The Clusterfuck We Call Life…

Hey boo – it’s time to brazen some brass balls and rap about this clusterfuck we call life.

Here’s the problem as I see it. We love to soak the social water coolers with Kumbaya spiritual sayings and tweet out the latest “Positive Thoughts, Positive Life #blessed” bullshit in an attempt to make us look or feel better, and think it will somehow savor those few moments we aren’t wrecked with anxiety, grief, overwhelm, or just raging damn despair. 

Well guess what buttercup?

 

BIG FLASHING WARNING WITH SIRENS AND SHIT… this won’t be a feel good, manifest your destiny barrage of care bear stares and unicorn hearts. Prepare to delve into the dark, seedy crevices of life, the heart wrecking drama you’ve true-blood style tried to bury, and the shameful gaps you’ve attempted to fill with stuffed crust pizza, fireball shots, or one night stands. 

 

My point is this biblical blog won’t be for everyone. In fact, if you reckon a better life means only following some Tony Robbins fairytale of positive thinking and practicing gratitude, then bang this behemoth back on the Google shelf because I. Can’t. Help. You. 

But I promise not to be a total barbarian. And here’s why…

I know all that positive thinking mumbo jumbo sounds more magical than the three year old lucky charms still living leprechaun life in my pantry (don’t judge me quite yet), but truth is, self-help gurus spout subsurface lazy ass advice that claims to fix your problems without ever understanding what the Sam hell your problems really are. I mean Tony’s my boy and all, but thankfulness alone don’t pay the bills momma, and bitches gotta eat.

 

How about a little real-life perspective?

Your co-worker Karen, you know – the one with the massive kahunas, corset size waist, and bleach blonde hair, overhears you sobbing into yet another piece of red velvet in your Polly-pocket sized cubicle. You barely notice her prop her, much perkier than yours, ta-tas on top the cube wall when she asks “Hey, you seem down. How about we go grab some sushi?” 

Immediately you think… for the love of gawd someone actually cares. YES YES YES – a thousand times yes Karen! I could use a “friend” now! 

But, alas my broken hearted dream seeker, the cold hard truth is Karen just wants to dish the dirt so she can impress Amber in Accounting with her newfound knowledge of YO bus-i-ness! I meeeeean Amber DOES wear Loubitons and brandishes a Birkin. But you aren’t thinking that far ahead. You’re just like “Fucking A – finally someone who understands”!

As you mope, shoulders slumped, down 5th Avenue with Karen – your new confidant – you silently chastise yourself for wearing those 4” wedges that blister your pinky toe for the next 5 blocks. But what would Karen think if you had slipped into those glorious gel infused Skechers before leaving? You’ll suck it up now and hide the scars later. Along the way, you barely get a word in edgewise because Karen is too consumed talking about her latest moisturizer regimen she got for only $497 from the counter girl at Nordstrom’s. She does have glowing skin – you wonder if you should ditch your $9.95 Neutrogena? As you sit to place your order at Sushi Nakazawa, you figure you can maybe afford the edamame – that is if that Amazon purchase for the chin hair razor hasn’t cleared just yet. And then finally, while waiting for your overpriced edamame and adjusting your foot so your fresh blister gets to breathe, you muster up the courage to confide in Karen all the sordid details. You end your tale of woe with…

“Karen – the love of my life completely blindsided me and ghosted forever. I don’t know what to do!” 

Karen’s eyelash extensions flutter with compassion. She gazes directly into your soul while reaching around the edamame to touch your hand gently and says, “I have just the solution. Think of all the amazing things you have to be grateful for. You’ll get through this. Just be positive.”

WELL FRIEND, YOU’VE GOT TWO TRACKS TO TAKE AT THIS FORK IN THE ROAD.

On track one, you’re the person that says:

“You’re brilliant Karen. Let’s take this edamame to-go and hit the bookstore for a gratitude journal, some bandaids, and an extra pumpkin spice latte with a whip cream heart for Amber.”

 

OR, you think…

Gratitude? Be positive? Are you fucking kidding me KAREN? I legit just wasted every fertile second of my biological clock with this asshat who Indiana Jones style ripped out my fucking heart and threw it into the same wood chipper that wacked Court Foster in that tearjerking Man in the Moon movie from 1991. But yea, OBVIOUSLY, I should still be grateful for my liver remaining intact considering that will be the lifesaving organ that filters out all the Xanax and Vodka for the next ten months. Eat. A. Dick. Karen! And, be sure to tell Amber she looks like a baby giraffe that just took it in the ass by a buffalo when she walks in those Louboutins. 

So, in my most heartfelt voice, which track did you take? If it’s the one of pure unquestioned positivity, then close this browser window, walk back to your Stepford bubble, and keep putting those obnoxious bows the size of Russian Ushanka on your 27 month old kid’s head (and by the way, your kid is two. Not 27 months). I will not be your cup of chai latte. 

But, if you secretly know that there is more than a little gratitude necessary to solving the world’s problems, and more importantly – your own, then you’re in for a fun ride because this train of truth and semi-debauchery is about to leave the station. 

Grab your ticket and jump aboard the hot mess express where we’ll unleash the uncomfortable beasts that make you think, damn I’m more of a trainwreck than I initially thought. AND, more importantly make you realize how to live with it, learn from it, and let it fucking go.   

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