On A Good Day …

This post was written on what I think was a Wednesday, but I know it was the 16th day in the month of July in the year of 2008.

I don’t wake up with my hair all sweaty and knotted up at the base of my neck.

I remembered to set up the coffeepot the night before.

I don’t have a 90 second sneezing fit that results in a spectacular spray of snot across my computer monitor.

The love of my life doesn’t go through ALL SIX DRAWERS – open/shut, open/shut, open/shut, open/shut, open/shut, open/shut – looking for a clean pair of jeans. which by the way have been in the same fucking bottom two drawers for the past TWELVE YEARS!

My finicky ass cat hasn’t shit OUTSIDE the very clean catbox, who the hell knows why.

I put on my leather sneaks instead of my flipflops to go outside with the dog – thereby avoiding cold, wet feet.

Bob & Tom are spectacularly hilarious – nearly making me pee my pants – making up for all the other stuff.

Oh and by the way, Judith? I am working on a way to pluck the body hairs off’n the person who makes me crazier than anybody I know.

Thanks for the GREAT idea!

Gimme an “F” … gimme a “u” … gimme a “c” …

This post was written on what I think was a Thursday, but I know it was the 10th day in the month of July in the year of 2008.

… ah, FUCK IT!

Okay, then where to start?

Ack.

I really want to scream and bitch like a crazy person; I REALLY want to cry (I can feel the pressure building up in my chest). I REALLY want to throw something against the wall or onto the concrete of the patio just for the satisfaction of hearing it shatter.

I would dearly love to strangle any number of asswipes who have made my life so FUCKING miserable over the past three weeks.

But I won’t do any of those things.

Right now I’m going to go wax my eyebrows, then I’ll come back, a bit less stressed and explain WHY I’d like to do some MAJOR damage to property and life.

loving/hating

This post was written on what I think was a Friday, but I know it was the 30th day in the month of May in the year of 2008.

So … wanna know what I hate? Well, not hate in the true, loathingly hostile sense of the word, but hate in the God this bugs the shit out of me sense of the word.

Shopping carts.

I actually hate a LOT of things in that “God, this bugs the shit out of me” sense of the word, but right now we’re talkin’ about the shopping carts. I don’t remember ever really thinking about shopping carts one way or another for oh, about thirty-five years or so. Except when one of my kids or my husband (that one time back in 1990, when he went Christmas shopping with me at Sears) was banging one of the bastardly things into that really thin strip of skin on the back of my foot right above the shoe. Then I thought about shopping carts a-fucking-LOT.

At some point over the past few years, some idiot – and I AM using that word in its true sense – came up with the idea of plastic shopping carts. Great big lunky Playskool® looking things. And therein lies the basis of my hatred. All sense of “adultness” flies out the window the second I slap my purse in the kiddie-seat of one of these things.

At some point, unless I am in a hurry – which is really seldom these days, I have no life to speak of – I will find myself speedwalking down an empty aisle, quietly “rrrrrr-ing” my engine, screeching into a wide turn adn “whoop-whoop-whooping” my way into the end aisle, some imaginary villain hot on the trail of my Cartmobile.

Uh, yeah, I am VERY old.

Early onset dementia is my guess.

I have to stop thinking when I’m not in arm’s reach of my keyboard (i.e., when I’m peeing, loading the washing machine or screwing). I think of the funniest things when I don’t have access to my computer; I laugh my tits off, tell myself I’ve gotta remember what I was thinking, then promptly forget whatever the hell it was that had me spraying snot from my nose.

For the record, it’s completely impossible for me to reformat your fucking hard drive if you forget to take the fucking machine out of your trunk EVERY GODDAMN TIME YOU’RE HERE!

The Nail Clipper Industry (I was actually afraid that that link was gonna lead to a seriously porno site) are making shitloads of money off this family, $1.29 at a time. I buy a nail clippers on an average of once a week. Know why? Cuz I can’t find the fucking nail clippers I bought the week before!

I hate when I spend $12.95 on a bra at WalMart and it makes TheGirls look like shit. TheGirls and my ass are the only things I have left to remind me of the days when I was passibly fuckable. Therefore, I try to showcase them to my advantage at every opportunity. I like jeans to lovingly encase my buttcheeks so that even women have been known to tell me that I have a sweet ass and I like my bras to hold TheGirls up in a semblance of their former glory. Last month I spent $12.95 (plus fucking tax) on a bra that promised to provide “great coverage and support, while lifting the bustline.” Which is utterly fucking impossible if the goddamn straps have slid off my shoulders and are sticking out of the sleeves of my shirt.

Uh … I guess this is more aout things I hate, than things I love.

Although I will leave you with this little bit of love.

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