I thought to myself today: Hey, lets write a real post about how lonely you feel in this world, Ericka, and then we’ll just include a picture of a pair of Skecher Shape Ups and maybe everyone will be blinded by the way they accentuate the ankle so much they’ll forget all that lonely bullshit you wrote in the first place. And then I trashed that idea.
Yesterday was not such a good day. I’ve been sick for the past week with what I assumed was
a flesh eating virus strep, but it turned out to be a simple sore throat. Oh and one of my thyroid glands is swollen so it’s been nice knowing ya. But anyhoo, besides that clusterfuck of medical information that now has me panicking beyond belief (although it’s good to know I’m not alone), I also had to take my child trick or treating with a group of other parents which certainly meant I was going to accidentally say the word “penis” nine times and everyone was going to assume I’m a loony tune for genatalia.
That didn’t happen.
What did happen was enjoying a great time with really nice neighbors and watching our kiddos have a blast hunting for candy like my grandmother hunts for men until roughly 7:30 p.m. I only managed to mildly embarrass myself once when my two very nice Christian neighbors casually mentioned a Specs liquor store is going in next to the local grocery store which incited me to jump up and punch the moon in the face shouting, “Really? A Specs? Are you serious?? That’s awesome!! Hey Matt, Matt guess what! They’re putting in a Specs!!” They pretended not to notice in a very obvious way. But besides that, trick-or-treating went relatively well.
Which is why once I got home I managed to create a mental list as well as a verbal list (much to my husband’s “oh please no, sweet baby Jesus!” chagrin) of all the reasons why they must secretly hate us. A couple of noteworthy bullets:
- I look twelve.
- I’m the size of a small gopher.
- I have fabulous ankles. Too fabulous.
- Matt wore gray. He should have worn blue. He’s ruining our lives.
- Ava looked adorable. Too adorable.
- I didn’t eat any candy. They must think I’m a candy hating bitch.
- I’m nearsighted. Too nearsighted.
I proceeded to spend the rest of the night combing through this growing list instead of sleeping because sleeping is for baby pandas and consequently woke up utterly exhausted and mind numbingly depressed.
And very very alone.
I have great things, good people in my life. But I guess I just want to find more friends, more women like me. They don’t have to be carbon copies. That would be no fun and incredibly terrifying, but perhaps if I could find a few women who like to read (real books), drink a glass of wine, enjoy a cup of coffee, make fun of people wearing spandex, hang out in their Skecher Shape Ups, moon helpless policemen while they’re driving, then maybe I’d feel a little less lonesome.
It’s good to know dear readers and fellow bloggers that I’ve got a group of looney tunes like you who kinda sorta know what I mean.
I penis you. I mean love you. Nah, let’s just stick with penis.