Livin’ la Vida Landfill…

Someone in this house is trying to drive me crazy. I MIGHT be exaggerating but I’m sure that every crazy person had a moment when she doubted the validity of what was plaguing her. But then, BAM. She turned full-blown crazy. Like, in a second. She found ONE MORE FUCKING CANDY WRAPPER ON THE FLOOR and the transformation was complete. Crazy. Poof.

Yes. I’m being driven over the edge by candy wrappers. First world problem? You bet. But I’m going to illogically fallacize (Is that a word? Today, friends, it’s a word.) and say that it’s not just a “me” problem. It’s a problem on a global scale. Every day, millions of people eat candy. The candy that is problematic in my house is Life Savers. They come in bags now, that are plastic, and inside the bag are, like, a million individually wrapped candies. Each bag is like its own Wal-Mart, dispersing tiny plastic shopping bags to everyone. Therefore, the entire world must be plagued by candy wrappers just like me.

That sounds like something a crazy person would say. Well, the combination of complaining about finding 20 million fucking transparent plastic candy wrappers sprinkled throughout my house like God damn Easter eggs for a week, along with watching the documentary, Plastic Paradise:The Great Pacific Garbage Patch, has made me so. I watched the film on Netflix last night and as of this morning, I need to save the world one (fucking) plastic wrapper at a time. And lose my mind over it.

So first there’s this–

Criminally place wrapper #1.

Criminally placed wrapper #1.

Do you see this? I mean, maybe it’s not worth losing my mind over. So I pick it up and throw it away. Keep in mind I’ve been doing this for the past week. Know, too, that I have loudly bitched to anyone within earshot that it is not acceptable to throw garbage on the floor. Also, keep in mind that, to my knowledge, we have eaten all of the Life Savers about five days ago so where these new wrappers are coming from is a fucking magic-shoe-elf type mystery.

So this wrapper, mysterious as it is, is disposed of.

And then five seconds later, there’s this–

WTF? #2.

WTF? #2.

To me, this is like spotting head lice on your child’s head.

Ok. No. Ew. Not like that.


Not at all like that.

But what I mean is that I spot them and desperately need them removed from my life immediately or I’ll freak out. So this wrapper, too, is disposed to the trash. And by now I’m muttering to myself about what assholes my kids are… or my husband! Hell, it could be ANYONE! Any one of them could be plotting against me, peppering my house with these wrappers, knowing that it drives me crazy. Maybe one of them over heard the movie last night. They know how much plastic waste the world makes on a daily basis: one MILLION plastic bags every MINUTE! And that’s just those fucking “beautiful” plastic bags that American Beauty glorified billowing in the wind. Anyone else remember that movie? Yeah, me neither. I’m not old. You are. Maybe they heard about the shopping bags, knew this information would bother me, yet they didn’t care in the least and littered my house with tiny plastics just to fuck with me. Maybe they’re all sociopaths!

So, yeah. You get it. I was starting to sound crazy.

And then there’s this–

Fuck. Shit. Piss!

Fuck. Shit. Piss!

And my head explodes.

Where are these shitting things coming from?! How did one get underneath MY chair?! I just don’t know! And the world is going to end because of the Pacific Garbage Patch since  all of the fish and birds have bellies full of plastic and we are eating the plastic eating birds and fish and my kids are trying to accelerate both the end of the world and my descent in to madness and there’s nothing I can do to stop any of it!!!

But it’s just a few wrappers…

That I put into the garbage with a few thousand other wrappers…

And that non-biodegradable plastic trash bag goes into the trash can outside with all the other bags…

That goes to the landfill with the billions of other people’s garbage…

And we’re all going to die.

Okay, no more documentaries before bed…

And, no more plastic wrappers! God that feels so Joan Collins to say it like that. No More Wire Hangers/Plastic Wrappers! And then instead of whipping my kids with a coat hanger, I frantically hurl handfuls of candy wrappers at them in a futile attempt to inflict physical pain as a teaching tool.

Does anyone remember that movie? Ok, maybe I AM old… 😦

I’m serious, though. I’m going to spearhead an initiative in my family to use less plastic and recycle under threat of banishment to the local garbage patch, which is the back yard.

Which is covered in a winter’s full of dog shit.

Which they will have to pick up.

Sans gloves, because those are plastic and from now on… we are on a plastic diet.

And I’m starting to feel better.

Until I think about our electricity consumption…

Fuck it. Have me committed. It’s easier for everyone that way…


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