You know what I’m really sick of?
Being told how to think.
So here’s my first post for 2018 where I tell you what not to say to me this year, because I am well and truly over it.
Side note: The last few years of NYR (New Years Resolution) posts on this blog all contain the usual “what I’ve learned” rhetoric which is why for me, 2o18 is about staying positive while keeping it real.
Don’t tell me not to start the year with a negative blog post.
Because life is not all sunshine, lollypops and rainbows, okay? Those that know me know I am not going to pretend life is perfect and you know what, if you’re one of those people then stop right now. It’s okay to be imperfect. In fact, it’s endearing and totally normal.
Don’t tell me not to worry about my weight.
Just don’t do it. I know what you’re going to say. I’ve heard it all before: You’re beautiful how you are, life is too short, voluptuous is so in – just look at Kim Kardashian, you’ll waste away, etc. I also say that shit to people when they complain about their weight so if I do it to you, give me an uppercut. Unless you are actually very skinny and are talking smack, of course.
And I know, I know. I should stop complaining and get to the effing gym.
You know what? The bigger person always loses. And his mate, he of silence is golden, is an even bigger loser than the bigger person.
And this is why. Because like disease, bad energy spreads like wildfire. Which is why in 2018 I will no longer be the bigger person and I’ll be spraying that infestation with highly flammable baygon, yo. So come at me, fuckers.
Don’t tell me that Coke No Sugar is bad for you
And yes I know, you can clean $2 coins with it and remove paint and all that shit.
Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a fuck.
I don’t smoke, rarely drink, have never done a single drug so if I want to indulge in a single effing Coke No Sugar a day I will bloody well do it. Let me live, people!
Don’t talk to me if you’re going to judge someone’s life choices
Unless that person is dying because of said life choices, don’t discuss them with me. I don’t care if they haven’t bought a house yet and are still renting, give their kids too many lollies or spend too much money on clothes.
Not. My. Business. And it’s not yours either. So zip it.
Don’t tell me a story about your child being a bully and laugh about it saying, “they’re so head strong!”
No it’s not effing funny and they are not effing headstrong: your child is a bully and it’s not a good look – for your child or you. And your laugh tells me you actually don’t mind having a bully child which says a lot more about your child than you.
Don’t tell me I’m deceiving my children with Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.
Because it’s bullshit. My children are quite enjoying, you know, being children and one day they’ll work out that Mum was actually Santa and that’s exactly how it will end: innocently. And maybe then they will appreciate all the fricken effort I went to by being Santa Claus.
Stop making shit bigger than what it actually is.
Don’t tell me to be outraged about girl and boy toys and pink and blue shopping aisles.
In fact, don’t tell me to be outraged at all. The outrage is so outrageous that it just makes me more outraged.
My girls like dolls. My nephew likes trucks. Some boys like dolls. Some girls like trucks.
Can’t kids just like what they fricken like and leave it at fricken that?
And just like that
My first blog post for 2018 went against the grain of my usual soppy hopes and dreams for the new year. And you know what? It felt great.
BRING ON 2018!All comments read, appreciated and responded to. So thank you x