I’m feeling a wee-bit like a cranky kermudgeon (andIdon’tcareifIspelledthatwrong). It’s just the little things that are making me feel like I am being continuously ever-so-lightly flicked on the forehead continuously… I have a list. Bitter-miserable souls are good list-makers. At least there is some good in here somewhere.
- The air-brushed fakey perfection of women in the media. As hard as I work to be less fat than I have ever been since hormones took over in the early 80’s… I will never… … … It really sucks being a real woman with a real body (like, never a size 0 - EVER!) in this age of Photoshopped fakeness. We have no appreciation for real beauty because of all the fake- crap we are bombarded with. Makes me want to puke, but not in an eating-disorder sort-of way. See? I am in a bad mood.
- I hate pimples. *holds back profanity*
- Claims like the following just tick me the heck off. They communicate a false sense of hope for the most hopeless of people — parents of sleepless children:

- When my computer freezes. Or is slow. I have things to do and have no time to wait for something like a COMPUTER to take time to think. Sheesh.
- Inanimate objects. I am certain that while I sleep at night all inanimate objects meet to decide how they will orchestrate my emotional undoing. Fragile items jump away as I carry them, drawers “fall” and contents spill, said drawers suddenly become too “fat” for the opening they just fell from, necklaces tangle, packages meant for a 3-year-old to open — behave like Fort Knox, items intended to stay upright tumble… and don’t even get me started on how my wayward floss and braces laugh and taunt me as I make great efforts to be a good patient for my orthodontist…
- Martha Stewart recipes. This is a love-hate thing. She. Makes. Me. Crazy. But for some reason, I can’t quit Martha. {clutches chest}
- People who write in all caps. All. Caps. WHAT? Is that voice immodulation carried over into print?
Voice Immodulation Syndrome from Tony Weber on Vimeo.
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“I saw mommy kissing Santa Clause…” EWWW! Not so much! I don’t care WHO is under that beard and bright-red suit…. No. Just… NO. My kids are creeped-out by the thought of it too. What can I say, I raise smart kids.

















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