Category: irritated

Tis the Season

Yesterday was a weird day.

Sure, mid-December always gets a little bit dicey when going out to run errands, but yesterday was especially odd.

I had a list of things to procure and not a lot of time, so over lunchtime I started at the top of the list. First stop, Home Depot.

Oh Home Depot, I know so many people love you, but I rarely visit your orangey evil warehouse.

I needed some tools (I have a fun Christmas project for The Good Man’s little sister in progress). Since Home Depot is the Wal-Mart of hardware stores, and I wanted to spend only a little green, I decided to give it a try.

Wow, did you know there is some sort of force field going on in Home Depot? As soon as I set foot in the lumber aisle, I became invisible! It was really instant and rather startling!

The U.S. military should look into this!

The secret to a true complete invisibility shield!

A girl in the lumber aisle.

I found that on the tools aisle, I was only partly invisible. If I said, “hey, I need help!” then they could sort of see me. It wasn’t just me either, there was another woman trying to get help regarding a door knob she was considering.

She got the attention of one male employee who condescendingly answered her question then walked away…though she wasn’t done asking questions.

Oh, I did discover that in the gardening section, by the small pink canvas pruning gloves? They could see me fine.

Something about hardware and lumber.

Weird, huh?

My next errand was to go to the post office. A gift ordered online had arrived. Yay!

Well, it being mid-December and at lunch, the post office was crazy busy. We use a very small postal annex with only two employees, so that makes things an even bigger holdup.

It was a very, very long line.

Well, you know, this is to be expected this time of year.

Except for the cranky old man and the horribly cranky old woman in line behind me.

The old man kept cranking about how he can’t believe the lines and he had been there and hour before and the line was this long so he went and had lunch to wait it out and wouldn’t you know it the line is still long and how can this be!

You get my drift.

Then the lady chimed in.

“There are just too many people these days. Too. Many. People. You know why it is so crowded don’t you? Because of all the immigrants. Obama keeps letting all of those immigrants in. They all want the free stuff so those damn people keep coming in and it is just too crowded!”

Uh. WHAT!?!?!?

Crazy old bat continued on that line of rant for a bit longer, then went back to complaining about the line. She said, “Why is there only one person working, where is that [racial epithet redacted] who works here?”

I was horrified. Absolutely stunned into a horrified shock.

Evidently the “spirit of the season” is discrimination, racism and anger.

Once I picked up my package, I got in my car and made my way out of the parking lot. As I waited to turn out into traffic, I had the audacity to wait for a group of six kids from the nearby high school walking by on lunch break.

Audacity because the evidently impatient man behind me felt I shouldn’t have paused. So he laid on the horn and yelled “GOOOO!”

Well, clearly the spirit of the season has infected me as well, because I unrolled my window and shouted “WHAT THE F–K IS YOUR PROBLEM!?!?”

Tis the season to be assholish, fa la la la, la la la la……

Look at me pass on the season’s cheer….

I think I’ll hunker down at the house for the remainder of the year. It seems better that way.

Just how "natural" are we talkin’ here?

The other day, while out and about, The Good Man bought himself a bag of cough drops to try to quell the dry cough the endless exposure to indoor heating provides.

Plus, we gave the house a good cleaning over the weekend and kicked up a bunch of dust that has us both sneezing and coughing.

After purchase and back in the car, he opened up the package and popped one in the ol’ cake hole.

After a cough or two myself, I said, “may I have one?” to which he readily agreed.

I grabbed the package and flipped it over to review the ingredients.

Yep. I’ve become one of those people.

Anyhow, I try to avoid corn syrup. It’s just my own thang. Doesn’t have to be yours.

So I read off the ingredients list aloud and got to “natural flavors.”

Now, what in the sam hell are “natural flavors?”

This is the part where I make it hard for The Good Man to share a life with me.

I turn and say to him, “I hate when they list ‘natural flavors,’ I mean, what is that? It could be anything! Are these cough drops poop flavored? Poop is a natural flavor!”

The Good Man turned slowly and gave me a look and a slow head nod.

This is a look that in going on five years together I’ve come to understand means, essentially, “While you are technically correct, it’s going to be better for me in the long run if I don’t dignify what just came out of that sideways mind of yours with a response. So I’ll just nod.”

We nodded at each other for a long moment, and since my “poop is a natural flavor” just hung there in the air, so to speak, there really was no good segue.

I chose then to open the pack of cherry and whatever-the-hell-other-natural flavored cough drops and fired one into the ol’ cake hole.

It tasted nasty. I spit it back out after a minute.

“Natural flavors” are gross. And possibly poop.

I’m just sayin’.

(these are the offenders in question)

Dear Tareq and Michaele Salahi,

Since I have now taken over the PR storytelling duties for Tiger, you’re next.

So, herewith, five reasonable and acceptable stories to explain your behavior.

Pick one, say it, and then please, on behalf of everyone (I’m asking nicely) go away.

Here we go:

1) Well, you know, that Tareq (Michaele rolls her eyes here), he will *never* ask anyone for directions. I told him I didn’t think turning left back there was the right direction, but he swore up and down this was the right way. We were supposed to be at a nice dinner party over at the Farklebergs. You know the Farklebergs? Lovely couple. Anyhow, I have no idea how we ended up here. Could we get a ride to the Farkleberg party? Margie will be beside herself if we are late! And I know Tareq doesn’t want to miss her famous mini quiches!

2) What? Where am I? Who am I? I was abducted by aliens. The big greenish gray ones. They came into my room, forced me to put on this tux/dress and then there was a bright light. I don’t remember what happened next. When I came to, I was shaking the president’s hand. I really have no idea what happened! I think they may have probed me.

3) Oh heck, haw haw haw, this is all one big practical joke! I mean, everyone was in on it, c’mon, this is all a big press stunt for that reality show (which I’ll refrain from naming)! No seriously, they paid us well and we donated it all to charity. No one snuck past the Secret Service, it was all planned out. Everything is *fine*, hasn’t this all been a great big hoot?

4) Look, now that you have totally blown our cover…we can only say that we are part of a top secret black hole government project and we *may* have perfected the ability to beam ourselves through the space time continuum. It’s not totally perfect yet, Michaele’s face wasn’t quite so pulled back and *tight* when we beamed up, but we’re getting close to a technology that will BLOW YOUR MIND. That’s all I can say. Hush, hush you know.

5) Tiger’s dad told us to. From the grave. It was all very mystical.

And there you have it.

Now scootch along. We’ve other media whores to deal with. Where’s Lindsey or Brittney or Paris? We’re due for a stunt from the professional crazies!

Anyhow, hugs and kisses!

Your pal,

Karen

Spring forward? Yes, please! Fall back? Bah!

Have I ever mentioned that I *love* daylight savings time? Love it. Looooove it.

I can hardly wait each year for the time to change, for the days to grow longer, for it to be warm and sunny and I get to wear cute sandals and short dresses and the feeling of optimism pervades.

Every year, I dread with equal force when time changes back. It’s a concession to fall-turns-into-winter. The days grow shorter. I have to wear a freaking jacket. In the Bay Area it’s probably raining and pessimism, Seasonal Affective Disorder and endless gray skies pervade.

Last night, at ten minutes to six in the evening, it was pitch-black dark outside.

It won’t be long before it’s pitch-black dark outside by 5:30.

Ugh.

Everyone chirrups about how “we get that hour back!” and “it’s an extra hour of sleep!”

Yeah, even the promise of more sleep can’t warm me up to this time change.

At all.

I may be a human, but I’m basically just an animal. The Feline can’t tell time. She doesn’t really understand why the kibble isn’t dropping into the blue bowl at the same time it did two days ago. I mean, she *really* can’t understand.

She’s yowling at me as I write this. She’d like you to call Kitty Protective Services and report an abuse. Indignant is the adjective that best describes her demeanor.

And really, I can’t blame her! I’m hungry too! My internal clock is all off. Sleep isn’t happening right. Food is out of whack.

All of my external clocks are a mess too! Some of them fix themselves automatically. Some of them fix automatically, but we wired to make the change a couple weeks ago. Some I have to manually adjust.

What the $%#@ time is it anymore? I need a little precision, people!

Don’t even get me started on the people who will lecture that time is but an illusion, a made up method of marking events. Bah! That makes it worse. We made up this measurement device, and then we fiddle with it.

The Feline has it right, I think. She wakes up, she’s hungry. Bam. Done. Why we gotta make it harder than that?

While we’re on the topic, I’d like to ban alarm clocks. I think it’s unnatural to wake your body out of a perfectly nice sleep with a jangling device. I think we should all get to sleep until we’re done sleeping, and then get up and face the world.

It would be a much more civilized place if we did.

What is wrong with this picture!!!?!??!

Ok, I recognize this is a terribly blurry iPhone photo, but take a look at this.

What you may not be able to tell from that photo is the label on my avocado, purchased at my just down the street local supermarket, says “New Zealand Hass”.

What. The. Eff?

I live in CALIFORNIA for crissakes!

We make very fine Hass avocados RIGHT HERE. For the love of pete, people grow them in their backyards!

Why I gotta eat something grown halfway ’round the world?

I didn’t even think to look, I saw Hass avocados, and I grabbed two soft ones off the top. I naturally assumed that since these babies are so plentiful locally that California grown would be on the shelves.

But noooooo!

And I’ll tell you this…it’s a terrible avocado too. Stringy and bland.

I am ticked.

The only redeeming value for that grocery is that they also carry this:

It is to weep.

That may be the only item I procure from those folks from now on.

(Apologies to Avelino and Meredith, fellow ex-pats. I’m guessing DC grocers don’t sell the good stuff. I tip a loaded chip to you both!)