They take one look at you and ask if you’re wearing fake eyelashes.
You say, “…yes. I got lash extensions. Do you li-”
“They look fake.”
“DAMMIT MOM THEY’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO LOOK LIKE MY REAL EYELASHES.”
It’s been a long week, ya’ll. A LONG. ASS. WEEK.
I am tired.
I am cramping.
I put a sticky note on my office door that read “Do not disturb. On conference call.” and took a
motha fuckin’ nap.
Disclaimer: I began writing this post a month ago, and my feelings expressed above have not changed. It’s been a long week, I am still tired, and I am also cramping. (Research has shown that the best time to write blog posts is when you’re on your period.) Sharlene is still giving me shit about my fake eyelashes.
The timing is PERFECT because I am literally in Tallahassee sharing a small hotel room and bed with my mother right this second.
I am in a weird, transitional phase of my life that I never thought I’d find myself in – I’m working for my mom and living under her roof at the same time. I’ll be 25 in September, and I haven’t lived with either of my parents since I was 17 and moved away to college. So, it’s been a little difficult for all of us. Because we’re constantly invading each other’s space, we both have each other under a microscope, which is hilarious and awful at the same time.
This post doesn’t serve any other purpose except to set the stage for (hopefully) many, many humorous, random moments that can get #shitsharlenesays trending on Twitter.
Stay tuned for next week when I’ll be live-tweeting from Vegas! #jessiegoestovegas #feelslikethefirsttime #ihatelosingmoney #BUTILOVESPENDINGIT
And yes, I’ll actually be live-tweeting. No, you won’t have to read another one of Grace’s weird porno posts, which, for the record, I couldn’t even get through without looking away from my phone at least 15 times out of shame for her.