You know your week is off to a stellar start when it has Valentine’s Day AND 2 of your ex-boyfriends’ birthdays in it.
Did I mention that both are in long-term, committed relationships?
I didn’t? Well, now I did.
Bitter: party of me.
What made this gay heart weep tears reminiscent of Lady Gaga losing all those Grammys to Adele [that’s right, “album of the decade”, mm hmm] was just making it through the snark-inducing shit I deal with.
Join me, please.
Thank you Brian B for the inspiration from our fb chat.
[Now, picture me in a cute 60s PanAm-esque Flight Attendant outfit ...]
Good Morning, passengers of Gay Hearts Weep Airlines, this is your flight attendant – Benjamin – speaking. You need to board this flight quickly and quietly. Your flight crew appreciates this.
Now, here are some simple rules which will ensure everyone has a pleasant flight and walks away from this plane alive.
There is no need to talk to anyone. It is O’Dark-Stupid in the morning; that means it is time to sleep. No one gives a shit about ANY of your problems. To all children that are under the age of 5, please pay close attention:
Shut. The. Fuck. Up. It is way past your bedtime so NO ONE should hear a single peep out of you! If you continue to make noise? I will pepper-spray you my damn self. You have been warned.
[*ahem* It may be noted here that some have theorized I have a problem with children. Those people? Are perceptive]
Needless to say, I am not a morning person. Nor can it truly be said I’m an afternoon person. Nor much of a Night Owl. Come to think of it, I think I’m set on perma-snarky.
I wonder if it’s a medical condition.
Should I treat it with wine?
Let’s examine this past Monday, as an example of why I’ve such an outlook, together:
I got up at O’Dark-Stupid in the morning to be at work [again, not a morning person – but, thank gawdd for coffee] and wade through a pack of imbeciles.
I mean pleasant people.
No, I mean completely selfish assclaps who seem to spend hours plotting how to make my mornings at work as difficult as possible.
[Some people call them customers.]
Anywhoo, after all of the loveliness of an 8-hour shift with no real break, I hopped in the car to drive my tired ass home [Please note that I refrained from nabbing McDonald’s – my de facto comfort fast food – stoopid diet. Bugger.] only to discover that my front driver’s side tire had a lovely sharp screw.
Embedded in it.
At least something’s getting screwed for Valentine’s.
Yepp, the day before Saint Valentine’s and I am single, dealing with a flattening front tire, fighting that impending-30s spare tire, and fighting the urge to punt anyone in the balls who so much as crosses me.
Okay, I totally took the coward’s way out and called Grandpa to ask what I should do (aside from replacing the tire) – he promised we could spend the next morning replacing or repairing the tire. *Whew!*
Assured of future success with the tire, I threw caution to the wind and let my hair down. Way down. In fact, I asked my lovely roommate Melanie to chop it off.
[One way to lose weight, cut 3-4 lbs of hair.]
Some people deal with things through shopping [guilty], eating unhealthy foods [also guilty], inappropriate behavior [need I say it?], but on a diet and dirt-broke I turned to the old stand-by: snarky and inappropriate commentary and re-invention.
A change-up as simple as hair cut or color can perk up even my shittiest day – of course, pairing it with an over-priced t-shirt would make it complete, but, who am I kidding? Not gonna happen.
With my short haircut – inspired by What’s-his-name-you-know-the-hot-one-on-CSI – and a bowl of low-cal devil’s food cake mix [tastier than cardboard, but not much] I had a bounce in my step.
The bonus? The fact that many 18-25 yr olds think I look 22/23 with it is totally [low-cal] icing on the [gawdd how much I wish it were real chocolate] cake.
Hrmm, perhaps it wasn’t such a shitty week after all.
Or maybe that’s just the wine speaking.
Snowball fights, snowboarding, skiing, sleigh rides, and building a badass snowman, are all great fun for a gay heart snow day, but getting up early in a blizzard, having to scrape your windshields, de-ice the car, and then drive it white-knuckled like a little old lady all the way to work, will make many gay hearts weep icicle tears and wish they were on a beach in Hawaii.