Cheers & Jeers: “I Hate Monday and I Hate Its Ass-Face” Edition
Alternate title: I Am Pretending To Be Dead Until It Is Friday
- Sadie is feeling better! Although I didn’t get around to sharing this with you, Internet, Sadie came down with a chest cold on Thursday evening. She woke up hacking and crying a pathetic hoarse cry in the middle of the Steelers first game of the season, and FOR THE RECORD my wonderful husband – who has a STEELERS ROOM and a STEELERS TATTOO and has let me know on more than one occasion that if I was the kind of woman who would schedule our wedding to interfere with a Steelers game, I would not be marrying him – missed almost an entire quarter of said game to rock his sick little girl back to sleep.
I hope you understand the magnitude of this, Sadie. Let’s just say your father had better never catch you in a Patriots jersey. I do not care how cute you think Tom Brady is.
- Sadie has started reaching out for me, and also sometimes cries when I leave the room. I will not even front and pretend like this does not make my heart nearly explode out of my ribcage, because it totally does. It’s only fair, really (see: vagina, being forcefully expelled from).
- Yesterday morning at 7am, when Sadie was most definitely AWAKE! AWAKEAWAKEAWAKE! for the day, Brad turned to me and said, “Why don’t I take her downstairs so you can sleep in?” and I may have reacted like someone handed me ten million dollars and a pan of brownies. Brad was really on a roll this weekend, wasn’t he?
- The pan of brownies (that wasn’t just a random reference up there) that is currently in my kitchen. More on that later, as it is a partial jeer.
- “Dexter,” to which I have gotten totally addicted, thanks to Brad. I never thought that serial killing and/or Jimmy Smits would bring me so much joy, but here we are.
Color me Smit-ten (wah-wah).
JEERS (Because who am I kidding? This is really why I’m posting):
- Guess who got Sadie’s cold? BOTH OF HER LOVING PARENTS.
- Whore relatives on whore Facebook who keep posting right-wing extremist bullshit to Brad’s wall and Internet, I am about to WEAR IT OUT on a bitch. You do not get to insinuate that my husband is uneducated when you admit that Glenn Beck is where you get your news. Also, learn to spell, whore. You will not be holding my baby the next time we see you, on the off-chance that BLATANT FUCKING RACISM is contagious.*
- That damn pan of brownies, which I CANNOT STOP EATING. See, I made the brownies to take to a friend’s house, as it was my contribution to the barbecue. HOWEVER, the brownies stuck to the pan something fierce, and trying to cut and remove them resulted in a situation that was reminiscent of one of Sadie’s diapers. So I had to scrap the idea at the last minute and stop at the ghetto Shop & Save on the way to the party, where I was forced to choose between Orange Crush cake (even grosser than it sounds, believe me), waxy-looking miniature cupcakes, and a wide variety of Entenmann’s products. Seeing as how Entenmann’s cheese danish is in my top ten of Reasons To Stay Alive, I figured their Louisiana Crunch Cake would suffice. Six dollars and four barely touched plates of cake at the bbq later, I was totally embarrassed. Seems that “Entenmann’s” comes from the Latin “entennmus,” meaning “in the manner of feces.” Seriously, Internet. That shit was GROSS. Massive dessert FAIL.**
There it is on the right. THIS IS WHY HURRICANES ARE ALWAYS TRYING TO DESTROY YOU, LOUISIANA.
- I am 99.999% sure I have developed astigmatism, and that is just TOTALLY FUCKING RAD. Of course, I cannot get an eye appointment for several days, and then there’s the waiting for new contacts, all of which means I am in for at least two more weeks of headaches and random flashes of fear that maybe – just maybe! – I am really going blind this time.
- I bought a bunch of shit to make salad with at the store last weekend and never got around to making salad before it got all wilted and nasty. I HATE THAT. The store needs to come replace my shit when this happens, because 1) I spend enough money there, and 2) holding a sick baby while she naps is more important than making salad, and the grocery store just needs to recognize. As does my bathroom, which needs to get up off its lazy ass and clean itself.
- I’m still shedding thanks to this damn postpartum hair loss, and if it doesn’t ease up soon, I fear I will look like this by Christmas
I’m already halfway there with the dark circles under my eyes.
*Relative Who Reads This Blog: this is, of course, not about your lovely self. I know that if you were ever to present an opposing opinion, you’d do so intelligently and without resorting to threats. YOU KNOW who I’m talking about. And BITCH CRAZY.
**I put that nasty shit in the office kitchen, and it was gone within an hour. Am I working with billy goats?
EDITED TO ADD: Internet, you will not believe this shit. I’m sitting here, TRYING MY HARDEST to be all healthy despite the brownie binging, and I decide to eat the huge, yummy-smelling peach I brought in my lunch. I wash it, slice it open, and find this:
FUCK IT. I AM HAVING A BROWNIE.
Entry filed under: Taste my Backhand.