You know what absolutely drives me up the wall? Well, there’s A LOT. But based on the amount of bitching and whining I’ve done on this blog in the past six months (which has completely killed your liking to COMMENT on this piece of shit) you’ve probably got a god handle on what really gets under my skin.

Hold on, hold on. This post isn’t (entirely) about pregnancy!

I know! Miracle, right?

I waddled my fat ass to a table in a very busy food court in Costco over my lunch hour. Mostly because they have excellent poutine and I craved it like crazy, but I also had to pick up diapers and pull-ups for daycare (Dude, we’re potty training starting tomorrow! Pray for me!).  Just as my dear friend put her last fry in her mouth an elderly lady and, presumably, her grandson began meandering towards our table. Before my friend could even swallow they were hovering over us like vultures on prey at the side of a desert highway.

I hadn’t even picked up my jacket before the lady sat her fat decrepit ass  on the bench and proceeded to motion for her horde family to follow.

Dude, you could at least let the pregnant lady get her footing before you practically fling me and my belongings on the floor.

And I went all quite.

I didn’t even say anything.

Not a peep.

I think we were so shocked by their actions I couldn’t even say something if I wanted.

Besides, whose side would you take? The poor defenseless old lady with a cane or a hormonal pregnant woman? It’s really a catch 22 I’d say.

But! The Husband-Who-Is-Not-Even-Worthy-Of-That-Title-At-This-Moment is at home.

He just arrived home.

Early.

On a Friday.

Do you think he would have stopped and picked up Carter from daycare on his way to save me the trip since I did do some grocery shopping on my lunch break?

Nope.

Not even an offer.

[I just happened to know he was home because my MSN flashed that I had signed on another computer.]

Can’t go off on an old lady in Costco that I won’t ever see again… but I do tear a couple strips off a man that I have to be cooped up in the house with once this snow storm hits this evening.

Shear Brilliance.

I’ll probably do it again once I get home too.

What can I say? Glutton for punishment? Maybe. But that sure was a dick move if you ask me.

So Manchild came home with a filter last night for the furnace. BONUS! Finally I can bask in air conditioning. Wonderful, blissful, fantastic air conditioning. *twirling in circles* (tip: picture Sound of Music on the hilltop)

Picture this:

I get already for bed. Scratch that. Don’t think about me getting ready for bed. Pervs.

So I get my pajamas on (read: sweats and t-shirt cuz I’m so smokin’ hot like that), tie my hair back and hop into bed. Mike tags along bitching about how it’s not cooled down in here yet. The thermostat says it only gone down 2 degrees. Seriously? He’s complaining; even though it’s rather slow, the temperature is DECREASING! I don’t give a damn, it’s decreasing! I’m not going to complain.

Then.

BANG!

Whatthefuckisgoingonhere?! GeesusHChristwhatthehellwasthat?!

Mike said it sounded like the furnace.

[this is the sound of my heart breaking]

Me (in my best off Broadway performance yet): No! It. was. NOT! Go check it! Oh dear Lord, please, No! *on hands and knees atop the blankets in the middle of my bed* (Not like THAT! Sickos. Geez.) No! No! No! I want my air conditioning, I deserve my air conditioning!

*sigh*

Oh, there’s air. But from the fan only. No actual conditioning of the air. Just air.

*hangs head*

My beloved air.

I dunno what’s going on. I don’t know if that bang was the Ol’ Girl quitting on me.

*on knees, weeping* Oh! Dear! God! Don’t go! Stay with us Ol’ Girl! Stay with us! *looking to the sky* Please, don’t take her! I NEED her!! <— my second best off Broadway Performance.

*ahem*

The dudes are supposed to come back today and see what’s up. And this time, they’re doing in on MY time. None of this 11:00am crap like yesterday. (Though, I did have a very successful shopping trip yesterday afternoon, thankyouverymuch!)

Please pray for my air conditioner.

Oh, and while you’re at it, say a little diddy for my ceiling fan too. I don’t want him to feel left out; he’s been the staple holding this wack-job girl together for the last month.

Oh, did I mention? Satan invited me in for coffee (sadistic fucker). It’s a balmy 38C (100F) right now.

It’s 36C (97F) degrees right now.

I have no air conditioning.

I feel like I am standing at the gates of hell.

I hate to sweat. I detest sweat.

The dudes came today to clean the ducts and clean the furnace of its disgusting grime. They were supposed to be here Saturday, then canceled. Then, today, they were supposed to be here at 12:00 NOON. So I made arrangements to leave work early to be there (here) for them. At NOON.

I get a phone call at 11:00am that they are waiting in my driveway. *Apparently* wanted to get ahead start. Fuckers. Apparently they are the only ones who work.

Regardless, they came in, got it done.

I was all “YES! YES! YES! Air conditioning!” (tip: Make sure you read it like Sally says it in When Harry Met Sally, cuz that’s how I said it.)

But before I coud turn it on, Mike called and was all “No, not yet. I have to buy new air filters on my way home because those ones will be trash now, we don’t want this re-occurring mould issue, right?

I was all, “FUCK IT, I want my air dammit! You get to sit at work - IN AIR CON-fuckin’-DITIONING - and I’m here boiling my ass off. Not the weight loss plan I had in mind.”

He’s all: “Just wait ’til I get home.”

I was all: “Motherfucker, I’ll wait, but it ain’t gonna be pretty. And I expect Dairy Queen tonight.”

Here I am. Waiting. Patiently. Eagerly. Bitchy. as. hell.

Fuck, I hate to sweat.

Hence the extra 40lbs I’m carrying around on my big ass and inner-tube-like love handles. Yes, that’s right, I smuggle inner tubes under my shirt. Fucksakes. Stupid sweat.

If I was an R-rating before, that’s probably just been bumped. Motherfucker! (Just for good measure.)

Dick Simmons’ got nothing on me

Ever feel like just kicking someone in the throat because? I’ve been having one of those months days. No one in particular. Just everyone. Watch out, I’ll mess you up muthafucka!

It’s not you. It’s me.

Every time someone asks me a question, I wanna ram my pen up their ass.

If they so much as question something I am working on, or finished, I feel like slamming their head on the table, then kneeing them in the throat and kicking them repeatedly as they stare up at me with tear stained cheeks and beg me to stop.
Every time Mike asks me what’s for dinner? I want to shove his head in the stove after I’ve ripped it from his body with the help of a spoon.

I want to stand on my desk and scream at everyone.

“FUCK YOU!!! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”

Am I PMSing? Nah. Not this week. Just in a generally bitchy mood.

Gimme some chocolate - me love you long time…
Or you can go fuck yourself too.