Category: cranky

Oh, here we go again

So the weather has turned a little frosty here in the Bay Area.

And I really do mean frosty, temps dipped into the low 30’s overnight (unusual for us). We had some freezing rain and snow as low as 500 feet.

Fer crimeny’s sakes, you’d think it was winter or something!

Oh. Nevermind.

Anyhoo, you’ll recall in February of this year, I was beset upon by menopausal coworker harpies screeching to me about my lack of a jacket.

This seems to be an *issue* for people. The fact that I don’t like to wear jackets.

So it cropped up again yesterday. Less screeching, less menopausal.

It was the kind concern of my husband. He wasn’t being a harpy, he was looking out for me, which I appreciate. However…

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked.

And then later.

“Really? You aren’t cold?”

Well, to be honest, yes, I was a skosh cold. For the aggregate of exactly two minutes we were not in the warm car and not yet inside an often too hot building.

For the remaining twenty-three hours and fifty eight minutes of my day, I was in a climate controlled environment with plenty of heaters to keep me toasty. Actually, way too toasty.

So, what I have here, feeling momentary cold, is but a small problem. The big problem, staying warm, is solved.

I can tolerate being cold for about two minutes. (it’s not like I live somewhere where it is SERIOUSLY cold like Canada or Alaska or Switzerland or something!)

I really, truly dislike being inside and dressed too warm and then I have to take layers off and then I’m schlepping around my stuff and worried about leaving a hat or scarf or something somewhere.

I’m forgetful enough with the stuff I do have to carry around, why add to my misery?

I guess I’m the kind of person that will focus on the 98% problem, not the 2% problem.

Or…in this case, two minutes equals .1% of a problem.

So I’m a 99.9% girl, I suppose.

I have no problem with others wearing jackets. I don’t ask people wearing a heavy coat on a summer day “aren’t you hot?”

I suppose if I’m dumb enough to get caught out without a jacket in a really cold situation…well, then my dad was right when he said (only sometimes, when I misbehaved) that I was too dumb to come in out of a rainstorm.

Then again, have you ever frolicked in a really nice New Mexico summer rainstorm? A bit of heaven, I assure you…

But I digress…..

Oh…and as a final thought…the radio stations last night were all warning about outdoor plants freezing and to take precautions. They talked about going to a garden center to buy plant coverings….

I’m sorry, have these people NOT heard of using your sheets and blankets and garbage bags? Do you *really* need to pay big bucks to buy a plant center approved “plant cover”???

What do I expect from a metropolitan area filled with people who will pay someone $100 to put chains on their car when they go skiing.

I believe if you aren’t smart enough to put chains on your car, you shouldn’t be driving in snow.

There. I said it.

This, from the girl who isn’t smart enough to come in out of the rain.

It is assault, I tell you!

I have this neighbor. Well, ok, I have a lot of neighbors, but there is one in particular…

Who, let’s be frank, has no taste.

How do I know this?

Well, the neighbor *loves* to crank up their stereo. Yup. They crank up their tinny sounding piece of eeeelectronic equipment loud enough so the whole neighborhood can take part in their musical selections.

A sociologist postulated that when male humans crank their stereos super loud, they are essentially marking their territory. They are forcing people to look at them and forcing all around to succumb to their musical selection.

If so, then my neighbor is a marking fool. He may as well pee on a mile radius.

This fellow (I assume it’s a guy, I’m not sure, actually) likes to boot up his sound gear at about 8:00am on Saturday and Sunday mornings. Just in time to wake me up from a nice weekend doze.

So, what sort of music does this fellow play? Do you have guesses?

Gangsta rap? Screetching metal? Blazing punk?

Nope.

Sixties oldies? Big Band? Yanni?

No, but getting closer.

The music this fellow cranks out across my air space is smooth jazz. Not the good jazz, say Theonius Monk, Charlie Parker or Miles Davis.

Nope. The smooth kind. Plinky plunky. Music that reminds you of sitting in the waiting room at the dentist’s office.

Cranked up loud. Bouncing off the hills and homes in our fair town.

This has been going on for a while now. And the gent has recently taken to cranking his crazy beats around 5:30 in the evening, so that all coming home from work can enjoy his pee-tinged music.

Today, I cracked. Today, I lost it.

Today, he was playing the theme from “Moonlighting” by Al Jarreau at full volume.

Now look, I like Al. He has some fine songs. I don’t resent anyone enjoying the mellow ways of Mr. Jarreau. However…I don’t need this blared out into my world, uninvited.

The acoustics in my neighborhood are funny, but The Good Man and I are pretty sure it’s the landlord of the triplex one lot over, but we can’t be sure.

When I DO find the offender, I am going to deliver a collection of BB King recordings with a note that says, “GET SOME SOUL, mother eff word!”

An Open Letter to my Head Cold

Dear Insidious Little Pinche Bug that has chosen to infest my body:

So, I see you’ve decided to set up camp in my head.

My, how kind of you.

Oh, and you came with your usual matching set of baggage. Stuffed up nose. Sore throat. Plugged ears. And that hacking cough.

How fun it is when you give me a housewarming present as I hack up a yellow globule from my lungs. Such a lovely color!

And the body aches! Oh the body aches, I think those are my favorite! Knees, hips, shoulders, neck. Ow. Makes it almost impossible to sleep!

But you like that, eh? I mean, sleep only strengthens my immune system and THAT’s not what you are about, are you little evil cold germs?

Nope. You like to keep me up late at night, not sleeping, heck, not even breathing!

You know those two funny tubes they call nostrils? Yeah? Those are so I can breathe! When you plug BOTH of them, well, sure, I can result to mouth breathing.

But I sort of resemble a punch-drunk boxer when I do.

Makes my husband that much more enamored of me!

Not that I’m a shining star anyway, with my puffy face and red-rimmed nose.

What I most want to know, Dear Cold Bug, is how in the hell do you get my hair to look like that? I mean, ostensibly, your reach only extends to my upper respiratory system, and yet my hair responds to your brand of illness by standing up at odd angles?

I never knew you were a hairstylist too!

And now, my ears are throbbing. How fun! Since childhood I’ve been prone to ear infections.

But you probably knew that already, didn’t you?

I’ve tried to be nice to you, but nice doesn’t register in your little cell dividing nucleus, does it?

You know what I did this morning? I drank a biiiig glass of orange juice. Oh yes, a blast of vitamin C. As I drank, I imagined thousands of tiny “noooooo’s!” in chorus as many of your offspring were attacked by my newly strengthened white blood cells.

Then you know what I did when I was done with that glass?

I poured another.

I’m done with you.

No, seriously.

You can go now.

And by go, I don’t mean hop from me to The Good Man. He doesn’t need any of your shenanigans either!

If only The Feline had email

Look, I’ve managed people as part of my job for quite some time now. It’s a rollercoaster experience every day.

And yes, I’ve resorted to that weenie method of managing the hard conversations…email.

Hey, oftentimes, it actually works. You can disseminate the issue to a large audience with the click of a button. You don’t actually have to, you know, talk to anyone.

Plus, it gives you a trail. Proof that you told people something!

Anyhow, I’ve been wrestling with The Feline lately. Damn employee of the household has a mind of her own! Feh!

Herewith, the email I’d write to that damn cat if only she had opposable thumbs…and the ability to get online.

_________________

From: TheGirlHuman@thisoldhouse.net
Subject: Recent Issues for discussion
Date: October 22, 2009 8:35 AM PDT
To: CrankyCat@meow.net

Feline – As you and I have been sharing domicile for some time now, I feel we’ve both settled into our routines and know what we’re about.

Things have been slipping a bit lately, and we have some issues we need to discuss. Please bring a copy of this email to our next one-on-one (aka the next time you are standing on my head, sniffing my dinner while I try to eat). We’ll sort out a corrective action plan at that time.

First things first, as you know, you are fed at 8am, 5pm (snack) and 10pm. This has been in effect for some time. You were notified of these changes before they took effect.

Yes, we are giving you diet food. Remember when the vet explained why, Ms Fourteen Pounder?

As such, the yowling for feeding well in advance of any of the set times is unacceptable and this behavior must be curtailed.

This is especially true of the 4am yowlings. This only causes the boy human to throw pillows at you, and usually leads to your banishment from the room, which then produces hurt feelings and sad looks on your part for an entire day.

Please implement these process improvements immediately.

While on the topic of the sleeping situation, we must also address a space issue. As you know, the Boy Human and the Girl Human are soft hearted and allow you to sleep in the bed.

It’s also agreeable that you take certain liberties, like sleeping up ON me while I snooze. Fine.

Here’s the issue. Being as that I was graced with a bladder the size of a small walnut, it’s inevitable that I must rise at least once a night to use the human version of the litter box.

When nature calls, I carefully extract from around you so as not to disturb your slumber. Then when I return, I find you have streeeetched out to fill up the space allotted me in the bed. Sometimes, you even have a proprietary paw placed on the Boy Human.

I then have to push and shove you so I can get back into the bed and next to the boy. You respond by meowing testily at me.

This is uncool, cat. Way uncool.

Finally, while on the topic of usage of the litter box, human or otherwise, I’d like to mention that I can and am able to use the human litter box on my own.

I don’t need your company.

When you use YOUR box, do I run in there to stare at you and then get on the counter and sniff at your head and face while you do your business?

No, I do not.

Please cease and desist.

Immediately.

That said, your work in the sitting on the lap department has improved dramatically lately (coinciding, I’m sure, with the turn toward the cold the weather has taken, but fine).

Also, since you’ve been able to lose some weight, your playful kittenish-ness is rather enjoyable.

Keep it up!

Thanks in advance for your attention to these matters.

Best regards,

The Girl Human

(Execu-Kitty ignores your emails)

Squeaky Sphincter

Yeah, ok, I get uptight about stuff. I try, oh I try to “live and let live”…and in a lot of ways, I do.

One of my employees recently said she admired my, “Zenlike attitude about everything” which I took as a huge compliment.

Only, I’m not exactly Zenlike about *everything*. No, there are a few things that get my knickers in a bunch, falling squarely into Dr. Freud’s line of studies.

Oh I’m anal, baby, but really only about certain things.

So, what’s got my chones in a gather today?

Well, because I’m traveling on a plane, I made sure I went to the library and stocked up on good reading materials. Stuff to keep me engaged as the Sierra Nevadas, the desert floor of Arizona and, finally, the Sandias pass underfoot.

This is a fairly new book, copyrighted last year. It appears by the librarian’s diligent date mark on the front page that it was put onto my local shelves about a year ago. A year. And I’ll be damned if this thing isn’t already dog-eared.

Of course, by dog-eared, I mean SOMEONE HAS FOLDED DOWN THE CORNERS OF THE PAGES TO MARK THEIR PLACE.

I believe there is a special level of hell for someone who folds the corners of a library book.

Look, if it is your book, you own it, bought and paid for, fine. Live and let live. C’est la vie. Vaya con Dios and go for it. Fold those pages with reckless abandon! Crack the binding and drop a forkful of lasagna on the denouement. Smudge the ink with your greasy thumbs and have yourself a careless ol’ time.

But if it’s a book that belongs to the local library, meaning people OTHER THAN YOU will be borrowing and reading it, do us all a favor, and try to keep it nice, ok?

Also, look, I’m sure that smoking and reading is a real pleasure. At heart, I don’t really care if you smoke, when you smoke, how much you smoke. That’s your deal. If you are reading your own book, blow the smoke deep into all the pages. It’s your book, knock yourself out.

But it’s really not all that fun to open a library book and get blasted with your odor. There is no airing those things out, you know.

And finally…if you have the temerity to MARK in a library book with a pencil or heaven freaking forbid, a ballpoint PEN, I will hold a deep and abiding grudge against you for life. It doesn’t matter that I’ll never know it was you who did it…I’ll hold a grudge anyway.

I’m sure you’ll be quite busy being the greeting committee in hell for all those page folders.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to pull my pantalones out of my behind, smooth and straighten my clothes, and walk down to my gate. It appears my flight is boarding.

Don’t EVEN get me started on people who use their roller bags to block my egress while in line to get on the plane. These “open seating” flights bring out the very worst in people……..