Category Archives: Rants

TGIF.

I am so worn out from the past few days, so I’m going to give out some unsolicited advice based on my experiences leaving the house this week.

1. Drive better. Maybe if there were less accidents, I wouldn’t spend so much of my damn life stuck in traffic. 90 minutes to get home from my office that is only 20 miles away is ridiculous. Just drive your car home. Do not drive it into someone else’s car and then we can all get home faster.

2. I get that sitting on a toilet seat in a public restroom is gross. But if you’re going to hover, please do not piss all over the seat and then leave it there. Guess what? You are now the reason that public toilet seats are gross. Congratulations.

3. While we’re talking about public toilets, please explain to me how people can just not flush. If there’s an automatic flushing mechanism, maybe check to see if it flushes. Or, I don’t know, listen to hear if it flushes. If it doesn’t, there’s always a manual thing. Essentially what I’m saying here is flush the toilet after you use it.

4. I am trying to teach my 8 year old that if he wants something from me and I’m in another room, he should not shout to me from across the house. Guess what, grown ups? You shouldn’t be shouting either. Walk over to the intended recipient of your message. Pick up a phone. Email. Tie two tin cans with a string and give one to the other person but for the love of olive please stop shouting across rooms. I can’t speak for everyone, but I really don’t want to hear it.

5. Just, generally speaking, indoor voices. Please.

6. If you get really upset when someone calls you a bigot, maybe stop being one. That’s probably the easiest way to have people stop saying that to you.

7. If you unilaterally don’t like a group of people because they are in that group, there’s a good chance you’re a bigot. Or an asshole. Or both.

8. I found a Chipotle near my office. This was the high point of my week.

9. If you have half of an Italian sub that’s been sitting in your fridge since Tuesday and it’s Friday, I don’t recommend you eat it. It will not taste good.

10. This is yeah write’s nomo challenge Day 20. Only 10 days to go. I’m going to make it. Barely.

Michelle, Why Are You So Grumpy?

I needed a few things from the store. Most important was allergy medicine. The last dose was taken and now it was imperative that I acquire more.

To be specific, I needed Allegra Oral Suspension Berry Flavor for Ages 2 and older. If I could have done with the dissolving tablets (orange flavor), Claritin (or its generic equivalent), or even some formula of Zyrtec, believe me I would have picked any of those up. But no, it must be what it must be.

I trotted on down to my local grocer under the impression that as a self-proclaimed supermarket, I could find everything I needed in one place. I was mistaken because my local grocer seemed to be fresh out of Allegra Oral Suspension Berry Flavor for Ages 2 and older. The spot where it was supposed to be was still there, but in its place sat a store brand of a medication that would not suit my needs.

I checked with the pharmacist since I know they like to hide stuff back there sometimes, but she suggested I speak with the courtesy desk. And because stopping at another store didn’t fit into my time budget, I did so. After a trying morning, I didn’t relish the thought of having to have another conversation, but I seriously needed that medicine.

“Excuse me, I was wondering if you had anymore of the Children’s Allegra in the liquid formula. There aren’t anymore on the shelf,” I said to the fine gent manning the customer service counter.

He turned to another employee who was approaching and asked her if she knew the status of their allergy relief supplies in the back.

The woman looked at me and said, “There isn’t any on the shelf?”

Yes. There were 45 bottles on the shelf but, just for shits and giggles, I thought I’d come over here and ask this man in the hopes that he would ask you because I’m so very curious about your inventory.

“No,” I replied, having fully reached my limit. “Don’t you think that if there were any bottles on the shelf I would have picked one up instead of standing here talking to you?”

“Oh, I guess we don’t have any then,” and she headed on out for her smoke break that I apparently had been keeping her from.

And this, folks, this is why I’m grumpy. Because people don’t want to be nice to other people. Because even when I ask in my super-sweet voice to overcompensate for my underlying rancid mood, people still feel the need to respond to my very simple request with a very stupid question.

So later, when I don’t really have the time, I’ll be heading to my local pharmacy to procure some Allegra Oral Suspension Berry Flavor for Ages 2 and older. I really hope for everyone’s sake they are fully stocked.

 

Joining my online family at yeah write with a family-free post. Click on through to read the submissions of some other fabulous writers.

Featured image credit, and for the record, that’s not the one I need. I need the Oral Suspension Berry Flavor for Ages 2 and older.

Spreading Bug.

After the recent discovery that it had snowed in my attic, it became abundantly clear that we were going to have to do some work to further protect our house from weather. And by “do some work,” I hope it is abundantly clear that I mean I had to call someone about coming to do some work.

I know, you’re wondering how I can be all nonchalant about attic snow, but it’s the second time this has happened, and much like I hear about second children, you just tend to get more laid back about this sort of thing. Really, it’s no big deal. There’s apparently some issue with a shingle and the dormer and the whosy-what’s-it and I think the contractor said he has to make the roof bigger. I should probably ask him to clarify.

Today was finally warm enough for me to get into the attic and start moving stuff around in preparation for the work to be done. I sorted and discarded and stacked and photographed items for sale and did all the things one does when trying to empty an entire floor of one’s house. I did all this while trying to ignore the fresh unearthing of a hole through which I could actually see to the outside world that was not, in fact, a window. And whilst I was up in the attic, rearranging all of the things we obviously don’t need or they wouldn’t be up there in the first place, I saw a dead bee. And a dead fly. And another fly, a spider, a ladybug, some unidentifiable shell of a creature, and another fly, all dead. Near them, I saw some of their friends, who were also, as you might imagine, dead.

Now, I’m not the sort of girl to freak out over a bug in my house. I don’t imagine we are any more or less buggy than anyone else. Bugs happen and, though I’d prefer they happen less frequently, I tend to try to ignore them. But today,when I discovered no less than one zillion dead bugs, I got a little skeeved. I swept them up, shuddered a bit and entered into a period of denial. By dinnertime, I even forgot about them.

As I was getting Nathan ready for bed, I noticed something on his floor. Thinking it was lint, or one of the many crumbs that seem to form a trail behind him, I bent to pick it up. It was neither lint nor crumb. It was, instead, the exo-skeletal remains of yet another insect.

I am no fool, you see. I know how this happened. I was still wearing the clothes I had been wearing in the attic. In other words, I had bug on me all afternoon. It was me. I was spreading bug.

My clothes are currently boiling in bleach. I am disgusted and revolted. I might need to burn down my house. Every single part of my body is itchy. I’m going to take a shower and then, when I’m done, I’m going to take another.

Next time I go in my attic, I’m bringing my switchblade. If I see another of those little jerks, dead or alive, I’m going to cut it. Then I’m going to douse it with superfluous pepper spray. Then I’m going to step on it, and then I’m going to spit on it, just so it knows how I really feel.

And then I’m probably going to get that hole patched up.

 

Joining in the fun with my friends at yeah write. Do you like to have fun? You should join in, too.

Winter Is A Jerk.

It’s only late fall and I’m already sick of winter.

We’ve had one snowfall so far, and arguably it was a dusting at best. It was still far more snow than I’m comfortable with. It’s possible that the anticipation of snow could be a big part of my Winter Grouchiness. Please don’t confuse this with my regular, all-season grouchiness. That’s an entirely different matter.

Winter makes me angry, even when nothing is happening. Today I was in my basement and I saw the snow shovel up against the wall. I could feel the bile rise up inside of me. I am a master at resenting inanimate objects. The fact that I knew I was going to need that shovel at some point this winter was enough to make me furious even though it was nearly sixty degrees outside.

You see, the only thing worse than a surprise is knowing a surprise is coming and not knowing the details of the surprise. (Don’t you dare tell me that’s the point of a surprise because I will hurt you.) For example, when someone skips up to me with a grin and an I-have-a-surprise-for-you!, I immediately feel like I’m going to vomit. If you want to surprise me, please don’t tell me in advance because I will worry, even if you tell me not to worry because it’s so awesome. If you do that, I will worry more.

Snow is like the Earth’s awesome surprise. Every December, sometimes November, sometimes October, the air turns frigid and my stomach just turns. I can guarantee at least one time in the coming months I will be looking forward to plans and the stupid weather is going to ruin them.

As someone born and raised in New Jersey, this is part of the territory. This happens every year and every year I find my patience running thinner. Some people around these parts like to say things like, “Well, if you don’t like the snow, why don’t you just move?” as if picking up and moving to a better climate is the easiest thing in the world. Believe you me, I would be on the first train out of here if it were that easy.

Snow showers appear twice in the upcoming 10-day forecast.  I’m going to go kick my shovel now.

 

I’m adding my post to the moonshine grid at yeah write. Go check it out. It’s more fun than snow.

Featured image credit: www.golocalworcester.com
Featured image comment: Don’t give me that winter wonderland crap.

I Just Wanted To Sit On My Couch.

Now, I’m not one prone to complaining, but, well, I’ve got something on my mind.

I’m about to say something you’ve heard more than once already this month: I had a post planned for today but you’re not going to see it here. And the reason, as it almost always is, is that I’m too tired to write it.

Nathan woke up at 4:30 today, but he didn’t wake me up because I’d already been up for 2 hours. So I’m well aware that I probably would be in a much better mood and less crabby today if I had gotten some sleep, but this is not the reality we are faced with.

Please, someone tell me that 7 is the magic age at which only children suddenly start to play by themselves. Please. Because if it’s 8 or, gasp, later, I’m not sure I’m going to make it.

I have parked my child in front of a borderline inappropriate show so that I could sit down for a little while and not have to entertain this kid. I played dominoes against my will, I fed him, I let him follow me around, I even let him throw stuffed animals at me. But then, when I begged for a few minutes to sit down and not hear his precious, sweet little voice talking to me for just a few minutes, he insisted upon sitting down next to me.

Now, when I say next to me, I don’t mean a foot from me or even a few inches from me. I mean practically on top of me. His head is leaning on my arm and I can barely type. We are all squished up on one end of the couch and there is enough room for him to stretch out with his head touching the other arm of the couch and his feet wouldn’t be touching me. He could sit on the love seat with his father and they would both have plenty of elbow room. He could sit on the chaise that is next to the couch I’m sitting on like a king on his throne, but no. No, he is sitting all up in my personal space.

(I cracked myself up there. Mothers don’t actually have personal space, do they?)

Do not misunderstand. This kid means the world to me, but I would really, really like it if he wasn’t sitting on me right now. I’ve asked him to move, but he declined citing an extreme necessity to be close to me. It looks like the only way I’m going to gain a little space is to go cook him dinner.

He just made me put my arm around him. That’s my cue. I’m off to the kitchen.

This is NaBloPoMo Day 9. Read more from other NaBloPoMoErs here.