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 Hubby’s cell phone rang- at 04:00- sharp.

That being said- to give everyone the tenor of my most despicable mood- don’t 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 you’re figuring out if you should plug it in to charge overnight? Wouldn’t you then see that you missed a call or two? Like say, about important stuff like- oh, I don’t know- if two vacant slots in the next day’s 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 don’t answer their missed calls, do not check their voicemail, and call my Hubby at o-dark-o’clock 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 weren’t 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 80’s 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, shouldn’t 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 80’s chimed in with- “well, sometimes we have to be submissive to let the women in our lives realize how much they really need us…”, I’m sorry- Jesus, God, and whoever didn’t 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 man’s guide to why you are your wife’s 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 mom’s- 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 don’t 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 it’s, it’s, IT’S 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 how 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 I’m 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 I’m 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- I’m 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? She’s 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 she’s 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 he’s working a 48 hour shift and can’t 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 Cousin’s 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?

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