Perpetually Peeved


Rainy Days and Tuesdays Always Get Me Peeved

It’s raining here.  It has been all day.

It’s Tuesday, too.  It has been all day.  Tuesdays are like the 20th birthday of the workweek.  Not quite humpday – so what’s the point?

Rain means that everyone drives like a douchebag hopped up on coffee and diet pills.  Guess what?  Everyone is going to be late.  Now stop honking, stop trying to cut me off and, for the love of puppies, stop riding your brakes.

We don’t need to revisit my umbrella issues, do we?  Umbrellas are to me what picture books are to Stevie Wonder.  Absolutely useless.  Smalls’ daycare doesn’t have covered parking.  What’s worse than driving home in rainy rush hour traffic?  Driving home in rainy rush hour traffic with wet pants slapping around on your ankles, a full bladder and a lightening strike that sends all the traffic lights in a 5 mile radius out of commission.  Oh, and a four-year-old singing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer at the top of her lungs.  Over, and over, and over again.

Remember that great scene with Kathy Bates’ character in Fried Green Tomatoes?  You know the one where she just guns it into the snotty girl’s car?  Hmm, if only.

This is me today. (photo from some random site that just happened to have a pic of grumpy bear - http://www.datavis.com)



If you were my mother, you’d already know what this post is about

Psychics.  If you are one, you’ll know I’m about to say – you can skip to the comments and chew me out.

If you ever watched Montel Williams, you’ll know most psychics are a bunch of BS.  They get little bits and pieces of information and spin them to suckers who ooh and ahh about their talents.  OHMYGODHESTOTALLYPSYCHIC!  Save it.  I don’t believe in psychics, I don’t believe in ghosts and I don’t believe in horoscopes.  (I am extremely superstitious, however, so I just knocked wood.)

photo from funnyaussiesigns.com

Friday night found me and the girls hanging out at my sister, AJenda’s house.  We were sitting around her dining room table having dinner with her husband (who,much to her disappointment, is not Bon Jovi) and my mother.  Mom has always had the most interesting friends.  From the rockstar’s hairdresser wife to the down-and-out dog breeding mother of six, to the guy in line next to her at the supermarket.  She sure knows how to pick ’em.  Recently, she has started hanging out with the self-proclaimed “gays” – a gentlemen couple that lives in her townhouse complex.  One of “the gays” is a psychic.  A very powerful psychic.  My mother is his medium/channel/what-have-you.  I wish I were making this up.

A redacted version of the conversation (because my mother threatened to take a wooden spoon to me if one word of this “makes it on that damn blog of yours”):

Ma:  So, OneOfTheGays, he’s a very strong psychic.  Very strong.  I told you this.  You aren’t even going to believe this.

Peeved:  Oh God.  Pass the wine, please.

NotBonJovi:  Here, Peeved.  You may want to keep that near you.

Ma:  Yeah, oh yeah.  This is creepy.  You aren’t going to believe this.  So, he had a vision.

Peeved:  Blarbedy, blarbedy.

Ma:  I am serious!  He had a vision and I know it’s for real.

AJenda: How do you know it’s for real?

Ma:  Well, the vision took place here, in this house.  And…

Peeved:  Dun! Dun! Dun!

Ma:  Knock it off!  I’m serious Peeved!  Just because you don’t believe in this shit doesn’t mean it’s not true!

AJenda:  Yeah, let her finish, Peeved. (kick under the table, refill of wine glass)  How do you know it’s real, Ma?

Ma:  Because.  He knew when you walked in the house the stairway was right in front of the door to the left and that it has beige carpet.

Peeved:  Dun! Dun! Dun!  Every house with two stories in suburbia has beige carpet on the stairs and most are right when you walk in the door.  It was a lucky guess.

Ma:  Oh yeah?  Well, how did he know it was on the left?  And, how did he know she had stairs?

NotBonJovi:  C’mon, Ma.  Really?  I don’t believe in all that.  Lucky guesses.

Peeved:  Yeah, or the picture you have of AJenda’s kids on the stairs that’s sitting on your mantle.

Ma:  I don’t have a picture of the kids on the stairs…

AJenda:  Yes, you do, mom.

Ma:  Well, regardless.  There’s more…  OneofTheGays, he’s not the only one who’s psychic.  Your mom’s no slouch, you know.

Peeved:  NotBonJovi, grab that wine from AJenda, I’m going to need it.

*****

Mom's Christmas Gift (get yours at amazon.com)

Later that evening, I was somehow manipulated into putting the lights on AJenda’s Christmas tree.  (One day, I will figure out how she managed to harness the power of manipulation and wield it like Wonder Woman with a lasso.)  Plug the lights in.  Untangle the lights.  Pull the tree out from the wall.  Start to wrap the lights around the tree by walking around it in circles.  AJenda is “supervising” and Ma is sitting back and keeping track of all the spots she’ll have to go back in and fix later.

AJenda:  It looks great, Peeved!  Doesn’t it look great, Ma?

Ma:  Well, I don’t know, there’s a little empty spot right there…

Peeved:  We can adjust it once I’m done.

Ma:  Oh, AJenda, go and take that candelabra off the wall there.  Peeved is going to hit her head on it.

Peeved:  It’s fine, Ajenda, don’t get up.  I’ve been around the tree five times already.

AJenda:  She’s fine, Ma.

Peeved:  (hitting head on candelabra)  OUCH!  Son-of-a!

Ma:  See.  I told you I’m psychic.

 

It must run in the family. I had this sudden vision of a headache the next day. Although, whether from the wine or the run-in with the candelabra, I'll never know. (photo: indietravelpodcast.com)

 



Get Yer Fat Pants On!

T minus 6 hours ’til bliss.  The only thing that peeves me about this wonderful holiday is that I can’t eat pumpkin pie for breakfast.

Brunch, on the other hand…

Buy yours today at atrocities.com

For more things I WON’T be shopping for on Black Friday, stop by the FB page today.  Bring your own atrocity, and don’t forget the wine.  Gobble! Gobble!



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.




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