Zeus, weilding his weapon, Louise, in the background. They've done it again.
Late at night. Much to do. Don't want to be lame... Yeah, good luck with that.
Not every day brings exciting developments. Sometimes I get weary with my own brain obsessing about the same old stuff. That's when it's time to be shallow and petty or at least observe the little irritants in life. Tonight, personal irritants.
There is the screen door. This is the screen door that goes to the sliding doors which exit onto the covered porch. The canine exit. The poor excuse and no substitute for a dog door. Mick, can you hear me? Dog door, dog door. What? No? CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? HOW ABOUT NOW? DOG DOOR! DOG DOOR! DOG DOOR! Come on already.
We have this "thing" with the sliding screen. I don't know how to define "thing" but in this case it is like bad karma. Bad sliding door karma. I'm not sure how many times that thing has been fixed, but trust me, it has been several times. The last time was when Mick was home a couple of weeks ago. For the past couple of weeks that door has been a dream. Swish, swish, swish. Glide, glide, glide.
Now please realize that this door in its entirety is a cheap piece of crap and this wonderful dream of gently sliding doors is not going to last. Someone should really have been reminding me of that. Because tonight, that insistent, hyperactive idiot, Zeus, did not have someone immediately at his beck and call and he found himself on one side of that screen and Louise on the other. Oh My God, the HORROR!
So Zeus gave a sharp bark and threw his body against the screen. It now bows out. Kind of saggy and floppy looking. And it no longer goes swish, swish, swish. Glide, glide, glide. It now goes Ugh-eek- screech, screech, damnit, damnit, THIS DAMNED THING DOESN'T WORK ANYMORE!
Mind you, Miranda was sitting right there in the living room. But will she get up to let the dog out? Not on you life! It almost takes a very polite written request with promises of bounty for her effort.
Stupid dog. Stupid door.
I am ticked. I am disgusted.
Irritant number 2: I have lost an important notebook. Probably misplaced would be more accurate, but until I find it, it feels lost. This state of affairs is probably not surprising. I have a notebook fetish. Mick always thinks we have plenty of notebooks around if someone needs one, but he is wrong. He is assuming I'll share. Want a notebook? Well go buy onethen and quit writing crap in mine. Each notebook serves a different purpose. It's like being in school and having notebooks for each subject. Just because I'm not in school doesn't mean I don't have subjects. I'm missing my blogging notebook and I'm really quite disgusted by this. All the user names, user IDs, passwords, and other malarkey are stored in this notebook that looks like so many others except that its dots are orange. I can only find green, blue, and pink dots at present. This is what one gets for cleaning the bedroom. Leave it a cluttered mess and be able to locate anything and everything.
Irritant number 3: Just why, oh why, did Sam decide to take the ice cube tray, a long rectangular plastic container, fill it with ice cubes and water, and take it into her room? Is this her idea of a new drinking glass? Really? Would you believe that she managed to not spill any in her room? She's done worse, much worse, but please don't let this phase last long.
Irritant number 4: Biggest Loser started the new season tonight. If I don't carefully pick and choose on this one, I could be writing for hours. I don't want to do that. To start with, this is season 9 and each season is like the start of a new year, meaning each season Mick and I resolve to lose weight along with the contestants. I've been watching for the past four or five seasons. I should be there by now. Instead, I've gained about 26 pounds since last year. Mick assures me he'll be fat when he gets home, too. Maybe we need to quit watching. The show is making us fat.
Also, you can't watch this show unless it's on Tivo or DVR. You just can't because they repeat the last thirty seconds after each commercial break. It's a two-hour show that is probably less than one and a half hours.
Then there is the emotion. Biggest Loser Season 9 is the worst for very moving, very touching, and very tragic personal stories. It's what makes people care about the show, but there is just SO MUCH EMOTION! The tear, and tears, and more tears. Everyone is crying. Tonight everyone cried at the same time. HEY, ONE OF THE CONTESTANTS MADEJILLIAN MICHAELS CHOKE UP AND CRY!!! Don't worry, Jillian, I cried too. Over and over. I hate this because I am such a sucker. It's got to be a hormonal thing. It's got to be, but God help me if anyone gives a eulogy, a rousing performance, or rescues a damned puppy. There I sit, in a puddle of tears. How I loathe myself. I want my own room to watch TV in. No company, no witnesses.
Last irritant (for tonight): people who call me "dude". Come on. Please quit. Please. I don't get it. I don't appreciate it. I just don't. Please, oh please, don't call me "dude". Miranda calls me Dude. All the time.
OK. That's it. Over and out.
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