Annoyed
I am trying to think of how the emotion "annoyed" would be expressed in color. Maybe a really disgusting 70's style pea green. Or 70's orange--like the tupperware orange color...Or maybe baby-poop brown. Or maybe the color of the slime on the inside of our pond.
Whatever it is: color me annoyed.
I don't know if it is just the day or the week or the time of month or the fact that everything is in transition again for me. Or maybe it is the fact that we never seem to be able to get ahead financially--despite our best efforts. Or maybe it is the fact that I feel like a fat blob today. Or maybe the fact that this morning some old people stood right outside my cube wall and guffawed about my last name for about a half hour like I am some kind of animal in a zoo. Or maybe it is peoples' general attitudes, especially at work, that they can pawn anything off on me that they don't like to do. I hate that. I am not a push over. Maybe it is the fact that no matter what, I don't seem to be able to keep myself from spilling on and staining all of my clothes and that I have to walk around in clothes with spills and stains all the time. Maybe it is the fact that I'd much rather be outside knitting than in here typing on this computer. Maybe it is the fact that I need a change more than my next breath. Perhaps it is the fact that the sandblasting guy has had our tub for our reno for two months, and keeps telling us every week that "I'll get to it this week, I promise." Maybe it is the fact that I've had roughly about 5 hours of sleep every night for the past month--and I need at least eight. Perhaps it is the fact that yesterday, after a month of working on it, I had to rip out my entire knitting project and start from scratch. And that to do the project correctly, I needed the help of the internets. But our internets were not working, so I had a tearful afternoon of trying to figure it out on my own, which I should have known, was pointless. Perhaps it is the fact that despite the fact that we spend way more money on groceries than most people, there is never anything to eat in our house, and I ask you, why is this???!!!! Maybe it is the fact that that psychotic bastard, Kim Jong Il, has his nukes pointed straight at this country as well as a few others. What a ridiculous excuse for a human being. Why can't anyone do anything about him??? Why aren't people in his country uprising against him???!!!
As you can see, I am in a mood. Some days are just like this. And I am naturally irritable anyway.
BAHHHH!!!!
The silver lining: tonight I get to go to Dana's to celebrate her birthday and eat a vanilla bean cake from glorious Nichole's Fine Pastries.
At least there is some justice in the world.
Just so you know, I am not completely being a victim about everything today, because I hate victim mentality even more than almost everything described above, so today I actually emailed a woman asking her if I can be her voice student.
So there. I did something about myself and my situation. It is a step.
I will tell you about the Second Rice Indicent. First Rice Incident--explosive dog rice diarrhea (see previous post). Second Rice Incident. I have a rice buddy. For those of you who don't know, a rice buddy is a piece of material filled with rice that you can either warm or cool via the microwave or the freezer, and then put on your bad spots--you know--that crook in your neck or your back or whatever. I had a rice buddy. The rice buddy was under the bathroom sink. The bathroom sink has been unknowingly dripping spitted-out toothpaste and other nasty bathroom sink liquids for some time now. I discovered the rice buddy in a state of unnaturalness during the most recent purging. I decided (and why I thought this would work, I will never know) that I didn't want to throw it away (I hate being wasteful), but that I would instead wash the rice buddy.
Well, washing is one thing. All of the nastiness came off of the rice buddy. In fact, it washed so nicely that I totally forgot the rice buddy was even in the laundry.
I threw the laundry in the dryer.
Several hours later I came down the basement steps to discover that my dryer had exploded open and rice was spilling out of the dryer onto the floor. Think of discovering a hidden cache of gold in a pirates den that is so plentiful it is everywhere and spilling out into all available space. Except that this is pieces of rice that have swollen in the wash and then swollen some more while they cooked in the dryer to the point that the dryer itself has burst open with the contents therein. And also imagine that this rice is sticking to and inside of every fold of every other type of fabric in the dryer (think of those pantyhose now, people--really, really professional, let me tell you). And imagine the lint trap is overflowing with rice giblets. And imagine the rice all over your newly-cleaned basement floor in your newly created basement sanctuary. Imagine picking each piece of rice out of every pocket in your husband's shorts that actually have (no exageration here) 27 pockets (one of those cargo-style numbers). Imagine finding rice in your underwear for several weeks. Finding rice spilling out of your pants as you walk. Feel uncomfortable in your clothing, and finding the reason to be a piece of rice sticking to the inside of the clothes.
It was a mess.
Bottom line, I was an idiot for trying to dry the rice buddy, and it perished anyway.
RIP Rice Buddy 2003-2006.
You were a nice rice buddy. You massaged my neck when my husband wouldn't [almost all the time].
You smelled nicely of lavendar and other exotic, calming spices.
You were a nice chocolate-brown color.
Dammit anyway.
Whatever it is: color me annoyed.
I don't know if it is just the day or the week or the time of month or the fact that everything is in transition again for me. Or maybe it is the fact that we never seem to be able to get ahead financially--despite our best efforts. Or maybe it is the fact that I feel like a fat blob today. Or maybe the fact that this morning some old people stood right outside my cube wall and guffawed about my last name for about a half hour like I am some kind of animal in a zoo. Or maybe it is peoples' general attitudes, especially at work, that they can pawn anything off on me that they don't like to do. I hate that. I am not a push over. Maybe it is the fact that no matter what, I don't seem to be able to keep myself from spilling on and staining all of my clothes and that I have to walk around in clothes with spills and stains all the time. Maybe it is the fact that I'd much rather be outside knitting than in here typing on this computer. Maybe it is the fact that I need a change more than my next breath. Perhaps it is the fact that the sandblasting guy has had our tub for our reno for two months, and keeps telling us every week that "I'll get to it this week, I promise." Maybe it is the fact that I've had roughly about 5 hours of sleep every night for the past month--and I need at least eight. Perhaps it is the fact that yesterday, after a month of working on it, I had to rip out my entire knitting project and start from scratch. And that to do the project correctly, I needed the help of the internets. But our internets were not working, so I had a tearful afternoon of trying to figure it out on my own, which I should have known, was pointless. Perhaps it is the fact that despite the fact that we spend way more money on groceries than most people, there is never anything to eat in our house, and I ask you, why is this???!!!! Maybe it is the fact that that psychotic bastard, Kim Jong Il, has his nukes pointed straight at this country as well as a few others. What a ridiculous excuse for a human being. Why can't anyone do anything about him??? Why aren't people in his country uprising against him???!!!
As you can see, I am in a mood. Some days are just like this. And I am naturally irritable anyway.
BAHHHH!!!!
The silver lining: tonight I get to go to Dana's to celebrate her birthday and eat a vanilla bean cake from glorious Nichole's Fine Pastries.
At least there is some justice in the world.
Just so you know, I am not completely being a victim about everything today, because I hate victim mentality even more than almost everything described above, so today I actually emailed a woman asking her if I can be her voice student.
So there. I did something about myself and my situation. It is a step.
I will tell you about the Second Rice Indicent. First Rice Incident--explosive dog rice diarrhea (see previous post). Second Rice Incident. I have a rice buddy. For those of you who don't know, a rice buddy is a piece of material filled with rice that you can either warm or cool via the microwave or the freezer, and then put on your bad spots--you know--that crook in your neck or your back or whatever. I had a rice buddy. The rice buddy was under the bathroom sink. The bathroom sink has been unknowingly dripping spitted-out toothpaste and other nasty bathroom sink liquids for some time now. I discovered the rice buddy in a state of unnaturalness during the most recent purging. I decided (and why I thought this would work, I will never know) that I didn't want to throw it away (I hate being wasteful), but that I would instead wash the rice buddy.
Well, washing is one thing. All of the nastiness came off of the rice buddy. In fact, it washed so nicely that I totally forgot the rice buddy was even in the laundry.
I threw the laundry in the dryer.
Several hours later I came down the basement steps to discover that my dryer had exploded open and rice was spilling out of the dryer onto the floor. Think of discovering a hidden cache of gold in a pirates den that is so plentiful it is everywhere and spilling out into all available space. Except that this is pieces of rice that have swollen in the wash and then swollen some more while they cooked in the dryer to the point that the dryer itself has burst open with the contents therein. And also imagine that this rice is sticking to and inside of every fold of every other type of fabric in the dryer (think of those pantyhose now, people--really, really professional, let me tell you). And imagine the lint trap is overflowing with rice giblets. And imagine the rice all over your newly-cleaned basement floor in your newly created basement sanctuary. Imagine picking each piece of rice out of every pocket in your husband's shorts that actually have (no exageration here) 27 pockets (one of those cargo-style numbers). Imagine finding rice in your underwear for several weeks. Finding rice spilling out of your pants as you walk. Feel uncomfortable in your clothing, and finding the reason to be a piece of rice sticking to the inside of the clothes.
It was a mess.
Bottom line, I was an idiot for trying to dry the rice buddy, and it perished anyway.
RIP Rice Buddy 2003-2006.
You were a nice rice buddy. You massaged my neck when my husband wouldn't [almost all the time].
You smelled nicely of lavendar and other exotic, calming spices.
You were a nice chocolate-brown color.
Dammit anyway.
posted by Erin at 4:10 PM
2 Comments:
Now, don't shoot me, but that has to be the single-most hilarious tale I've ever heard in my entire life! I swear you lead the most interesting life of anyone I know. Not that exploding rice buddies is necessarily interesting, but, however, very entertaining. I'm still chuckling.
Chuckle.
Chuckle....
Snort.
I think that's extraordinarily sad. Seriously. I can simply imagine something like that happening to me and making me want to either punch a hole in my wall or cry until my pillow is sogging. I feel for you. I really do. Perhaps someday you will get over the trauma. Until then, know that I love you... absolutely love reading your blog because you're so...exciting.
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