Filed under: General Peevery, Parenting | Tags: addiction, annoying, bad parenting, book of excuses, children, department of torture, dina lohan, drive me up the wall, enabler, excuses, grating, intervention, lindsay lohan, mother, nervous breakdown, parenthood, parenting, peeve, pet peeves, pre-teen, sarcastic, vent
They are like the Zippleback of How to Train Your Dragon, except, less cute.
Peeved: Biggie, I need you to put away those [completely inappropriate] clothes Granny just bought you and lay out your outfit for school tomorrow.
Biggie: Ugh. God, Mom, I KNOW. [eye roll, drawer slam, foot stomp – she is only this coordinated when pouting]
Peeved: A simple, ‘yes, Mom’ will suffice. The receipt for those clothes is still in the bag. Talk to me like that again and I will have no problem returning them.
Biggie: I am! I’m doing it! Gosh, Mom! [throws hands up in air, gives look of death, stomps foot again]
Peeved: Biggie…
Granny: Oh, give her a break, she’s tired.
Peeved: I’m sure she is. I’m tired too, it’s no excuse for talking to me that way.
Granny: Oh, come on, she’s medicated.
Peeved: Mom, it’s Tylenol Sinus! [eye roll, foot stomp, look of death]
See, much less cute.
If Lindsay Lohan didn’t have Dina doing such a bang-up job of coming up with excuses, I’d have to recommend my mother for the position. I don’t know if you’ve seen the Matt Lauer interview with Dina Lohan, but she pretty much blames everyone else for Lindsay’s problems. It’s the judge’s fault. The judge was “coming down hard” on her. This, of course, is true because the Judge is currently being recused. What? Lindsay is on her fourth stint in rehab and still, we can’t admit there may be a problem that has nothing to do with external forces? The biggest mistake that judge made was not also ordering Dina to the Betty Ford Clinic for families of addicts.
Call the engraver, we need to change "Mother" to "Enabler" - this makes me sad to be associated with Long Island.
Every Monday, I grab a beer, sit down and put on one of my favorite shows – Intervention on A&E. (Yes, I realize how wrong that is.) It’s so compelling to watch these people and their real-life struggle with addiction. I love that the show actually keeps it real and portrays what happens when addicts face an intervention and go to rehab. What happens is, about half or more relapse. I used to try to guess which ones would make it and which ones would not. However, that game got too easy to be any fun. You can tell who was going to make it by their families. If there was one – it only takes one – enabler in the group, they were done-zo. I don’t understand this. I literally yell at my TV. It’s like watching a horror flick when the girl goes towards the weird sound instead of hiding in the closet and calling 911.
Addict: I don’t even have a problem. I’m not even going.
Good Family Member: If you don’t go, then I will no longer let you stay at my house. I will no longer let you borrow my car. I will refuse to give you more money.
Addict: That’s fine. I’ll just ask Mommy.
[Peeved: Don’t do it Mom. Stay strong. Remember what Candi said, you will no longer let them kill themselves in front of you. You are only helping her die.]
Bad Mommy: We love you, we just want you to get better.
Addict: Are you going to cut me off, too?
Bad Mommy: [crying, showing weakness]
[Peeved: No! Bad Mommy! No! Well, dammit, I give her about 10 days before she starts drinking the mouthwash.]
I told you.
Parents need to stop giving kids excuses for why nothing is their fault. Hollywood or not, there is no such thing as consequences anymore. For my kids, I want life to be something they live, not just a series of things that happen to them. The Dina Lohan’s of the world need to put on their big girl panties and start doing the difficult job of parenting. No excuses.
Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, books, brainwashed, consumerism, department of torture, drive me up the wall, fancy clothes, grating, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, problem with the world today, sarcastic, shoes, shopping, toys, twilight, unlimited supply, vampires, vanity plates, vent
Here is what is wrong with our society. Driving in to work this morning, they had a contest on the radio. In order to win the contest, you had to guess the answer to the following question:
According to recent poll, besides food & money, what’s the #1 item you’d like a lifetime supply of?
Hmm... Books? Well, no, because you basically get that at the library. Although, I do loathe to return them (as is evidenced by my $30 overdue balance).
I know, I know!!! SHOES!!!! Yes, please. Third wish on the genie lamp for me... unlimited shoes!
No? What else do I need in life besides good books, money, food, and shoes? I’m stumped! Okay, let me think what the average person would say…
I got it! Gas. As much as we'd like to hold out hope, I don't anticipate those corn cars going into production anytime soon. And, while we're at it, can I get a little full-service as well?
Not it? Okay, I guess I’m being too practical. Let me think more on the level of the average American. Ah, yes, that’s my problem – I’m not being materialistic enough!
Fancy clothes?
Diamonds?
Enough sports cars to make Jay Leno drool? And enough accompanying vanity plates to make John Mayer cry?
...electronic pets? Toys?
No? Hmm… well, maybe I’m underestimating people. What else is not a food, not money, but you would want an unlimited supply of?
BINGO! Skymiles...
... Embassy Suites rewards points?
... Unlimited admission tickets to aquariums, museums, parks and zoos throughout the world?
No? Okee Dokee, not interested in traveling or learning about nature, other cultures or history.
I give up. Please, just tell me. WHAT would Americans want a limitless supply of besides food and money?
A: Cable TV service!
Yes, folks. This is the problem with our society. Forget A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, these people are only interested in A Potato Grows on the Couch.
Which, is probably why they sell these at Toys R Us.
Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, chelsea handler, drive me up the wall, facebook stalker, fuck censorship, grating, jodie foster, lindsay lohan, midget, nervous breakdown, office christmas party, office creeper, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, stalking, vent, you're doing it wrong
Oh my God. I’m so, like, Jodie Foster. No, I didn’t land an acting gig. No, it’s nothing to do with a pinball machine, an airtight room or a kid vanishing on a plane. I have a stalker. Legit, full-on, creeptastic stalker. Chelsea Handler can have her midget. I’m so much cooler than that.
I want to share the details but, I’m kind of afraid. See, I never even thought to write this blog anonymously. I also never thought people would actually read it. Now that I post it to my Facebook, more and more I’ve been running into people that will mention something that I have said here on Perpetually Peeved. Which, is kind of cool and also kind of creepy – depending on who is mentioning it. Most people outside of the blogosphere don’t leave comments. So there are all these anonymous readers I tend to forget about when I’m writing. Lately, I’ve been getting more cautious about what I write. I do a mental check – is that person my friend on Facebook? Does that person read my blog? Did I say something about so-and-so that could stir up trouble?
This is all too complicated for me. I mean, I’ve given the warning. I’m not PC. I’m probably talking about you. It’s nothing I wouldn’t tell you to your face. I don’t want to censor myself. It just makes me pissy.
So, at the risk of falling victim to a true stalker, I’m going tell you this story.
This, my friends, is why I’m not nice to people. Nice gets you nowhere except stuck doing shit you don’t want to do -or- stalked to death like Selena.
Let’s go back about 6 years or so. I have just moved into town, got a gig in an office, am finishing up school and just started dating my now-husband. The office has a big, fancy “holiday” party (this was back when they blew through money like Lindsay Lohan blows through, well, blow). Mr.-Soon-To-Be-Peeved and I are drinking, dancing, having a wonderful time. They just finished the raffle (which… hmm… someone in HR always wins) and the electric slide is starting up. Yep, almost time to go.
Mr. Soon-to-be Peeved: Who is that creepy lady that keeps following us and staring at you?
Peeved: Who? Oh, her? She’s Office Creeper. I work with her.
Mr. Soon-to-be Peeved: Seriously? They employ her?
Peeved: Stop it. Be nice.
Mr. Soon-to-be Peeved: She keeps looking at you. She’s creeping me the hell out.
Peeved: Oh, she’s harmless. Stop it.
She must have sensed we were talking about her, because she made a beeline towards us right at that moment.
Peeved: Oh, hi Office Creeper, have you met Mr. Soon-to-be Peeved?
Office Creeper: Oh, why no, I haven’t. Because, you saw me earlier and you didn’t say hi.
Peeved: What? I’m sorry. I must not have seen you.
Office Creeper: You looked right at me.
Peeved: Oh, sorry, I really must not have seen you. Well, we were just about to leave…
Can you say, "Stranger Danger?" photo from Red Cross
Over Mr. Soon-to-be Peeved’s protests, I returned to work after the party. I decided to brush off the creepy incident and continue to be nice. I learned early on that you just don’t mess with crazy. For the next three years, I worked in close proximity to the Office Creeper. It was well known that her closet contained (hopefully) five of the same shirts and five of the same pants, because she wore the same outfit to work every day of those three years. One day, she came into work and was wearing a different shirt. So, trying to be nice I say, “Gee, Office Creeper, that’s a nice shirt, is it new?” Why? Why? Why did I have to be nice? From then on, any time she would see me she would walk up to my desk, do a Price is Right girl move with her arms down her body and say, “Oh, Peeved, do you notice anything different about me today?” Shit. Shit. Shit. Is it the shoes? Is it the hair? Jewelry? What? I was afraid to get the wrong answer.
Of course, all my co-workers thought this was hilarious. “How’s your girlfriend, Peeved?” So freaking funny, really. Well, much like Lindsay Lohan’s career, the ecomony went down the crapper and so did the office holiday parties along with a bunch of employee’s jobs. Office Creeper was one of the people let go. If offices had polls like high schools do, O.C. would have been voted Most Likely to Come Back and Shoot Everyone Who Was Ever Mean to Her. Who’s laughing now, bitches?
Fast forward to today. It’s been almost two years since the layoff, I’m at a new job for about four months and haven’t given O.C. a thought since I accidently stumbled upon her Facebook page and almost peed myself laughing. (Under interests, it says, “cats.” Just cats. Why this struck me as urine-inducing funny, I’ll never know.) Today, there was an event at my workplace. I headed down to the event and who do I run into, but none other than Office Creeper.
Peeved: Oh, hi, Office Creeper. What are you doing here?
Office Creeper: Oh, well, Peeved, I’m going to be associated with Company on a project for the next three years or so.
Peeved: Oh, really? Well, did you know I work here now?
Office Creeper: Oh, yes, actually I think I knew that.
Try not to be jealous. I know, it’s hard. I almost feel famous. What do you mean I don’t have a bodyguard and a limo picking me up from work today? I have 5 readers – doesn’t that qualify me as a celebrity?
P.S. Office Stalker, if you read my blog, I’m just trying to be funny. I really do think you are a genuinely nice person.
P.P.S. If I don’t post by 5:00pm tomorrow, call the cops.
Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, crack yourself up, drive me up the wall, dumb and dumber, grating, hanging picture frames, lame joke, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, unfunny, vent, will ferrell, you aren't as funny as you think you are
Today I was working on a special project, something outside the scope of my normal job functions. The task involved hanging over 70 pictures in 2-3 rows around a fairly large room. If you’ve ever tried to hang two pictures next to each other in your house, you can imagine what an enormous task this was. Yes, this was going to require a LOT of toothpaste.
If you know me at all, you probably know that I’m mad OCD and a diagram/prototype/lay-it-all-out-before-you-start type of girl. With my to-scale diagram in hand, we began measuring and came up with a great system of getting the pictures on the wall fairly level.
So, Mrs. Segalski was right, I would need to use those 3rd grade math skills one day. Photo courtesy of tutorials.com
After the first row of 14, we got into a rhythm and were moving right along. Well, wouldn’t you know it, some smart-ass (a contractor working on another part of the project) waltzes in and says, “It looks good – I like the way they’re all different heights.” Let’s see if you can complete my thought… it began with, “Oh, go” and ended with, “yourself.”
One of my fellow workers quickly laughed it off and said, “Oh, Peeved, he was just kidding.” I’m standing on a ladder with a ruler, a level and what feels like quantum physics equations running through my head. Pardon me if I don’t think it’s funny. And, P.S. it was about the most unoriginal, unfunny thing a person could have come in and said. Glad you cracked yourself up buddy. Now, why don’t you go do some freaking work?
I can appreciate a good joke. Good being the operative word. I’m one of the few people who hate Will Ferrell and have never seen Dumb and Dumber. Because, when you try too hard to be funny, you usually aren’t. Throw on an America’s Funniest Home Video montage of people falling on their asses and that shit is funny.
There are two types of people who think they’re funny and aren’t. Most fall into the category of people who love to make jokes at everyone else’s expense, but can’t handle a comeback. So, let me get this straight – It’s okay for you to make a joke about the size of my ass, but the minute I even hint at your endowment issues, then we’re not being funny anymore? Interesting. Or, as I like to call it, obnoxious.
Then, there are the unfunnies who think they are the most hilarious thing since, well, Will Ferrell. You usually have absolutely no idea what their joke is because they are too busy laughing to tell it properly. Because, it’s, like, so funny, dude. Guess you had to be there. I don’t know about you, but I often find myself thanking Jesus I wasn’t.
These people are so unfunny you can’t even laugh at them, let alone with them. If you try to tell them they aren’t funny, do you know what they do? They laugh. Yes, laugh and say, “Oh, you’re so funny.”
No, actually, I’m not. And, neither are you.
See, still not funny.
Filed under: General Peevery, Parenting | Tags: annoying, close talkers, communication errors, dispicable me, drive me up the wall, failure to communicate, grating, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, seinfeld, sorcerers apprentice, vent, what, you talkin to me
My 4-year-old, Smalls, and I ride home from work/school together every day. This half hour is usually spent singing, making up stories, or asking, “why” until my head is about to explode. The other day, we were discussing our plans for the weekend.
Smalls: Mommy, I want to go to the movies tonight.
Peeved: You do?
Smalls: Yes, I want to see ‘Ispicable Me. It looks so funny, it has these cute little yellow guys. They are not like bugs and they are not like aliens and they go, “beep beep wonk” and one of them only has one eye, but the rest have two and they are yellow. And little. And cute.
Peeved: Okay, we’ll ask Daddy if he wants to go the movies tonight.
Smalls: Yeah, I want to see those cute little yellow guys in ‘Ispicable Me.
Peeved: What was the name of that movie again?
Smalls: ‘Ispicable Me.
Peeved: Okay, it sounds like a great movie.
Smalls: I also want to see Oserersappren Sim. It looks really good, there is this little baby dragon and he snuggles up to the boy. I want a dragon. Mommy are dragons real? Can I get one.
Peeved: No honey, dragons are just make-believe. So you can’t get one.
Smalls: Well, I need a pet, can I PLEEEAAASSSEEE have a dog?
Peeved: You have cats. Ask Daddy about the dog. What was the name of that movie again?
Smalls: Oserersappren Sim. Can’t we get rid of the cats?
Peeved: No. They’re our pets. Oserersappren Sim?
Smalls: No. Oserersappren Sim.
Peeved: That’s what I said, Oserersappren Sim.
Smalls: No, say it with me: Os-er-er-app-ren-sim.
Peeved: Os-er-er-app-ren-sim.
Smalls: No. OSSERERAPPREN SIM!
Peeved: You don’t have to yell, I got it: Osererappren sim.
Smalls: No, mommy. You’re not saying it right.
Peeved: Well, I don’t understand you. I don’t understand what you are trying to say.
Smalls: Okay, I’ll say it louder: OSSERERAPPREN SIM!
Peeved: I still don’t know what you’re saying. What happens in the movie?
Smalls: I already told you, there’s a dragon and a boy. Forget it mommy, you aren’t understanding me. I said it slow and I said it loud and you still aren’t saying it right. Daddy will know. And he’ll get me a puppy.
In other words Mommy, you suck.
When we finally arrive home, I find help in my 12-year-old, Biggie. She apparently is still on the cusp of kid and teenager and can translate well enough.
Peeved: Smalls, tell Biggie the name of that movie about the dragon and the boy.
Smalls (to Biggie): Oserersappren Sim.
Biggie: Oh, The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. But, I don’t think she should see that movie. It looks scary for her.
Peeved: SORCERER’s APPRENTICE? That’s what you were saying?
Smalls: YES! I told you. Oserersappren Sim!
There is probably no more frustrating thing than having a conversation with someone that you don’t understand. Except, maybe having a conversation with someone that doesn’t understand you. This exchange made me realize just how many of my peeves are centered around communication. Yes, ladies and gents, time for another list of “rules.”
How to have a conversation with Peeved:
1. Contrary to popular belief, I do not have a mental deficiency. There is no need to follow any statement with, “Does that make sense?”
2. If I am standing in front of a sink with running water or am in another room in the house separated by a solid wall, I can’t hear you.
3. Don’t ask me, “what?” if you heard what I said.
4. If we are disagreeing on something, repeating your point over and over and over is not going to make me change my mind. It will only cause regression to childhood argument tactics and I am the master of the “Yes you are, No I’m not” game.
5. When I ask you a question or call your name, it is only polite to acknowledge that you heard me even if you are thinking about the answer.
6. Every question does not need to be prefaced with “Mommy” — I will change my name to Penelope Humperdink. Can’t pronounce that? Hmm… that’s the point.
7. If you don’t know me, don’t shorten my name. It’s not that long and it is pronounced phonetically.
8. Don’t use my name repeatedly in conversation. That’s just creepy. I don’t care what your infomercial memory booster networking tool told you to do.
9. Look me in the eye when you are talking to me. Unless you have one of those floating eyes – then, let’s both look somewhere else because, that’s just awkward.
10. I don’t want to tell what shampoo scent you have when you’re talking to me. Ever seen that Seinfeld episode? I’ve got a pocket of space reserved for me, my husband, and my immediate family – you don’t want to cross it.
11. Don’t say “forget it.” Nothing in the world ticks me off more than not knowing how something ends and/or getting resolution. You don’t understand. I can’t forget it. It will bug the crap out of me until you just tell me.
12. Don’t say “I’ll tell you later.” Nobody likes a tease.
13. Don’t answer the question before I’m done asking it. If you could read minds, you would have your own show on the Psychic Friends Network and Dionne Warwick would be your BFF.
14. Please do not pretend like you heard what I said when you didn’t and laugh inappropriately. It’s okay if you didn’t hear me. I like to talk, I’ll say it again.
15. Don’t ask me the same question or bring up the same topic every time I see you. You can’t keep asking me how the “baby” is until she’s 15. Please, let’s just talk about the weather.
Artist = David Buckingham. Pretty neat stuff: http://www.galleryoffunctionalart.com/buckingham.shtml
Filed under: Anti-Peeves | Tags: annoying, anti-peeve, better than you, camera, children, drive me up the wall, grating, i am from poem, modeling, mother, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, poetry, pre-teen, sarcastic, smart-ass, vent
Apologies, I am my mother’s daughter. When I said I had a post coming late Friday night, what I really meant was almost midnight on Sunday. I’ve spent the weekend touring kiddie jump places and drinking vodka. Don’t judge.
Last Wednesday, I had a wonderful dinner with a fellow blogger and photographer (she would probably protest me calling her that, but her pictures speak for themselves) – Katie from You Are What You Eat… or, Reheat. She was taking pictures of Biggie and Smalls because, of course, while they jump up and down and simultaneously cross their eyes every time I’m behind the camera, when it’s a stranger they are all blinking eyelashes and smiles.
Katie (to Biggie): You are so pretty, you take great pictures, you could be a model.
Biggie: Actually, I’m going to be a marine biologist.
Peeved’s Friend (yes, I have at least 1): Well, you could model to pay for school to be a marine biologist.
Peeved: Yeah, mommy modeled a little when I was in high school. You could do that.
Biggie: You? Modeled? [giggle fit]
Peeved: Yes. And, I wouldn’t laugh if I was you. You look just like me when I was your age. I wasn’t always old, you know.
Biggie: Yeah, I look just like you. But, prettier.
Well, at least we don’t have to worry about self-esteem issues. Biggie is my mini-me in more ways than just looks, she also inherited my smart-ass attitude and ability to tell the honest truth. To prove to her that she does, in fact, look like me when I was her age, I pulled out some old photos. She chose the photo of me that she thought looked most like her and recreated the look for a photo shoot.
Me 1.0
Me 2.1 (Now, new and improved)
The next day, we were sitting down for dinner. I had just picked up Biggie from school and she was telling me about her day.
Peeved: How was school today?
Biggie: Good. Another boy asked me out. (This is the 4th in the past week.)
Peeved: Oh, did you make him fill out the survey your stepdad requires?
Biggie: Nah, he wasn’t worth it. Guess what?
Peeved: What?
Biggie: I wrote the best poem ever. You want to hear it?
Peeved: Sure… (getting on the game face…)
Biggie: Okay, the assignment was to tell where you are from.
Peeved: All right, bring on the ode to Long Island pizza.
Biggie: No, mom, this is really good. It’s the best poem, like, in the world.
I am from chlorinated pools, from law firms and from the restaurant business.
I am from the little, one story house. Small, comforting and the one that I sleep in.
I am from the venus fly trap outside, by the tree. Vicious, yet gentle in its own way.
I am from smudging my name on my cake and loud laughing. From [dad’s name] and Emily. I’m from the spoiled brats and mean little cousins.
I am from will you trust me.
I am from sleeping late and then eating and falling asleep again.
I am from many cousins and family members. From flan and cheese eggs.
Biggie: So, what’d you think?
Peeved: I think that was the best poem, in the whole wide world. Like, ever.
Yep, like me, only prettier, more confident, less modest. Me at 12 years old.
Filed under: Uncategorized
Friday is usually, sometimes, depending on what kind of week I’m having, the day I post an anti-peeve. Something that made me happy or put some perspective on things so I don’t run away with myself (and my peeves). I have a post planned for today, but I won’t be able to get to it until much later. So, until then, I’m re-blogging this excellent post that runs tandem to my own thoughts today.
Pop is one of my favorite bloggers – he mixes dad humor with dad seriousness and mad dad grill skills. Check him out. Pop – I hope you don’t mind the re-blog. 😉
via Go, Pop, Go!
Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, audacity, blatantly stole my idea, drive me up the wall, grating, idea stealers, nervous breakdown, of course I'm on board, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, vent, vocabulary, word of the day
au·dac·i·ty [aw-das-i-tee]
- boldness or daring, esp. with confident or arrogant disregard for personal safety, conventional thought, or other restrictions.
- effrontery or insolence; shameless boldness: His questioner’s audacity shocked the lecturer.
- Usually, audacities, audacious acts or statements.
Example:
[overheard at closed-door meeting Audacious and Peeved]
Audacious: So, I’ve decided we are not going to do XYZ because if we do XYZ we won’t be able to get QRS.
Quick, someone get me one of these. (from the movie Saw)
au·dac·i·ty [aw-das-i-tee]
- boldness or daring, esp. with confident or arrogant disregard for personal safety, conventional thought, or other restrictions.
- effrontery or insolence; shameless boldness: His questioner’s audacity shocked the lecturer.
- Usually, audacities, audacious acts or statements.
Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, back stabbers, bad day, bad methods of fuel economy, cute shoes, cute shoes that hurt, drive me up the wall, fire drill, grating, great coffee spill of 2010, grommet shoes, i hate cyclists, karma is a bitch, karma with PMS, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, system failure, vent
Man, I for sure pissed someone off. Karma is not only a bitch, she’s PMSing and I’ve stepped in her cross-hairs. I’m going to do this Wordless Wednesday style. (I said, “style” – you know I can’t totally keep my mouth shut. I’m not a good enough photographer for that.)
Wake up Wednesdays took on a whole new meaning when the coffee I got at Smalls' daycare didn't want to keep it's lid on. This explains my puddle tweet earlier.
Of course I was wearing a white shirt and jeans. Luckily I had a change of pants in my work drawer.
Which, I could have gotten away with if my UNDERWEAR WEREN'T DRIPPING WITH COFFEE! Quick change into the new pants, and I was headed home for a change.
It took everything I had. This is at least 500 points and certainly a jury of my peers would agree, justifiable homicide material.
Just ignore that little maintenance light - that's what I do. Crap! Forgot the gas money at home. New budget = cash system. Will have to roll down windows to save fuel.
Note to self: rolling down windows as a method of fuel economy = not worth it.
This is the 7th floor stairway of our building. Those are my feet promptly evacuating my body due to a fire alarm that went off precisely 15 minutes after arriving back at work.
These are the cute shoes I wore to work today.
And, by cute, I mean in the same way as children are cute. Cute until they make you want to cry hysterically and go lay down on your bed forever. Only the Department of Torture manufactures this particular brand of grommet shoe.
At lunch, I learned about a little of this - can't go into detail. I'm too busy sharpening my pencils and taping them to my leg. Just for self-defense, of course.
THE SYSTEM HAS RECOVERED FROM A SERIOUS ERROR -- As seen on my computer screen just prior to saving 2 hours worth of design work.
I've seen Robert Downey Jr. have better recoveries than this. The fa?
I finally threw my hands up and decided to get back on the horse. At least if I get in a wreck on the way home, I'll have on clean underwear.
Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, chocolate pecan bourbon pie, drive me up the wall, eating until your clothes don't fit, filet mignon, food, food coma, grating, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, vent, yahtzee, yahtzee sixes
I’m totally writing to you from a comatose state right now. My fingers are typing, but my brain is not thinking. In fact, I may as well be laying under my desk with my pants undone and a chocolate goatee, moaning quietly while my eyes roll around in my head, with a sign on my door that says, “If you expect me to pick up that print job, you better bring a stretcher.”
We had the annual staff luncheon at work today. The lunch was in a private dining room at a nice seafood restaurant here in the big city. Menu was a “sharing plate” of fried calamari and fried chicken spring rolls, salad, choice of salmon, tilapia or filet mignon, and another “sharing plate” of apple and pecan pie for dessert. This being a seafood restaurant, I, of course, ordered the steak.
My husband has a saying when we are playing Yahtzee! – “Never take the sixes off the board!” Well, I have a saying whenever steak is an option on a menu – “Why the hell would I chose anything but filet mignon?”
If you want to know the origin of this saying, read up on howtodothings.com
It was a great time. Really. Shocking, I know. Have I mentioned I love my new job? The food was just as good as the company and I could see people getting weighed down in their chairs as the meal progressed. By the time they brought out the dessert platter, we all thought we were too full to even eat any. Who the hell were we kidding? Because, folks, that wasn’t just pecan pie on the platter, it was chocolate bourbon pecan pie. I promptly threw my left arm in front of Big Boy to block him and, with my right, gently slid the platter directly in front of me. I got myself a big ole honking piece of the that pie and I wasn’t going to split it with anyone. No way, no how. My idea of sharing is: you can have what I can’t finish.
Imagine this but with dark chocolate chips and about 2 more inches of pecans on top. From http://mysisterskitchen2009.blogspot.com/, who got the recipe from Emeril.
It was so good that people who didn’t like pecan pie were eating it. Shit, people who were allergic to tree nuts were eating it. Right before trying to roll myself out of my chair, I realized my pants didn’t fit anymore. Literally. I could not breathe. I made the requisite joke about wearing my “fat pants” next time. I said, “You know what they should do? They should totally have those adjustable waist pants like they have for kids, but for adults.” I’m a genius, I know. I’m just a genius a little behind the curve. “They do, I’ve got them on right now,” replied a male co-worker.
The wha-ha? They don’t have those in the women’s section. You have to be kidding me. Not only do these males not have to wear heels, put on make-up, do their hair, or squeeze something out of their body that is 10x the normal circumference of that orifice, but now they get to wear expandable waist pants? Some days, I so want to be a man.
Then, I remember all my cute shoes.
Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating my shoe closet a bit... but, not much. (Mariah Carey will have nothing on me when I win the MegaMillions)
When I got back to the office, 3:00 hit and I headed downstairs to get a coffee. Only, I didn’t really head down stairs, I took the elevator. Because I’m fat. And, I still couldn’t breathe. I got to about floor #2 and it happened. My pants button popped. I literally ate to the point that I was busting out of my pants.
Maybe I don’t need that latte after all.
Or, the shoes.
My new motto? “A good glutton always packs a sewing kit!”
Perpetually Peeved 