It is amazing how much you don’t feel like writing (or…well, doing anything) when you’re sleep deprived. And I’m seriously fucking tired right now, so no comments on how it’s taken me so long to throw up a post this week – I don’t fucking care. (Note: As my regular readers know, my REM cycle is VERY important to me.)
So why am I so tired, you ask? Well, I’ve been babysitting. Yes, babysitting – stop laughing. What? You don’t think I would be a good babysitter? You think the whole bitch thing would get in the way? Well, if you do think that you’d be wrong (suckers). I am a fucking awesome babysitter – just ask my brother and his wife.
Long story short, Brother and Sister-in-law’s (SIL for short) nanny has the week off. Both Brother and SIL work, so they needed someone to watch their kids. Knowing that both sets of grandparents would be willing to help out – but realizing that giving both their sons to ANYONE would be asking a bit much (seriously, two boys under the age of two – good luck) – they split them up. My parents got the 5-month-old. Case closed, right? This shouldn’t affect me, right? Wrong.
You see, my parents have been on vacation the last two weeks. And they weren’t getting back until Sunday (right when Brother and SIL were planning on dropping off my little nephew). Timing wise, it was going to be tight. Plus, they were flying back from Monte Carlo, so there was a good chance that jet-lag might be a factor. However, my mom was not passing up the opportunity to spend the week with one of her grandsons, so I stepped in and volunteered to drag my ass into NJ to help out for the first couple of days. I’m an angel, I know.
Anyway a quick overview, I’ve been a) getting up in the middle of the night for feedings (the only human beings in the world that I will wake up for at 2am and not utter a single complaint are my nephews – they’re too damn cute to hold it against), b) commuting into NY every day for work (fucking Penn Station), c) spending more money than is advisable on clothes and toys for my little man (I got him the cutest onesie with a baseball stitched on the butt), and d) dealing with the fact that the muscles in my arms and back are KILLING me thanks to carrying around a child who will one day (without a doubt I’ve decided) be a linebacker.
Still, it’s all worth it. I fucking love those kids, and holding my nephew makes me all warm and fuzzy inside (shut up).
So, some other shit that’s been going on:
- I kind of lost it on my Starbucks guy this morning. You see, the Starbucks near my office is a place I got to EVERY DAY. I’m there at basically the same time every morning, everyone who works there knows me and knows what I order, and we often chitchat if I’m up for it (some mornings I’m too fucking tired). Anyway, in the past week they’ve screwed up and forgotten to actually, you know, GET ME my coffee three times. They take my order and my money, they just don’t give me my fucking drink. I think this is because the tourist numbers go way up in the summertime, and the place has been a madhouse lately. Anyway, with the amount of sleep I’ve been getting, my temper is a little short nowadays. So when this shit happened again this morning, I went up to the manager (a guy I know very well and someone I am invariably VERY nice to), and we had this little exchange:
Redhead: Is there any chance I’ll be getting my coffee at some point in the near future.
Starbucks guy: Oh, uh…
Redhead: I mean it’s only an iced coffee, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t take 10 minutes to make.
Starbucks guy: I’m sorry, someone else must have taken it.
Redhead: No, I’ve been standing here the whole time while watching crowds of people come and go with their drinks – I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if a large iced coffee had been set out. I’ve kind of been looking for it, you know?
Starbucks guy: Oh, well sure. I’ll get it for you right now.
Redhead: That would be nice.
Starbucks guy: (Handing me my drink) Sorry about that.
Redhead: Don’t apologize, just give me my drink – all I want is to get the hell out of here and get to my office. It may surprise you to hear this, but I don’t enjoy spending the better part of my morning standing here waiting for a cup of coffee.
I could not have been any ruder. I mean, HUGE BITCH. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking, but I was legitimately pissed off. He fucking saw me there waiting! I’m there every fucking day. He knows I don’t drink anything that takes 10 fucking minutes to make. I shouldn’t have had to say anything. And this is the third fucking time they’ve pulled this shit in the past week! Anyway, I’m going to have to apologize tomorrow. Dammit.
- Speaking of tourists, they’ve fucking EVERYWHERE. It’s times like this that I hate working in Soho – second only to Times Square for tourists. I mean, I’m just trying to run out and get lunch people! Stop being so clueless and get out of the way. And why do they all stop at inconvenient places like street corners and block shit? Can’t they pull off to the side and discuss what they want to do next there? I have shit to do people!
- I found myself on the elevator yesterday with a guy who looked exactly like Jeffrey Dahmer. It was…weird. Kind of funny, but weird.
- I saw A-Rod’s wife on the street a day or two ago. She was…eh. You know what my main thought was when I saw her? The fact that I even recognize who she is means I read too much Page Six.
- This is a call to arms: OK, it’s throwdown time. (And before you even try to say anything, yes, I’m evil. This is exactly why I wanted to fuck with someone else’s destiny in my last post.) So here’s the deal, Christine was wandering around match.com yesterday and came across a profile that she immediately forwarded to me.
There I was at my desk (probably working) when my email dinged. Seeing it was from Christine, I immediately clicked on it and found myself staring at…not much actually. The subject line had not been filled in and nothing was written – there was just a link to follow. So I clicked on it. And there it was: Guy #3 and #4’s smug little face smiling out at me from a match.com profile page. Quickly reading through what he’d written (dickhead – he filled in that he only wanted a woman with a bachelor’s degree; no advanced degrees for him, oh no), I shook my head and sent Christine a quick reply – “Oh it is on. It is on like donky kong.”
You see, I was never able to fuck with that little dickhead after he dumped Christine (epically). And since I’d been the one to set them up, I have wanted this opportunity for a long time. But I need your help – so my dear readers, does anyone out there have any ideas? How can I fuck with him using Match? I want mass humiliation. I want him to feel like the little, little man he is – and I want everyone to know it. I want to teach him a lesson (the lesson being that he’s a loser, or course). And I want it all to be anonymously done. So bring it on my friends. Let your devious little minds free and get back to me. I’m going to nail this little fucker’s ass to the wall. It’s time.
- Oh, and Gary Sheffield is a jackass.
Happy Wednesday everybody.
Update: Quick thought on Michael Vick - and yes, for once I'm being serious (something I try to avoid around here) - so bear with me. I truly, and with a completely clear conscience, hope Vick and his cohorts fucking rot in hell. I think what they're being accused* of is cruel on a level that defies comprehension. And I think that however they may potentially be punished, it will never be enough. I feel sick over this story, and I find that for once my sense of humor is incapable of kicking in. So for that reason I'm not going to be visiting most of the blogs I generally do today (most of them being sports blogs), because I guess I just don't see the joke; and the satirical tone that most of those sites take - and have taken today (something I normally enjoy but which this morning struck me as cold) - seems horribly out of place while covering this subject.
OK, I'm off my soapbox now. Sorry about that, but we seem to have stumbled across a topic I feel quite strongly about.
*Innocent until proven guilty, blah, blah, blah.