You know that saying, “don’t go to bed angry”? My husband and I, or at least I, violated that last night after a fight about politics. Politics.
I woke up before my alarm this morning.
The scale said I gained a pound over the course of yesterday. It took me two months to lose that pound.
The news was all about football. I dislike football. Sorry, but true.
The news about football mentioned Michael Vick, which set me thinking about the American attention span and our ideas of redemption/image cleansing.
I went to the doctor’s office and saw Don Imus on the television. What the hell? I thought that guy had slunk off to some private life somewhere. No. He’s on Fox. A refuge for scoundrels/those misunderstood by the liberal media. I’m not a regular viewer, as you might have guessed.
I decided to be financially and environmentally responsible and take public transportation aka the bus today. After twenty+ minutes of waiting, I learn that they moved the damn bus stop and even the guy at the transit authority was uncertain where it is now.
Then my Facebook popped up a story about Ben Roethlisberger. Granted it was an Onion story, but, sadly, it echoed a “real” news story I heard last week.
This is it:
Ben Roethlisberger Close To Completing Offseason Without Committing Sex Crime
The Get Out Of My Face boys are back at it, screaming from the hilltops about the lip-kissing Ryan twins and the NFL’s decision to have the Cowboys lose on 9/11…
My 39-year-old feet had their last day in my favorite red heels–the last pair of heels I own and they’re minimal heels. What have I done to my feet to deserve this mutiny? Orthodedic shoes, here I come. Lace-ups and chunky heels, anyone? Will you take those in black or white? Or our new baby shit brown?
I had pizza for dinner and got a big grease spot on my favorite brown linen pants.
But then I came home and walked the dogs with my baby girl and the sun was shining and the dogs were frisking around us and I realized I am a huge-ass whiner.
My husband and I cancel out each other’s votes. It’s fall. Some men are shit (some people are shit, really). I need to take a shit. I didn’t have to hear my annoying alarm. Public transportation sucks, but at least it’s an option for me and not a necessity. I have an excuse to shop for shoes and a new pair of pants. Poor me to have all of these revelations in one day. I’m surprised my mind didn’t just blow.
Pity party over. No last call. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. Peace out. And I mean the peace part.