I sat down.
As I’m looking at the screen, my fingers go numb the second I touch the keyboard.
Today I really thought I had it – I’m gonna write down my first “why me?!” blog.
You know, the kind – the usually very successful kind – when people bitch about this and that and get a lot of “thumbs up”, likes or even “You go, girl!”‘-s.
I want to write that blog.
I wanted to write it for a long time now, but every time I thought about what to write the same thing happens – I back out.
What was I even thinking – it’s not that bad – I could have had a worse day.
I could have mastitis or a 100k debt, I could have been in a war, I could …
COULD I REALLY?
Well, no – my boobs don’t produce milk so I think it’s safe to say I don’t have to worry about “…inflammation of breast or udder tissue usually due to infection…”.
I also don’t have any financial problems, so the debt part is (luckily) out of the question.
War? Nope, Slovenia is a … Let’s not go there, let’s just say that if nothing out of the ordinary happens – it could not happen to me.
So, what do I even have to bitch about? Ain’t nothing wrong with me (I am already over the baldness situation), I’m healthy, I have the best wife in the world, worlds greatest dog, a nice apartment and a steady job that allows me to pursue my (other than the shitty job) dreams.
People always say: “Don’t nag, you have everything you need…”
Why is that so? Why am I not allowed to “nag” about my problems.
Yes, I have problems.
I didn’t pass my graduation. I’m 29 and this sucks big time.
I’m sleepy. No, I don’t have a crying baby (in my household) – I’m just sleepy.
Does having a baby give an individual the right to bitch – cuz if that’s the case – I’m fertilising my wife TODAY!
I wanted to sleep in because I have an off day, but I couldn’t.
You know why?
Because apparently our street became THE top destination when it comes to the question that kindergarten teachers ask themselves every fu*king day of their IDONTKNOWHOWYOUCANHANDLETHATSHIT jobs: “Where are we supposed to take 50 fricking kids that annoy the shit out of their parents and every other (human) being”?
Well, apparently the answer is: “In front of that weird ginger guy’s balcony.”
Tnx to all the sitters – tnx for waking me up and making me realise that sleeping-in is bad. I could have done so much with my life.
Tnx again.
So yeah, I have shit to bitch about. I could fucking bitch about a brat that took a shit…in front of my (before mentioned) fucking balcony.
Last Friday I came home from work.
Sunny day, I kiss my wife and pet my dog.
She’s folding some clothes (the wife, not the dog) as she goes: “There were a bunch of kids in front of our building and they started playing doctors and stuff…” This sentence left me flabbergasted. “What? Doctors? As in show me yours and I’ll show you mine???”
She nods. Of course she didn’t do anything because she is a very kind person (and they cought her in a very good mood, haha).
Just when I’m texting my BFF about the situation that occurred, I hear someone screaming. I look through the window and there they are.
“Pee! I peed before. Now you pee! Take a poop! …”
WTF, I shouted “HEY!” and they ran away.
The kids these days … We were young, we (are?) were stupid, but we never … Haha, oh the memories. As I’m cruising down the memory lane I hear the some sounds again.
The fucktards are back!
R U FKIN KIDDIN’ ME!?
I walk outside slowly (I live on the ground floor) and I stop in front of the kids. One would think these are some 4-6 year olds that couldn’t hold their bladder and had to go poopie in the bushes – nope – there were like 5 or 6 kids way older than 10 and they kept looking at me like I am some kind of a weirdo.
“Do you shit in front of your house too? Is this normal to you?”
A few of them ran away, one just kept looking at me and another one said: “We have our parents here. They know we are here.”
Well, missy – “Please, take me to your parents. I have a question for them.”
There is a playground in front of our building. A bunch of parents and their kids are there. The little girl takes me to her mother.
“Hello, is this normal? Is it normal for your kid to take a shit in front of my balcony, in the middle of the street?”
She got all protective and before she could even try to say “my kid is not like that”, I said: “It’s NOT normal for a 10 or 12 year old to take a shit behind a car. It’s not …”
She gets her act together and interrupts me with: “Let’s say Ookie-Dookie. Who went Ookie-Dookie? And where?”
I’m like … What?! No, no … Noone did an Ookie-Dookie or Poopie or I don’t know, how you call it.
SOMEONE SHAT IN FRONT OF OUR BUILDING and as I pick up my dog’s Ookie-Dookie (and she takes a dump in the middle of a field, NOT in the streets), someone is gonna pick that SHIT up and throw it in the garbage.
She apologises and starts to look for something to put the Ookie in.
I’m proud of my vigorous speech and filled with inner joy as I observe the picking-up of the Ookie-Dookie.
…
Um, I got a little carried away – what was I bitching about exactly?
Fuck it, I have to Ookie-Dookie!
