rant and rave


So I was at the liquor store today buying alcohol for my coaches, and I almost rear-ended someone while I was backing out of my spot.  In my defense, they came totally out of nowhere and were going really fast (Hello, Fuckers!  It’s a parking lot!).  All I could think was just how bad that would look to have a wreck in a liquor store parking lot with a trunk full of booze.  Sure, Occifir, it’s all unopened.  I haven’t been drinking at all today.  Yet.  Egads!  Just kidding about the “yet” – I’m still on restriction for my recent excesses.

D leaves on Saturday, which leaves me coachless for three weeks.  I need to call J and see if he’ll fill in.  The point is, I have to get D’s presents all ready tonight so I can give them to him tomorrow.  He’s getting Grey Goose vodka, Tanqueray gin, cookies, and a couple of silly little things like these mints that we go through like crack whores during practice.  Well, you’re right in each other’s faces.  It’s like people in Hollywood with their Altoids.  I did all the baking earlier, so now my kitchen looks like a bakery exploded in it.  Damn, and it was clean this morning!  Oh well, he likes my cookies, so there you go.  He also likes alcohol, and if my gifties are any clue, I clearly want to get my coach fat and very drunk.  Nice!

My man-friend had to cancel tonight.  He’s sick.  I’m a little bummed, but I’ve been a raving hormonal bitch all day, so it’s probably best this way.  He doesn’t need to see ALL the crazy.

I was insane for three reasons – one is obviously hormones.  I fucking hate Seasonale.  You’re fine for two months, but then the third, right before you’re supposed to start, you end up spotting for like ten days beforehand.  It sucks ass like a mofo. 

Secondly, my mom pissed me off.  She asked me to go to this craft fair today, and I was way too freaking busy (so busy that I didn’t even get to skate today), but she got all offended.  She does that.  Then she tries to guilt you.  I was like, “Uh-uh, no way are you going to make me feel guilty, lady.  You gave me an emotionally fucked childhood with a void where my mother was supposed to be.  You aren’t allowed to make me feel bad.”  I didn’t say that, of course.  The repercussions would not have been worth it at all.  Not even a little bit. 

Third, my sister got pissed at me because when I was on the phone with her, I mentioned my pants were falling off.  It was an accident – I bent down, and when I got back up, my jeans failed to come with me.  She was like, “I wish my worst problem was that my pants were too big!”  Uh, okay … not sure what to do with that.  I mean, I make a choice to try and stay as small as I can without giving up my candy (don’t even think about asking me to give up candy and, no, I do not share candy even with my kid), plus with the skating, I have to try to stay thin.  So really, it’s not my fault.  I just now know not to ever say anything to do with my weight around her.  Oops, my bad.  Plus, is that really my worst problem?  Oh, not by a long shot.  That said, she’s got some bad ones, but it’s not a competition!

The last thing that really fucked with my day was that the Starbucks people were out of soy milk.  I’m lactose intolerant, but went with a non-fat anyway.  Oh, bad mistake.  Poor bathroom, it’ll never be the same.  So gross!  My stomach is still making grumbly sounds.  I call it “Built-in Bulimia” when I eat ice cream.  It’s all just coming right back out, but it’s really unpleasant.

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I’m pissed … as if the title of this entry doesn’t make that loud and clear!  So yesterday, I was having a perfectly peaceful and lovely day until I was coming off the ice.  I was on the reserved ice, and the other side was a public skate.  I saw this guy who I at first thought was Mike, this one coach, but as I got closer I realized it was my ex-boyfriend.  Gross.  Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later since we skate at the same rink.  So that was the first little bit of disturbing for the day.

When I got home, I checked my email.  There was one from him saying that he’d be happy to take all my old hockey equipment off my hands as well as the Goodwill boxes.  Uh, what?  Why would he want my old hockey stuff?  Unless he wants to sell it, but shouldn’t that be my prerogative?  And anyway, there’s a girl at the rink that I give my old stuff to when I remember to take it up there and she happens to be there to pick it up.  So I don’t need him to “take it off my hands”.  God, that’s strange.  Secondly, and I believe I’ve ranted about this before, I am not a free storage facility for exes.  So the Goodwill boxes shouldn’t be here anymore.  They are, but that’s just because I’m too lazy/busy to take them to Goodwill.  But why would he want them?  That’s just fucking weird.

Anyway, I sat there looking at this retarded-ass email for a little while, trying to decide how to respond.  When I couldn’t think of a nice way, I decided not to say anything at all.  See Mom, you taught me well.  I settled in to watch last week’s Grey’s Anatomy when my cell phone rang.  Sure enough, it was him, so I didn’t answer it.  Then he texted me.  Jeez guy, get the hint!  I’m not talking to you.  His text said, “Did you get my email?”  Yeah, you stupid fucking moron, I got it, and I’m not answering it!  Quit bugging me!!!  I’m feeling totally invaded at this point.  I’ve come to a very serene place with my singleness, and I don’t want to be reminded of that waste of a relationship.  He was horrible to my son, so I never should’ve let it continue.  I learned a lot from it, mostly that I’m so freaking grateful that it’s over.  Actually I the most important thing I learned is that if somebody is an asshole to your kid, don’t date him.  The end of story.

I sat there fuming for about another half hour before I couldn’t stand it anymore and I had to reply to his damn email.  I told him all the stuff he was asking for was gone (I lied because I don’t want him coming over here to get it) and to please respect the request I made six months ago which was no post break-up contact.  Simple enough.  Well, not simple enough for him.  I checked my email this morning, and there was another one from him.  Apparently he can’t keep his fucking big mouth shut, and he has to have the last word.  Actually I’m letting him have the last word because I refuse to sink to this level:

“I will say this, and you can take it or leave it.  You’re going to wish one day that you didn’t shut me out, and when you want to talk, I’ll be here.”

Oh really!  I’m going to wish I didn’t shut him out???  I think not.  I had quite enough of his pearls of wisdom when he lived here.  He’s one of those people who thinks they know everything about everything.  It was so annoying and arrogant and … gak, I don’t know what else, but my shoulders are up around my ears right now from being tense about him being all like he is.  He makes my skin crawl and I regret every second I spent with him.  Gag.  He also said he didn’t really remember about the no contact thing.  So what does that mean?  He only sort-of remembered?  In that case, it still means don’t bug me.  And how could he forget me saying this when he left here the last time: “I don’t stay friends with exes.  It’s just not in my make-up.  I’m sorry, but that means I won’t speak with you again.”  And he said to the dog:  “Did you hear that?  Mommy thinks we won’t keep in touch?”  So yeah, he got it on that day.  He got it until it was inconvenient for him.

Aaaaaarrrrrrgggggghhhhhh!!!!!  By the way, I have a very civilized relationship with my ex-husband, but only because we have a kid.  If we didn’t, I doubt I’d ever talk to him either.  What’s the point?   

So on Tuesday when I went to the doctor for my ankle, we also talked about my birth control pills.  After having three months or so of breakthrough bleeding on my old pills when my former doctor decided HE (stupid man.  Stupid stupid man) didn’t want me to take them continuously to avoid my period (mind you, everything had been fine until he made this testosterone laden decree), the lovely new female doctor switched me over to the generic Seasonale.  And I had seven and a half more weeks of bleeding, only this was more like a light period than random spotting.  Seven and a half weeks is quite enough for me, thank you.  She said I needed to switch to the name brand Seasonale because the dosage is a little better.  So I was supposed to stop taking the generic, have my period (really now, will I know when I’m actually having a period versus what has been going on???), and then next Tuesday, start taking the Seasonale and that should stop the bleeding.  Great.  Sounds like a plan.

But then I went to the pharmacy today to pick them up.  They said the insurance company wouldn’t cover the pills until July 4 because it was too soon to get them now.  I told them the whole story of what the doctor said and all that.  They wouldn’t budge.  So I sat there, right in front of the drug wench, and called the insurance company.  They said that this should be treated as a new prescription and it should be covered, but that I should have the doctor call and tell the pharmacy this.  Fine, so I did that.  And the fuckers still won’t budge.  They’re doing all their filing on the computer and it keeps getting kicked back because they’re filing it as a refill.  So with me, the doctor, and the insurance company telling the ding-dang pharmacy to fill it as a new prescription, they’re still refusing to do it.  Yo assholes, it’s not a refill!  It’s N-E-W.  Idiots.

What the fucking fuck is that all about?  Meanwhile, I am insanely hormonal and about as bitchy as I’ve ever been.  This is nice.  Lucky people who have to be around me, I tell ya.  And now my damn dog is eating the remote control.  Fuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkkk!!!!!!!  Good thing he’s so cute.

For dinner tonight, Rich made chicken on the fake George Foreman (it’s this huge Hamilton Beach thing).  What does that take, like ten minutes (this becomes important in a sec)?  I don’t know since I won’t use the damn thing.  And this is why: have you ever cleaned one after cooking with it?  Oh dear garsh.  Ack!  First I had to dump out the little fat collecting tray.  Did I mention that he used some sort of marinade on the chicken?  Yeah, so there was fat plus grease-laden marinade.  Eeewww!  Then I had to wipe out the excess marinade and fat combo off the grill part.  Eleventy billion paper towels later (uh-oh, isn’t Earth Day coming up?), I was ready to soap it up.  Unfortunately, there was still grilled-on chicken ick and grody marinade-fat mix stuck to it.  I thought the soaping process would help get that crap off, but alas, it did not.  I had to resort to using my fingernails which had been ruined earlier today in the process of weeding my yard (I think the builder gave me weed sod rather than grass sod).  Yuck yuck yuck!  Thirty minutes later, I deemed it clean enough.  I’m afraid to look at it again as it’s probably just like the yard – I thought I got all the weeds, but on second look, no.

The fake George Foreman wasn’t my only little cleaning treat.  He also made rice.  Okay, I buy Success Boil-in-the-Bag rice.  You put water in a tupperware bowl, put the rice bag in, stick it in the microwave, and ten minutes later you have perfect rice.  I don’t think he read the instructions because somehow he used two (???) pots to make the rice.  There was a bunch stuck in there too, and then he used a strainer so that had rice bits all hermetically sealed to it.  Holy shit.  Now, in his defense, the food was awesome, and I enjoyed every bite!  I just didn’t like the clean-up job so much.

I just saw a Nivea ad for anti-cellulite cream starring girls with the skinniest legs on the planet.  Hello!  Okay, I know skinny people get cellulite (Haley on American Idol had it for Pete’s sake.  I wanted to put tights on her so badly!), but please.  Let’s be realistic.  If you’re going to advertise cellulite cream, do it with people who are at least average sized.  Dove uses real women in their ads.  That seems to be okay.  On the other hand, the thought of heroin-chic skinny women with cellulite pleases me greatly!

The munchkin is having a bit of trouble with the concept of being grounded.  It’s not like it’s the first time he’s been grounded, but you’d think it was.  After dinner, he asked me what I wanted to do.  I said, “Well, I thought I’d read.”  He wanted to play a board game.  Uh, no.  You’re grounded, little dude.  No games for you!  He thought it would be okay since he vastly prefers video games.  This is what I get for doing things like paroling him for good behavior in the midst of previous groundings.  Eeeshk, I have him this weekend too.  That’s gonna be fun!