I applaud them because it's a bold move to "just get a tattoo". I'm too calculating and Type-A to do that. Also, I live in fear of disappointing Bahb and Big L. I'd never want to get a tattoo that would induce the "parent face" that sends you careening into a deep, dark spiral of self-loathing and despair. [How do parents DO THAT? It's an amazing skill]. Luckily, Bahb and Big L do not fall under the category of "tattoos = satanist drug-users and heathens" so I can easily avoid the parent face. I like to plan my tattoos, work with a design, and think about it for awhile. I spend time with art because I believe that art deserves it. It's called due diligence, people, learn it and love it.
Anyhhhhway, if you're not a fan of tattoos, you probably have one foot out the window of your office building. Come back. Don't make me sing
Third Eye Blind to you. No one wants to hear that. [Singing it in your head? I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not].
The second topic for the week: drama-ridden 40-somethings. I find this type of person to be both pathetic and incredibly annoying. I can't understand anyone who brings drama, and only drama, to the table. If you're like me, you have the following questions: Why don't they have anything else to talk about? Why do they insist on playing the victim card? What do they DO all day?! I've done some thinking about this and all I can conclude is that 40-somethings that behave this way are one of two things:
1. woefully inept at life
2. so far up their own ass, they have no idea that they are now in their 40s and need to grow up.
It's completely unnecessary to behave like a child. SHUT YOUR LIPS. You sound like an asshole.
You might be thinking
"but Shawnsie, haven't you said before that assholes are totally unacceptable?"
Yes. I have said that.
"So why are you picking on 40-somethings? Wouldn't anyone who brings unnecessary drama fall under the asshole category, and therefore, be totally unacceptable?"
You are so correct and even more importantly, astute. [I think I love you].
"Then explain yourself or you'll just look like you're hating on people in their 40s."
I suppose you're right...AGAIN. You really are just the cutest. I'm not intentionally singling out people in their 40s...I think anyone of any adult age should ACT ACCORDINGLY. The reason I've picked "40-somethings" is because it's unacceptable that someone who has lived and learned through their 20s and 30s
still behaves like a whiny high schooler. Baffles me, really.
I'm sure you've guessed by now that there is a particular 40-something I'm thinking about while I write this. You're correct [again] but I don't care to name specifics...mostly because I've never interacted with this person [thank you baby Jesus], but Husband has and so her irritating dialogue is dinner conversation. Then we have dance parties while I stare at Husband's new tattoo, sweating with envy.
I'm sure every single one of you knows someone who is of adulthood but acts like a child. I'm not sure I'll ever understand these "adults" and for some reason, the older I get...
the more there are. Who let that happen? Bottom line is that the balance of the universe has to be maintained. We should round them all up and stick them in a rehabilitation camp. Obviously, it would have to be operated by robots because not a single, mature human could stand that many in one place. I did us all a solid and found some robots to use:
I like him. He's shifty.
