First, let me say thanks for all of your kind words yesterday. I cried like a blubbering stupid girl every time I read that I’m normalish. I also appreciate that none of you threatened to call the authorities on me.
My mom called me last night and told me that my aunt who reads this blog called her (Mom) and told her (Mom) she (Mom) needs to make a trip to Texas to save me from The Beast. (Way too many female pronouns in that sentence for it to make sense.) I told her to haul her ass down here and fix The Beast because I broke him.
I also apologized to my mother for being an ass as a child. I really don’t know which of my sisters was the most difficult, but considering that the majority of my childhood memories are of me being a bitch, I’m guessing it was me. I remember once losing all of my sh*% because one of my sisters asked me for a piece of gum.
I might have an anger problem. Who can know?
Now, on to my day of pity: First, The Beast had school, which was a good thing because I woke up tired and cranky and he woke up throwing a fit. Had he not gone to school, I would have had to find a drug dealer, and I have no idea how one goes about finding a drug dealer in the suburbs. Or in the city, for that matter.
After I dropped him off, I came home and had every intention of watching soap operas all day, but once I started watching a soap opera I quickly remembered why I stopped watching soap operas. They really suck. And apparently nothing has happened since I last watched Days of Our Lives 15 years ago because Stefano is still running around causing mayhem and Sami is still cheating on whoever she happens to be married to at the present time.
I decided that instead of watching T.V., I would make myself feel better by buying things. I’m shallow and buying things makes me happy. And it kind of pisses off Virginia Slims Man, so that was a plus.
FYI, VSM and I have made up. (Not in the carnal way. You’re gross.) We really don’t fight very often. Mostly because he lets me get away with nearly everything. But to give you a little insight into our relationship, we recently had this conversation:
VSM: You think I’m a narcissist.
Me: No, I think you’re an asshole. It’s totally different.
We think we might start offering couple’s counseling to our friends.
Anyway, I made a cup of coffee and headed out. I was concerned that the quality of my cup of coffee was an omen for how the rest of the day was going to go, because every time I took a sip, I smelled cat pee. Sadly, I took many sips before I decided that I was gross for drinking coffee that smelled like cat pee.
Then the day picked up.
First stop: Hobby Lobby. I bought a $2 pair of safety scissors and they are the best thing I’ve ever purchased in my life. Yesterday evening The Beast spent over an hour cutting paper. He also cut up the proofs for his school pictures, but I still say the scissors are worth it.
Second stop: Tuesday Morning. Do you have this store where you live? I always forget about it because it’s off the beaten path, but you can find some fun stuff there. Our store is as organized as my purse, so it takes some effort, but you can get a deal. I went in and they were playing “Electric Youth” by Debbie Gibson, and that instantly made me happier.
Shut up. I bet your taste in music sucks too.
Then I found this, and I bought it because it’s ridiculous and I love it and I can’t wait to wear it in public. My mother is likely horrified that I’m nearly 40 and plan to wear this in front of people. When she comes to visit to fix The Beast, I’m going to make her go out to lunch with me when I’m wearing it. I may go back and buy one for her, too.
The second best thing about Tuesday Morning was that when I was in the storage container section there was an elderly couple behind me looking at can openers. And they had a 15 minute conversation about WHICH COLOR CAN OPENER TO BUY! I stood behind them and pretended to look at plastic containers for 15 minutes just so I could listen to them because I just knew that they had to be talking about more than the color of the can opener. I contemplated recording them with my phone but I was concerned that was illegal. Here’s their conversation:
Madge: Well, here’s a purple one.
Herb: But here’s white.
Madge: I also see green here.
Herb: Which one do you like?
Madge: I don’t know. I do know I’d rather have white than purple.
Repeat that conversation over about 20 times, throw in a comment about how can openers get rusty in the dishwasher, and you will have relived 15 minutes of my day.
Try not to be jealous of how exciting my life is.
I can actually see myself in 40 years forcing VSM to go to Tuesday Morning with me and having a near meltdown about which color can opener to buy. I kind of look forward to it. I hope some near-40 hottie with adult acne eavesdrops on us.
Last stop: Target. Now, Target is my favorite store in the world. You can go into Target thinking you don’t need anything but still leave the store having spent $100. That’s like magic.
I went into Target with no purpose and came out with some clearance sunglasses that I think might actually be men’s sunglasses. But if wearing a Sesame Street sweatshirt doesn’t bother me, then you’d be an idiot to think that wearing men’s sunglasses would bother me. Sometimes I wear men’s underwear.
Shut up. They’re comfortable.
While in Target I saw a man wearing a hospital mask. And that made me think: Is he wearing the mask so that he doesn’t catch something or so that he doesn’t give something? Either way, I avoided him.
I bought a few other things that I really didn’t need and then started to leave. Our Target has metal rails that separate the cart return door, the manual door and the automatic door. And as I was about to leave I saw this woman initially go to walk through the cart return door. This door was open and she could have totally walked through it and just took one step to the right and she would have been in the actual exit, but she decided to turn back around, walk around the first set of metal hand rails and go to the next door. So she walks to that door and realizes it’s the manual door, and then instead of just pushing the door open, she walks back around another set of metal rails so that she can go through the automatic door.
Now, I can’t really say this woman is lazy because she obviously took a lot more steps than she needed to take, but have we really become a nation of people who refuse to push open a door? Anyway, since I couldn’t call her lazy, I decided she was just your run-of-the-mill moron. Even if you’re a complete germaphobe, which I am, she could have shouldered her way out or butt-ed her way out. If I had had a “You Are A Moron” sticker, I would have given it to her. [Someone needs to invent Moron Stickers. It’s my idea. So if you decide to make them I want credit.]
I started to walk to my car and it started to sprinkle ever so slightly. And I really cannot emphasize enough how slightly it was. I hate to even call it a sprinkle. I could have stood in the parking lot for an hour and not even appear a little bit wet.
Walking in the parking lot near me was a woman with long blonde hair, and I don’t know if she just had her hair done or had a hot date or what, but she was cowering under her umbrella like she was walking in the middle of a hurricane. I kind of wished a gust of wind would knock the umbrella out of her hand just so I could watch her freak out. (Is that mean?)
I also wanted to tell her to let go of her vanity and that life’s a lot easier when you don’t give two rips about your appearance. But I’m pretty sure she figured I don’t give two rips about my appearance based upon my undone hair and uncovered adult acne. Plus, I probably smelled like cat pee.
Sexy. I know.
Then I came home and ate copious amounts of chocolate and cookies for dinner and drank some wine. And today, I’m paying for this gluttony with a nice flare-up of my Irritable Bowel Syndrome.
It could be worse. I could tell you I still haven’t started my period.
As always, you are welcome
UPDATE: My sister informs me that my comment about my period suggests that I might be pregnant. Unless God is playing a truly sick joke on me, I’m not pregnant. I’m nearly 40, infertile and very happy about that. [Spits three times, throws salt over left shoulder.] If you are a member of my family and you’re praying that I get pregnant, I implore you to stop!