UGH, this week. Fuck this week. This week has been the worst.
To begin with, I got into it with a friend, and the whole thing left me feeling wretched, questioning myself and shame spiraling, as almost everything does. What could I have done to avoid the whole mess? Kept my mouth shut more often? Had fewer opinions? Having fewer opinions would certainly solve quite a few of my life problems, I thought to myself. Maybe that’s the key to all my happiness and a completely drama-free existence: LIVE AN OPINION-LESS LIFE.
I pondered how this would work practically. I guessed I would simply give fewer shits. Contemplate fewer issues. Take no stands. Carpet around the toilet in a listing I’m showing? I’m not offended. I’m not visualizing the horror show a UV light would reveal. It’s fine! Some people prefer it! Arizona rooms? Could be cute! Pleated pants? Why not? Watching sporting events? Count me in!
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized just how very opinionated I am. I’m filled with opinions. My entire molecular structure is composed of opinions. My opinions have opinions. If I jettison my opinions I’m pretty sure I’d end up like Renee Zellweger, 2014. I’d show up at events and people would be all:
Who’s that? She looks sort of familiar…
Oh, that’s Elizabeth Newlin, you remember her.
NO IT IS NOT. You’re kidding, right?
No, I’m totally not. She seems different, right?
She’s totally unrecognizable. I don’t even believe you that it’s her. It’s not that she looks bad… but that’s totally not her at all.
Oh but it is. She just did… something. I’m not sure what. But yeah, she definitely doesn’t seem the same.
Yeah. Or at the very least, weird.
So apparently I just have to get used to drama.
Then, on Tuesday I had an appointment to get my hair colored, and I was all excited to freshen the blue or possibly even go with purple instead, but my hair girl’s grandfather died, and because it’s apparently all about her, she had to reschedule. I mean, couldn’t he have held on until the day AFTER I got my hair done? It just like really ruined my day.
Also, Real Estate is not my goddamn friend this week. One of my buyers made not one, not two, but THREE OFFERS on the same house and we managed to get beat out every time. I feel like there may be a voodoo doll involved on this one. I maybe need to be cleansed with a burning bundle of sage to chase away the bad spirits. And I got the call yesterday that a listing I have under contract is falling out because the buyer is selfish and went and lost her job, so she can’t get the loan. WHY DOES EVERYTHING ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME, GOD??? First the hair appointment and now this??! One person can only take so much.
Plus, we have ants. In our master bathroom. On the second floor. Tiny little ants milling around my makeup and jewelry, where there is no food or anything even remotely food related. I can only assume they’re ants who ride the special bus.
About a week ago I bought one of those sets of ‘ant bait’ things. This is how the box says it’s supposed to work:
Which, at this point, I’m finding very convenient… for the ant bait company.
So let me get this straight: The little guys crawl in to the ant bait thing and take the food back to wherever their home is to die, right? So I won’t actually see any dead ants, because it’s not a trap or anything? I should just see ‘fewer ants within a few days’, right? Meaning it’s completely impossible to prove or disprove the efficacy of the ant killing of this product?
Awesome. Because it’s been a week and I’m not seeing ‘fewer ants’. I’m seeing exactly the same amount of ants, which is like 8 more at any given time than I’ve seen wandering around on my counter previously. Also? I’m pretty sure they could not possibly care less about the little flower shaped ‘ant bait’. See?
If there’s something in there they want to eat, shouldn’t there be like an organized line of them heading in and trooping out? I saw A Bug’s Life; those motherfuckers are militarily trained. They find the food, they gather the food. These dudes in my bathroom are on Rumspringa or something, wandering around, seeing the sights. No one’s going back to the hive (hill? I guess I should have paid more attention during that movie) to tell them where to get the good stuff. I call bullshit. I’m pretty sure they’re selling weird little empty flower shaped pieces of plastic in packs of four for $6, and I got scammed.
And to top it all off? I went to put away towels in the bathroom the boys all share this morning and found this:
Yep, that’s a wad of toilet paper someone dunked in the toilet and threw at someone else, which apparently got stuck too high up for them to reach and dried there. Because I live in a frat house. With low-IQ, vacationing ants. And my hair isn’t cute. And I’m failing at my job and mired in drama.
So, fuck you, this week.