I’m like a one man show. If you were a fly on the wall and watched my daily life, you would shit yourself from laughing so hard. I honestly don’t know how I am a functioning adult or how I can make it an entire day without death. Something that would take a normal human 3 steps, takes me about 13 with added bumps, bruises and a couple fucks.
Anyways, Saturdays are not my days…I’ve come to notice this. Saturdays are the most insane days with the most random situations. I couldn’t make up the shit that happens to me on Saturdays. But since it’s good entertainment I’ll share with you.
My water for my yard was finally turned on, I was so excited to start watering my roses and fresh mint that I didn’t take the time to properly dress myself before heading out front (light leggings and a see through pink top with no bra, hey…it’s the morning). Granted, I should have thought better, I live on a well traveled street, with a park and a tiny lake…my house is on display for the world…and last Saturday so were my assits.
I head outside with my radical outfit and my Afro hair. At this point, I’m in a great fucking mood, so great that I’m leaping down my walkway and with a final twirl I arrive at the faucet. I attempt to screw the hose to the faucet, I fail pretty badly…it’s on crooked but I figure it’s on, what can happen? Do you even need to know what happened next. I engage myself in a one woman T-shirt contest . I’m not kidding you, it’s something you see in the movies, I crank that sucker on and I hear (in my head) the song, “Pour Some Sugar on Me”, as I am dodging (while screaming) water that is shooting from all directions.
I finally realize that I’m making a fool of myself. I’m soaking wet and I have yet to even begin to water my yard. I run to the front part of the hose (I don’t know why I didn’t do this before) and I giggle because I have a cute little pink nozzle. Well, wouldn’t you know it, that damn nozzle is the devil…oh you figure how so?!
The stupid pretty pink nozzle decided it wanted to join the fun with the contest that it exploded in my hand…not only did it soak me, I dropped it and it slithered like a ravaged snake and shot mass amounts of water through the mesh part on my screen door…I once again commenced the screaming with added curse words.
I’m peeved, I’m wet and peeved. A simple task has taken me over 25 minutes and nothing but myself and my inside of my home was watered…and to be honest the house won’t grow nor will I with the extra watering we got. Now, as I don’t think to pinch the spraying hose, I run to shut it off just in time to remember a few key things; I’m running without a bra, in a soaked shirt, with pierced nipples on a Main Street with people staring at me. I am 100% certain that everyone that was watching now knows exactly the shape and size of my breasts, and that I don’t wear bras often…and my light leggings now showed off my round ass perfectly…maybe I’ll have men crawling at my door after that.
Note: Men didn’t come crawling, I waited all week to post this just in the off hand chance that they would. Also, I had to re-mop the entire inside of my house due to the damn pink hose extravaganza.
That Saturday turned into a complete mess, my friend and I were on the search for gluten free pizza (yes, yes we are those girls), and every freaking place I called acted like I was a crazed alien on the other end of the telephone. To top it off, I had a visit from an ex (they always find me) and some strange man who was 30 but looked 40 told my gorgeous bff that her jaw was a square (she doesn’t have a square jaw, and he was lucky I didn’t go mama bear and punch his face).
I don’t know about Saturdays. Maybe I should just never expect it to be normal. Or maybe I should just sleep. I haven’t decided.
I did decided that I need a rad bathrobe and fuzzy old lady slippers with radical socks. I made that conclusion when I was hosing down my damn driveway yesterday with my Afro (figures), sleeping attire while holding my Virgin of Guadalupe coffee mug. I figure I should just go all out crazy lady hosing the driveway rather than semi crazy lady.
Least that is one thing figured out in my life.
Oh, and some big tattoo guy called me the Easter Bunny…I’m never wearing pastels ever again in my life.