Drab Woolen Balls

The other day I fashioned a reaching tool out of Thomas The Take Engine Track Master tracks in order to retrieve a roll-away dryer ball from under my Pottery Barn couch. I was so happy with myself that if I could have, I would have given this bitch a high-five.  But one clap is weird, even for me. Also, Pottery Barn is NOT worth the extra money you pay. Nope, not at all.  That couch is sucky…and probably haunted.

The elation I felt over the small victory of ball retrieval was just sad. How low have I sunk into the world of domesticity if the moments of happiness I snatch are based on woolen balls and kids’ toys versus men’s balls and sex toys?  Okay, that might be a bit of a stretch, my youth was not exactly an adult testicle and battery powered free-for-all, but you know what I’m getting at here, folks.

I’m old and settled down.

It’s more than just the music being too loud.  I mean, the music isn’t just loud in bars and clubs, but in stores. I hate shopping at clothing stores because I can’t even hear myself think about how terrible the “Boho Chic” trend is for everyone.  Not only that, but it hurts my brain to see a revival of 60s-90s attire paired with horrible modern country pop. Mostly because country sucks. That’s right!  I said it.

My last blog post was about finding joy in the little things in life, but what happens when those joys make you feel tired and drab? Shouldn’t I be hanging out drinking micro-brewed beer and talking about underground music and gastropubs? Instead, I have had more than one conversation about how I was skeptical of Boogie Wipes at first, but now see that they are essential to parenthood and maybe even life.

To be honest, IPAs suck too.  That’s right! I said it. I’m no fucking hipster!

13-nacho-punch-hipsters-beer.w190.h190.2x

There was a time where going “downtown” was the height of an exciting night out.  Now, if some of my childless friends suggest going out to eat downtown I can physically feel my soul sink into my knees.  I will slump my shoulders, soften my knees and throw my head back and wail “But we’re gonna have to find paaaarrrrkkkkiiinnnngggg.” Honestly, most of the time I say we’re busy if it means going downtown or to any place that doesn’t have a handy parking lot.  I don’t need that kind of God damn drama in my life, you DINKs.

I once promised a friend that my writing was not a “mommy blog”, but in reality, you don’t need to be a parent to hate complicated “fun”. You just need to be a homebody and not need others to entertain you.  It’s called being “content”.  Try it you extroverts!  You might like it! Just binge watch something in your elastic waistband pants, get to bed at a decent hour and you tell me what your “hangover” is like the next day?  You won’t be able to because you’re going to be content and get shit DONE the next day.  Or maybe you’ll binge watch another show, but you MAY fold some laundry at the same time and that is productive and doesn’t cause STDs.

That’s right!  I said it. Damn young hipsters! Get off of my lawn!

 

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