Filed under: General Peevery, Parenting | Tags: annoying, baby born, baby fever, birthday, birthday party, bounce house, build-a-bear, castle, crazy mother, drive me up the wall, facebook, fake birthday, grating, johnny carson, mint chocolate chip ice cream bear, moon bounce, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, spiderman and princesses, vent, what kind of girl doesn't wear panties
I know, I know. I promised a post on Friday or Saturday. The weekend ran away from me. I had originally planned to have Smalls’ birthday party at our house on Saturday. Then I realized that having that many people and one bathroom was not a good idea. I also realized that letting a gaggle of four-year-old’s jump around in a bounce house in July was probably not a good idea, either. I don’t think my homeowner’s insurance covers drowning in your own sweat. So, I canceled that party and scheduled one for next weekend at an air-conditioned bounce house place.
Turns out, that was the best thing that could happen. I didn’t cancel the jumpy, figuring we would just have a few friends over and it may be fun. At 9:30 on Saturday morning I get a call from the party rental place… “Ms. Peeved, you are supposed to have a castle bouncy delivered to your house today at 1:30, but we don’t have the castle available. We only have Spiderman. So, we can deliver that one or we can reschedule the castle for next weekend.” I postponed it for a later date and time (maybe a fall party), but what if I had actually had a party planned for that day? How are you going to call someone four hours before their delivery time and say how about Spiderman instead of Princesses? Guess what company I won’t be using in the future.
I guess it could work... They make a cute couple (all color coordinated and stuff).
All for the best, I guess. Because an event I have been waiting forever eight months for took place on Saturday. My friend had her baby! Right on her due date, healthy and beautiful (oh, the hair! and the dimples!). I was so excited that I had to sew another present and whip up a few, “The Crazy Lady That Works With My Mom Loves Me” onesies. Baby fever = quelled. My husband should be a happy man.
As luck would have it, both of these events coincide with the “birthday” post I promised you the other day. So, consider that a segue.
You all know a little bit about my crazy mother. Well, let me add just admit one more piece of evidence, in the case of why I am like I am. My mother and father were divorced when I was about 18 months old. It’s one of those things that you look at them now and wonder, “how the hell did that ever work?” But, I digress. My birth certificate says that I was born on the 8th of July. However, my mother insisted all my life that my birthday was actually the 7th. She swore up and down that she was watching Johnny Carson, that I was born right before midnight and that “by the time they got to your birth certificate” it was the 8th.
My father insisted that she was crazy and they gave her too many drugs. So, my mother always celebrated my birthday with me on the 7th, my father on the 8th. I wasn’t going to complain, I was getting two birthdays out of the deal. However, I did tell everyone the story of how my birthday was really the 7th, yada, yada.
Fast forward to a trip to Cancun, Mexico when I’m 19. Back then, you didn’t need a passport to go to Tijuana or anywhere in Mexico. You just needed a birth certificate. Not wanting to take my only original out of the country, I went down to Vital Records and got a copy. Well, this copy was different from the original in that it had the time stamp on it. 3:54 am. NO WHERE CLOSE TO MIDNIGHT. I immediately called my mother, thinking she would say there has been some terrible mistake, that the doctor’s goofed, that she stood by her story. What does she say? “Well, I really wanted your birthday to be 7/7/77.” That’s it? That’s all you got? You LIED to me about my BIRTHDAY for 19 years and you can’t even try to make an excuse?
My sister's famous cupcake cake.
Needless to say, this has become the joke to all my friends and family. The joke got even funnier when Biggie was born on my “fake” birthday. It stopped being funny because no one remembers when my birthday is. They know the fake one, but can never remember if the real one is the day before or the day after. So, this year, like every other one in the 14 years since the revelation, I got calls on the 6th, calls on the 7th, texts saying, “am I close?” and NOTHING on my actual birthday. Except for Facebook posts, because Facebook knows my real birthday. Thanks Mom.
And, a kind of related, but not really, little add-on for you all – because I’m not processing transitions well this morning…
Yesterday, my mother took Smalls to Build-A-Bear for her birthday. We do this every year with the kids on their birthday as a tradition. And, as an excuse to only have to go once a year. Usually, Smalls just wants the bear and couldn’t be bothered with the overpriced little outfits they come with. Well, this year, someone must have clued her in that Granny was paying. She picked out a mint chocolate chip ice cream bear and needed the outfit that went with it.
Halfway home from the mall:
Smalls: Hey, we forgot to get the bear shoes.
Granny: I’ll get your bear shoes and bring them to your party next weekend.
Smalls: Oh no! We forgot underwear too. This bear doesn’t even have underwear to cover her peeshie.
Granny: I’ll get the bear undies, too. Undies and shoes. Don’t worry.
Smalls: Good. Because, what kind of girl doesn’t wear panties?
Peeved: Mom, don’t answer that.
Filed under: Anti-Peeves | Tags: anger, annoying, bearman cartoons, bearmantoons.com, confict resolution training, drive me up the wall, grating, hostility log, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, seven deadly sins, vent
Two things have made me happy this week (well, two things I am willing to share). So, this post will be a two-part anti-peeve. You will get your fill of angst in my super-duper birthday edition either later today or tomorrow. Such a tease, I know.
Up first, we have the highlight of corporate training. Earlier this week, I blogged about the Sexual Harassment training. Well, yesterday, we had Conflict Resolution training. Yes! My favorite. I love when the top sheet of the handout says, “Anger Management.” We started with a little personality test. Love those… really. Why don’t you just read me my horoscope? Anyway, I’m a jazz musician. That means I’m creative and like to “think outside the box.” (Sorry, that sound was me gagging.) It also means I evade conflict. Another type of personality, the classical musician, avoids conflict. What’s the difference, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. Because I hit up dictionary.com. Evading conflict means that you avoid it through cleverness or trickery. Now, that actually makes sense. Kind of the point of this blog. Avoid the actual conflict, but still get my bitch out in a creative way. Lucky readers.
Okay, poor hapless souls that are stuck in this training, I would like you to turn to page 6 of your packet. There you will see a very powerful tool from a great site called www.mindtools.com. Oh, yes. There it is. The highlight of my week:
This is like a worksheet for blog entries. Okay, so the third column is completely unnecessary. (Of course it’s justified.) But, other than that, this could be a template for my daily posts. I’m considering a name change to “Perpetually Hostile.” In which case, I would have to use Bearman’s cartoon as my Gravatar.
Which, leads me to the second thing that made me happy this week. Bearman is creating cartoons for each of the seven deadly sins. They are genius, really. Check them all out at http://beartoons.com/. Here’s my favorite:
The resemblence is scary! 🙂
Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, canoli, carb-loving, drive me up the wall, grating, karma, lunch, naturally skinny, naturally thin, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, skinny bitch, terminator, tits on a stick, tits on a trunk, treadmill clotheshanger, veal rolotini, vent, work-out
Overheard at lunch yesterday: “If that skinny bitch eats one bite of those carbs, I’m just going to give up and kill myself.”
Dramatic, yes. But, that’s the way I roll.
Speaking of rolls, the big trip up North did not help me out in the look-svelte-in-your-bathing-suit category. I don’t look anything close to svelte in my bathing suit and I even splurged for the one with the built-in fat sucker. Now, I’m not going to be one of those people who complains about being heavier than I want to be. That would be a tad hypocritical being that above quote was said over a licked-clean plate of what used to be a short-stack and sausage. Besides, we all know how I feel about hypocrites. No, I’m going to be one of those people who complains about skinny little bitches who get to eat whatever they want without having to get on a single treadmill.
Seriously, though... How am I supposed to say no to this? Veal rolotini. Some of the best stuff I've ever put in my mouth. The canoli dessert was gone before I got to take a picture.
I swear, every time I hear one say, “Oh, I’m just naturally skinny,” my Terminator vision kicks in, a target appears on their forehead and I want to blast them to infinity. The big guns come out when the skinny girl who knows she’s skinny says, “Oh, I’m so fat. Look at this.” All while trying to squeeze a bit of skin between her fingers. Oh, shut it – I lost more fat than that in a cheek swab. If you haven’t had kids yet and aren’t over the age of 30, you better watch out. Karma is a bitch. I used to be naturally thin. All my pre-baby life my sister called me “tits on a stick.” Two babies and a few birthdays later, it’s “tits on a trunk.” I swear for each time you rub in that you can eat whatever you want, you get a pound of fat that sits right under your bellybutton and never goes away. Or, maybe this is just my own internal vision of ideal karma.
Ahhh.... that's more like it!
Department of Torture Patent No. 4783290, a/k/a my treadmill, sits dormant in my office, collecting clothes and dust. Why? Because I’m lazy. And, I’m great at justifying my laziness. See, when I gain weight it is usually all in my arms, my bust and my waistline. What’s a treadmill going to do to fix that? No need to get all sweaty for nothing, right? Just throw on a low-cut 3/4 sleeve babydoll shirt and hope no one looks down past the cleavage.
Maybe if they made a workout show where you were kick-boxing a bag that looked like a naturally skinny, carb-loving, skin-pinching, compliment-hunting, little bitch… hmmm… I may be on to something here.
Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, back-to-school, budget, comcast, doctor, drive me up the wall, grating, health insurance, immunizations, nervous breakdown, pediatrician, peeve, pet peeves, rip-off, sarcastic, shopping, to-do list, vent
The only thing keeping pace with my expanding waistline is the ever-growing to-do list on my desk at home. I swear it’s like gerbils. You start with one and – BAM! – immaculate conception – and there’s 30 the next time you look. One thing leads to another and for each thing you cross off there are five more things to take its place.
You know what I feel like doing? I feel like telling my to-do list to go shit in a hat.
Medical reimbursement forms – Really? I have to print something out and sign it and put a stamp on it? I can FB chat with my long-lost cousin who lives in an igloo in Alaska but the doctor’s office can’t electronically tell the insurance company that I got my eyes examined? Hey vision plan, go sharpen a pencil, hold it in your hand real tight and go run some hurdles!
Comcast cancellation – Yes, Comcast, you suck. You suck my time, you suck my energy and you suck my money straight out of my account. I’m done with you. Done. Don’t try to offer me free HBO for 10 years or re-bundle my plan to trick me back into your lair. I quit you. So take your modem, your broken remotes that are never where I need them, and your lousy-ass cable box that always cuts out right in the middle of Glee and shove them all where the sun don’t shine!
Back-to-school doctor’s exams – The kids are fine. They aren’t bleeding, they aren’t crying and there are no protruding bones. Why do I have to take them to the doctor? So the school can have a sheet of paper? So you can charge me a $95 “administrative” fee in addition to my co-pay and then tell me my kids need immunizations that you don’t provide because the insurance doesn’t pay you back and you can send me to the local health clinic where I can spend my entire day off waiting around with a bunch of people who don’t have health insurance so that my kid can get a shot and come out bleeding and crying? No thank you. How ’bout you stick that vaccination in your eye? Because, I’d rather do that than waste my day making my kids cry. I can do that on my own for much less money.
Back to school shopping – No. Please, God. I’ll do anything. Don’t make me take Biggie shopping. Don’t. I’ll be a good girl. I promise. Crap! Fine then. Hey, Abercrombie, Justice, American Eagle, Gap, Payless, why don’t you light a match and see how fast the toxic fume cloud from all the perfume you spray on your clothes goes up in flames? It probably wouldn’t burn as fast as my money when I have to shop in your over-priced, stinky, loud, ill-staffed store.
Budget – We’ve had this talk before, budget. It’s time for you to be more independent. I shouldn’t have to watch you all the time. It’s time for you to grow. I’ve set up all the Excel formulas, all the direct deposits, all the automatic bill-pays. Why can’t you handle this. Must I do everything myself? What do you mean I have to stop buying so many shoes? What do you mean by “no more vintage dresses?” We’re going to have issues budget. Real issues. Pack up your minuses and your red cells, get on your bathing suit and take a long walk off a short pier. Because, I’m not doing without new shoes. No way. No how.
This is what it will look like when I'm to-done with it!
There, that’s better. You should try it. What to-do f.u. do you have?
Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, clueless, drive me up the wall, eat your bagel and shut your pie hole, grating, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, sarcastic, stupid people, stupid questions, vent
No.
You can’t.
Sit down.
Yes, folks, you guessed it. I’m late posting today because I was in a mandatory HR training session. Sexual harassment — cue inappropriate jokes, iPhone Words with Friends and (dun! dun! dun!) stupid questions.
Who are these people and why have they been following me around since high school? Here’s the deal. We have to make it through at least a half hour of someone telling us shit that should be common sense. We don’t need your dumb ass coming up with ridiculous scenarios and off-topic questions to prolong the torture. Don’t feel like just because they gave you a bagel you need to raise your hand.
Whoever came up with the quote, “there are no stupid questions” obviously never heard, “What if I like a particular sports team and I have their poster on my wall and someone comes in and they don’t like that sports team and so they’re offended?” asked at a sexual harassment session. Even the poor trainer (could you imagine – I’d rather do the sex talk to middle schoolers) was like, “Well, are they naked in the poster?”
There is a one stupid question quota. You hit it about 4 questions ago. Now, shut the hell up, eat your bagel and let’s get out of here.
Good gravy, is it noon yet?
Go to despair.com if you haven't already. Funny stuff.
Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, drive me up the wall, family, fried clams, going home, grating, nervous breakdown, peeve, pet peeves, philly cheesesteaks, reunion, ruining a story, sarcastic, story telling, storyteller, vacation, vent
Let me start this post by saying thank you all for missing me. Apparently, my blog gets just as many hits when I don’t post as when I do… I don’t know exactly how to feel about that. Maybe absence makes the heart grow fonder.
So, I need a vacation from my vacation. Every time I go back “home” I swear I’m never going back. There’s just too much to do and see and eat – too much trying to make everyone happy and only succeeding in making no one happy. Know what I mean? I’m making you all t-shirts: Perpetually Peeved went to NY and all I got were these lousy rants. There’s that at least. And, the fried clams. Those were amazing.
These were not too shabby either... Cheesesteak/Pizza steak from Jim's in Philly
Let’s start with the Peeved family reunion. Family reunions are always fun. My big, Italian side of the family has a reunion every July 4th. This year was the 37th annual picnic. I hadn’t been to one in about 10 years. So, it was nice to see everyone again even if I couldn’t recognize half of my cousins.
What I did recognize were the stories. You know what I’m talking about. Every family has them. The stories that are told every time you get together, no matter how many times you’ve gotten together. Now, hearing these stories made me come to a realization. There are those who are meant to tell stories and there are those who are meant to listen. It should be apparent who is who. If you are telling the story of the time Grandma left the pits in the cherries when she cooked the pie and find yourself off on a tangent about the exact shade of purple you wore to Aunt Matilda’s wedding, then you should not be telling the story. Leave it to the professionals.
All stories in my family require a complete ensemble cast to tell the tale. You have the STORY TELLER, the FACT CHECKER, the CORRECTOR, the INSTIGATOR, the UNDERMINER, the TANGENTIAL CONVERSER, the TOPPER, the POSER, and the VIRTUAL CENTER OF ATTENTION. Let’s review:
INSTIGATOR: Remember that time that Grandma left the pits in the cherry pie? STORY TELLER, tell that story you tell it best.
STORY TELLER: Oh, gosh. That was great. So, we were all sitting around the table, and mom had been baking this pie all afternoon. We wolfed down dinner and were all set to eat this pie that we had been smelling for hours. So, mom brings out the dessert plates and puts them in front of us and then sets down a little bowl next to each dessert plate.
FACT CHECKER: No, CORRECTOR would have gotten the bowls, that was always his job.
CORRECTOR: Yes, I put out the bowls, and it wasn’t a bowl for every plate. Mom would never want to do that many dishes. She would have only had me put out two bowls – one for each side of the table.
STORY TELLER: Well, it’s funnier when there’s a bowl for every plate.
UNDERMINER: Oh, don’t tell me… the bowls were for the pits that she forgot to take out of the pie.
STORY TELLER: Am I telling this story here, or what?
TANGENTIAL CONVERSER: Grandma totally wouldn’t have put out a bowl for every plate. She used to make us drink out of disposable dixie cups. Do you remember that? I think I was still drinking out of those cups when I was 22.
TOPPER: Yeah, that was a funny story, but remember that time that Grandpa pretended to hate the cat for years and then cried like a baby when it died? Tell that story.
STORY TELLER: Okay, so one year your uncle Stanley brings home this stray cat.
CORRECTOR: Actually, it was Merle. Merle brought the cat home.
STORY TELLER: What difference does it make? One of us kids brought the stupid cat home. We begged Ma to keep it.
POSER: Yeah, then when she said yes, a couple of years later it died and Grandpa cried like a baby.
STORY TELLER: Well, there you have it. There was the story.
VIRTUAL CENTER OF ATTENTION: Oh, I remember that, he cried like a baby it was, like, so funny.
STORY TELLER: You weren’t even born yet.
VIRTUAL CENTER OF ATTENTION: Oh, I wasn’t? Why are we telling stories that don’t involve me?
FACT CHECKER: Well, actually, it was in 1981 because I was in 12th grade and had just taken my SAT the night that Merle brought home the cat. So, technically VCoA was born, but not old enough to remember it.
STORY TELLER: Oh, for the love of Pete, where’s my beer?
Moral of the story (pun intended):
- If you don’t know how to tell a story, don’t.
- If you want someone else to tell the story, don’t give away the punch line in your introduction.
- Don’t correct or fact check the storyteller. Remember, the storyteller knows what they are doing and is probably embellishing or omitting depending on what makes for a good story. It’s called creative license and editing.
- Don’t interrupt the story.
- Don’t ask the storyteller to tell the story just so you can interject and tell the story yourself anyway.
- Don’t wait for a break in the story to interject with your own.
- Don’t try to make the story yours if it isn’t.
- Don’t try to “top” stories.
- Don’t forget to take the pits out of the cherries before you cook the pie!
Photo from: thelunacafe.com
Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: annoying, drive me up the wall, peeve, pet peeve, sarcastic
This is the longest I’ve gone without posting since I’ve started and I feel like I’ve skipped a few sessions with the therapist. New York is not only stuck in the dark ages with their fashion sense and currency (most places still only take cash), but also their technology (there is no free wi-fi or business centers in the hotels we’ve stayed at). Posting is just not the same on this iPhone app. Kind of hard to be snappy when you’re getting a blister on your thumb.
So, hopefully, I’ll have access tonight, because, man o man, I have some good stuff for you: family reunions, food, wine tastings (we know how those go with me), tantrums, meltdowns, birthdays and beaches. Hang tight, I’ll be back!
If I managed to attach a photo to this, then it’s of the best fried clams I’ve ever eaten. If not, you’ll have to wait to see them.
Filed under: General Peevery | Tags: alarm clock, annoying, children, coffee, drive me up the wall, goodbye I'm going out to play, grating, late, nervous breakdown, parenthood, peeve, peggy ann mckay, pet peeves, sarcastic, shel silverstein, shel silverstien, sick, starbucks, vent, wake up late freak out, you say today is saturday
Fell into bed last night at about 11:00 after a long day trying to wrap up stuff at work on limited brain cells, buying last-minute items, and packing (kind of – there’s still work to be done). I use my iPhone as my alarm clock. It has never failed me. Until today. Some part of my brain hears the news announcer say 8:23. What the crap? Check phone. Phone dead. Commence freak out.
Borrowed from myopera.com (don't know where they stole it from).
Peeved: Oh my… No way!…
Mr. Peeved: What, what’s wrong.
Peeved: It’s 8:23.
Mr. Peeved: Oh (turns over and goes back to sleep – he’s used to my antics)
Peeved: Shit! I was supposed to leave the house 23 minutes ago! Smalls, get up, we gotta go!
I absolutely HATE being late. I HATE feeling rushed. I have a bubble of anxiety and panic rising from my stomach and shit!shit!shit! running through my head.
That IS kind of what my hair looks like when I don't let the conditioner sit for the full 2 minutes.
Throw on whatever is in the nearest dry cleaning bag.
Slap on some makeup.
Throw on some shoes.
Wake up hubby to ask if he tried on the stuff I bought him for our vacation last night. Ignore the Are You Freaking Kidding Me glare.
Wake up Smalls. Well, actually it’s more like carry her limp body to the potty and try to dress her while she flops around like a ragdoll.
Glasses… hate looking for glasses when I can’t see! Aha! Nightstand.
Crap! Need the camera cord to download some pictures for work. Where is the GD camera cord???
Got it. Now, need those invitations to bring to Smalls’ school for her birthday party. Check.
Okay, let’s boogie. What do you mean you want a ponytail? You never let me do your hair and this morning you want a ponytail?
shit!shit!shit!
20/20 vision. Camera cord. Invitations. Keys. Coiffed child. Where’s that phone? Oh, yeah, on the charger.
Unplug. What? WHAT?? 6:49??? Oh for the love of Pete!
C’mon Smalls, we’ve got time to grab coffee and a muffin.
*****
Sick
Shel Silverstein
| ‘I cannot go to school today, ‘ Said little Peggy Ann McKay. ‘I have the measles and the mumps, A gash, a rash and purple bumps. My mouth is wet, my throat is dry, I’m going blind in my right eye. My tonsils are as big as rocks, I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox And there’s one more-that’s seventeen, And don’t you think my face looks green? My leg is cut-my eyes are blue- It might be instamatic flu. I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke, I’m sure that my left leg is broke- My hip hurts when I move my chin, My belly button’s caving in, My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained, My ‘pendix pains each time it rains. My nose is cold, my toes are numb. I have a sliver in my thumb. My neck is stiff, my voice is weak, I hardly whisper when I speak. My tongue is filling up my mouth, I think my hair is falling out. My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight, My temperature is one-o-eight. My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear, There is a hole inside my ear. I have a hangnail, and my heart is-what? What’s that? What’s that you say? You say today is…Saturday? G’bye, I’m going out to play! ‘ |
Perpetually Peeved 