I’ve been trying to think of something to write all week. Something funny, something light, something… eh?? But unfortunately, I have been in the absolute foulest of moods for the past several days, and I got nothin’. I think it can be chalked up to a particularly severe case of PMS, or maybe I’m pregnant and don’t know it yet. Actually, I won’t know about that for a couple of days, and it got me thinking about whether or not I’m going to blog about it if/when I do get pregnant. On one hand, my blog is sort of like my journal, and I do write a lot about everyday stuff that’s going on in my head, so it makes sense to write about it since it’ll obviously be taking up a good chunk of my brain space. On the other hand, first pregnancies = higher risk than normal, plus miscarriages run in my family, and I really don’t want to have to write about it if that happens, so… I honestly don’t know what I think about that. I guess I’ll wing it and figure it out if/when it happens.
So to showcase a total lack of creativity, I present to you a list of things that are annoying me this week:
* Every other driver on the road, particularly that stupid red VW EuroVan that I keep seeing that has “WNDRLND” as its personalized license plate. I don’t need any pot-smoking hippies going ten miles per hour in front of me when I’m trying to get to work, thanks. Pull over and take another hit off the bong, why don’t you?
* I have a headache. Also, even though I’ve been sleeping at least 7 or 8 hours every night, I’m still so exhausted during the day that I can barely keep my eyes open. It feels like the tiredness is in my muscles and bones, everything just aches.
* Going through the salad bar at lunch today, I thought I was putting ranch on my salad, and it was actually bleu cheese. Gross.
* The cats got mad that their litter box wasn’t cleaned according to their precise schedule, so they peed on some blankets that we had left on the futon. I don’t know what it’s going to take to get the smell out of the den, but I’m not sure there’s enough pet stain remover and Febreze in the world.
* Speaking of cats, this story made me cry. I’m glad it has a happy ending, because too many of them don’t. But reading articles like that reaffirms my belief that there is a special place in hell reserved for people who abuse animals and children. Oh, speaking of the children part, this one also made me feel like crying, although mostly it makes me want to gather up an army of angry militant feminists and unleash them on Pakistan. Hell, I might even join them.
* Apparently the milk in the company kitchen went sour over the Christmas holidays, and hoo lordy, it stinks in there. The smell is reaching all the way out into the hall and into the ladies room, which is unfortunately located next door to the kitchen. It’s so bad that it makes me cough and my eyes water every time I walk past there. It reminds me of when I was 16 and worked for the summer at a grocery store. (For you Jxn residents, it was the Kroger on County Line.) There was always one of those gallon milk jugs in the case that would leak and cover all of the others with foul, stinky milk. And because I had to pick them up to run them across the scanner, my hands smelled like sour milk for that entire summer. That was long before I discovered that I’m lactose-intolerant, but the experience put me off dairy for at least 2 or 3 years.
* Dave didn’t load the dishwasher the way that I like it. This one obviously points to a case of PMS combined with my obsessive-compulsive disorder. I load it a certain way to allow for the maximum possible number of dishes in there, and he just sort of casually tosses things in wherever they fit. I actually bitched at him for doing it “wrong,” as if it’s an algebra problem instead of a freakin’ dishwasher. Wouldn’t most women just be happy that their husbands were doing the dishes at all and keep their mouths shut? I think so.
* Ok, this one might actually be a legitimate complaint: it looks like my trip to Memphis to drive cross-country with Kris is going to get delayed, because her boss is yanking her along about exactly when her end date is going to be. He originally told her mid-January, now he’s trying to make it the end of January. It sucks, because I booked my plane ticket weeks ago, and we’ll have to pay to change it. Plus, I just want her to hurry up and get here already.
* We have no plans for New Year’s. I suppose it isn’t really that big a deal. I have Dave, so the issue of who I’m going to kiss at midnight is pretty well settled. We were trying to get a group of our friends together to do something – I liked the idea of getting a table at a restaurant so we could all just hang out, talk and have a few cocktails – but we can’t seem to rally a group together. So we’ll probably just go to the little park in our town to watch the fireworks and call it a night. Ho hum.
So… yeah. I’m sorry this is so whiny. Just call me Miss Crankypants. I do hope that all of you have a good New Year’s, though. See you in 2006.
umm, he just TOSSES things in the dishwasher? excuse me, i just had a mild aneurism. the dishwasher has special-sized rack separations and compartments for a reason. i’m just trying to calm down about this now. 😉
*my husband gets his handiwork rearranged in the dishwasher all the time* so you’re not alone.
I am entirely in sympathy with Dave about the "dishwasher incident". Cindy, I don't even have a dishwasher to toss things casually in! Oh the luxury….
Happy New Year by the way!!!!
HAPPY New Year?
We’re so old, we went to sleep long before midnight. Oh well.
you really are very funny! especially the dishwasher incident. baby girl, of course your are right — dishes go in the diswasher a certain way as do towels go folded a certain way to fit exactly in their designated space. and yes, you are right again — just be happy that he does help you. it's about weeding out what's REALLY important.
Hey, at least I didn’t pee on the futon…
Fear not, women aren't happy if you just load the dishwasher. It has to be correct. Typically I load it, then Stacey unloads it and reloads it to fit in an extra plate (while muttering about the mess I made of the whole job).
The secret of course is that men are trained to do this (and any other job in the kitchen) badly. Doing something well in the kitchen sets a dangerous precedent….
I’m proud to say that my honey-do list involves very, very little of things to do in the kitchen :))
Infact, dishwashing, cleaning bathrooms etc. are written clearly on my honey-don’t-even-think-about-it list
I don’t care who’s right or wrong. I just wanna call her Miss Crankypants.
Like, all the time. From now on.
I’m talking name tags, personalized stationery, the works.
Oh, and of course, one of those little rotating magnets for the dishwasher that reads: Miss Crankypants reminds you that these poorly placed dishes are CLEAN/DIRTY.