I have insomnia!!!

Okay, this is night number two where I'm up at 3AM and can't fall alseep again. I was productive, however. I finished my response paper for my OT class and emailed it to the prof, so I don't have to even think about school over the 4th of July. Sa-weet.

I was just thinking about winter, and how much I secretly love it when people slip on the ice. I personally haven't biffed it for several years running, so there is a certain smugness in the joy I feel when someone else wipes out.

My favorite is when someone not only wipes, but sliiiiides on their ass a little ways after they fall. Yeah, that's golden. My second favorite biff is the near-biff where someone loses their footing, but then regains their balance, but stops to look around to see if anyone saw them. I totally want to run up to them and go, "I totally saw you! That was freakin' awesome!" I never will, though, because some people are mental and I'm liable to get capped.

My little sister used to fall down the stairs all the time when we were growing up. It was hilarious. For some reason she'd get all hyper and start running for no reason. Then she'd hit the stairs and end up at the bottom in a crumpled little heap. Oh, it was magnificent. I never got tired of seeing that. I'd always go check to make sure she was okay, but usually I was laughing so hard I couldn't really ask her until I caught my breath. The very best biffs were the ones when I would ask if she was okay, and she'd go, "NO!" Then I'd start laughing all over again until I started hyperventilating. Every once in a while she'd even fall going UP the stairs. Usually she'd start running, saying something dumb like, "I'm gonna go drink the last Coke! Syke!" She'd get about halfway up, and then I'd hear the telltale "BOOMBOOMBOOM". I'd look, and there was the crumpled little heap of albino, right back at the bottom of the stairs where she started. Oh, those were the days. She never suffered any permanent physical damage from her frequent falls, so I don't feel too bad about laughing my ass off at her expense. In fact, she still wipes out all the time. And she still occasionally starts running for no good reason. I love her.

It has been brought to my attention...

...that I am a huge complainer, based on this blog. That may be so. I was definitely trained in the fine art of pessimism at an early age. However, I'm quite sure that other people think the same things I do, the only difference being that I am dumb enough (bitchy, arrogant, judgmental, tomato, tomahto, whatever) to say them. I wish more people were dumb enough to say what they really think about stuff. No one's life is really all rainbows and lollipops, right? If you can't say anything nice, come sit by me. Do I feel bad that I am mean and petty? Sure I do. But not enough to shut my freakin' yap. Welcome to the jungle, baby.

I just threw up in my mouth a little.

I just looked out my frickin' window, and there he was: my neighbor mowing his lawn, shirtless, wearing daisy duke gym shorts with a ciggie hanging from his mouth. Ew, ew, EW.

This is a middle-aged, rotund dude who spends warm summer evenings in the dark in his backyard, hawking up lugies. I can hear him, even with all my windows shut. He should be in a villa somewhere in Florida, wearing bermuda shorts belted just below his armpits, black dress socks and sandals, and driving to get the early-bird special at Denny's with his left blinker on the whole way there. Not half-naked outside my window with his ass crack sticking out of his waistband and his cheeks poking out from the seat of his shorts. Welcome to my frickin' nightmare.

How does he do it????

Okay, so there's this guy in my class at school. He's been in every single class I've taken for over a year. He never hands his papers in on time, he's late for class every single week if he comes at all, and his contributions to class discussions consist of parroting back what the prof just said.

How the heck does this guy keep getting through the program????? It's not like he has this super busy life... all his kids are grown and he doesn't have a job. So, why can't he get his work done??? If I can get my work in on time with a hubby and four kids, plus a job, I don't see why he can't with an empty house. It bugs the crap out of me.

The other thing that bugs the crap out of me is that he is The Thing That Wouldn't Shut Up. He goes on and on and on, and never manages to say anything substantial. We've actually had to stay up to a half hour later because he wouldn't put a frickin' sock in it. Once I got so pissed off listening to him ramble that I got up and went to the bathroom to wait it out. I stayed in there for 15 minutes, and when I got back HE WAS STILL TALKING. What's worse, he wasn't saying anything different than when I left. He ended up dropping the last class halfway through because he couldn't keep up with the work (but he never can, so what's the diff?), and it was so nice and QUIET. We could actually have real discussions that went somewhere.

There's this other guy who is really a nice young man, but he goofs off during the entire class. He brings his laptop and plays games, IM's his friends, and checks his emails. How can he be learning anything, I ask you??? This particular class moves a bit faster than some of the others we've taken, so how can he afford not to pay attention??? I just don't get it.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you're saying. You're telling me that I should worry about myself and leave everyone else alone. Well, I just cannot do that. It's not in my nature. I am compelled to comment on the stupidity and absurdity I see in the world around me. And yes, I do realize that somewhere in the world some other bitch is probably blogging the same kind of smack about me. KARMA. But I'll take my chances.

Hot Garbage

So, I went out with a couple of the bartenders from Big Louie's last week, and we got to talking about the guy I posted about earlier (see "This is mean, but...") and I found out they call him "Hot Garbage." WOW. That's waaaaay better than the nickname I had for him.

Cooking sucks

Why does cooking suck, you ask? Well, it sucks because, without fail, someone at my table will refuse to eat what I cook.

At least twice a month, as the fam sits down to eat, I hear "What IS this crap?" (This usually comes from one of the teenagers.)
At least once a week I hear, "I'm not eating this. It's gross."
At least twice a week I hear, "Why are you cooking THAT??? I hate that!"
Just last night, one of the teens goes, "Oh my god, what is that in the oven? It looks like a log of poop!" Yeah, it was a freakin' pork tenderloin. I would've thought it looked more like a phallus, but my family tends toward the fecal analogies whenever they can.

I am not a bad cook, just in case that's what you were thinking. The meals I cook are edible, and are usually quite tasty for at least 4 of the 6 people at the table. So, what is the deal???

I do not run a frickin' restaurant. I am not a short-order cook. I refuse to make 6 different entrees at one time. My mom used to say, "If you don't eat what I put on the table, then you don't eat." That tends to be my position, too.

Once, when my fam repeatedly refused to put their dirty dishes in the dishwasher, I stopped using the dishes and made them all eat off paper plates with plastic silverware for a whole summer. Maybe I should do the same with cooking. We'll just head up to White Castle every night for a crave case of sliders until they scream for mercy.

Stupid things people say

So, I was up at Psycho Suzy's one night, havin' a drink on the tiki patio, and there was a group of women talking about a friend of theirs. One of them kept saying she was "The quintessential friend." She said it like 50 times. I was ready to smack her one. I hate it when an idiot learns a big, new word and then uses it a million times to try to sound smart.

My MIL was talking about my sister, and asking about her marriage. My sister is married to a man from Kenya. My MIL goes, "So, she doesn't mind that he's black?" Holy crap. I go, "Well, gee... since they've been married for a while now, my guess would be that it's not an issue." Is there a cure for diarrhea of the mouth??? When I told my sister about it she laughed her ass off. She goes, "Yeah, I think every woman hopes that she can change her husband after the wedding, but he just never got any whiter!"

This one time, my husband was trying to sound all smart about something, and he goes, "Just call me N.I.A.S. Know It All Scott." I go, "Yeah... I'm pretty sure 'know' starts with a 'K'." So now every time he talks out of his ass I call him "N.I.A.S.".

There's a guy in my class who keeps calling this one lady "LeeAnn," even though her name is Lynea. We've told him about a thousand times, but he still calls her LeeAnn.

When one of my husband's relatives found out I'm studying to be a hospice chaplain, she goes, "Are you going to be one of those pastors who goes around telling everyone they're going to hell?" Yeah, that was my plan, cuz I think most people who are dying would be comforted to know that by tomorrow they'll be on permanent broil. Are you mental?????

I also hate it when people say things like, "I'm going to warsh clothes," or, "I checked this book out from the liberry." Remember when the Fonz kept saying "liberry" on Happy Days, and then he ended up teaching high school???

And while we're on the subject of the Fonz... how the hell did anyone think he was cool? He was so gross! My favorite episode was when he crashed his motorcycle. I was hoping he would die, or at least never be able to ride again, which would've served him right for being gross and for saying "liberry," but nooooooooo... he went on to jump the shark and teach high school. I think that's when I lost faith in American television.

WHY?????

I have been looking forward to summer soooooo much.... and now I don't know why. One week of being home with four kids, two dogs, a husband, and homework up the butt, and I am ready for September.

Today my husband goes, "Someone needs to help the kids clean their room." Well, I have been married long enough to know that my real name is not Donna, it's Someone. As in, "Someone needs to clean the house. Someone needs to take out the garbage. Someone needs to wash my work pants." It's been suggested that I design a t-shirt that says, "I Am Someone" in big red letters. Why the frick am I always Someone??? Why can't he be Someone for once??? Once, when he was going heavy on the "Someone" orders, I said, "Yeah? Well, SOMEONE thinks you should shut your frickin' pie hole and wash your own damn pants." Yeah, that went over soooooo well.

So anyway, today Someone cleaned the house, made meals for four kids, and did several loads of laundry. Someone mediated at least ten sibling brawls. Someone downloaded a buttload of video games off the internet as a favor to one ungrateful teenager. Someone did two hours of homework. Someone even helped search the neighborhood for a neighbor kid who didn't tell her mom where she was going before she left. And then Someone got yelled at by her ultra-crabby husband because the kids' room was a mess and they wouldn't clean it. Hmmmmm.... and he wonders why Someone isn't being very affectionate. Someone tried to explain that she'd been very busy all day, and her husband replied, "Well, that's not enough."

Someone's gonna either go mental or run away from home before the summer is through.

This is mean, but...

Okay. So, there's this guy I know. He's in his forties, single, lives in his parents' basement, and drives a school bus. He proudly wears his high school letter jacket from 1979, but he's super fat so he can no longer button it... the front won't reach past his armpits. In fact, all his clothes are waaaaay too tight, with pocket linings straining at the seams and shirt buttons ready to pop.

I see him sometimes up at the bar, where he often tries to hang out with us. However, I cannot allow this to happen for the following reasons:
1. He plays air guitar to songs like "Open Arms" and other horrid 80's ballads when they play over the sound system. Or worse, air drums.
2. He has a huge, ugly tattoo on his right manbreast, which he insists on showing everyone every chance he gets. The sight of his exposed hairy DDD's are a sure buzzkill, even on the best of nights.
3. Once he saw me in Target buying a cartload of stuff, and the next time we saw him at the bar he tried to narc me out to my husband. He was even pointing to me, like my husband wouldn't know who he was talking about otherwise.
4. I'm frankly ruded out by anyone who peaked at age 18 and feels the need to keep relivin' those glory days. Like Uncle Rico in Napoleon Dynamite. Gross. And oh so sad.
5. This one time he was talking on a cell phone, having this long, involved conversation. Then he said goodbye, but when he took his hand away, THERE WAS NO PHONE IN HIS HAND. HE WAS PRETENDING. FOR LIKE TEN MINUTES. HOLY CRAP.
6. He often talks about girls on the bus he drives being hot for him, or how hot he is for them. For cripes' sake, they're in junior high! How disgusting is that?? It's good to know that our school districts don't have a huge problem with pedophiles driving our kids around. One guy at the bar suposedly called the district and said something, yet the guy continued to drive the bus. Real nice.
7. Plain and simple, when his shirt buttons start popping off under the pressure of his growing girth, and believe me they will, I don't want to be sitting close enough to lose an eye.

Sometimes I wish this guy would disappear, but then I'd have to find someone else to laugh at, and that takes time and energy. He's like a horrible trainwreck: you just can't look away, no matter how much you feel like hurling.

Am I the meanest bitch in the world? Maybe. Should I feel sorry for the guy instead of mocking him? Probably. But pity isn't half as much fun.