I'm not even exaggerating when I say that, either. Do you ever have a day when you are so angry over the littlest things and by the end of the day other people's breathing even gets to you? That was my Thursday last week.
Driving to work it seemed like no one really knew how to drive or what they were doing. I got cut off multiple times, I got stuck behind a guy going 25 miles an hour on TV Highway (where it is supposed to be 45) but couldn't get around him because of a city bus, and someone stopped IN AN INTERSECTION and then got stuck there when the light changed so the whole line of cars I was in didn't get to go during our green light. Awesome. And the best part was when I was sitting at a red light and I noticed the guy in the car in front of me was moving around in a weird way. I didn't think anything of it until he opened his door and puked. everywhere. Oh my gosh, you guys, even typing that it makes me feel sick! I hate hate hate vomit almost more than anything in the entire world. Not only does it make me feel sick to see it but it makes me angry- it has ever since I was a little kid.
When I got to work things seemed to settle down for a bit until I started getting the dumb questions like, "Where is the tape?" and "Do we have staples? I'm out". For the eleventy-billionth time, I AM NOT THE SUPPLY CABINET, YOU KNOW WHERE THE DAMN CABINET IS... WALK OVER TO IT AND LOOK BEFORE YOU ASK ME FOR SOMETHING. Not that hard. It's akin to being at home and sitting in your living room and asking aloud , "Do we have cereal? I could totally eat some right now" and expecting someone to appear and magically pull it out of their ass and hand it to you. Does that happen in your home? NO? Huh, because that is pretty much what you are expecting to happen at work.
The dumb questions kept coming all day and it was a mad rush to get some of my projects semi- completed which stressed the hell out of me. I ran some errands after work and it felt like everywhere I turned someone was doing something stupid. I finally got home and was grump beyond belief so I decided it was high time for some Facebook surfing to relax and see what was going on with everyone else. Worst idea ever. Pretty much every post I saw was about how someone's baby had slept more than 2 hours at a time or how another baby took their first solid poop, and even better how this other baby rolled over and he's only 2 months old! Holy crap, you guys... I want to see cute pictures of your baby, I do not need a minute by minute recap of what he did in his day. If you want to capture the moment he took his first solid poop, Facebook is not the place to be posting. Please put that in a scrapbook and write about it. I want to see cute babies and cute baby animals and witty posts from my friends about politics and entertainment, not posts about freakin' baby poop and babies rolling over.
So BF and I decided that we were going to counter attack all the damn baby posts with our own "baby" posts. Each day going forward one of us will post a picture of the other person doing something normal and then we will caption that picture explaining what we are doing and HOW AWESOME it is and how PROUD we are that the other person is doing that. We've already started this and you may have noticed my "Rian eats solid food" post on Saturday. I don't care if people don't like it, it makes me feel better by barraging their newsfeed with stupid updates when I'm assaulted by theirs.
Anyway, so instead of cooking dinner BF and I decided we needed to eat at our favorite place, Pho Tango, because we didn't have the energy to cook anything nor the energy to clean up after cooking. After dinner I was in a much better mood and then realized that other than my oatmeal at breakfast I had not eaten carbs AT ALL that day and was thusly causing my foul mood. It's amazing what some noodles can do.
The evening quickly turned around (go figure) and the weekend was much better. Tomorrow I will tell you all about how I made up for my lack of carbs last week over the weekend and also how I met BF's family from Oklahoma.
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