Today’s post is somewhat random. Not a whole bunch of stuff happenin’ in my little slice of hell. So, here are my random, scattered-to-the-wind thoughts:
Tell me why it makes sense to yell at the television? We got a new DVR box and Bryan had to set it up last night. Either the picture quality was an exercise in mediocrity or we didn’t have access to the local channels. While he didn’t lose his cool with the customer service reps, he did at the TV, however. Because Lord knows it’s the TV’s fault.
Here’s how you know your day is pretty much gonna blow. When you wake up at 7:15 and you have to leave in 15 minutes to be at work on time. When you break a zipper zipping up your fabulous, favorite boots and have to throw them in the trash. When you have to spend 10 minutes scraping the permafrost off your car, give up, and drive to work with half of your window scraped. When you’re so late getting out the door you pack your make-up so you can do it in the ladies room at work. When you walk into the break room for coffee and watch some asshat walk away with the last cup of your beloved brew and he didn’t make another pot. When you get to work and people say “Wow, did you have a late night or something?” When you walk out of the ladies room with your skirt tucked into your panty hose and you’re wearing a thong. When you walk around the office like that until the receptionist takes pity on you and tells you that you’re flashing everyone. That is how you know your day is going to suck.
Tell me why it is that Murphy had to go and make all these dumb laws? No matter how early I wake up something happens and I am late for work. Traffic is gridlocked. There’s an accident on the freeway. I rip a seam, (or zipper in today’s case). I stop for gas and of course that’s the one day that everybody within a ten mile radius needs gas, too. Funny though if I wake up a little later, I get to work on time. Even though my hair is pulled into a lackluster ponytail, my outfit is schlumpy, and I’m not wearing make up.
On a much brighter note: I have left over tacos for lunch today.
On a much, much brighter note: I haven’t heard from my Mother in two days! AWESOME!
I'm a list person. I'm forever making lists and then crossing things off my list. It makes me feel like I actually did something. To be honest, though, sometimes my list lookslike:
1) Make coffee
2) Shower before noon. Shave legs!
3) Fold & put away laundry
4) Record What Not to Wear on DVR
5) Browse Craigslist 'Best Of' for new posts
And yes, I feel better once I've completed lists like that. I know I've been away for awhile. We cancelled our Comcast to set up Qwest internet and there was an, ahem, slight delay. Besides, one of my colleagues quit on Monday and work has subsequently been hell. Anyhoo, here's two lists I've been thinking about all week.
Various Diets I have Been on. And some I'm currently trying:
1) Throw up everything 30 minutes after you eat it because you're pregnant diet. (Been there.)
2) Eat everything in sight because you crave everything known to man and hey, didn't your doctor say not to worry about weight gain diet? (Done that.)
3) The too busy to even think about food and oh, hey! Look! An Oreo and orange juice! That can be dinner diet. (Do that quite a bit.)
4) The I just spent $150 on groceries that I didn't have and this shit better last diet. (Currently there.)
5) The I don't even have enough money to take advantage of the Wal-Mart two for twenty-five cent special on Top Ramen so make the best of what we have in the house diet. (Do that a lot more than I'd like to admit...)
The last two work pretty well, I must admit.
Last one, I promise....
Signs you watch too much What Not To Wear:
1) You record the whole damn season on your DVR
2) When you leave the house you wonder what Stacy & Clinton would say about your look.
3) You see people on the streets and automatically mentally make them over, WNTW style.
4) You can quote fashion advice word-for-fucking-word to anyone who will listen.
5) If WNTW is on, then your whole family is watching it, even if they don't want to. (Bry-yeah, I'm talking to you. Admit it, you like it. It's not gay, I promise.)
6) You've begged people to nominate you just so you can meet Stacy & Clinton, and shop with them in NYC with five grand.
(I am guilty of all of those. Sooo guilty.)
For a while now, our TV has been dogging sickly along, trying not to die. And Thursday it pretty much went to the big entertainment center in the sky. Sound was cutting out, and the picture quality was was an exercise in futility. Bryan came home; eyes as big as platters. He had seen The Light. In the form of a 46" big screen LCD. I said maybe.
When I went to the store with Bryan, the Sales Manager had the documents already drawn up, ready to sign. (Like we could've paid the cash price for it? HA! No, this shit's getting financed. Of course.) I pointed to a quaint 32 inch tube TV, saying,
"Size doesn't matter. For TV's at least."
Everyone looked at me in horror. All the salesmen damn near in unison said that it does matter. Bryan and I asked to speak alone. It went something like this:
"Do you really, really want this?"
"Yes, more than anything." With a solemninity of a groom saying I do.
"Really? Anything, Bryan? Anything?"
"You know what I mean, Heidi."
"Are you sure we can afford this?"
"Positive. Please? C'mon, you know you'd like it."
"Oh, alright. I better have something from Kay Jewelers under the tree this Christmas, though."
"Thank you, thank you! I love you! You wanna go out for dinner tonight?"
(Nah, but you can take me to the nearest ring shop.)
So, Monday it was delivered. And Bryan is ecstatic. I couldn't give a shit less. But he's already talking about hooking up his damned PS2 to the damn thing. How did I know this would bite me in the ass?
I just got through watching Rock of Love Charm School...Come on...
I mean I guess as far as aging 40 year old has been rockers are concerned, Brett Michaels is a pretty good looking dude. And he's got it pretty good, I mean he does have 20 year old girls falling all over him.
Ladies...It's Brett Michaels. He was popular almost 20 years ago. About the time y'all were entering kindegarten. It's not as if he changed the world, won a Nobel peace prize, has a strong booming career like Bono...And you guys are screaming and tearing each others hair out over this guy? Going batshit crazy over Brett Michaels is like saying "I'm sooo in love with Dee Snider!"
Kinda pathetic, yet strangely alluring.
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