…so far, with my Labor Day weekend.

Friday night?  Grocery shopping.  Can someone please (for gawd’s sake) tell me what it is about standing in a checkout line that causes people to completely forget the personal-fucking-space rule?  Honestly.  I could feel this woman’s hot breath on my neck.

I turned around to see if she was someone I knew, but no.  She did comment, though, “Your cah-art loo-ooks exactly li-ike mi-ine.”  Maybe I was still fuming over the whole ‘dealing with Mr. Hot’s ex-wife’ thing, but this woman talked with that same West-by-gawd-Virginia twang and it went right through my body.

I smiled nicely, and nodded, then went back to watching my groceries going slowly (ever so slowly) down the belt.

As I was putting the wine boxes on the end (yes, boxes, plural, shut up), I backed up a step (a single step!!) and bumped into her.  WTF?  I grabbed the divider and pushed the now-empty cart up to Mr. Hot - waiting patiently to load the reusable, cloth (!! yay us !!) back into it.

I looked at him.  “Was she close enough?”, I asked.  He said, “Not only that, but she kept shooting you some really dirty looks.”  I told him it was because I didn’t take her up on her “best friend” offer.

But hey, I got a pretty new toilet seat for the upstairs bathroom!

Saturday morning, we took Poopy for a walk, dropped him back off at home, and then went for a run around the park. I have no idea how FAR we actually ran, but people. There were hills. THEN, when we finished, Shortman wanted to play tennis.  After he beat me, 7-5 in the first set of the match, I pleaded death - and the imminent arrival of 24 and “C” - meaning I had to get home and make sure my poor attempt at decorating and cleaning was up to the Queer Eye standards.

(Hush up.  I can say that.)

So I fluffed couch cushions and wiped down the kitchen counters.  Mr. Hot decided to install the new toilet seat.  I heard screaming and gnashing of teeth and determined that getting too close was NOT a good idea.  Except that he called me in there.  (Hint.  Getting in the way of an angry male wrestling with a toilet seat?  Consider yourself doomed.)

After a few creative uses of my favorite word (associated with the bolts holding the seat to the toilet), he looked at me.   I made a suggestion about some cap thingies (which, by the way, ended up to be spot on…), and 405 minutes later, the new seat was installed.

Then, I took a shower, put on makeup and my prettiest scarf, and sat down to catch up on the doings of my favorite interwebs peeps.  The door opened, and it was 24.  Alone.  He said something about “B” coming over (Um, B does not equal C, right? I have college degrees, and I think I’m 100% right with that one) and headed down to his room.

Mr. Hot and I looked at each other.  “Who the hell is B?”, I say.  “I was going to ask you the same thing.”, was his response.  We shrugged and I went back to what I was doing.

Mr. Hot yelled downstairs.  “Hey 24, are you on the phone?”  “Yea”  “Well, when you get off the phone, will you come up here?  No big deal.”  

24 comes up the steps.  With the phone plastered to his ear.  “I said, when you’re done on the phone.  It’s no big deal.”

24 goes back down the stairs.

Mr. Hot looks at me.  “I was going to ask him who the fuck is B?”

Of course, 24 didn’t get off the phone until B pulled into the driveway.  They hung around here for a bit, then left for the night.  B had W-b-g-V plates on his car, so at least THAT mystery was solved.

But, no sign of C.  Not yesterday.  Not today.   I should know that whenever I think I’m going to have blog fodder, something throws a wrench in those plans.  (Mixed metaphors much?)

This morning (well, technically, it was morning - it was 10 a.m.), I got out of bed and around noon-ish (heat of the day…stupid right?) played tennis AGAIN.  You would think I actually like sweating, wouldn’t you?  That would be, um, no.  But I like when Shortman wants to leave the computer and get out with his mom - especially with only two more days before school starts…so I caved.

Luckily, this time he pleaded “a rash the size of Texas” from the heat, and again, we called it after a set.

I told him where the medicated powder was.

Mr. Hot and I sat on the deck and drank beer (um, if you can call Michel0b Ultra Pomegranate Raspberry - oh mah holy hell, this stuff sucks - beer).  It’s 61 calories per bottle, that’s why, okay?

Oh, and, um…U of M lost, MSU lost, Eastern won and Marshall won their opening football games of the season.  For those of you who don’t know that I am a HUGE College football fan, that translates to:

Good!
Bad!
Good!
Good!

so I’m at 75% for yesterday.

—- The Michel0b Ultra orange and grapefruit version?  Even worse.  Don’t go there.  And this is why I don’t pretend I have a life.  —-

So glad it’s Friday.
This week’s complaints and whining
Wore me the fuck out.

Unnecessary
though that f-bomb really was
it felt so damn good.

That’s about as much creativity as I have today.  And since I hate to be one of the whiners that wear YOU the {insert gratutious f-bomb here} out, I’m going to try to keep it short.

Mr. Hot’s ex-wife.  Tuition.  Hate.

People. Who. Still. Want. To. Argue. That. Damn. Process. Massive Hatey-hate.

Kid down the street.  New driver.  New-to-him truck.  Fifty miles per hour down our little dirt road.  Hate.

Zits. Wrinkles.  At 45. Double hate.

Okay, short enough?  Now for some good stuff, okay?

…..

……….crickets…….

Oh, wait!  I don’t have to work Monday!  Yay!

And…um….

Eastern Michigan won their football opener last night.  And I was there!

And…sigh…

I really am completely brain dead today.  So, I leave you with this:

more graph humor and song chart memes

—- Oh mah holy hell.  Mr. Hot just informed me that we’re meeting 24’s significant other tomorrow. I guess I’ll have a post for this weekend after all! —-

Part 1 -

Part 2 -

—- It’s worth your time. —-

… As are accidental, adventitious, aimless, aleatory, arbitrary, capricious, chance, desultory, discretionary, fickle, fortuitious, gratuitous, haphazard, hit-or-miss, impulsive, indiscriminate, intermittent, occasional, sporadic, stochastic, stry, unplanned, wanton.

Just in case you are also suffering from some sort of writer’s block and need to resort to “indiscriminate” mumblings.

***** lalalalalalala *****

My two boy-pets love to hang around in the office with me. For anyone who may have ever wondered what, exactly, a daschund/chocolate lab mix looks like:

and he who will lay anywhere as long as there’s a towel to lay on:

***** lalalalalalala *****

How many of you are using your Labor Day weekend to travel to Michigan to spread your tourism dollars around?  Because, y’know, that’s why our kids aren’t back in school yet.  Public schools can’t start school until after Labor Day because of this.  Now, y’all, think about it.  According to Michigan Tourism site,

Tourism officials and business leaders from the northern and western parts of the state had urged the governor to sign the bill. They said it will encourage families to take vacations in Michigan later in the summer.

What families?  Families from Michigan, only, obviously, since everyone else’s kids are already back.in.school.   Of course, those Michigan families who will be touring the state up until Labor Day have the money to spend on gas and hotels while our economy is tanking.

Okay - so yes, the law was passed in 2005 and went into effect with the 2006-2007 school year, but I didn’t have a blog then, and I forgot to write about it last year (plus, I didn’t work from home last year).  Michigan parents - here’s an informal poll - how do you feel about this?  Am I the only one that thinks it’s flippin’ stupid?

***** lalalalalalala *****

Mr. Hot and I went shopping so I could buy these last night.

Aren’t they pretty? And pink!

When we got home, I took them out of the box to show Shortman.  “See”, I said.  “They’re pink!”  To which he replied, “Um, I just don’t think you’re a pink kind of person.”

I looked down.  I was wearing a pink sweater.  (Yes, sweater.  It was chilly yesterday.)

***** lalalalalalala *****

Speaking of sweaters, I was going to start a new project last weekend.  I went out Thursday night and bought the yarn.  I was standing right in front of the crochet hooks.  Mr. Hot was browsing  around in the seasonal Clearance aisles (is there any better word when you’re shopping? “clearance”.  ahhhhhhh).  So, I rushed back as to not keep him waiting.  Without picking up the stupid-ass “I” sized crochet hook I needed.

***** lalalalalalala *****

Shortman is downstairs watching the “World’s Funniest Commercials” show he DVR’d last night. This one isn’t from last night, but I thought it was good:

I don’t think I ever told you about my friend “G” who was going on business trips long before I was. G couldn’t live without her “person@l m@ssager”, so of course, she packed it. Since these were the days before $50 charges for each checked bag and 9/11 security searches, she thought nothing of it.

In fact, she really didn’t think much about it - she was exhausted from the trip by the time she got to her destination, but she had to wait for her boss (who was coming in from a different city) to meet her so they could travel to the plant together. (G is an engineer - she doesn’t go to the “office”, she goes to the “plant”.)

Her boss kindly offered to carry her duffle bag and slung it up over his shoulder. “Do you hear a buzzing?”, he asked. G couldn’t hear anything.

Of course, she found out what that buzzing had been when she unpacked that evening and found that her batteries, which had been new the week before, were now completely and utterly dead.

—- And now, I won’t subject you to more ramblings. I’m behind in reading. I’m behind in email. I have one more article to submit for Blissfully Domestic before tonight. Oh, yea, and there’s that whole “real, paying job” thing that I have for the next two and a half months. I’d like to take a nap now, kthxbai. —-

There’s a woman who walks the track while Mr. Hot and I are running shuffling our 3 miles every morning.  (Yes, I took a week off, the foot is a bit sore when I finish, but a little ice and I’m fine - I’m going to look for new shoes this evening)  Annnnywayyyyy, she walks backwards.

Wait, that’s not right.

She walks clockwise.  Tracks are counter-clockwise.

Every single morning, she drives up in her little turquoise Thunderbird with her extra-large cup of coffee and walks.  We always wave and say “Hi! Good morning” as we pass her.  She gives her little hand-raise (it’s never an actual wave) and continues walking on.

I’ve never seen her actually take a sip of her coffee, but she throws the cup away as she passes the trash can next to the gate when she leaves.  (Maybe she walks as many laps as it takes her to finish her coffee?  Why?  Is she not allowed caffeine and so tells her husband, “I’m going for my constitutional” every morning and then grabs a Venti-double-shot-latte-no-foam on her way?  Such are the mysteries that are rattling around in my brain at six-thirty-in-the-freakin-morning.)

One day, she was already walking when Mr. Hot and I arrived.  Yes, she was walking the wrong way.  We’re so used to it now, though, that we just make sure we’re a couple of lanes out from her, and go about our business.  This particular day, she was wearing ear-muffs.  Black, fuzzy ear-muffs.  Mr. Hot and I were drenched in sweat and he huffed to me, “How can she wear ear-muffs?  I’m burning up.”

Um, unfortunately, when he tries to talk when we run (I know…I can’t get him to stop…I just told him not to expect an answer), he talks LOUD.  Because he can’t see.  Because he takes off his glasses.  So HE TALKS LIKE THIS.  (Again. I know.  It’s fucking strange that he does this, but he does.  Another mystery for me to ponder.)

Also unfortunately, when he YELLED this at me, she was only about 10 yards away - and coming towards us.  (Which he did not know, because - he could not see!  Sigh.)

The next time we passed, her ear-muffs were off.  (Yes, I still feel bad about it.)

Annnywayyyy, we’re used to seeing our little old lady friend whom we’ve nicknamed “Wrong-Way Wilma”.

This morning, Wilma wasn’t there when we arrived.  Bleacher-dude was (another time, people…another time).  The maintenance guys that wear far too many clothes were there.

(Seriously, if you’re going to be young and obviously ripped under those janitor-type pants and shirt, at least strip down to a t-shirt.  And no, Mr. Hot does not know that I’m checking out the city workers.)

(Enough parentheses for y’all today?)

Annnnywayyyyy, Wilma - not there.  Mr. Hot and I started our laps.  About lap 5, another couple showed up.  She ran, he walked.  (Counter-clockwise.)  So, now there were 4 of us on the track (and the maintenance guys were messing around on the practice field inside the track…).

Wilma finally showed up - coffee in hand.  (You were worried, weren’t you?)

She gets onto the track…and starts walking…

The correct way!

Honestly y’all.  WTF?  Nearly two months of walking the wrong direction, and today, because there were four of us on the track instead of only two, she decides to go with the flow???  The mysteries are making my brain hurt.

—- It’s getting mighty chilly here in the mornings though.  It was 54 this morning, according to the car thermometer.  I think maybe I’ll look for a pair of ear-muffs while we’re out looking for shoes for people whose feet break easy. —-