The Ogre

“Sometimes You Just Have to Accept that You’re an Ogre.”

Okay, fine.

So, what I really meant to say is that “I” need to accept that I just may very well be an ogre. 

A better smelling one (on the days I actually choose to shower…or drown myself in a fragrance which really only ends up making me smell like a big field of blossoming flowers with only the subtlety trace of a Chinese public restroom…), with better hair (for those days I actually decide to combo-it-up and shower AND wash my hair…Groundbreaking!), with better skin and pigmentation (for the days my skin doesn’t decide to resent me and morph into what can only be described as a ‘map of the world’ with 3D effects—because apparently I have the longest puberty lifespan in the fkn world…)

I can only but see it now, I’ll be a fkn 85 year old troll housing these unwanted orphan zits from everyone else under the trenches of crow’s-feet, and chronological landscapes that prove I’ve roamed the earth since before Ozzy had a clue of wtf was going on.

Yes…but a modern day ogre with good ol’ fashioned ogreish ways, I am.

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Ah, but how I love to nestle my disproportionately immaculate sized head full of air and absolutely nothing more, into whatever I can find around me that’ll serve as a pillow so I can lie down and veg.  I’m like a more colorful version of Snorlax—Wanna try and catch me!? 

You probably could because I wouldn't actually consider getting up—it’s just too much unnecessary work (I was so much fun to play Tag with back in the day, I swear). 

I literally am pretty much an impossible person to persuade to ‘come out’ of my cave once I’m in it. Seriously.

My dream house would be everything I could ever want or need right before me. 

Actually, on second thought, that would pretty much create a comparable living standard to that of a ‘hoarder’… and I really do fancy my leg space, so let’s revise that comment and say ‘within reasonable proximity’ so I don’t really have to move all that much to get or do something.

For those of you who truly don’t understand the magnitude with which my laziness stems from, please try and picture this… at the tender age of 9, I really wished someone would create a bed that had some sort of way you could take a piss or sht without actually having to get out of bed! 

RIGHT?!?!

I’m sure at first thought it may seem mighty nasty and unhygienic to some of you judgmental pricks out there, but don’t kid yourself—I know you would eventually enjoy the convenience that wondrous invention would  bring! 

No more freezie-ness trying to roll yourself out of bed and frozen fishstick toes that can cut through glass, as you sprawl across your bathroom tiled floor like a zombie from Walking Dead, because like an idiot you forgot your giant fuzzy slippers in your bedroom. 

Or…. how about those irritating toilet seat chills that always seem to creep up on you making you look like an epileptic ‘Grudge’ (for the ladies), or a slanted-eyed-chinaman-from-the-mountains ‘Angry Bird’ (for the men)—because not only are the lights too bright, but somehow you all wake up from bed with hair poking out like an ‘Angry Bird’ or cockatoo! .. I mean… personally, I think this is likely because you all sleep like the fkn Tasmanian Devil at night, rolling around and about in bed while steam rolling your head into the pillows.  I mean, ‘us’ ladies move at night too… but you don’t see us waking up a beauty queen like you fellas do! 

Anyway… before I go off on a limb and once again lose my train of thought…let me just continue saying that I don’t know how they would create this piece of awesomeness but if they did, it really would be epic.  

Don’t try and rationalize or breakdown this idea because it doesn’t fully make sense!  I’m not a fkn ‘furniture architect’ (that what they call them?? o_O ?? lol) for God sakes!  I’m the creative mind behind the sht, okay?? That’s MY job!!  

Now, some random Swedish Ikea man should thank me and run with this idea.  Take it, and go. You’re welcome.

All I’m saying is, I’m sure your plans sound and will be great… I really do.  But--I’m just not interested in attending if I have to:

-          get up

-          shower

-          put on a clean pair of underwear (because I hate laundry and avoid it for as long as I can)

-          change (creating a mountain of clothing, because somehow the outfit I always end up choosing is the very last article of clothing found at the innermost bottom of my closet)

-          get into my car: freeze my ass off in the winter or suffocate in humidity in the summer, like Sponge Bob under a heat lamp (bc Canada; Toronto, really only has black and white sht weather to experience and choose to hate from)

-         drive through an almost always guaranteed bottleneckclusterfk of city traffic

-         waste gas (because I’m Asian and every nickel counts, since pennies became about as useful as a drive thru shoving my receipt into the paper bag I’d be about to Kirby the contents of in two seconds, and couldn't possibly be bothered to complain, return /or exchange the burger and fries I’d be shtting out in the short few hours that’d follow after, if somehow it was the wrong order)

-         arrive to wherever the fk your sht is going down and hope to find that you have some sort of house pet I can allocate all my time to for the rest of the evening, to avoid socializing with anyone else there…

It really all does sound enticing to me, but... I’ll pass. 

Like Jesus (as some non-believers would argue), I am ‘that person’ who always ignores the Facebook Events I receive (because I can) and for kicks sometimes, click the ‘I’m Attending’ button with really no intention of doing so come the day of the event.  Whatever.  Kill me.

At the end of the day, I just really happen to enjoy staying in, where I can freely be the hideous woman that I am in silence, more.  Nothing personal, I swear.

That is all .  YUP.