And I am awake. And grouchy.
And I have a headache, no one else is awake and I’ve read everyone’s recent blog postings—and that’s quite a lot, to be honest. My RSS reader has about 200 blogs on it.
And she hasn’t posted or commented in ages, and I can’t tag-team on other blogs without her (because she’s a lot funnier than I am) and so I am bored, too. 🙁
Stupid ass rain.
I think I’m going to buy earplugs.
Grandmother of child groom disgusted… yeah, me too. Ick.
Seriously, when it all comes down to it, I have no problem with a large age gap… but 15 and 37 would be so much better if it was 20 and 42. Five years makes a huge difference.
I’m disturbed.
And I burned my hand this morning. Be wary of leaving a ceramic mug on a gas stove with three burners lit—do not, I repeat, do not grab the handle expecting it to be fine. It will not be fine. You will earn yourself a sticky burn. Sticky? Yes, because ceramic glaze gets tacky at a certain heat.
Just so you know.
So it looks like Target might be out when I do my shopping. Sheesh.
Come on people. You have to be kidding.
It’s not that I plan to ever use emergency contraceptives—I just want the option. But that’s the point isn’t it? That it’s an emergency. And in all honesty, I wouldn’t want someone refusing to fill my prescription ever.
What would happen if Tom Cruise was the pharmacist at Target? “I’m sorry, you don’t actually have post partum depression, so I’m refusing to fill this prescription. You can come back tomorrow when pharmacist Matt Lauer is here.”
In other words, this opens up a giant can of worms
“Never in the field of human conflict, has so much, been owed by so many, to so few.”—Winston Churchill
I come from a military family. I’ve traced us back to the Civil War on both sides, and to the French Revolution on my Dad’s side.
My mom’s dad was in the Army and my grandmother worked for the Army during WWII. My dad’s dad was in the Air Force. (They were both studs—I’ll post pics later.)
My dad was in the Army—Green Beret, Ranger, Special Forces, yada, yada. My uncle was in the Navy.
I myself won’t join, but I have great respect and admiration for those who do.
My friend Chris was killed in Iraq on October 4, 2004. He was posthumously awarded the Bronze Star and a Purple Heart. This picture, two others and a note from him, arrived four days after he was killed. He was a fantastic guy.
“Never, never, never believe any war will be smooth and easy, or that anyone who embarks on the strange voyage can measure the tides and hurricanes he will encounter. The statesman who yields to war fever must realize that once the signal is given, he is no longer the master of policy but the slave of unforeseeable and uncontrollable events.”—Winston Churchill
I had a very day.
Very bad.
Awful.
So the fuck factor today has been labeled HIGH.
What this means: I am cranky. I want to maim people. So stay out of my way.
The coworker knows when the insider is having a HFF day. I am very obvious. And she’s worked with me long enough to know when she shouldn’t antagonize me.
Today, she decided to ignore that and press on.
One lovely little thing was an email that said “post something funny on your blog.”
Now here’s the thing. I am insanely busy lately. We have major projects to do and to top it off, we had to run labs today. Labs where dumb and annoying people come to test the websites we design. (I am allowed to call them dumb and annoying because I am a designer and it’s my damn prerogative.) When we run these labs, someone from the head office always comes down. Typically it’s the Big Boss, but today, it was this woman who helps run the other side of the business… the one that makes money that we never fucking see. Anyway, she’s absolutely, unbelievably annoying—and she made the day hit the HFF within an hour. And she talks all the damn time—about things that have NOTHING to do with work. Normally I work with headphones in and the coworker knows she needs to bang on the wall or email me to get my attention. The chick from Main? She kept talking. I had both headphones in and I wasn’t looking at her and she was STILL TALKING. Annoying, fucking annoying.
All this together makes for a HFF day. So when the coworker emails me and tells me to “post something funny,” I almost decked her. I believe I instead sent a sarcastic email. I don’t recall.
We hashed this out after the chick from Main left—8PM. As I did her eye makeup (Seriously, I’m pissed off—partially at you—and you trust me to put makeup on your face? Crazy girl), we grouched and she told me to write about it. So yeah. There ya go. Hysterical, I know. I bet you’re all just rolling in your seats.
Stupid day.
Is it that surprising that this is the only thing that made me laugh today?
Damn pouring rain.
Damn loud, cacophony of thunder.
Damn blindingly bright lightning.
The insider is CRANKY when she can’t sleep.
The insider NEEDS TO SLEEP NOW.
I mean seriously, JuBeJu, Spaghetti Monster, whoever the hell you are, please just stop with the storm already, OK? It served it’s purpose (of what, I dunno), but it should be done now. RIGHT NOW.
No, I really mean NOW.
Make it end.
Argh.
Whoever it is, it’s definitely male.
‘Cause they NEVER LISTEN.
I’m gonna be so cranky.
I had the most fascinating dream last night. Equal parts disturbing and hilarious, I dreamed about these guys who liked me in high school. For some reason, I tend to have this remarkable ability to attract, shall we say, the quirky guys. One wore all black and stared at me from across the room. He left notes in my locker and kinda freaked me out. There was another who was really smart, insanely hyper and seriously annoying. He finally told me (two years after high school) that the reason he constantly argued with me was because he had a crush on me. Lovely.
The third was this sweet, adorable guy who was my friend. Blond and blue-eyed, he loved computers (ooo.. plus!) and always seemed to be in a good mood. I dated a football player at another school, though, and wasn’t interested in my friend in that way at all. But I knew he liked me. Everybody did.
Two years after high school, he’d grown five inches, put on some muscle and become insanely jaded about the world. And he didn’t have a problem making a play for me—the shy, insecurity of high school had flown right out the window. He turned out to be a fantastic kisser, but while both of us wanted something more, I had moved by that time and was only visiting. He’d only taken a few college classes, and wasn’t interested in going back for more… so I suggested he fly out to where I was, just for a little while, and see if he liked it. He liked that plan, but never followed through. You see, I mean seriously jaded, and I’m kinda glad he never came out here. He’s been depressed for awhile, and I can’t help him.
Anyway, so it’s down to the wire for me. I go home in six weeks and I know I’m going to see two of them. I don’t know what will happen exactly, but I’m nervous. The last I heard, he had bought a condo and switched jobs. He wanted me to move back, and in, with him. That’s not going to happen, but when we’re around each other, something inevitably does.
My dream? We were back in high school, but we were the people we are now. And it didn’t work there, either.
Probably a damn sign.
My sister never emails. Ever. Or for that matter, calls really. So an email from her can’t be good news.
My dad got in a car accident this morning—he’s OK, no worries. He drives a Jeep you know. 😛 Teenage girl nailed the passenger side, and probably totalled her car.
The first time I remember my dad getting in a car accident was many, many years ago, when he had a little car. He was all of two minutes from our house when a drunk driver nailed him at an intersection one cold, rainy, Sunday morning. He had to be pried from the car, but fortunately only suffered minor injuries… broken ribs, bruised organs, etc. I was maybe nine at the time, and all I remember was my sister was mad she didn’t get to go with him on his rounds that morning. (On Sundays, before church, we sometimes went with him… mainly because the nurses loved us and gave us ice cream at 8AM. 🙂 ) Had she gone that morning, she wouldn’t have made it. His car was obliterated.
That’s when he bought his first Jeep. And when he decided that his daughters would only ever drive Jeeps—as long as he had any say about it.
With all the accidents my sister and I have gotten into—her, seven at least (including an incident with a school bus and a guard rail), and I, three (two tiny, one major)—my dad has always been glad he got us Jeeps.
I just got off the phone with my mom—apparently my dad is at the dealership where we’ve purchased all of our vehicles (and then some) and they’ve handed him the keys to the new 2006 Grand Cherokee something-or-other to drive while his is being worked on. My mom’s guess? “He’ll probably just upgrade at this point—after driving it, you know he’ll want it.” 🙂
This will be vehicle number 13 we’ve gotten from there (including my sister’s ex-husband’s family who got two)… don’t you think there should be a “Buy 13, Get 1 Free” deal? lol
I’m sorry, but this is just damn entertaining. Wal-Mart has a war room. And it’s packed with political consultants.
Apparently they’re the targets of two watch groups, Wal-Mart Watch and Wake Up Wal-Mart, and now there’s a film about to air Wal-Mart: The High Cost of Low Price.
I don’t know why, but I’m highly disturbed by this whole debacle. Did you know that on average, Wal-Mart’s fulltime employees only make 17,500 a year? That’s ridiculous.
Personally, Wal-Mart bugs me. The staff tend to be rude, annoyed that they are there and that you are there, and the other shoppers are as well. Screaming children, crowded aisles and slow cashiers doesn’t make for a fun experience… but the low prices on cleaning supplies and Diet Coke and bottled water. Sigh. It’s a tough call.
So, who shops at Wal-Mart? And why?