Irked Up to Here

Growing up, my mom never used the words “annoyed” or “irritated”. 

Instead, my brother and I were either “irking the shit out of her” or “getting on her last damn nerve” (of which, she only had one). She has always had a colorful way with language. For this, I am grateful. I can bootleg a lot of her most common sayings and idioms, and sound way more witty than I actually am. And also, some of her sayings are just way more spot-on than any of the ones general English has given me.

Today, I am definitely feeling irked.

It is a combination of lots of things. I have less money in my account than I wanted, so I am feeling super stressed out about making all of my dollars and cents count. In the absence of having a job, I have to find other means to keep myself productive. Thus, I have resolved to finish all of the housework that I’ve been putting off. This week, I’m focusing on laundry and cleaning out my closet. I hate doing laundry. And both my father and my brother are on my last damn nerve. But I am also *thisclose* to getting my period, so my inability to put with menfolk this week could also be due to that.

In general, I’m not having it this week. Any of it, whatever “it” is. And yet, the Universe gives no fucks about my #BlackGirlWithAttitude feelings. How do I know this? People keep bugging the shit out of me.

As much as I love my friends and doing nice things for them, I have had a lot of people asking me for shit in the last 72 hours. Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem. If I have the resources, the means, or the time to contribute to others—I do so. This is partially because I genuinely enjoy being a kind person… and partially because I believe in stacking up as many good karma points in my favor as I can. (You never know when you’re going to do something really shitty. Thus, you always need to Universe balanced out in your favor.) But as I have limited resources right now, I am not feeling as giving. Plus, I have given a lot of energy and money and time over the last seven months, because I’m part of a friend’s bridal party. Her wedding is this weekend, and I am so very happy for her. I am also feeling so very tapped out. Whenever someone asks me for something, I just want to chew them a new asshole. Like, really, don’t ask me for anything. Don’t even ask me how my day is going. Yes, I’m on that level of irk-dom right now. But then I realize, it’s not their fault that I’m unemployed. It’s not their fault that I agreed to be a bridesmaid. And it’s also not their fault that I have a hard time setting boundaries with my friends. So then I feel guilty and say yes to whatever request was made of me… and then the whole cycle of being too through starts over again.

It doesn’t help that Los Angeles is hot and muggy as hell these days. Like, I don’t know where all this humidity came from, but I would appreciate it if it went back to whatever Midwestern state it’s supposed to be in. In general, I hate summer weather. All year, everyone is always whining about how cold it is, despite that winter in Los Angeles means we stay around 60 degrees. But alas, all I hear is, “Wahhh, it’s so cold! Why can’t summer be here?!” And in my head, I’m like, “Shut the hell up! This is glorious weather.” People who complain about winter have never been fat in summer heat. Summer is the worst if you are adiposely-endowed. In summer, I devolve into a walking waterfall of face and under-boob sweat. To remedy the extreme heat that my body is absorbing, all I want to do is to wear dresses. But wearing dresses does not mean the same thing to fat girls as it does to thin girls. If I choose to wear a dress, I am inevitably making the decision to have my inner thighs chafe from chub-rub. I don’t always feel like dealing with this,  so then I wear pants. But if I wear pants, I am making the inevitable decision to suffer from swamp-ass (and also, swamp-crotch). So, by mid-July, I have acne from my face sweating so bad, a perpetual creek of sweat running under my breasts, thighs chaffed so bad I can’t walk, and swamp ass.

Moral of the story? Summer is the worst.

 

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