Perpetually Peeved


The phone! The phone is ringing!

What sound is more annoying than an unanswered phone?  Okay, besides your kids whining, your mother-in-law bitching (not mine, love her!), or a car alarm going off for an hour?

Not many, let me tell you.  So, this morning I go into work, I’m drinking my coffee and getting settled for the day – and I hear it – RING! RING! RING! RING!

Peeved: [The phone! The phone is ringing! – ah, shit.  Now, I’m going to have that song in my head all day]  Who’s phone is that?

RING! RING! RING!

Peeved: (to co-worker) Do you hear that?  Is that your phone?

Co-Worker: No.  I don’t hear anything.

Peeved: Come here.  Do you hear it now?  I think it’s in that empty office next to mine. You know, the one with the incense that smells like a geriatric’s bathroom.

RING! RING! RING!

Co-Worker: (with ear up against empty office door)  No.  I don’t think so.  It does freaking smell, though.

Peeved: It’s got to be somewhere.  Come in my office.  It’s like it gets louder.

Co-Worker: It’s definitely louder in here.  It sounds like it’s coming out of the air duct.  Maybe someone is stalking you and forgot their phone.

RING! RING! RING!

Peeved: Yeah, I can just picture someone walking around their house calling and looking for their phone.

Co-Worker: Maybe it’s in the hallway.  It’s definitely louder back here by your desk.

Peeved: [The phone! The phone is ringing!…. GD it!  ANSWER THE PHONE ALREADY!]  I’m going to look in the hallway.

***

RING! RING! RING!

***

Co-Worker: So?

Peeved: Nothing in the hallway.  I think someone is trying to torture me.

Co-Worker: This is so weird.

Peeved: I’m going to have BossLady open that empty office.  It’s got to be coming from there.

***

Peeved: Hey, BossLady, would you mind coming and opening the office next to me?  Someone’s phone is ringing incessantly and I’m going to go bonkers!

RING! RING! RING!

Peeved: Do you hear that?  It’s been going on for like 20 minutes.  Seriously.  I’m going to lose it.

BossLady: (opening office door)  Nope, not in here… but DAMN! it stinks in here.  I have to talk to her about this.

Peeved: That is SO WEIRD!  Come here in my office… doesn’t it sound like it’s right in here…  oh… um… wouldn’t it be funny if it were my phone?

BossLady: Please tell me you’re joking.

Peeved: Oops.

Guess who's the turkey this Thanksgiving! (photo from igourmet.com)

 



When good intentions go bad

I think whether parenthood is something planned or not, that most people go into it with good intentions.  When people find out they are going to become parents they secretly think they are going to be the best parent ever. 

Our parents?  They knew nothing.  I mean, they let us run around until the streetlights turned on.  We would drive hours on the interstates with no seat belts and at least one sibling lying across the hump on the floor of the car.  Baby teething?  Slip him some whiskey.  Teenager backtalking?  Feed her some soap.  Broke your arm?  Quit crying or I’ll break the other one. 

Yeah, I think most people’s’ visceral reaction to finding out they are going to have a child is, “I’m going to do it so much better than my parents did.”

So, what the heck happens?

photo from belch.com

Not too long ago, I was at the zoo with Biggie and Smalls.  A lot of people had those cute little monkey leash backpacks for their children.  Which, I will be honest, I’m not a huge fan of.  I mean, call me old-fashioned, but I just always held my kid’s hand or strapped them in the stroller.  That wasn’t my problem, though.  I understand why people have them.  It’s a scary thing to bring a non-verbal, squirmy toddler out to a crowded place where they could disappear in a heartbeat.  I get it.  I still watch my 12-year-old go to the top of the driveway to get the mail.  The thing that made me literally bite my tongue was the sight of a mother dragging her toddler behind her.  Pulling away like she was towing a wagon or something.  Um, lady, you dropped something.  Oh wait, that’s YOUR KID!  Cripies!  I’m thinking she didn’t see a little pink plus sign on a stick and think, “I’m going to be the best mom ever.  When little Timmy gets tired at the zoo, I won’t rent him a stroller, I’ll use my super-mommy strength to drag his ass from cage to cage.”

Hmm... I wonder why Timmy can't focus in school.

I was getting Smalls into the car at her daycare one day and was having a conversation with a woman who had a young son (about 4 years old or so).  She was complaining about how he just wouldn’t sit still and he wouldn’t stop talking and he can’t pay attention to anything for more than a few seconds.  As she’s saying this, she is loading him into a carseat positioned directly in front of a 10 inch DVD screen which she promptly turns on (with her remote start button).  “It’s just so difficult,” she shouts over the cries of the Wiggles, “is it possible for a four-year old to be diagnosed with ADD?”  No, darling, it isn’t any more possible than diagnosing his mother with a bad case of stupidity.

Clean up on Aisle 9!

See that angelic four-year-old holding on fiercely to a freshly Clorox-Wipe’d shopping cart, minding her own business, humming a song for her mommy?  Okay, now see that hooligan child lying on the ground kicking over the end cap display with her feet and mopping the dirty linoleum with her hair?  Okay, now see that lady halfway across the store, seemingly by herself minding her own business and shopping?  Isn’t she doing a great job of ignoring the toneless WA HA WA HA WA HA fake ambulance sound emitting from the mophead?  She’s not even looking around like I was to see where in the world the little critter’s mother was.  Hmmm…  she must be shopping for mirrors. 

And the nominees for Mother of the Year are…



Bananas in pajamas

Have a death wish?  Then, may I recommend shopping the Black Friday sales.  If the crazy lines and caffeine-hyped soccer moms are not enough to scare you off, then maybe this is:  people wear their pajamas. In public.  With slippers.  I’m not kidding you.  I can handle the jerks that try to nudge their way up to the caution tape in front of you just so they can get their hands on the latest, greatest Zhu Zhu.  I can even handle the ones that climb pyramids of computer monitors and start tossing them down to their grandmas standing by the carts.  I’d go so far as to say I would put up with the velour-jumpsuit clad Mother of the Year nominees who bring their children to sleep in shopping carts at 4:00 in the morning.  However, every time I see one of these pj-clad people I just want to lay down on the linoleum and die.  All hope for humanity leaves my body.

I would sooner wear MC Hammer pants than don my flannel candy-cane pajama bottoms to McDonalds.

The worst part?  Some of these people aren’t even slobs.  They are showered, their hair is done, their make-up is on, they are sipping on $5 Starbucks coffees.  Do they think we won’t notice that they FORGOT TO PUT REAL PANTS ON?  I know there is a fine line between Ugg boots and bunny slippers, but if your shoes have eyeballs you shouldn’t leave the house in them. 

Thank Santa for Cyber Monday!  And, if you’re looking for some comfortable bottoms to shop in, I suggest the Hanes over in Aisle 5.



The Wanderer

Conferences are good for three things: free food and drinks, free vendor goodies, and blog fodder. Really, folks, I’m getting some good stuff for you here. What sucks most about conferences? There are a lot of people, all in one place, and they all want to talk to you about the weather. Um, we’re in San Diego. It’s beautiful. Good talk.

Have you ever tried to talk to someone with a wonky eye? You know, when one eye is looking at you and the other is looking just a little to the left? Disconcerting, right? Especially when they switch halfway through and you’re left wondering if you were looking at the right eye the whole time. At least they have a physical defect. I mean, it’s not like they can help it. You just have to look right between their eyes and hightail it out if there as soon as possible.

Barring physical defect, there is no good reason not to look someone in the eye when you’re speaking with them.

(I’m blogging from the train on my iPhone… That’s all I got, sorry)

*****
[yesterday, at the conference]

The Wanderer: So, where are you from? (looking at a spot somewhere in between over-my-shoulder and my left boob)

Peeved: The southeast. (Oh my god, do I have dandruff?) And, you? (discreetly brushing off my shoulder)

The Wanderer: Oh, the Northeast. (Not even a flicker of eye contact.)

Peeved: Oh, they were supposed to get snow today. (A booger in my nose? An Alphalpha hair or two? Did I write on myself with pen again?)

The Wanderer: Yep, they did. Sure glad I’m in San Diego. (still staring)

Peeved: Yeah, the weather sure is beautiful. (My bra strap showing? Something in my teeth? Slunch dripped down my suit? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU LOOKING AT LADY?????!!!!!)

The Wanderer: Yep, beautiful. (I don’t think she’s even blinked.)

Peeved: Well, nice to meet you…(Shuffling off to the bathroom where I was sure I would see a tiny twin growing out of my left collar bone.)

*****
Seriously. The shit we put up with for some free swag.



Wednesday “What the…?”

Yesterday was full of weird stuff I didn’t have pictures of.  Today, I’ve got proof.  It’s the weird, wacky, wondrous, Wednesday “What the…?” – Enjoy, folks.

1.  What the… are you trying to say?

That might be hard to read, let me tell you what it says.

          XXXXXXXX@YAHOO.COM

          Is this a valid email address for you (for your protection, the email address has been partially masked)?

Um, there is no X in my email address.  So, by partially masked do you mean completely obscured?  WTF Your Security Levels Are So High You Even Tell Me I Got My Father’s Middle Name Wrong On The Security Questions?

2.  What the… are you wearing?

Have you ever been going through old photographs and come across something that makes you go WTF?  Well, here’s a classic case.  Even Smalls is trying to figure out what’s going on there.  I guess stereotypes have to come from somewhere.  WTF Mr. I Buy My Outfits Out Of a Catalog Called DING!DING!DING!?

3.  What the… is that?

I sure hope they’re paying you.  WTF Hello Krazy Kitty?

4.  What the… kind of school do you go to?

(driving home from school yesterday)

Biggie:  Aren’t you going to ask me what new Connections (this is a fancy word for electives) I got today.

Peeved:  Sure, but the last 3 times I asked you, you told me you didn’t know yet and to stop asking you.

Biggie: Well, I got Music Appreciation and Family and Consumer Science.

Peeved:  Family and Consumer Science?  That sounds cool.  What’s that?  Budgets and stuff?

Biggie:  No.  You cook stuff and you get to carry around an egg and stuff and, like, pretend it’s a baby.  It’s really cool.

Peeved:  You mean you got Home Ec.

Biggie:  No, it’s called Family and Consumer Science.  Home Ec is, like, when they teach you budgets and stuff.  They don’t call it that anymore, Mom.

Peeved:  Family and Consumer Science?

Biggie:  Yes.

Peeved:  Where’s the science in it?

Biggie:  Cooking is science.  And, so is having babies.

Peeved:  Sounds like Home Ec to me.

Why does everything have to have a fancy name now?  It’s no longer English, it’s Language Arts.  It’s not Gym, it’s Exercise Science.  WTF Fancy Pants School – Why Don’t You Try Teaching Them How Eggs Get Fertilized Now That You’re Calling It Science?

5.  What the… kind of backwater town are you from?

 
 

This is what you get when you cross a mullet with a helmet bang.

 

 When wearing flip-flops with pants and no pedicure is the least offensive thing you’ve got going on, you’ve got issues.  WTF Ms. I’m So Country Even My Hairdo Is Inbred?

6.  What the… is wrong with you?

Some days, I wish I had one of those jobs that don’t do random drug testing.  You know, like pizza delivery guy, waiter, Xfinity writer, garbage man.  Either someone likes to wake and bake, or they have a sick sense of humor.  WTF Is Afroman Doing As My Garbageman?

I’ve got $50 that says the owner of the gold Toyota would, in fact, jump off a bridge if all of his friends did first.  WTF Doublemint Douches?



Well, You Don’t See THAT Every Day…

Our first Halloween together, Mr. Peeved and I dressed up as Elvis and a showgirl. 

Yes, I made both costumes and I vowed never to iron a tiny metal dot onto polyester again.

The costumes were a hit and Elvis lives on to this day in the form of an employee who has “borrowed” it and keeps finding occasions in which he needs to wear it in to work.  I digress.  Later that same year, it came time for Mr. Peeved’s place of employment’s annual employee appreciation party.  Each year, these parties have a theme and everyone goes all out.  Apparently, that particular year, our Halloween costumes inspired a Casino Night theme.  Everyone kept telling us we had to wear our costumes again.  And, we did.

*****

(driving in the car in comfortable silence… until…)

Peeved:  BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA….

Mr. Peeved:  No way.

Peeved:  You don’t even know what I’m laughing about.

Mr. Peeved:  Of course I do.  No way.

Peeved:  Okay.  BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  Please?

Mr. Peeved:  No.  Forget it.

Peeved:  Okay, but it would have been damn funny.

*****

(later that week, shopping in the maternity section of Target for an XL black tank top)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Mother of a Toddler: Honey, stay over here by mommy, sweetie.

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

*****

(putting mascara and lipstick on Mr. Peeved at the hotel room)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(putting a long blonde wig on Mr. Peeved at the hotel room)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(putting bobby pins with disco beads and feathers glued on them onto Mr. Peeved mandals at the hotel room)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(putting feather butt boa skirt on Mr. Peeved at the hotel room)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(walking out into the hotel corridor dressed as Elvis and holding Mr. Peeved’s hand)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

Male half of little old Jewish couple walking towards us: (turning to wife) Well, you don’t see that every day!

Little old Jewish wife: Hmmpf.

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

(walking through the lobby of the hotel with Mr. Peeved sashaying around his feather frocked butt)

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

One of the two big meatheads at the check-in counter:  (while simultaneously smacking his counterpart on the shoulder to get his attention)  Ah, Shiiiii…..

Peeved: BWAHAHAHAHA!!

Mr. Peeved:  Hi, Sugar!

Seriously, this guy will wear the costume anywhere.

The point of this story, you ask?  Well, today I encountered more than a few things that were borderline bizarre.  However, like the old Jewish couple and the meatheads, I didn’t have a camera handy to snap a shot.  So, in no particular order, here are the weirdo things I saw on my way home today:

  • A bischon frise wearing sunglasses.  Not shades that a vet would give you if you had eye issues, but full-on, designer-looking sunglasses.  His owner had a matching pair.
  • A Christmas tree lot.
  • A man brushing his teeth while driving his car.
  • A sign at the adult “toy” store advertising a “BLOW-OUT” sale on videos.
  • A man playing air drums… while riding a bike… without headphones in.


The Upside to Teenage Vampire Offspring

Biggie and I volunteered at the PTA pumpkin sale on Sunday.  To attract customers to the sale, she dressed up as a vampire and danced around the roadside with a sign.

Biggie:  So, wouldn’t it be cool to have a vampire as your kid?

Peeved:  No.

Biggie:  Why not?

Peeved:  Because then you could torture me for eternity.

Biggie:  No.  I could only torture you for the rest of your life.  You’d still be mortal.

*****

The other upsides to having teenage vampire offspring?

  • You wouldn’t have to worry about them getting hurt.
  • You wouldn’t have to pester them to make their bed (they don’t even need beds).
  • You wouldn’t have to feed them (and if you did, they could order the kid’s meal for eternity).
  • You wouldn’t have to worry about them getting sunburned.
  • You wouldn’t have to drive them everywhere (they could just run everywhere real fast).
  • They don’t stand in front of the mirror for hours looking at themselves and dancing (ha – they have no reflections).
  • You wouldn’t have to pay for orthodontia – so what if that canine sticks up a little bit?
  • They can’t have pets.
  • You wouldn’t have to worry about them getting pregnant. (My husband’s personal favorite.)
  • The threat level of a wooden spoon would suddenly skyrocket.

Come to think of it, Biggie would rather be a zombie...



Adventures in Netherworld…

Just outside the city where I live, there is a complex of massive warehouses that get converted into haunted wonderlands each Halloween.  Zombies, goblins and strange ladies covered with doll heads roam the grounds.  Spooky music blasts from the speakers above and the screaming from inside drowns out the noise of the adjacent interstate.  People pay money to stand in line for over an hour and slowly walk through blackened tunnels that house myriad creatures waiting to jump out and force their hearts into overdrive.  Tonight, I will be one of those people.

This is one of the actual guys there... (photo courtesy of fearworld.com)

The first and last time Mr. Peeved and I went to this haunted house, I thought I was going to die.  It went something like this:

Mr. Peeved: Are you going to be okay?

Peeved: Yes.  No.  Ack!  Does that lady have doll heads on her?

Mr. Peeved: It’s all fake, you know that, right?

Peeved: Why is she coming over here?  Make her not come over here!

Mr. Peeved: You can’t even handle waiting in line and you want to go in there?

Peeved: Aaah… aaah… she’s coming closer.

Mr. Peeved: They can see who’s scared and they’ll pick on you.  Pretend it doesn’t bother you.

Peeved: Okay.  No.  That’s not working.  Hold me.

Mr. Peeved: [eyeroll] You are ridiculous.  Get over here.

*****

Peeved: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! (I scream better than Janet Leigh on her best day)

Mr. Peeved: I. Can’t. Breathe.

Peeved: Sorry, but it was a clow…..AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Mr. Peeved: If you’re just going to close your eyes and bury your head in my back, why did we pay to get in here?

Peeved: Because it’s fun, it’s totally sca…  AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!  Oh my God, OH MY GOD, I’m going to die!

Mr. Peeved: You are not going to die.  It’s fake, remember.

Peeved: No, I’m going to have a heart attack and die.

Mr. Peeved: Well, that would make for a great date.

Peeved: Okay, maybe I’m exaggera… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

*****

Mr. Peeved: Can you stop stepping on the back of my heels?

Peeved: Sur……..  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Mr. Peeved: Okay, it’s almost over.  I have to tell you something.  Are you listening?

Peeved: Ye…..AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Mr. Peeved: Okay, when we walk out the back door, you’re going to think it’s over.  It’s not.  There’s going to be a guy that runs after you with a chainsaw.  There is no blade in the chainsaw.  Don’t freak out.  It’s fake.  Okay?

Peeved: Oka….AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Mr. Peeved: Okay?

Peeved: Okay.

Mr. Peeved: It’s fake.  Now, come on, let’s go.

Peeved: Okay.  Man that was fun!  Let’s do it again next yea… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Holy crap!  He has a chainsa…AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

*****

Don’t worry. If I die from fright, Mr. Peeved has already picked out my tombstone:

Here lies a guy named STAN… got too close to the ceiling fan.

Here lies an atheist named MOE… all dressed up with nowhere to go.

Here lies a guy named DRAKE… choked to death on a soggy cornflake.

Here lies a girl named SUE… she was killed by the guy that is standing behind you.

Here lies a girl named EMILY… she never shut up.



Wednesday “What the…?”

These Wednesdays just keep getting here quicker.  While our daily dose of WTF is fun, I don’t want you to think I’m not peeved enough lately.  In fact, I’m posting this from my iPhone right now because the douche otherwise known as Comcast – sorry, Xfinity – is incapable of providing me continuous service despite the fact that I provide them with continuous (over)payments.  I don’t know if you’ve ever typed a long message on an iPhone before, but I liken it to having a bad case of bad diarrhea and cheap toilet paper.  In other words, a pain in the ass.  That said, here we go…

1.  What the… Are You Selling?

WTF Was Wrong With Some Bodywash and a Loofah?

2.  What the… Are You Wearing?

Last night, Mr. Peeved was helping me out and decided that if the kids laid out their clothes for the next day, it would make my life easier in the morning.  A good theory.  The problem here is in the execution.  The pic above is of the outfit I pulled off the dresser this morning.  First, it is October 20th.  And, while we are having a bit of an Indian Summer here in the South, a short-sleeved shirt and mini skirt may be pushing it a bit.  Second, and most importantly, a green shirt, a jean skirt that has red piping, aqua socks and clownfish shoes – yep, I’m pretty sure when you look up “clash” in the dictionary this is the image you see.  His defense?  “She picked it out herself.”  Mmm-hmm.  Thank the heavens I was too mortified to actually let her wear it.  It was picture day and I had forgotten.  WTF Mr. Bet Your Parents Blamed Your Bad Outfits and Bowl Cuts on You, Too?

3.  What the…  is that?

As seen outside the local strip club.

Yes, breakfast at the strip club.  WTF Kind of Idiot Would Order the Crabcake Benedict?

4. What the… is wrong with this picture?

I don’t actually do any physical activity (unless you count running my mouth), but isn’t protein powder supposed to help you gain weight?  WTF Mr. Unless You Are Smuggling Out A Can of That Crap Under Your Shirt, I Really Don’t Think You Need To Be Buying It?

Eyelift? Check.  Thinned out nose? Check.  Plumped up lips? Check.  Hmm… no, something tells me the girl who would buy this shirt wouldn’t have stopped there.  WTF Would Possess Someone To Wear This Shirt Besides a Sponsorship Deal to Buy Some New Boobs?

WTF Mr. I Bet You Like To Think Outside the Box and Color Outside the Lines, Too?

Can you say “creepy?”  WTF Is That Doll Looking At?



Come as you’re not

Halloween is one of my favorite times of year.  I love getting dressed up.  This year, for whatever reason, I wasn’t feeling very inspired.  Maybe it’s that I’m busy sewing nine costumes (I can’t say no), or that I recently dyed my hair dark brown (I usually go as a famous red-head).  Yesterday, my luck turned.  I was invited to a “Come as You’re Not” party.  Now, from what I’ve heard this is a popular theme for sorority parties, but it was the first I’d ever heard of it.  Maybe because the thought of wearing pearls and various accessories adorned with greek letters makes me cringe.  I digress. 

Now my problem is, I’m over-inspired.  Here are the myriad ideas I’ve come up with – help me pick one?  Or, suggest your own?

I am not a mindreader. (scrapetv.com)

I am not an optimist. (nittanybeaglerescue.org)

I am not one to hold my tongue. (scrapetv.com)

I am not a doormat. (But, if I was, I'd be this one.) (roadsidescholar.com)

I am not your maid. (halloweencostume.com)

I am not 'cho cheese. (costumesbycameron.com)

I am NSFW. (designboom.com)

I would not be caught dead wearing a pink velour tracksuit. (chicthreadz.com and myspace.com)

I am not on par. (spectrum2105.com)

I am not sweet. (halloweencos.com)

I am not afraid. (flickr: elrina753)

I am not balanced (a/k/a unbalanced). (costumezone.com)

I am not special. (I can't even believe you thought I was going to make fun of the mentally handicapped - what is wrong with you?) (nydailynews.com)

I am not NOT funny. (Or, maybe after that last one you think I am?) (imeanwhat.com)

So, what’s your vote or suggestion?




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