Tales of the Super-Dooper-Party-Pooper

5:39 PM

Soooo, I've had a remarkably shit-tastic week. I mean, really. It was bad. I was in this ridiculously bad mood for four days straight, and literally for no reason. I could not determine the motivator of my crab apple mood, which magically put the maraschino cherry on my angry cupcake, because since I could not determine that which pissed me off, I could not rectify the problem and move on. Nope, all I could do was meander angrily all week.


Then, on Friday, the clouds parted and the sun shone cheerfully, illuminating the happy halo around my forehead. Alas, it was short-lived. I woke up on Saturday pissed off, again. No reason, just smokin' angry.

Let's go over the details - the fine arrangement of small annoyances that exploded into a angry shit storm of boiling rage.

I haven't written in a week. Not. One. Word. I feel creatively exhausted. And stunted.

Wal-Mart has never heard of sugar-free bomb pops. My week was ruined by this.

On Monday, I forgot that I needed to buy gas in the AM. Naturally, I was already running late when I remembered that I would need to stop and spend a full ten minutes that I didn't really have, pumping fuel, which kind of sucks anyway.

Oh and ps, it was seriously about a hundred degrees, consistently, for the entire week. Can that make a person angry? I'm not sure, but it fueled the fire.

Jack ran away. The chase ensued on a morning when, again, I was already running late and had about zero minutes to spend finding him. So, it's 7:30 in the morning and I'm standing in my yard yelling "Jack! You wanna treat? You wanna go for a ride?" Tragically, he was not to be coaxed. I imagined in my heart of hearts him rushing back to me, ears flopping in the wind as he bounded ever closer. Heart of hearts be damned, because impossible dreams only come true in Disney movies. Anyway, I hoofed it to my car, threw it in reverse and drove around the neighborhood a few times. Finally, I headed home thinking eff it, I've gotta go. I can't be late. Too bad my fluffy black dog is going to die in the heat today.

Guess who was perched on my front steps when I pulled into the driveway. Puppers McGuppers and you know what, I gave him a treat, I was so happy to see him. I also gave him a slice of pizza.


He is now, officially, been renamed. I call him "Devil Dog." Cute little Devil Dog, though.

Also, this happened: Jayco barked. A lot. See the following image to gather an idea of how he parks himself at the window and barks at children, other dogs, cars and falling leaves.


Clearly, very comfortable.
****

Then there was the day that I realized, no matter what I do, looking like Megan Fox is not in the cards for me.

And the next day when I looked over a manuscript that I submitted to a publication only to immediately see a mind-blowingly obvious typo. I guess proofreading the thing seventeen times was for nothing.

When I'm upset, little things that I can usually shrug off turn into huge, monstrous problems. Clumsiness, for instance. Does it bother me when I drop a sock from the laundry basket I'm carrying down the stairs? On a normal day, no. On a non-normal angry day, I throw the entire basket down the stairs and consider weeping.

I didn't buy a single pair of new shoes. This, guys, is an anomaly. And a sucky one, at that.
****

My high school bestie had her housewarming party yesterday and it finally shook me out of my funk. Thank God. I wasn't sure how much longer I could go on being a super-dooper-party-pooper.



To be fair, KJ knows how to throw a party. It'll shake anyone from anything. And honestly, it's hard to be pissy-pants when you're hanging out with people who still refer to you as "Jenski," and by default, you introduce yourself as "Jenski" when you're with them.


Lucky thing too, because I wasn't prepared to jump into the birthday week with a pout on my mouth.
Countdown to 25 is on, which requires a reflection post (check back soon if you're into that!) and a trip to Target's skincare aisle for a basket full of anti-aging products because, what the hell, I'm on my way to 30 now.

In other news, I have a festive birthday hat to wear on Thursday. If I'm going to have a quarter-life crisis, I'm going to do it with style and pizazz, which naturally requires a ridiculous party hat, complete with tinsel and silver foil.

Hey, I like a good party.

Happy Sunday!



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