Are you for real?

Anyone that knows me knows that I’m pretty much a straight shooter.  Just kind of is what it is with me.

I don’t wear rose colored glasses.  Never have.  I’ve tried on a pair, but they are JUST NOT ME at all.

I like my for real world. 

I will tell you that I had a horrible day if it’s applicable. 

I don’t always have a clean house.

I always have piles of laundry in my room that needs to be put away.

Just. is. that. way.

I also try to write the way I am.

Not everything is hunky doory all the time.  That’s just not real.

There’s a blog I read and I swear sometimes I think this woman has to be on some serious happy juice because honest to goodness…she is always happy.  Things are always great – house is always clean – child (or children) are always dressed like they are going to have pictures taken.

It really plucks my nerves.  Because I don’t believe her anymore.  Not that I don’t think her love for her hubby and or kids is fake it’s all the other stuff.  Why does it have to be that when your child kept you up all night long you had to design monogrammed something or others to give out and some luncheon for wayward spiders?  Or since you were up decided to re-wallpaper the dining room?  REALLY?  You can’t just say you are dog arse tired and don’t really want to do anything but sit and watch HOUSE reruns?  REAALLLLLY!!!!???

I’ve always said this about women lying to each other and not telling the truth.

It’s like lying to other woman about childbirth.  Tell them it was wonderful and this story of what you think it was like – fine but they are going to find out the truth and then they’ll be mad at you. Childbirth hurts like hell.  Yes, you get over it.  It’s amazing what the body can do but it is also the most disgusting thing after.  Your butt hurts, your tutu hurts, ya boobs hurt.  It just does.

It’s the truth. Tell me you had a bad day and DID NOTHING.  Tell me you want to bury your husbands golf clubs somewhere in the back yard.  Tell me you want to run and hide from your kids.  And dear lord, please quit monogramming everything.  Especially the freaking cookies.

On.my.nerves.

REALLY.