Why oh Why??
To first off warn each and every one of you who read this blog- it will not be nice. My ability to be nice has vanished into thin air much like my ability to sleep. I am completely incapable of having any form of a censorship button due to the fact I have been awake since 02:30 this morning. The one time I actually attempted to doze off was exactly five minutes before my Hubbys cell phone rang- at 04:00- sharp. That being said- to give everyone the tenor of my most despicable mood- dont most normal, rational people with a hint of intellect check their phones prior to going to bed for the night? Is it that difficult a thing to check, ya know, when youre figuring out if you should plug it in to charge overnight? Wouldnt you then see that you missed a call or two? Like say, about important stuff like- oh, I dont know- if two vacant slots in the next days schedule had been filled. Your fellow co-worker wondering if he should prep his gear for the next day or not? Apparently, this is too complicated a feat for some people to do. Instead- they dont answer their missed calls, do not check their voicemail, and call my Hubby at o-dark-oclock to say sorry man, but I need you to go fill a shift at blah-de-blah. Really? REALLY? This could have been solved last night and helped me hold onto some semblance of a better mood if not for that phone call this morning. I have absolutely no tolerance for people incapable of doing their damn job as pre-determined years before hand. Stupid, childish, idiotic behavior such as this common affliction has permanently soured me to one particular individual and no way in hell am I going to think differently from here on out. My Hubby would catch holy-hell should he have not checked his missed calls or messages, but yet this dope gets away with it. What-theF-ever.
Yesterday- Hubby took his one day off. We went out to breakfast at our local favorite food joint- Grand Coney. We were seated in the back corner round booth and all too soon did I realize things werent going to end well. Our waitress, Carly (real name), had the wonderfully polite- whatever mood going for her. Taking fifteen minutes to get us our simple orange juice and water, and even then another waitress brought it to us, not her. Add to that another ten minutes and she finally took our order, acting like we were this major inconvenience for her. While we waited, creating small talk amongst ourselves, it became apparent that I may actually kill the two gentlemen in the booth behind us. They were middle aged men, one wearing a Western cut sports coat (hello- both Oklahoma and the 80s called- they said you look stupid!!), chatting about the Bible and church services. Then the older of the two, made this loudly stupid statement- Nowhere in the book of Revelations does it say I shalt be submissive to my wife. I am a man, and I should be able to act like it once and a while, shouldnt I? The look on my face must have been absolutely precious since Hubby forced himself to not laugh out loud. My first thought was- then quite being such a pussy. My second thought, after Mr. Western 80s chimed in with- well, sometimes we have to be submissive to let the women in our lives realize how much they really need us, Im sorry- Jesus, God, and whoever didnt create the Bible for pathetic men like you to utilize in quotations while stroking your egos and pretending your penis are bigger! If your wife is THAT emasculating- grow a pair, divorce the bitch, and carry on! The Bible was not written as the ultimate mans guide to why you are your wifes bitch!
With my mood being ever so slightly tainted, and with many a joke made at the expense of religious-wusses- R- them, Hubby and I went to the grocery store to pick up a few things for our adventures in baking we had planned. I HATE HOUSEWIVES!! HATE THEM, HATE THEM, HATE THEM! I hate how they wear a pair of ratty sweatpants with a fashionable blazer to the grocery store, carrying with them the attitude that they are in fact hot shit. I hate how three of them with overloaded carts dripping with children, completely block off the baking aisle to play catch up with the other moms- and when you clear your throat, making them realize they are in fact not the only people in the entire store- you receive the you dont have a litter of ankle-biters, fuck off and die stare! I hate how the older ones snottily stare down your line of items on the grocery belt like- Oh my god- they are going to BAKE something! Are they married? Do their parents know? How dare they bake together- why its, its, ITS TUESDAY! I only wished we had put up a jumbo tube of diaper rash cream, the super huge party box of condoms, a jug of vegetable oil, three boxes of saran wrap, and a tub of whipped cream! That would have been worthy of a stare! And since we are talking about the checkout lane- why in the holy hell is it necessary for the older then dirt, slightly stupid cashier to read to me my entire receipt, right down to hove much I saved today and am I saving up my rewards points? Is it any of your damn business? I think not!
Hubby giggled as I spouted of my general disgust of housewives- saying only You know, you are one too. I am, I am a house wife. But I am also the anti-housewife. I work a part time job, keep the house clean and funk free, I pay the monthly bills, take care of the animals, yard work, and grocery shopping. I exude more creativity then a shopping list. I am writing two books, a blog, and trying to get a small time photography business up and running. I have housewife friends that have full time office jobs, kids in numerous sports, and still Im sure they have better things to do they play catch up in the grocery store aisle proving to be in the way of general daily shoppers like me. Meanwhile Im sure the most creativity expounded by these bitches in the store is writing grocery lists, honey do lists for their poor bedraggled husbands, and the occasional tweet about how cute Junior was just now when he wet burped his stewed veggie baby food. Maybe they go so far as to post blurry, crap-tas-tic snap shots of little Daisy picking her nose and feeding it to the dog on their Moms-like-me pages. Those housewives in the store yesterday are the reason I had to listen to a pathetic shell of a man quote scripture to regain some form of his masculinity!
Another observance in the grocery store- College Girl. She was the moody, brooding college bitch. Picture if you will- really big heart shaped face(with matching super-sized head), with the super poofed grown out Bieber-turns mullet, way too much eye make-up, fake red leather coat, and too tight black jeggings that- Im sorry, either go commando to wear a thong, but granny panties under tight pants- just not good fashion sense! She was standing with that crappy half slumped, brooding Goth poet posture, staring long fully at the Greek Yogurt section- then would flash her heavy black eye lined eyes like a paranoid drug fiend if you whispered, burped, or squeaked a cart tire near her. WTF? Shes going to grow up and be a housewife- I can feel it.
We finally got home, put away groceries, and after doing the weekly pellet stove cleaning- Hubby taught me how to bake cinnamon rolls. I know exactly nothing of baking outside of boxed cookie mixes and how cool it looks when my SD Mom does it while shes in town. So Hubby gently taught me how to make dough, then how to knead dough. I would get frustrated when his looked better than mine, claiming my cinnamon rolls would be stupid because I broke the dough. He would smile at my flour covered clothing and face and reassure me that they would be fine. We set the dough aside to rise- and oh my god did it! Our smallish blobs of sugary dough turned into bowl eating monsters! We then rolled it out, added the sugar, butter, cinnamon mix- rolling the sheets of dough into long tubes. We cut them, placed them in pans and waited until they doubled in size. Doubled my ass! We pulled the towels back after an hour and they had puffed and puffed and were spilling over the sides of their homey little glass pans. Once they were in the oven- Hubby taught me how to make frosting for the cinnamon goodness. We added orange zest, orange peels, and a little homemade vanilla extract. I was having more fun licking the beaters, the frosting knife, and the droobles off the counter!
Hubby sure does know how to make a poopy morning go better. Too bad hes working a 48 hour shift and cant make today any better than it is doomed to be. Tomorrow afternoon I have a photo shoot scheduled for here at the house with the lovely Azkedellia. Friday, I get to go grocery shopping for the first annual Cousins Christmas Gathering Tex Mex Style (gives me a reason to play Feliz Navidad over and over) we are hosting on Sunday evening. Saturday- Hubby and I will be in one Christmas Parade in Rockford, stopping to buy at tree on the way home- setting it up, then rushing off to Lowell for the 6pm Christmas Parade. Can anyone else say- Non-effin-stop much?
To first off warn each and every one of you who read this blog- it will not be nice. My ability to be nice has vanished into thin air much like my ability to sleep. I am completely incapable of having any form of a censorship button due to the fact I have been awake since 02:30 this morning. The one time I actually attempted to doze off was exactly five minutes before my Hubbys cell phone rang- at 04:00- sharp. That being said- to give everyone the tenor of my most despicable mood- dont most normal, rational people with a hint of intellect check their phones prior to going to bed for the night? Is it that difficult a thing to check, ya know, when youre figuring out if you should plug it in to charge overnight? Wouldnt you then see that you missed a call or two? Like say, about important stuff like- oh, I dont know- if two vacant slots in the next days schedule had been filled. Your fellow co-worker wondering if he should prep his gear for the next day or not? Apparently, this is too complicated a feat for some people to do. Instead- they dont answer their missed calls, do not check their voicemail, and call my Hubby at o-dark-oclock to say sorry man, but I need you to go fill a shift at blah-de-blah. Really? REALLY? This could have been solved last night and helped me hold onto some semblance of a better mood if not for that phone call this morning. I have absolutely no tolerance for people incapable of doing their damn job as pre-determined years before hand. Stupid, childish, idiotic behavior such as this common affliction has permanently soured me to one particular individual and no way in hell am I going to think differently from here on out. My Hubby would catch holy-hell should he have not checked his missed calls or messages, but yet this dope gets away with it. What-theF-ever.
Yesterday- Hubby took his one day off. We went out to breakfast at our local favorite food joint- Grand Coney. We were seated in the back corner round booth and all too soon did I realize things werent going to end well. Our waitress, Carly (real name), had the wonderfully polite- whatever mood going for her. Taking fifteen minutes to get us our simple orange juice and water, and even then another waitress brought it to us, not her. Add to that another ten minutes and she finally took our order, acting like we were this major inconvenience for her. While we waited, creating small talk amongst ourselves, it became apparent that I may actually kill the two gentlemen in the booth behind us. They were middle aged men, one wearing a Western cut sports coat (hello- both Oklahoma and the 80s called- they said you look stupid!!), chatting about the Bible and church services. Then the older of the two, made this loudly stupid statement- Nowhere in the book of Revelations does it say I shalt be submissive to my wife. I am a man, and I should be able to act like it once and a while, shouldnt I? The look on my face must have been absolutely precious since Hubby forced himself to not laugh out loud. My first thought was- then quite being such a pussy. My second thought, after Mr. Western 80s chimed in with- well, sometimes we have to be submissive to let the women in our lives realize how much they really need us, Im sorry- Jesus, God, and whoever didnt create the Bible for pathetic men like you to utilize in quotations while stroking your egos and pretending your penis are bigger! If your wife is THAT emasculating- grow a pair, divorce the bitch, and carry on! The Bible was not written as the ultimate mans guide to why you are your wifes bitch!
With my mood being ever so slightly tainted, and with many a joke made at the expense of religious-wusses- R- them, Hubby and I went to the grocery store to pick up a few things for our adventures in baking we had planned. I HATE HOUSEWIVES!! HATE THEM, HATE THEM, HATE THEM! I hate how they wear a pair of ratty sweatpants with a fashionable blazer to the grocery store, carrying with them the attitude that they are in fact hot shit. I hate how three of them with overloaded carts dripping with children, completely block off the baking aisle to play catch up with the other moms- and when you clear your throat, making them realize they are in fact not the only people in the entire store- you receive the you dont have a litter of ankle-biters, fuck off and die stare! I hate how the older ones snottily stare down your line of items on the grocery belt like- Oh my god- they are going to BAKE something! Are they married? Do their parents know? How dare they bake together- why its, its, ITS TUESDAY! I only wished we had put up a jumbo tube of diaper rash cream, the super huge party box of condoms, a jug of vegetable oil, three boxes of saran wrap, and a tub of whipped cream! That would have been worthy of a stare! And since we are talking about the checkout lane- why in the holy hell is it necessary for the older then dirt, slightly stupid cashier to read to me my entire receipt, right down to hove much I saved today and am I saving up my rewards points? Is it any of your damn business? I think not!
Hubby giggled as I spouted of my general disgust of housewives- saying only You know, you are one too. I am, I am a house wife. But I am also the anti-housewife. I work a part time job, keep the house clean and funk free, I pay the monthly bills, take care of the animals, yard work, and grocery shopping. I exude more creativity then a shopping list. I am writing two books, a blog, and trying to get a small time photography business up and running. I have housewife friends that have full time office jobs, kids in numerous sports, and still Im sure they have better things to do they play catch up in the grocery store aisle proving to be in the way of general daily shoppers like me. Meanwhile Im sure the most creativity expounded by these bitches in the store is writing grocery lists, honey do lists for their poor bedraggled husbands, and the occasional tweet about how cute Junior was just now when he wet burped his stewed veggie baby food. Maybe they go so far as to post blurry, crap-tas-tic snap shots of little Daisy picking her nose and feeding it to the dog on their Moms-like-me pages. Those housewives in the store yesterday are the reason I had to listen to a pathetic shell of a man quote scripture to regain some form of his masculinity!
Another observance in the grocery store- College Girl. She was the moody, brooding college bitch. Picture if you will- really big heart shaped face(with matching super-sized head), with the super poofed grown out Bieber-turns mullet, way too much eye make-up, fake red leather coat, and too tight black jeggings that- Im sorry, either go commando to wear a thong, but granny panties under tight pants- just not good fashion sense! She was standing with that crappy half slumped, brooding Goth poet posture, staring long fully at the Greek Yogurt section- then would flash her heavy black eye lined eyes like a paranoid drug fiend if you whispered, burped, or squeaked a cart tire near her. WTF? Shes going to grow up and be a housewife- I can feel it.
We finally got home, put away groceries, and after doing the weekly pellet stove cleaning- Hubby taught me how to bake cinnamon rolls. I know exactly nothing of baking outside of boxed cookie mixes and how cool it looks when my SD Mom does it while shes in town. So Hubby gently taught me how to make dough, then how to knead dough. I would get frustrated when his looked better than mine, claiming my cinnamon rolls would be stupid because I broke the dough. He would smile at my flour covered clothing and face and reassure me that they would be fine. We set the dough aside to rise- and oh my god did it! Our smallish blobs of sugary dough turned into bowl eating monsters! We then rolled it out, added the sugar, butter, cinnamon mix- rolling the sheets of dough into long tubes. We cut them, placed them in pans and waited until they doubled in size. Doubled my ass! We pulled the towels back after an hour and they had puffed and puffed and were spilling over the sides of their homey little glass pans. Once they were in the oven- Hubby taught me how to make frosting for the cinnamon goodness. We added orange zest, orange peels, and a little homemade vanilla extract. I was having more fun licking the beaters, the frosting knife, and the droobles off the counter!
Hubby sure does know how to make a poopy morning go better. Too bad hes working a 48 hour shift and cant make today any better than it is doomed to be. Tomorrow afternoon I have a photo shoot scheduled for here at the house with the lovely Azkedellia. Friday, I get to go grocery shopping for the first annual Cousins Christmas Gathering Tex Mex Style (gives me a reason to play Feliz Navidad over and over) we are hosting on Sunday evening. Saturday- Hubby and I will be in one Christmas Parade in Rockford, stopping to buy at tree on the way home- setting it up, then rushing off to Lowell for the 6pm Christmas Parade. Can anyone else say- Non-effin-stop much?
If you decide to have children, you'll see in schoo, after concerts and plays, they do the sam but worse. As hundreds of people try to move through the hallways, they will form in clumps to yak, with their children and husbands in tow, and block the entire corridor. Really you can't move yourselves over to the lockers before having your innane, incessant chattering begins. And it not just the housewives, the husbands by themselves will just decide to stop, with a lost look on their face and block the path for 5 minutes before realizing that all the body contact is frustrated people trying to get by.
And like an epedemic, it's spreading everwhere. People are just inconsiderate zombies blocking thru-ways. At our lunchtime coney, people consistent stand right in the entrance doorway while waiting to be seated, so no one else can enter, nor anyone leave. Then when you excuse yourself and get them to move so you can pass, they return back to the doorway. WTF, is it that much of a mental riddle to actually enter the restaurant and stand next to the cash register or by the booths. Flippin' cattle!
Don't get me started on people walking slowly, right down the middle of parking lot aisles, and not moving to oneside or the other when a car comes...
Anyways, Looking forward to the results of your shoot.