I Didn't Sign On For A Series in Welcome To My Shitshow

As the saying goes, some days you’re the bug and some days you’re the windshield…That about sums up today. Well, actually the past seven years to be honest and someone keeps tagging me as the damn bug! When do I get my turn at being the windshield because this really is starting to suck.
The last time I checked, I’m pretty sure that I didn’t sign a contract to continue with a long running series of, “My Shitshow.” What kind of moron would want that? I mean, it’s bad enough that I’m totally traumatized from the influx of stupid people that have seemed to find the revolving door if my life and they just stand there. Yep, just standing there letting the next idiot in and the next…until all these nimrods are all just standing there judging me because they are too stupid to push gently on the door instead of randomly pulling and tugging in whatever direction the head lemming is going. Note to self, I need to start locking that door.
Relationships at my age are like, “I justneed sex!” Or “I wish a man would look at me like that chubby chick is looking at that Twinkie.” …my all time favorite weirdo thought is, “Hmmm…I wonder if he’s going to bitch about cleaning up after me when I’ve wet myself because I forgot where the toilet was because I have dementia.” …and I’m even bitchier because I’m old, old, have dementia and I’m wet. Men, I have come to realize, are just walking boners. Some are just boners and others are boners that are pricks. Yeah, I said boner prick.
I’m in a “relationship” with a narcissistic, self-centered, and egotistical douche canoe. Surprise! Surprise!…I know…I’m the moron that got myself into this. Well, guess what? He’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Masterba…I mean, Mr. Hide. After he realized that I have bodily functions, he seemed to turn into Sybil. Okay, I admit it, I floated a biscuit in front of him. A loud, demonic, stinky fart that could start a biological war but in my defense, when I tell someone to STOP TICKLING ME!…damnit, stop it. I’m middle age and something is bound to slip out, leak out or fall out when I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe. No need to spin that balding head around and freak out!
There, you have my rant for now. Maybe someday I’ll have a book called, THINGS THAT DON’T PISS ME OFF…hey, I can dream can’t I?
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