Tag Archives: angry

Live Life Like Your Favorite Panties.

I’m one of those people – at the worst possible moment I’m going to be the one that can’t help herself and will burst out laughing.   It won’t be one of those dainty Miss Manner’s kind of laugh either.  We’re talking full on cackle call, tear fueling and breath gasping type of laughter that leads to getting your self into trouble with the nearest authority figure.

I was always in trouble in school for talking….laughing.  Detentions and study halls.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

It……was…..funny!

The worse time, was always church for me.  I grew up Catholic.  I know.  Say no more.  The whole seriousness of the visit got me.  Perhaps it was the lecture we got before even going into the church got me going.  Yes, see I went to a Catholic school, so by default we had regular church services.  Before we even left the classroom and right before we entered the church we’d get the same lecture by the Sister.

“DO NOT embarrass me!”

Anyone that says to me, “DO NOT __________”  Well, that’s not so much an ultimatum as it is a challenge in my book.  I get it and I respect it but my goodness.

I

can’t

help

myself.

Lighten up a bit.  Something would just catch in my crawl and next thing I know I wouldn’t be able to contain myself.  I’d have myself and those either unlucky or lucky enough around me in fits.

No.  My mouth is NOT big enough to stuff my fist inside.  I’ve tried on numerous occasions to stifle the giggles.  Oy.  Once I start I can’t stop.  It’s terrible.

So today when a friend called me and mentioned about a meeting she had to go through at work I suggested she wear these goofy eye glasses I bought her for Christmas.  Everyone needs a lighter moment or two in life.  She thought I was nuts.  I kept telling her the same thing:

THEY PROBABLY WON’T NOTICE!  TRY IT!

We talked later in the day and guess what?

She did it!

Unknown

I was most excited to hear she had actually done the challenge and the best yet – they LAUGHED.  Shut the door!  Good god, people laughed!  The horror and yet they SURVIVED!

So worth the giggles.

We all get so wrapped in being so serious and working.   Lighten the load and take a breath once in a while people.  It’s good for you.

Just like wearing your favorite pair of panties.  You know the pair.  I bet you have several pairs.  I do.  Why be miserable and wear a pair that going to be pinching or chafing you all day long?  It’s not worth it.  Wear the pair that makes you happy.

Like I want to spend 1/3 of my day adjusting my ass?  Panties riding up my butt.  Have to adjust.   Now they’re creeping to the side.   I don’t have the patience or the time for this.  Why be miserable?  And these people, men and women, who think they are casually picking their roos out of their ass – aren’t fooling anyone!

SURPRISE!  I SEE YOU!

It’s like the people who come into each day being miserable.  It’s not worth it.  You create your day from the moment you open your eyes.  Are you wearing grandma panties or a thong?  Be happy, be comfortable – go with what moves you.  Why be miserable all the time?  It’s not worth the aggregation.  Trust me.  It doesn’t do you any good and nobody around you enjoys your negativity either.

Oh wait, let me guess, you’re wearing your underware backwards?  That would explain a lot actually.

Maybe you prefer the granny panties – fine.  Then get rid of those fucking thongs cause you’re attitude sucks when you wear them.

If boy shorts are your thing – excellent.

Boxer or brief – yahoo.

Free balling – that’s fantastic!

However, if you are the kind of person who rips the elastic out of their panties and you know who you are – that isn’t cool.  You have an issue.  We need to get you in touch with some special therapist and get you turned around.

Garter belts with stockings – yes.

Suspenders with panties – no.

NOTE:  Unless you’re PeeWee Herman and have some type of weird fetish happenings then we could discuss with Boy George in Group Sessions.

Go with the flow.  Enjoy the laughter.  Relax a bit and know it’s okay to share a grin or two.  Life is too short to be mean and miserable like the Grinch.  Besides, it’s not good for wrinkles….and nobody wants wrinkles.  Unless you’re a Shar Pei dog….they want wrinkles.

For example….my kinder half is gone starting tomorrow for a week.  Some people would be annoyed and upset.  Not me – I get the entire bed to myself!  I get to eat whatever I want!  Maybe I will go to the movies! AND I may choose to spend all day Saturday on the beach!  Perhaps I will adopt a pygmy goat!  The possibilities are endless.

The point is…..laugh.  Laugh a lot.  Even when it’s not the “right time” to laugh – do it any ways.  There’s a lot of worse things you can do in this life….seriously!  Laughing during inopportune moments truly isn’t one of them.  Take the risk.  Roll the dice.  LAUGH.

Be silly.

Choose to be happy – like your panties!

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Apparently You’re Broken

I have a complaint.

Why have I not heard about the fundraising effort to assist cashiers across America?  Di you know, they have all broken their arms.  Shocking news isn’t it?

You must be kidding me.  Seriously, you can’t lift the head of lettuce, chili pepper, bottle of shampoo and loaf of bread out of my basket?  The basket is on the conveyor belt.  It’s waist high!  No, you still can’t empty it?  What on earth is wrong with this customer service world?   It’s not like I’m carrying around 50 pounds of cement mix in my basket…..if I can carry it with one arm, you would think the cashiers would be able to lift each item out individually to ring them up.

WRONG.  It’s happened to me at Target and now at Whole Foods.

“Is this your basket?”

No, I’m standing here to ask you if you prefer your orange juice with or without pulp.

YES, it’s my basket.  Who else would it belong to?

“Oh well can you help me empty out the items?”

A look of disbelief crosses my face like a tumbleweed in a desert ghost town.

I start to empty out the items and she turns to start talking to the bagger guy.  Since the conveyor belt keeps moving forward I have to pile all of my items together.  This is ridiculous.  After I empty out my plethora of heavy items she turns to me and asks how I’m doing today.

The only reason I can figure why this has now become the norm (I’ve had this happen to me both at Target and today at Whole Foods) is someone has undoubtedly thrown their back out by lifting out a can of chickpeas or a 4-pack of toilette paper out of a basket sitting on the conveyor belt.

Cashiers don’t even have to enter numbers any longer except when multiple quantities or a produce item comes across their stand.  When I was a casher in high school, at the local grocery, we had to actually ring in items.  Imagine that.  Then I had to walk home without shoes, up hill and in the desert sun.

At Costco here in South Florida, they unload your cart for you.  THAT’S service.  Of course, their management probably figures after heaving that overladen cart around their football field of items you’re arms are fatigued and you need help.

My purchases are finally rung through and as I’m preparing to swipe my card for payment (cashiers don’t even have to do that any more shocking) the cashier points to the basket and says, “Can you put this on the floor for me?”

Gobsmacked.

Are you kidding me?  Seriously?  Are your arms painted onto your torso?  What happened to customer service?  Here, move over and let me ring up and bag my own groceries.  Oh wait, I can already do that.  In fact, I did just that earlier today at Ikea.

What is it exactly that we’re paying cashiers to do these days anyway?  Drag items across a scanner that rings up the item.  Wow.  Difficult.

Imagine the qualifications for the job:  able to keep right arm bent at elbow for hours while dragging items across scanning device and shoving item with left hand to the bagger for packaging.  Smiling and pleasant chatting is not required or expected.  Prefer individuals with sour personality and frown hanging down to their knee caps.  If you can sweat sheer exhaustion and boredom, you’re hired!

Few cashiers are pleasant.  Most are annoyed you are standing in front of them.  Very rarely do they even greet you or ask if you found everything.  They’re too busy discussing with their coworkers when their next smoke break is and if they can borrow a cigarette.  TRUE, happened last week at Target.  If one should actually thank you for shopping at their place of employment, pigs would fly.  Actually monkeys would probably shoot out of my butt if good customer service was normal at retail stores.

Even the girl at Barnes and Noble was annoyed today.  When you are angry at the world, try not to take it out on me.  If being nice to customers isn’t your thing, may I suggest a job change.  You probably want to stay away from people so I would look into office cleaning in the evenings, back-room stock person or counting beans in a basement somewhere.  Maybe you could pass as a sultry 900 number operator, there you could wear a headset and not even have to use your arms at all.  There’s a bonus!

Seriously, I think owners and managers alike should do their own version of Undercover Boss and experience first hand just how rude their front line staff can be to customers.  It isn’t even rude as it’s down right anti-customer service.

I’m thinking of starting a rating system.  If you provide great customer service, I will thank you and give you a high five.  Actually, we have stopped managers in stores and restaurants to compliment a particular employee.  Maybe I’ll just start telling the anti-service cashiers, I hope their day gets better……let them ponder that one.

 

AN ADDENDUM:

I would also like to comment at this time that The Public should learn some manners as well.  The woman in front of me at Whole Foods today…..her son, maybe 8 years old, nearly ran me down as he was obviously hopped up on sugar and decided to run back into the aisles like a fox chasing a hare.  No excuse me.  No I’m sorry.  No pardon me.  NOTHING.  Even the man behind me raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

I don’t care WHAT country you are from people.  It’s never okay not to be nice.  Running down a stranger is not acceptable, unless they have a mafia hit on them.

 

Get Off My Ass…Unless You’re Buying Me Dinner.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.

Alaskans.

We.  Like. Our. Space.

That’s why we prefer to live in a state where there’s only 1.5 people per square mile.     Love that.  In my square mile I’d designate Liggy, our cat, as the .5 measurement.  (That’s correct, Eric can get his own square mile…mine is full.) Unfortunately, however, I’ve moved to Miami and the luxury of personal space went out the window along with owning sensible shoes.

Which, by the way, if you would have told me at this time last year I’d be wearing platform heels I would have laughed myself to the point of a side cramp.  Now, I have several pairs to choose from in the closet.  Not to mention the colors.  Yes.  The shoes I get the most complements on?  The hot pink Jessica Simpsons – thank you very much.

There was this one pair I drooled over in DSW.  They were vanilla colored, satin fabric, platforms that not only had a rhinestone on the front but feathers as well.  LOVED those shoes.  Went to try them on several times.

shoes

Then I thought to myself:

Self, when are you realistically going to wear these shoes?

I’d wear them to work?

No.

Performing art?

Maybe.

Grocery shopping?

Definitely.

No.  I didn’t buy them.  Sigh.

Anyway, back to the issue.  I wish the people of Miami would do me one little favor:

GET

OFF

MY

ASS!

I have never been anywhere in this short lifespan of mine that has had so many strangers trying to climb up my ass every single day.  Not only that but they’re pissy people at that!

It would be one thing if you were a smooth talking, good looking, sweet smelling suave and swanky personality that would cause me to swoon as soon as you grinned.  However you’re not anything close to making my knees buckle Miami…..

Driving down I-95.  Am I supposed to be impressed as your flashy Porsche flies past Norman like he’s standing still?  Probably.  And I am impressed.  I’d love to go for a ride in that!  Sexy and fast.  Sign me up.

However it’s the idiot in the Honda with the stupid loud muffler that’s trying to act like he’s all that AND a bag of chips….but when in reality he isn’t even the stale pickle on the plate.  Really?  You’re going to tail me and try to intimidate me?  Okay well I’m slowing down by at least 5 mph.  Oh yeah baby, that big rip of a scrape along the left side of your car door – that’s so hot.  Meeeeoooow,

No.

If you’re going to get that close, I hope you brushed your teeth.

Then there’s the cars that when you look in the rear view mirror you already know what’s coming next.  (It’s like watching a Heat game and you just know they’re going to win….the opposing team really shouldn’t have bothered to show up.)  Before you can change the radio station with the flick of your thumb on the steering wheel….no, Norman doesn’t have that ability….it’s just wishful thinking…..the car has climbed up over your back fender and is changing lanes just as fast.

Damn really?  And then the traffic slows down and you’re side by side with Mr. Slick Ass.

Sucker.

And the point of that was what exactly?

More than driving, the one thing that absolutely brings me to the edge of insanity in :15 seconds flat is personal space.  I have gotten to the point where anything inside my imaginary hula-hoop is MINE.  The hula-hoop is made of titanium and can’t be broken.  You step inside the hoop and you’re going to be in my way.

BACK  UP!

Enough already.  Do I have a sign on my forehead that reads, “newbie….transplant from Alaska” which gives you the permission to try and body check me at your convenience?  Oh, there wasn’t a sign, you’re just rude by nature?  Wow.  Your parents must be so proud!

Case in point:  tonight I stopped at Pet Smart.  Liggy, was in need of kitty treats, which I can only find at Pet Smart.  I stood in line.  My purse, which isn’t a suitcase by the way, was hitched over my forearm…..comfortably cradled in the crook of my left elbow.

This woman comes up and while there’s nobody standing near me for 3 miles….manages to walk into my purse as she’s going around me.

Really?

As she gets around to my right side, where I am holding another bag in my hand….from the grocery…she bangs into that as well.

OMG what am I?  Magnetic?  For pete’s sake….you have the entire front of the store yet you are drawn to me like freedom fighters to a noble cause.  Can you really not manage to give me a few inches to breathe?  Even the casher grimaced at me with an apologetic face.

The grocery stores are even worse.  Nobody has any concept of personal space.  I don’t just mean in the check out lane, where they push their cart all the way up to the handle bar of your cart the moment you turn your back.  I’m talking about walking down the wide main aisle of Target and it’s three across going one way….large and in charge.  And two coming directly at you.

Cue the Wild West Gunslinger Music….there’s going to be a shoot out.

It’s gotten so bad at Target that I will go out of my way to avoid certain areas because the people are going to drive me crazy before I can even get to the toilette paper.  You try and go around and it’s like they have crazy ESP.  Fake left, they go right.  Fake right, they go left.  Double back to go forward and they’re right there….quietly pondering what to have for dinner….steak or chicken…as they push the cart…down the middle of the expansive aisle.

The side aisles are the trenches of warfare.  Forget trying to make your way from one end to the other if there’s another person in the row.  The rule of “finders keepers” is definitely in play.  They won’t give you an inch to spare one square.  It’s a new game of ostrich….

“While I don’t have any available sand to stick my head in so I can ignore you….if I just plain out pretend I don’t see you then you can’t see me and life is good.  So fuck off and go around me because I own this universe.  Okay, I own this aisle!”

Okay, get over yourself and move your damn cart already.

Today I got on the elevator at lunch.  It was crowded.  The last guy on rather than turning around to face the door, decided to keep his back to the door and face the rest of us.  He was busy emailing.  Good grief people!!!  Save yourselves and release the smart technology for two minutes and join in the rest of society.  Buddy, you closely resemble an ass and if you had any idea, you would have been horrified, of this I am certain.

Yes, he finally turned around and in the process moved closer to me so his screen was nearly eye level with my eyeballs.  Do you really think I give a fuzzy hamster’s butt about the upcoming meeting regarding the 42-B template for designs of toilette flush handles?  No.  I.  Do.  Not.

Stop being so pretentious.  Stop trying to put your business in my face.

I. Don’t. Care.

While we’re on the topic of elevators and people and being pretentious and putting their business in my face….I want to discuss sweatpants.  Specifically the ones with words across the butt.

I have two observations.

1.  Whoever thought of this concept obviously didn’t think about including regulations  for appropriate wearage.

2.  Just because they fit doesn’t mean they look good on you.

Dear heaven above, save my eye balls from bloody ruptures if I have to see another butt going by that rolls so much I can’t even make out what the words are:  AGNES, NAGES, ANGLES, AGILES, ANGELS, LANGS…..

w. t. f.

Pissing Me Off

I am having one of those days.

I’m pissed off at nothing and everything.

For now, just stay out of my way.

Please.

Which gives me good motivation to write about things that piss me off, no matter if I’m having a good day or not.  For some, fingernails going down a black board can send you to insanity.  That doesn’t bother me, but this does…..I started to pull together thoughts for this blog yesterday when we were at Home Depot.

I needed to purchase a new toilet seat and wanted to get in and out of the store.  Heading in I start towards the bathroom fixture area.  Down the aisle I go and I hear following me:

smack

smack

smack

smack.

I turn my head just enough to get a good peripheral look at the target.  Just shoot me. If you don’t know how to properly wear your shoes, I suggest duct taping them on.  (Can you get any lazier? Only if paired with your pajama pants.)  We’re in Home Depot, they have an entire aisle devoted to adhesives, certainly I could find something to help keep your damn shoes on your feet.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

They were slip on shoes, worn like fucking flip flops.  If I don’t get away from you, I am going to beat you with your shoe.  She was walking around like some dazed and confused twenty something….wondering where the designer jean aisle was located.   Wrong store, you have to go to Seattle to find that aisle.  In the meanwhile she was dazzled by all the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and certainly wondering to herself where the DJ was located.

Needless to say I hurried along, leaving my better half behind.  I don’t have time for this today.  Which leads me to when men don’t tie their hiking boots.  A completely different sound:

clomp

clomp

clomp

clomp.

Note: If you’re wearing the hiking boots for ankle support you are missing the mark.  In high school it may have been cool to wear those yellow construction boots with the laces undone, but that was the past.

Hey!

Welcome to the present!

You are impressing nobody but yourself.

The other thing that does me in every time I hear it are the shufflers.  You know what I’m talking about.  At least the smackers and clompers are some what picking up their feet.  Although, as history has proven, this is not always the case.  The shufflers aren’t doing anything but just that…shuffling.  Dragging their feet across the ground.

Oh, they’re so heavy, these feet of mine.

If you can’t keep the flip flops or slip on shoes on your feet and walk like a proper homo-sapien, I suggest you purchase different shoes.  Let me guess, when they showed you how to tie shoes in kindergarten you were out sick….well guess what?  Velcro.  Buy shoes with Velcro straps and do us all a favor.

The only thing worse than a flip flop shuffler is one wearing those idiotic Nike flip flops that look like shower shoes while wearing socks.  It’s snowing outside, invest in some boots or sneakers (with Velcro).  If it’s summer and you’re wearing socks with your flip flops, then I suggest you go see your doctor as it’s obvious you have a circulation issue in your extremities.

If there was any way for feet to look stupid….all of the above would be it.

After Home Depot, I had to exchange some glue at JoAnn’s Fabric.  One cashier working and about six people in line.  Sigh.  Another cashier comes up and says she can help the next person in line at the register to the left.

Done.

A third cashier comes up and walks up to me and says she can assist the next person (that would be ME) at the register to the right. Wouldn’t you know it the woman behind me thought she meant HER?!

Okay, I admit it…. I am short.  On a good day, I can stretch out to a 5’2.  Don’t think my height disadvantage means you are going to walk on me.  I will hip check you into the magazine rack.  Not to mention my sharp, pointy elbows can be weapons.  When necessary, I will bite your ankles, no doubt about it.

I immediately blocked Ms. I’m Next with my full featherweight division self and proceeded to exchange my glue.

Ms. I’m Next is a gum chewer.

Like a cow chewing it’s cud.

Or Mrs. Pickles licking her coochie.

It’s still there and I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.  Keep it to yourself.  I am not a willing participant.  Christ.

Chew with your mouth closed.  I don’t care what you’re eating.  Nor do I need to see it.  My better half chews gum like he’s a lion with peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth.  Every time he starts I look at him and say the same thing:

“You’re killing me with the gum.”

Needless to say he knows to get rid of it.  Immediately.

Smart boy.

Last, but not least,  one thing that has baffled me for years….

My office has been in a building with public restroom on the same floor as our office.  It’s a restroom that quite a few tourists visit during the summer season.  The women’s room has three stalls.

I can understand if you have had to pee so bad your back teeth are floating.  When you finally hit the pot you let out a “whhhhewwwww.”  What a relief.  A near miss of an accident.  I’ve been there myself.  With a bladder the size of a lima bean, you can’t help but have to visit the Water Closet on a regular basis.  So I completely understand that concept.

What kills me is the obvious problem women are having with pulling pants up or down, tearing off toilet paper, wiping butts and putting on coats.  The sounds associated with those activities are unbelievable.  You would think they’re at the gym and told to do ten sets of leg presses with 200 pound weights.  Or they just missed seeing a baby in a stroller go by on the sidewalk.  Better yet they were told to hold their breath for as long as they could and it’s now coming out like a burst balloon.

You get a woman in each of those stalls and it’s like a 3 part harmony.  Good grief.

Once the summer season returns, I don’t even bother with the restroom on our floor, I go up one flight of stairs and use that one.  Not only is it quiet but thankfully…there’s never a paper towel stuck to the door handle, water left running in the sink or trash on the floor.

People, you’re exhausting me.  I think this could be a form of torture.

With that being said, I need to return the toilet seat to Home Depot – heaven help the poor soul who has to assist me.  Just let me do the exchange and be on my way.  After that, I’m stopping at Costco.  If I want two of those cheese samples today, you best just hand them over lady.

Trust me.

Back away from the cheese samples…and nobody will get hurt.

Either Drive It or Get Out and Push It

I live in a town of 30,000 residents.

We have about 45 miles of road.

It’s a dead-end road.

We have a long running joke in the tourism industry:  You can get to Juneau one of three ways: boat, plane or birth canal.  Terrible, I know….cue the drum riff.

Which leads me to ponder the car alarm issue.  Where do you think they’re going to take your car?  To the end of the road? Turn around and come back?

Oh wait.  I got it.  They’ll steal the car, go out to the ferry terminal and buy a ticket to Skagway or Bellingham and escape that way.  Smart – except they’ll have to sit in the ferry parking lot for hours waiting for the ferry to arrive.  Or it could be days, should they jack your car on an off day.  Or even longer if the ferry is down for maintenance – AGAIN.

Remember when car alarms first came out?  One would go off and people would automatically start looking around for the guilty party.  Now everyone is annoyed.   Car alarms don’t do anything but make the local population roll their eyes and mutter, “jackass.”   Words are even more colorful when it’s going off on a POS.

If you are truly worried about someone jacking your car here’s a suggestion: get a kill switch.  Duh.

Another thing with cars and their drivers – you should be able to see the road if you’re planning on driving.  When you test drive the car, and you can’t see over the steering wheel you shouldn’t be buying that car.  If all anyone sees are 8 knuckles griping the top of the wheel – we have an issue.  Shit! It’s the Headless Horseman – quick call the National Enquirer.  Those people are a danger to society.

A while back, my mom bought a car.  She was meeting us in town for lunch.  I hadn’t seen the new car yet, nor did I remember what kind of car she had purchased.  A car pulls up and my better half says, “Is that your mom?”

Well, hell if I know, it looks like the car is driving itself.  There’s nobody behind the wheel.

Eight little white knuckles strangling the steering wheel was all I could see.

Sure enough – it’s mom. When she got out of the car I told her:

“You can’t drive that car.  All I can see is the top of your head and your knuckles.  You can’t even see the road.”  We continued to debate the issue and I got behind the wheel.  Good grief, I had to stretch my neck like a turkey to try and see over the dash board.  She bought a low-rider disguised as a station wagon.

If you have to claw your way out of the seat upon exiting the vehicle, it’s not for you.

If the words: Stop. Drop. And Roll…. have new meaning when getting out of your car – it’s the wrong car.

If you have to fold yourself up like a preying mantis to get inside your car – you may want to look at a different model.
If you open your car door and the first thing to hit the ground are your hands as you roll out of the car – you might want to think about the next size up.

When your mom asks you to give her a boost from behind to help her out of the car – the car has to be returned.

Needless to say, she exchanged the new car for one where I can now tell it’s my mother behind the wheel.  Thank you.

I would love to have the new Camaro.  Meow.  However two things prevent me from full filling my wish.  First, I can’t see over the hood very easily.  Second, we don’t have a Chevy dealer.  Every time I see one of those cars my mouth starts to water.  My heart starts beating like I’m running on a hamster wheel.  And my bat hearing is increased to hear that velvety purrrrr of the V6.

These are things you should note to yourself for potential reference in the future.  Should we be walking down the street and one goes by.  Yes, I stop, stare and drool a little.

Love.

That.

Car.

Maybe I could get a couple Miami or LA phone books…..tape them together and use them as booster seats or more likely foot extensions for the pedals.

If you can’t drive your car you’re going to have an issue parallel parking.  How many times have I stood on the sidewalk in town and thought, “I should really offer to help them parallel park.”  Doesn’t matter.  Left.  Right.  I can zip in there.   Forget about hand – eye coordination.  I’ve got this!

Double cab pick up truck?  Got it.

40 foot motorcoach?  You betcha.

Explorer filled with chatty chicks?  No problem.

Tiny Norman, my beloved little red Yaris?  Not even a hesitation.

I am patient with people who try to parallel park.  I won’t drive up your ass.  I’ll sit back watching and waiting.  Secretly, I’m providing you with a numbered score card and running commentary as if we’re on the Wide World of Sports network.

Oh, ladies and gentlemen, this looks like it’s going to be a beaut.  She’s going to drive straight into that spot.  Never mind backing up and reversing.  Wow.  Made for a Camry, but she’s driving an Astro Van.  This isn’t going to be pretty.  I almost can’t look.  Oh so close!  Was that a bumper tap?

Watch out folks! Here’s someone who is determined to get that Ford Explorer paralleled parked.  Zipped right up to get into reverse to claim that space.  Oh no!  Was an overshot on the first attempt.  They’re maintaining their calm and going on to attempt number two.  Spinning those wheels sharply to the left, oh once again they cut it too short and can’t get their nose in.  Well, if you were to ask me I’d say it’s quite like the story of Pinocchio…..every time you tell a lie, your nose grows!  Every time you try harder to get that beast of a car into that spot….the hood gets bigger and bigger.

Darn it – they’re giving up and with a huff heading out of here.  Well, thanks for that – I’ll be happy to have this spot!

Lastly, do the speed limit.  OMG people I could out run some of you.  If you can’t do the actual speed limit at least get close!   If it says 50 – go at least 48.  Doing twenty miles per hour BELOW the speed limit is pointless.  Take my word, you are driving us all crazy.

Stop it.

You’re going to get yourself killed.

All you’re doing is causing people to have to go to the chiropractor since their backs are thrown out due to banging their fists on the steer wheel.  AND the dentist is getting fat with income as we’re all grinding our teeth down to tiny nubs with your idiot driving.

If you can’t drive, pull it over to the side, ditch your keys and take the bus.

Could I Get Any More Annoyed?

It’s always one thing after another.
It doesn’t matter what it is….it’s always something.
Do you have those kinds of days?
Where it’s gone way beyond the, “Are you kidding me? Give me a break!” stage to the “For Fuck’s Sake!” Death Con 4 stage.

I’m having a day like that today.

Hard to tell if it’s anger or annoyance. Or both. It’s no one thing – it’s everything!

Yes, I did take my happy pills this morning and contemplated doubling the dosage. Thank goodness for Mr. Happy Camper. Although being happy does not mean I want to go camping. Thank you. Camping would not make me happy today, it would be another thing to annoy the hell out of me.

It started with a 4:00AM wake up.
Coughing.
Blowing crap out my nose.
Coughing.
Sneezing crap out my nose.
Praying the dog doesn’t hear me because sure as hell she’ll want to go out. I’m not getting out of the bed at 4:00AM.

Better half was up at 4:30AM – his own choice, as he had to take the dog out before work. No, we’re not the kind that let’s our dog out the front door and expects her to understand to look both ways before crossing the street. We actually walk her. On a leash. Daily. Four times.

I can attest to people who think their dogs are smart enough to get out of the way of vehicles – they’re not! My 35 foot bus will kill your dog. I’ve been there, personally. Your dog isn’t a human and doesn’t understand. Of course, some humans aren’t smart enough to look both ways before crossing either. Come to Juneau, Alaska in the summer and the tourists think they’re in a Disney World resort town. Step off the sidewalks. Aimlessly wander the streets. Hello? Yes, we are in fact, a functioning city. Actually…we are the capital city of Alaska – now get back on the sidewalk you nutter.

After I flush out my nasal cavities – as a good friend of my swears by…which by the way I think the same thing every morning:

Nostril one: Really? This works? I’m having doubts.
Nostril two: I’m on day seven of this damn cold and can’t shake the snot.

Onwards and upwards, while today is an official day off for me…I do check emails as it’s a Wednesday and in reality, a work day for others. Provided they aren’t updating Facebook or watching the latest download on iTunes.

Yesterday evening, at 5:05PM exactly, I put a disclaimer on my email that I would be out of my office today. Which is good as there are multiple messages where after reading them, I search for the large rock I like to beat my head against. Don’t ask what the emails were about, let’s just say I now have a bloody mass on the right side of my forehead.

Must.
Keep.
Hitting.
Head.
Rock.

Emails….they’re an addiction. Would you rather bring your device to check emails on a deserted island – if that was all you could use your device for OR bring a fully stocked 40 foot trailer worth of food? I’d wager most would prefer to have email access. You never get alone time anymore. We’re all tethered to the universe.

Well today, I’m saying, “screw the universe.”

Although, I will admit I sent one email this morning. A rant to my boss about a charter. In the end I thanked him for listening and told him not to worry, I’ve got it covered. We’ve worked together over 11 years. No, he hasn’t responded. Our relationship is like a marriage but different.

Annoyance level is at about 40%.

Apparently the e-collar we borrowed for the dog is no longer working. I had to apologize to our fat cat, Liggy. She’s on her own. Defend yourself as the zapper is out of zap. Mrs. Pickles, the dog, would love Liggy to play with her. Liggy, the 18 pound cat, while secretly hoping the dog will play with her, continues to growl every time the dog exhales. It’s exhausting. I finally told Liggy, if she didn’t like looking at the dog, to go into the other room. Instead, Liggy lays down next to the dog bed. Game on!

So after the rock thumping email reading and cat chasing drama. I proceeded to wash the dog. She’s about 45 pounds now. Well she stunk and needed a bath. I’m bigger than her, so I win, get in the tub. Me, in my pj’s, wrestling the dog into the tub. Twice.

Made me ponder alligator wrestling. There’s a sport I might succeed in actually. Picking up a 45 pound, unhappy, wriggling dog might be similar. Only if I was to wrestle a baby alligator. Without teeth. Or claws.

Accomplished the bath for the dog and then proceeded to prepare myself for the day. By this time I realized the roofers weren’t showing up again today. So my annoyance level was hovering at about 87.9%. I contacted my better half (who is more level headed in all regards than myself) and suggested, since I was already bitchy maybe I should send an email to the roofing company owner. We call that “Going Philly” in our house, since I’m from there. (Which, side note…those of you who look on kindness as a weakness….well that’s stupid) We had an earlier conversation with our neighbor, who we’re attached to, about the lack of work on behalf of the roofer. Our neighbor summed it up perfectly when they didn’t show up on Monday: “fuckers.”

Roofer man replied and said due to the weather and not wanting to get water in our roofs they’ve had some delays. Really? Today it’s 65 and not a cloud in the sky, where the hell are you? Oh, previous commitment. Half the roof is ripped apart, half of it remains with the old shingles. Are you waiting for the second coming of Noah’s Ark before you bust a gut trying to get our roof finished? Seriously, the longer you wait into the summer season in Juneau, the better chance you have of torrential downpours that remind you of those log flume rides at Great Adventure Amusement Parks! Fear not, two hummingbirds just arrived in our back yard, followed by two Labrador retrievers and strangely enough…two squirrels. I’ll get the check list.

Nice sunny day, I decide on my day off, I will take my book outside, with a cup of coffee, slice of cinnamon coffee cake and put the dog on the run. Sitting outside on the deck, on a sunny day is fantastic! Still snow capped Thunder Mountain off to my left and a nice little green belt of forest off to my right, concealing the neighbors. Love it. Mrs. Pickles can chase butterflies and poop in the forest. Perfect.

Upon arriving into the kitchen, I notice Liggy’s food bowl is under the kitchen table. Licked clean. Wrong! Someone got the food bowl down off the counter and ate everything. Since the cats are NOT counter surfers, there was only one culprit. Mrs. Pickles. I scolded her with “NO! BAD DOG!” and picked up the bowl. I turned around to throw something into the garbage and found a huge wad of plastic wrap by the trash can. No, my first assumption was incorrect. Mrs. Pickles did NOT go through the garbage, as the lid was still on. Instead she ate what was left of the cinnamon coffee cake! 3/4 of a loaf.

I was not happy.
Annoyance level was now firmly planted at a 105%.

So annoyed I put myself in a time out and counted to 50.
Still annoyed.
YOU ATE THE ENTIRE FUCKIN COFFEE CAKE!
So annoyed, I couldn’t even look at her as it was beyond, “NO! BAD DOG!”

On our way outside, my cell phone rings. It’s my girlfriend’s daughter. Her mom sold me on some new beauty gadget I had to get from Nordstroms. Today, yes, I will gladly buy that gadget, here’s my credit card number. Her daughter was so upbeat and happy – she turned my annoyance down to about 75% by the time we hung up. Mrs. Pickles and I played fetch for a while in the yard. Growling and running around. I was growling. She was running. Thank you.

Not long after I sat down on the deck….enjoying the sunshine and I will admit a jelly jar glass of wine….my cell phone rings and another friend is on the line. Word travels fast as she’s heard about the cinnamon coffee cake incident already. Oy. Laughter ensues and my annoyance is down to about 40%.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see two shapes: a brown and a black, barreling towards our yard. The neighbor’s dogs. These two dogs weigh easily close to 100 pounds. They are big labs. More than twice the size of Mrs. Pickles. All goes well until they start to chase each other. Mrs. Pickles on her line, running in circles trying to get away. Or get caught, hard to tell. The owner comes over to collect his two dogs and all is well.

Until.
One of the labs….hovers over my newly planted shrubs.
And pees.

Can You Hear Me Now?

Could someone please….invent a portable language interpretation device? Maybe I haven’t found it yet at the local Brookstone Store. Oh wait, I live in Juneau, Alaska – we don’t have a Brookstone. Damn. I don’t even have a Taco Bell for that matter.

This device would have to be small and light. It would also have to be cute. I’ve tried using the delightful “Point It” book but all I get are blank expressions and more confusion. I’m thinking I could strap it to the voice box area and it could interpret what is being said automatically.

Does anyone else get frustrated with not understanding what is being said to them?

Urgent looking eyes.
Angry eyes.
Frustration.
Hissing.
Spittle.
Failing arms in all directions.
Stomping off in confusion.
Yelling louder and louder…hoping to get your point across.

I’m thinking, in an ideal world, I would hold up the device to the throat of the person I’m speaking to, so I can understand what they’re saying. Then I could hold it up to my throat to translate my answer. That seems logical.

Maybe it could have accents too. British, Australian, American, Russian, French, Scottish. If it had an accent capability, then maybe it could come with a function to read random bits of information to you. For example:

Can’t sleep at night? Switch on the “Dream Story” and listen to a sexy Scottish man, like Sean Connery, read the phone book to you…yummy!

Having a hard time getting motivated to get up? Switch on the “Rise and Shine” function and listen as an Asian Drill Sergent, with the enthusiasm of Richard Simmons, motivates your ass out of bed.

Need some encouragement to discipline children or jump off the high dive? Switch on the “You Can Do It” and get into gear as a man who sounds suspiciously like Vladimir Putin whips your weak heart into shape. (Of course, I just like saying the name Putin….and actually had a cat named Putin….who I nicknamed….Poot Poot. Probably wasn’t the best choice of a name, but it made me laugh.)

But of course, it wouldn’t be complete without the “Lover” program. Within a quick 3 minutes, a smooth talking Frenchman will have you melting like chocolate over a strawberry.

Unfortunately, as of yet, I haven’t found such a device. Rosetta Stone won’t help me either. Would I use it in my travels all of the world? Perhaps. In all honesty, the reason I want to find one of these devices is so I can attach it to my cat FeeBee.

She is driving me nuts.

She’s lost most, if not all, of her hearing.

Huh?

What?

Luckily she still has her eyesight.

Where’d you go?

She screeches all the time. At the top of her lungs. If I’m in the same room — she screeches then looks at me. If I’m in bed at night, she tears around downstairs and then let’s loose these gurgling shrieks….that used to send me bolting down the stairs —- thinking she’s injured.

First time it happened I leaped out of bed, grabbed a bath towel and went running. She was a the bottom of the stairs looking at me:

blink.
blink.
blink.

I stood half-way down the stairs with my mouth hanging open.
Are you serious?
What?
It’s bed time.
GO. TO. BED!

She’s not a kitten. She’s not a teenager aching to get out of the house. FeeBee is in her elderly years and is hell bent on driving me crazy with this new found vocal routine.

She yells at me and then looks at me. Then she’ll yell a little louder. And look at me. She’ll soften her shriek and look at me. All day we could go without the screaming routine and then suddenly….she let’s 4 yells go all at once. Almost like she forgot and had to get her quota out. If I could just figure out what she wants….

I love her more than anything (don’t tell her sister or my better half) but damn girl….I need some help here!

I’m suspicious that she’s really asking for the keys to the car, so she and her sister can go joy riding. Yeah, like THAT’S going to happen.