Sunday, March 20, 2016

Sad Frown Vodka Face

Sad Frown Vodka Face.  I have this.  I have this a lot. Not because vodka makes me sad but because people make me sad. There are bad people in my life who think my love of vodka should be integrated with a love of people. Specifically bar people.  These lousy fucks are insisting that I should go to a bar and pay triple the price for my delicious vodka and wear pants while I participate in complete fuckery.  This is all wrong.  This is not how I do it.  This is not how I do it at all and here's the fuck why:

I work with people all day long.  Co-workers.  Customers.  All goddamn day I manage to hide my disdain for the human race.  I'm attentive, understanding, and downright fucking pleasant. Everybody is under the impression that I'm fanfuckingtastic.  I hate them.  They don't get me.  I'm sarcastic and witty.  People aren't.  This is fine. I don't hate them because they don't get me.  I hate them because they aren't me.  I like me.  I'm comfortable with me.  Me gets me.  When I take me home after a long day at work we have a great time.  My patience for the outside world ends promptly at 6 pm.  And doesn't.  In addition to being a lover a vodka and a hater of people, I am a parent and that shit means there are kid things to tend to: parents, teachers, assemblies in the middle school gym, and the absolute worst - other kids.  I shoot the fuck outta my comfort zone each and every day.  Coping with the minutiae of every day life wears my ass out.

I have serious anxiety.  I shoveled my meds in like a good girl, hand over fist, for years.  Last year, I quit.  The zombie life wasn't fun anymore.  I needed to feel things again.  I feel eleventy-million times better but I FEEL THINGS AGAIN.  I am acutely aware of my emotions.  No - I don't understand them - that would be crazy.  I'm just aware of them. Anxiety and the unknown are a bad mix.  People = unknown.  I cannot predict what people, specifically strangers, will throw my way.  At work I'm paid to deal with these situations.  At home, not so much.  For the safety of myself and others, I tend to take the most familiar route to all the things.  I try new things.  However, I try new things with old people.  People I'm used to.  People who know my crazy and embrace it.

Bars fucking annoy me.  I hate cigarette smoke (yes, I smoke, shaddap). The smoke consumes me.  I don't like the smell and it plays hell on my allergies.  An hour into the smoky bar scene I get fat, watery eyes and I become a creepy mouth breather who grunts her words. Additionally, some fuckhole I happen to traveling with will insist that we sit "really close to the band so we can hear them better". Now the talking and the hearing are gone. And then there's the asshole of the group who wants to sit inside because "It's way too humid out here and my hair will get frizzy".  Inside is either a) smoky as fuck, it's dark and there are 3 men from Deliverance sitting at the bar or b) you can't smoke at all, it's dark and there are 3 men from Deliverance sitting at the bar.  Also, bars have karaoke.  A lot of karaoke.  I cannot take karaoke in any way, shape, or form.  #Ihatekaraoke   There's people at the bar.  A fuckton of people.  People I don't know and people I know all too well. Neither are good.  If I wanted to see these people, I'd invite them for brunch (champagne style).  I don't.

I'm not looking for a man.  If I accidentally fall over one at the grocery that's cool but I'm not out on the prowl.  Hunting down men in bars is what I did 10, wait, and 20 years ago.  Not only have I outgrown it, I live in fear of it.  I was the party girl. I couldn't keep up with the men I met.  It was fun. No, I thought it was fun.  I know now for certain that shit wasn't fun.  I gained nothing from that time in my life except massive utility bills from sheet washing and Sad Frown Vodka Face.  This me doesn't want to get hopped up on goofballs and fall for some guy who pays attention to me because he wants to get laid.  I'm no longer that person and the desire to go back in time is zero.  Waving the "come out and meet someone" flag in my face will get you set on fire.  I've already met all the people I'm going to like.  At least for now.

I love to sit outside with friends, listen to a great band, have a few cocktails, converse, judge the other people, and nosh. I rock the theater, stand-up comedy, and concerts.  A day drunk at the beach with friends is spot the fuck on.  Hanging at local events, trying new restaurants, and day trips are how I do it now.  Hell, a day of people watching with a good friend is fucking tops.  Life is way too short to have Sad Frown Vodka Face.  I choose Happy Smiley Vodka Face.  That's how I do it.  If you don't like it, fuck the fuck off.

Thank you to my good friend Briton over at Punk Rock Papa for making my Sad Frown Vodka Face not so sad.

PPB aka the Precious Princess - The Princess is a twice divorced, currently single, self-proclaimed member of the mentally hilarious. She has been referred to as living under a rock stocked with vodka and anger. Her 13 year old “Mini”, who is carbon copy of the Princess, is often the subject of blogs, and Facebook posts. In addition, she writes about dating, the dumbness of boys, life after 40, and shares stories from Bananaland which is both her past and current residence. She is the owner/sole admin for the Facebook page Precious Princess's Guide to Bananaland where she is famous for her rants and her blunt, honest, and sarcastic look at life. She blogs both extremely funny and all-the-feels posts at Princess Bananaland. She hates people, kids, and karaoke. She uses all the swears and makes up dirty words.


Unknown said...

I would sit and drink vodka with you. I would even make pretty drinks just for the fuck of it. But sadly... You live in the wrong fucking part of the world. Lol #Vodka

Just a cape is in the dryer! said...

Yes!!! The vodka should be happy!! None of those smoky, douchey assholes. Just the good, happy people. And the vodka:)

TracyontheRocks said...

Sometimes I'm reading your posts and I'm like "Wait did I write this?" Is this me? I'm Ron Burgandy?