Giving Less Trucks

January 8, 2016

To get the full effect of this post, copy and paste the content into Microsoft Word (not sponsored), and replace truck with fuck.  If you’re easily offended, read on my friend, welcome to the edge of your comfort zone.

I’m one of those incredible humans that makes resolutions.  Far be it from me to brag, but I’m an overachiever, and I don’t just make resolutions on the first day of the year, I make resolutions on all sorts of days.  Resolving to get my shit together isn’t the hard bit, it’s the follow through that I struggle with.  Maybe I should resolve to procrastinate and spend too much money on shoes and activewear and then I’ll be able to put a gold star on the resolutions chart.

We’re house sitting at the moment, pretending that we’re the kind of couple that can afford a lifestyle block with fruit trees and a pool.  We’re not.

The girl who really does live here has a Wish Jar.  The idea is that you write down what you wish for and put it in the jar.  I briefly considered getting one for Miss M, but reminded myself that I do not have the strength to not grant her wish for a kitten, a puppy or a miniature horse.

I’m a giver, and I have been known to be a giver of trucks.  I give so many trucks that you’d think I’d have no more trucks to give, I should have used my truck quota, but the trucks keep coming and I just can’t stop giving them.

I decided that I needed a Give Less Trucks jar, so that when I am losing sleep, giving trucks to a notion that deserves no trucks, I could write down whatever was keeping me awake and put it in the jar, effectively getting it out of my small brain and allowing me to give less trucks.

Well then Mercury went retrograde, and I got all self reflective and  remembered that I wrote a very similar blog this time last year, the moral of which was, pretty much: if it’s not a truck yes, then it’s a truck no.  If you missed it, it’s here, make sure you scroll down to the comments (#irestmycase).

Then, instead of being all “you need to work on giving less trucks” I was all “you are doing such a trucking good job of giving less trucks, go you, love your work babes”.

I give zero trucks when I walk in to Two Birds Eatery in my activewear and someone gives me the up-down-up-down and then mutters something to her dining companion who then looks over and gives me the up-down-up-down.  I don’t need to justify myself to you sweetheart, but I’ve just done 1500 stairs.  Fasted.  Believe me, if this was my outfit of choice to dine out in, I would have at least attempted to cover the hideous hyper-pigmentation on my face.

In that situation, when you’re in the middle of the lunch time rush and you haven’t eaten today, it’s hard to give trucks about what is polite and what isn’t, because I find myself resisting the urge to stretch my hammies on her table and let her get a really good whiff of my box sweat, while I help myself to her kumara chips.

Remember how I told you about my temp job (it’s here if you missed it), well I gave zero trucks when Boss came to my desk at 9:10 on the last day and said, “you can finish at 10:30 today, we’re finishing at midday and I want to have a meeting with the girls and give them gifts, and I don’t want you here”.

Once again, I struggled to give any trucks about professional conduct, when, at the end of my 90 minute shift, I wanted to stand up and say “truck you, and you and you, get trucked, go truck yourself, I’m getting the truck out of here, and I can’t trucking wait.  See you on the flip side you white trucking trash bully.”

Of course I’m a work in progress, and there are things that I need to work on giving less trucks about, and those things will go in the jar.  I need to be less offended when people look at me like I just decapitated an entire family of ducks with my bumper when I say, “I can’t remember the last time I cleaned my oven”.

I wish that I didn’t feel like punching the person in the face that says things like “you don’t know love until you’ve had a child”.  Because, bitch, I’ve got a cat.  I’ve got a cat and he’s Australian, I flew him here, and when I picked him up his fare was attached to his cage and it was only 10% of the fee I paid, and I didn’t give any trucks, because I really trucking love him.

I need to give less trucks about people on social media who are all ‘look at our magazine style home that is kept impeccably clean even though I have four kids under five’ and I’m like ‘I live with my parents and I can’t even manage to keep my room tidy’.

So that’s it, my one and only resolution for this year: Keep Giving Less Trucks.

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2 comments

Kelly January 8, 2016 at 8:34 pm

You are trucking hilarious!!! Love your style and girlfriend the oven in my home only gets cleaned about once a year, we rent and still don’t own and we’re 40 and 37 with three kids and the magazine styling in my home is only on the pages of my ridiculous pile of stylie home magazines where my dreams go to die!

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The Good Bitch Group | Hazel's House Blog January 13, 2016 at 6:48 pm

[…] that I’ve been up in arms about something that has nothing to do with me (and why I need the Give Less Fucks jar).  A couple of years back three of my close friends were trying to conceive.  All three of them […]

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