The World is Out to Get Me...

or welcome to my pity party.

1. Today I woke up to another huge piss puddle in the bedroom. Lucy, otherwise know as Leaky Faucets, peed in front of Whitey's cage. It happens. Every. Single. Morning.

2. I usually work on Mondays. I had already flat ironed my hair, put on my make-up, and was just about to change out of my granny panties (trying to avoid the dreaded visible panty lines)when my mom called. "Oh, are you working today? Yes? Hmmmm. I didn't call you, then. I thought I had mentioned that I needed you to work on Wednesday instead. Is that okay?"

Well, what am I going to say? No? So here I am. All dressed up and no place to go. I mean, I already went to the mall yesterday, and I'm too clean to clean, so what do I do with myself?

3. I used to be friends with S. We were carbon copies. And I really loved her. I'm not the easiest person to be friends with. I hate talking on the phone, fear of rejection usually prevents me from initiating plans, I'm incredibly anti-social, and I'm a little Rain Man particular about things. I know, right? Can't wait to be my friend? Move to the end of the line.

Anyhoodle, last year, S and her husband moved into a new house. They had a lot of parties and get togethers at their new house, and J and I were never invited. It bothered me (especially because J and S's husband were also friends, and they didn't forget to call J when they needed to borrow his work truck and help them move), but it was never a huge deal. Like I said, I'm pretty anti-social, and I don't need to be invited to everything.

Until her birthday.

S's birthday was the same day as my brother's wedding. The night before, I already had plans so J called S's husband to see what he was up to. And S's husband was all like, "Oh, we're having a barbecue for S's birthday. You didn't get the evite? Come on over."

Come on. You're not going to invite me to your BIRTHDAY? And you call me your BFF? No. No. No. And that was it. It was over. Because as difficult as it may be to be my friend, my friends know that I will literally cut a bitch if someone hurts them. Not on my watch. They're part of my gang, and like the Crips or the Latin Kings (without the poor fashion choices, life of crime, and unnecessary violence) they have my undying love and loyalty. But once I feel that a line has been crossed, it's over. And there's no going back.

So now I find out that she's pregnant. And I'm happy for her because I'm not a total evil bitch.

But, cookies? I'm sad for me.

4. Why is it that when I feel like I have a plan (I love plans and schedules and order), something always happens to fuck it up? Really? No, really?

And it's not even 10 fucking a.m.

Pet Peeves

• D.I.D. (Douche(s) in Disguise): This is a person that comes into your life -maybe as a friend, or a boy/girlfriend and s/he is really a butthole masquerading as a nice, normal person. These people seem cool/normal/kind/great, but their behavior is just a ruse to get you to trust them so that they can later work their evil mojo whammy on your unsuspecting ass. For example, Mrs. LeDouchetard and I used to be friendly acquaintances. I know, right? Quel surprise! Although we worked in the same place, our duties were so different, we rarely had time to interact. However, we would chat in the halls, and when she was pregnant with her last child, even though I hardly knew her, I bought her a small gift. Anyhoodle, we know how that relationship evolved. And I totally attribute it to the fact that she is a D.I.D.
• This Recession: Jeez, Louise. Let's get the ball rolling, people! The economy sucks. I GET IT! I'm living it for goodness sakes. Let's start looking at the bright side before I kill myself, mmmmkay?
• People Who Wear Street Clothes to the Gym: No. No. No. You should not be wearing jeans to work out. Let me break it down for you this way -it's an abomination. If you're working out in pants or shorts that have a button or zipper, it's time to invest a couple of dollars in elastic waistband pants. Oh, and as an aside. I don't want to see your tight-y white-ies when you're doing your Jean Claude Van Damme stretches on the treadmill in front of me. Keep moving, guy. Nothing to see here.
• The Lady at the Deli: I'm a super nice customer. Super. I'm polite, I wait my turn, and I'm all smiley and please and thank you-y. So. When I order my Boar's Head Maple Glazed Turkey, and I ask for it SHAVED, I don't want it SLICED. And when I kindly point out that I asked for it SHAVED, I don't appreciate you giving me a dirty look and telling me that it is SHAVED when it is clearly NOT. And when, because I am a scaredy-cat, I backdown and accept this "shaved" turkey and tell you, "Thank you. Have a nice day.", I don't appreciate that pissy look on your face and your refusal to wish me the same. You win, deli lady! You win! No need to be a bitch about it.
• Dog Hair: I've got three dogs. And these mothercluckers shed like nobody's damn business. Snoopy is loosing friggin' PATCHES of fur. Add white tile, and all I can say is, "Welcome to my nightmare."
• Dogs +Rain+Mud=Kill Me Now: The weather has been awful (That's another pet peeve, but I'll leave this one here). The morning starts out sunny, and then by 10:30/11:00, it starts getting dark and cloudy. Because the dogs are indoors during the day, when I get home from work, I like to let them hangout in the backyard after they eat. Snoopy hates being outside when it's raining, but last week, I peered outside, and he was actually standing in the rain instead of lounging under the covered patio. Hmmmm. And then I made the mistake of taking a nap and leaving the dogs outside. When I woke up, Snoopy was by the sliding glass door, covered head to paw IN MUD. He was BLACK. I had to hose him down and dry him off. Ugh.
• Mrs. LeDouchetard: Really? I need to get over this. But this bitch is like a thorn in my side. She's my friggin' white whale, the albatross around my neck (that's for all you literary types). Just thinking about her riles me up. Thankfully (and this goes against the whole purpose of a pet peeve list), I don't have to see her for 2 1/2 months.

K, I feel so much better now.

over it. so over it.

i'm going all e.e. cummings in this business. this post will contain profanity and a lack of grammar, and if you know me at all, you'll know that these two things are sure signs of my deteriorating mental state.

i feel like that guy in greek mythology who was punished by the gods and forced to roll a boulder up a mountain, only to watch it roll down again; or that other guy, the one who pissed some god off and had a bird peck his gizzard out on a daily basis. i'm on the losing team, and it fucking sucks. it's groundhog day for me, every single day. i'm a hyperbole, a roller coaster unto myself, no happy medium with me, and today we are in the pit, my friend. the ninth circle. it's everything. everything. everything. because everything is so fucking intertwined. it affects me to no end.

i was so out of my skin bothered today that i went to the mall -gasp! yes, i went to the mall. i was going to buy some really cute gray velvet pants at Old Navy, but the line was full of tourists, the kind that buy 80 articles of clothing for $3.99 and want to check the price on EVERY single item. i put the pants back, and went to the banana republic outlet. i tried on a bunch of stuff, everything ridiculously expensive, and dark, dark dark. black is not my color. there were some pants that fit me really well and would've been great for work, but they were $60 and that was too much. until, i saw that they were 50%. worth it, so i bought two pairs. since i've gained weight, i don't fit into any of my pants. in september, i bought two pairs at new york and company (with one of those coupons that give you a huge discount, like if you spend $75, they give you a $30 discount). i wear them all the time, but they fit horribly. the crotch is two inches beneath where my actual business is. i have no idea what i was thinking when i purchased them. anyway, even though i bought those BR pants, they didn't make me happy. it made me even pissier because let's face it, work pants are WORK pants. BORING.

and i wish i could just fast-forward my life a la click and see where i am in six months. has anything changed? am i content? am i moving forward? because right now i'm stuck in a mire of crap. i'm 32 years old and i feel like i'm so behind. like the starting gun went off and i was tying my shoe laces and adjusting my sports bra, and wtf? i'm behind!

and jeez, i feel like such a whiny bitch. my mental dialogue is on fucking repeat. repeat. repeat. and there are people that have it so much worse. but i swear to you, today i just don't give a shit.

i'm going to look at the victoria's secret resort catalog and see if that makes me feel better.

Cranky Pants

I'm wearing them, and they are super tight! Today, I am super pissy. For beaucoup reasons, bien sur!


Dear Parent,

I get that you think I'm an overpaid babysitter, but let me set the record straight -I am OVERQUALIFIED to be your child's second grade teacher. OVER-effing-QUALIFIED. Cum Laude, bitch. Cum-effing-Laude. So, when I tell you that your child has difficulty concentrating and that I am concerned about his inability to finish his work, not for lack of academic ability, mind you, but because he may have ADD, don't you tell me that you don't think so! Excuse me? Do I go to your job and talk out of my butt? Do I? NO! And here's why: I don't know anything about your business. I trust that you know your business. Likewise, my business is your child's academic, emotional and spiritual growth. I'm a PROFESSIONAL, motherclucker. Now, last I checked, your IQ doesn't drop once you have a baby, so why don't you stop acting like it has, put on your big ol' parental panties/briefs, and be your child's parent! If you really have your child's best interests at heart, you'll listen to what I tell you. You don't have to agree with it, but don't you dare go out and bad mouth me to other parents or to your child, who is now talking back to me and giving me some serious 'tude.

Sincerely,

Smart Cookie

P.S. Your child does not need a TUTOR! Stop being so ridiculous and get it together.

Dear Gym Rats,

I get that you love spinning. I love it, too. Lots. I wish that I could do it more often. In fact, I wish that I could have so much free time, that I could wait a whole freaking hour in line to take a one hour spinning class, for a total of two hours, not including travel time. But I can't. And that's okay. Those are the breaks, and I make the time when I can. But, if you have enough time to wait and take a class from the best instructors 5-7 times a week, sometimes twice on the same day, then your ass should be going all Houdini and diminishing, disappearing the abracadabra hell away! No way would I not fit into any of my clothes if I had the time to spin that often! You should be dropping minimum, MINIMUM a pound a week! WHAT DO YOU EAT that you are not losing any weight, you should be dropping WEIGHT! Do you eat nacho cheese for breakfast? It's time to start evaluating the facts because this business has me concerned all up in this hizzy.
Sincerely,

Smart Cookie

P.S.

1. Going to the sauna before spinning class so that you can sweat more? Hello? How are you not 100 pounds?!

2. Hooting and hollering when your favorite song comes on is obnoxious and causes my eyes to roll so far back into my head that I am worried I might have a seizure. Reign it in, ladies. Reign it in.

Dear Money,

Remember me? Where have you gone? How long do you plan to stay away? I miss you! Please come back soon.

Love,

Smart Cookie

K, I feel so much better now.