Saturday, July 02, 2005

Could This Day BE Any Weirder?

That's my Chandler from friends imitation. If you didn't figure it out until now, please re-read the title in a Chandler voice. There, now you have the full effect.

Not that it's that great of a title, but hey, you get what you pay for.

Anyway, I'm just sitting here in my maternity shorts with black socks and I realized that the further I get into this pregnancy, the less I care if I'm breaking fashion rules.

But that's really not what makes this day weird. If that was it, well then I guess I'd have a very low threshold for weirdness and then my head would probably explode just from having to be around myself.

Today has been a productive day, starting at about 6 a.m. since Sweetie Pie left really early to go to do manly things with two buddy of his somewhere next to the Oklahoma border. Something about four wheelers and deer leases, I didn't really pay attention to what he was saying when he told me. It might involve strippers and hookers for all I know. I was talking to his mother, a.k.a. my mother-in-law this morning and she asked me when he would be back. That made me feel really shitty, because I don't even know. I think it's today. Sometime. Maybe tonight. Not past Monday for sure, since he's got to earn money to pay for our new mortgage.

Anyway, while Sweetie Pie's been away today, since I couldn't go back to sleep I started doing stuff around the house. First, I washed all the dishes so I could then pack them, only to re-wash them at the new house, since I'm packing them in newspaper. Which is always ironic to me, that you have to wash your dishes twice. You really can't get away from only washing them once, because your options would be to pack dirty dishes. A great way to introduce the new house to mold and cockroaches. The other option would be to risk cancer and eat off the newspaper print covered dishes and try to remove from your mind that burly men in the newspaper factory had their nasty hands all over the paper and their butt coodies are probably all over your dishes now.

Lovely conversation on a long weekend, isn't it?

Anyway, I got bored (I know, I know, shocker...) and decided to go to my mother-in-law's to get one of baby boy's gymnasiums that I got at the shower in duplicates and return it to the Baby Mecca, a.k.a Babies R' Us. If you've never been, imagine a place the size of three football fields filled with baby things you didn't even know existed, let alone needed.

Since I'm borderline diabetic (or so my gestational diabetes test claims, but that's a non-fun story, so we'll just only talk about that when it's to my advantage, shall we?), I got hungry from talking to my mother-in-law and decided to have lunch at McDonald's at 10:45 in the morning. I know, a little early for lunch, but all I'd had all day was two slices of toast at 6 a.m. and well, I am borderline diabetic, you know?

By the time I get to the nearest McDonald's, it's 10:55 a.m. Well, actually on my clock it's 11 a.m. but that's five minutes fast so that I can get to places on time. So I place the same order I've placed a million times and there's silence on the speaker for what seems to be an eternity. Then finally a timid voice says "ma'am? We're still serving breakfast. Lunch time starts in five minutes." I tell him that I thought breakfast ended at 10:30. He responds that's only during the week and today is Saturday. I was turned away from McDonald's people! TURNED AWAY! Did they look at the camera and think "ok, she's getting awful chunky, let's cut her off before we get sued again?"

But now for my very scary story... Now there's a blog that I read just about every day that is just hilarious. I'd tell you where it is, but if I did that, you'd probably all stop reading me thinking to yourselves, oh this girl is so much funnier than Catwoman. And so much hotter. And so much smarter and more literate. So I'm not going to risk that, no sirree. The point is, this other blogger had a hilarious story yesterday about an incident with a spider that actually made water squirt out my nose. A story about a spider (which she's deadly afraid of) leaping to her face while she was trying to kill it.

Well, here's the bizarre thing... The same thing almost happened to me today. Except that it was with a three-foot tall cockroach. With really large fangs. I'm shivering just talking about it again. Let's just all be thankful this didn't send me into labor.

Basically, here's what happened. I was packing up the rest of our books from the top shelf of our fancy-schmancy built-in book shelf in our hallway. Anyway, when I removed the last of Sweetie Pie's three dictionaries which he doesn't use just like the other two he owns, I spotted it in the corner. Way, way up there, antennas moving, sending evil signals to the rest of the colony about being discovered and losing their only source for checking their Scrabble words. I screamed silently, because if they hear you scream, then they run and it makes everything so much worse. I ran to get the wasp killing spray, the only thing I have that will kill without me having to use a paper towel or a shoe and have to hear that horrendous crunching noise they make to punish you for murdering them.

Well, since I had to spray way up on the top shelf, about two feet above my head, I put my arm up and blindly sprayed. Well, apparently I sprayed too much and the river of wasp poison acted like a white water rafting adventure for cockroaches and made the eight-pound beast fall directly in front of me, narrowly missing my face.

How weird is that when I just read this other person's blog yesterday? Do you think the cockroach has Internet access and read this competing blog and thought "hmmm... Aim for the face, that's a good strategy." Or even worse, is there an insect Internet and the spider from the other blogger's story has its own blog and told its version of the story mocking the human's panic and that made my cockroach plan its near-miss attack?

I can't think about it anymore. It's too traumatizing.

One final thought today. What is with this whole Oprah Winfrey and Hermes incident? For those of you who haven't heard, Oprah was in Paris and decided to go shopping at the Hermes store, unannounced, 15 minutes after it closed. There were customers still in the store, who I'm sure had been there since before closing and who the poor sales staff were glowering at thinking to themselves "I want to go home you fucking snob! I don't get paid overtime and I still have to vacuum this place filled with purses made for pennies by children in Pakistan and sold to you morons for thousands." And then, all of a sudden, there's Oprah. And being good retail people and highly underpaid, they thought to themselves "fuck that! Desperate Housewives is on tonight" (having not been in France this summer, I'm not sure what the big hit over there is that the employees were wanting to get home in time for). Next thing you know, it's this huge PR nightmare for Hermes. Oprah is telling everyone that this is the most humiliating incident of her life. This from a woman who was once the victim of incest.

Don't get me wrong. I love Oprah. Most of the time. I love her show, although I think being a billionaire has made her a little too full of herself at times and she goes over the top with enthusiasm on her show at times. And the whole thing about her being on the cover of her magazine every single month? Not even with another celebrity! Just Oprah! Month after month after month. But that's not my point. My point is I like her.

But I'm sick of these celebrities thinking that they get freaking perks all the time. If I show up 15 minutes after a store's closed, even if there are still customers in there, they won't open the door for me. So why would celebrities, who get everything handed to them on a silver platter all the freaking time be treated any different?

Shop during business hours like the rest of us Oprah. And for those of you screaming racism, saying that if she were white, the doors would have been opened for her, well, I call phooey on that. When I was a flight attendant and treated like shit all the time, I didn't bend the rules for people. Their color had nothing to do with it. If you wanted to smoke on the plane, it didn't matter if you were white, black or a one-eyed midget. I was going to have your ass arrested. period. I mean, why not take it a step further? Why not claim that it's sexism, that the door would have been opened for a man, because all the male employees who work in an Hermes store must be gay.

Hollywood, I've been your trivia queen and biggest lover for a long time. But you're starting to get on my last nerve.

Love,

Catwoman.

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