- I am still motherfucking sick. The thing that BLOWS is that I am not sick enough to where I could take off from work and feel ok about it. As in, I'm not running a temperature. When I was a kid, I had to be running a temperature or throwing up before my mom would let me stay home from school. And since that is now ingrained in me, the same way that it is ingrained in me to never buy cheap sugar, I cannot get past it, even though I know that I should probably be sitting at home right now, watching Weeds and trying to kick this shitvirus. My nose is all clogged up and I'm all achy and just generally sick feeling. And that, my friends, PISSES ME OFF. I wish my life just stopped when I got sick, like I could stay home and my kids would magically be carted off to a land where they were fed fruit and whole grains by a magical fairy. But that is not the case. Even when I am sick, I have responsibilities. Reason #541 why being a grown up sucks.
- My brother in law just got engaged. Now, normally, this kind of thing would not piss me off. Love is grand, ya'll, and you know, I was engaged once and it was awesome--there was a ring and champagne and my soon-to-be husband and I listened to David Bowie and drank way too much. But my brother in law got engaged in Disney World. And then he started posting all this SHIT on Facebook about having his own little princess now. I'm not even kidding. Did you just throw up in your mouth a little bit? Because you should have. That shit is revolting. Matt and I were discussing it and how that no female over the age of 3 should EVER be called a princess, unless she legitimately is one, and you know, has the papers to prove it. And yeah, I know, different strokes for different folks and all, but seriously. That's your partner in life, my dear brother in law. Not some kind of doll you put on a shelf and admire. Ickiness abounds. (And if you don't think it is bad and that women are princesses, oh fuck you. I'm too grouchy to even go further into this.)
- Speaking of women's issues, I really hate Avril Lavigne. Allow me to tell you why. She has this new song called "What the Hell" that comes on the radio station that my daughter listens to. It sounds like a goat being beaten to death with a tire iron. The message is basically this: "Well, you know, up until this point, I've been a pretty decent human being. But then, I just decided, "what the hell" and I decided to make out with some unknown's best friend and create music that makes people want to chew the heads off of baby bunnies." Fuck you Avril Lavigne. I hate that girls hear this shit--this and Ke$ha and all the rest. I am not a prude, but for once, I'm getting all pearl clutchy up in here and begging someone to please think of the children. And I hate that Avril is making me do that! Let me just put this out there, just in case a tween is able to wade through my profanity laced tirade and get to this nugget of wisdom: Girls, there is so much more to life than being "bad" and "partying" and whatever else. Go read a book. And get off of my lawn.
- I hate fax machines. Why is it when I fax something for work, I have to immediately go send an email confirming that I sent it? And then TWO DAYS LATER, I get an email back like, "Um, we never got that fax you sent.... Could you resend it? We've looked everywhere." Ok, first off, you could have let me know this two days ago. Second, where could it have been? Does Charlie Sheen live in your office? Did you look up his nose? Because maybe that's where it is.... Seriously. Where else could it be? Either it came out of the fax machine or it didn't. I didn't fax it with the special instructions to come out of the the refrigerator instead of the fax machine. But when I ask, "Well, can I just email it with the document sender instead?" I am met with this, "No, you better fax it. So we'll have a hard copy." WTF?!?! I'm assuming you have a printer. How hard is it to hit that print button?
- If that damn groundhog doesn't predict an early spring tomorrow, I will need to be committed.
And you know, in spite of all this, I am pretty damn lucky. Last night I came home, sick. My grandmother fixed dinner for us, and we ate well, especially Alice who, much to my chagrin, could eat her weight in southern-style green beans. Matt worked late, so I put the kids to bed and Sam and I got through his entire Abraham Lincoln biography. Alice, who has recently acquired the ability to talk LIKE IT IS HER JOB (more on this later) entertained us all by answering every question asked to her with the word "No." "Alice, is it time for nigh-nigh?" "No." "Alice, do you love ice cream?" "No." "Alice, are you a princess?" "No." "Alice, do you believe that morality is not a social contruct, but rather innate and tied to man's disinclination to witness suffering and thus, his tendency towards compassion and empathy?" "No."
And then, Matt comes home and he is funny and happy and we talk and giggle and watch TV for a bit. And I realize that despite the fact that I have felt like crap ALL DAY and have wanted nothing more than to be in bed asleep, when he is there, there is nothing that I would rather do than sit up and talk to him about anything and nothing all at once.
Stop dry heaving--I'm done.
So repeat after me, gentle readers of all these negative thoughts--"FUCKITY FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCK." Yes, I think we all feel just a bit better.