Today, I suppose, is one of "those" days...

you know the ones.
the darkish, upside down-ish ones.
the ones where the threat of bodily fluid comes from above the shoulders, not below the waist...
stupid day.
TEN cavities.
psh.
and then an interminable 20 minutes waiting in line at fucking god damn wal mart.
there are NEVER enough cashiers at that location.
and then, the realization that our babysitting situation isn't going to work out for tonight,
so that what I have been looking forward to as a crisp, cool, laughing evening out--
will either be bagged altogether
(my martyr-like suggestion...feeling good as it sprouted from me, but leaving an emptiness once spoken)
or will involve a couple of hundred miles of driving, half of it in rush hour traffic...
siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
so I walked next door, and asked the smiling-est, sweet blond mormon for some numbers of babysitters in our neighborhood.
she's so cute/sweet it makes me ashamed to have ever thought even one grumbling thought about "damn mormons".
of course, none of the girls were home, so we're still screwed for tonight,
but at least I have some numbers on hand for next time!!
finally.
AND.
husband vetoed my idea of having our currently reserved babysitter take the boys to a movie or a park or a playland near the restaurant we're going to.
fuck that.
I'm doing it anyway.
she's 15 and very very good.
she can handle it.
me?
I can't handle staying in tonight.

I interupt this fucking pathetic rant with yet another, slightly more provocative rant:
I AM SO SICK OF WEARING BRAS I COULD JUST DIE.
OR CRY.
OR CALL THE FBI.
Pie.
Lye.
Tie.
Shy.
My.
Mai
Tai
Scuba dive.
no, that last one didn't rhyme, but I was sick of rhyming.
jesus, I hate spelling that word.

so anyway.
also, my new attitude of, "I'm not going to stress out over my weight, I'm just going to keep working out, and enjoy what I eat, and be happy."...?
well.
it's not going so great.
I've gained 4 pounds--
oh!!!
wait!!!!!
all this fucking emotional outburst shit today makes me think it must be a visit from the PMS fairy, which means I can blame the pounds on that.
fucking pounds.
and me, just sitting here, minding my own business--
BLAM!!
clobbered over the head by the pms fairy.

but at least Becky got her sense of humor back full force, post op.
apparently there are a neverending supply of jokes about the uterus or lack thereof.
and, oddly enough, they're as funny as you'd think.
er.
or funnier, depending on how funny you thought they would--
oh, nevermind.
she accused me of not calling her back because of her missing uterus, citing my shame to be associated with such an one.
"But you're deformed!!" I screamed.
we laughed so hard it hurt.
well, it hurt her, at least...

ok, time to get this wacky, hormonal show on the road.
Pray to someone (your neighbor with the lazy eye, your co-worker with the lazy ass, or your mailman with the perma-boner, for example)
that I will make it through this evening in one peace.

have a poop-tacular day, and don't forget to floss.