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May 10, 2007

Dots of Grievance

I'm to the point where this week is going to consist of me pissing and moaning and possibly putting my head through one of the Sugar Wafer walls. I've just flat-out had enough. I'm tired. I'm worried. I'm stressed. I'm feeling as if the universe is saying, "Hey, you got your house. Now shut the hell up and pay for it, Bitch."

Just humor me. I'm venting.

  • Amtrak. Oh, Amtrak. Always struggling because they're at the mercy of the freight trains companies that own all the rails. Clara Jane and I should be preparing to board a train to my hometown right now, except all train service west of Jefferson City has been cancelled until Saturday. They're trying to get the freight through before the tracks flood. I understand, I do. I'm just not thrilled about making a three-hour drive in crowded truck with an air conditioner that's died for the second time in as many months.

  • B. called today to say we should drive to my hometown tonight. Guess he forgot that he'd waited until the last minute to go Mother's Day shopping and was going to do it tonight. Either that or he's just going to buy me something at one of the many Dollar General stores in my hometown.

  • Could someone please inform my husband that, when someone (namely, his wife), offers to pick him up at the train station, proper etiquette dictacts that he should inform her that he's leaving the office late as soon as he's aware. Not twenty minutes later, when she and their child have gone out of their way to pick his ass up. Not informing the person who offered the favor could lead to a chain of events that prevents you from getting home until 6:20, instead of 4:45. It could also mean that the person who offered to pick you up, went out of her way to do so only to turn around and drive home, who's now stuck making dinner because you're not here to do it as promised just might use her Neti pot to clean her sinuses over your bowl of gnocchi with gorgonzola, peas and ham while you're not looking.

  • I'm going to set fire to all my phones. They've done nothing but ring today and frankly, I don't feel like fucking talking right now.

  • There's a point just east of downtown St. Louis where several majors highways converge. It's always a bit congested. Today, I sat in traffic in this area for oer 20 minutes because they'd reduced traffic to one line. Why? Because they were changing the light in the "Welcome to Illinois" sign. Did I feel welcome, while I roasted in my car, watching my $3/gallon gas burn? Not even a little.

  • You know what else made me feel unwelcome? Going to Associated Foot Surgeons in Belleville, Illinois (full name listed for Google purposes) to purchase a pair of orthopedic Crocs for my mom's Mother's Day gift. Yeah, I know, but that's what she wants, and she found out that's one of the few places in the region that sells the ugly things. First, I stood in the office, all alone, knocking on the glass window for ten minutes before someone arrived. When she did arrive, she told me that the sizes on the orthopedic Crocs are wonky but no, I wouldn't be able to exchange them, even if they still had the tags on them, but would I care to "just risk it at buy the size sevens?" Way to fuck up peoples' feet and drum up business there, you ugly shoe-peddler. No thank you. Happy Mother's Day, Mom! You'll be getting ... um ... a free night and breakfast in the spare bedroom of our new house? Some Amtrak tickets for a train that's not running for an undetermined amount of time? No? Well, that's pretty much all I've got.

  • Despite the fact that we had large limb spear a hole in our roof a few months ago, along with damage from multiple storms, our insurance company stands by their policy that, although we haven't filed a claim with them in the eight years they've insured our house, they will not cover a new roof for us until we can see daylight through the ceiling. Which is a shame, considering that the people buying our house demanded a new roof today.

  • Clara Jane keeps kicking me off the couch.

  • Oh! And she made a Mother's Day card for me. This is what she dictated to her teacher for the inside:
    I love it when Mommy takes me to the coffeehouse.
    I love it when Mommy makes me peas.
    I love to run and play and look for ants with Mom.
    Daddy is my best friend.

    Frankly, I think her teacher could have left off that last part. I essentially got a Mother's Day card that says, "I love all the shit you do for me, but Dad's the one who's tops in my book."

The truly amazing thing is, I've yet to cry today. But when I do - and oh, I'm sure I will - there's really going to be a flooding situation in Missouri because goddamn it, I'm about to explode.

Posted by Robin at May 10, 2007 04:20 PM

Comments

Ohhhh sweetie! You're not just wearing shit mittens today - today is a whole shit sweatsuit! Shit armor! A shit Hazmat suit!

Maybe a good cry would do you some good. Set a timer, cry for fifteen minutes and then move along when it rings.

Posted by: Dixie at May 10, 2007 05:25 PM

I think i'll join you in a good cry.
it's been a heck of week- i'm tired, stressed-out and ready for a break, or a cross-country plane trip with a toddler, preschooler and stressed-out husband. Whichever comes first. I'm sending you hugs and maybe a big glass of virtual wine from Portland.

Posted by: christine in portland at May 10, 2007 05:40 PM

On behalf of the state of IL, sorry about the sign! But ya gotta admit, it's kinda funny considering you're moving to BV. Right? No? Ok ... never mind! Hope tomorrow's better.

Posted by: Lori at May 10, 2007 05:54 PM

I am salting the rim and grabbing the tequila. You can pick me up at the airport at 8 p.m, no...really!

Posted by: Debbie at May 10, 2007 05:56 PM

I feel your roof pain, Robin. Insurance Co. Wankers did the same to us. It's their general policy to be bungholes, I think. Hey! Bungholes and Wankers, another awesome band name. Perhaps formed by the bass player of Errant Feces...

Know what else your Mom might like, possibly, maybe, instead of the shoes? Something from Eckert's General Store? They have lovely plants. And a nice little restaurant with yummy frozen custard. Just a thought.

Posted by: Summer at May 10, 2007 06:05 PM

Ok, i know the crocs are ugly, but there are the most comfortable goddamn shoes i've ever owned. Maybe you get your mom the cheaper regular ones in the meantime? Maybe you want to bash your head instead? That's ok, too...

Posted by: count sassy at May 10, 2007 06:16 PM

I once bought orthopedic shoes for my dad; right after he was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis. I was in South Carolina. He was here in Missouri. I had the same problem with the no returns policy.

I mean they're shoes... they're not custom orthotics and they're not freakin panties! I don't get why you can't return them. I just don't get it...Maybe they're afraid that when you get them home and figure out how fugly they are, you'll want to return them? Idjits!

Posted by: Amy in StL at May 10, 2007 11:17 PM

Hahaha! That card is hysterical! It's sweet that she loves both of you, though. :)

Posted by: Julie at May 11, 2007 10:41 AM

Girl, I've already cried and cried today. You go right ahead, you have every right to. Happy Mother's Day to a dear friend.

Posted by: Cassie at May 11, 2007 11:22 AM

I'm delurking to send some sympathy and good luck your way. Sounds like you need it after this week! Here's hoping it goes up from here.

Posted by: STL Mom at May 11, 2007 05:12 PM

I hope it sucks less tomorrow. I love ya, sis.

Oh and the preschool teacher totally made that up about the best friend. Don't you think it is so sad that they teach these precious children to lie at such a young age. It really is wrong.

Remember the story about Lance's 3 wishes on St. Patrick's day in the 2nd grade?

1. I wish Sydney was my friend.
2. I wish we had more recess.
3. I wish I had a nice mom.

You know that teacher totally made up that last part. Bitches.

Posted by: pkb at May 11, 2007 08:56 PM

I hope things are better for you today. That teacher could have left off the line about Daddy -- you're right about that. My girl would choose her dad over me ever single time -- I know it -- if she had to rescue one of us from a burning fire, it'd be her dad. It's sounds like a card she'd have written when she was little.

Posted by: Katya at May 12, 2007 11:59 AM

holy high hell. i sure hope you cry. otherwise, the spontaneous combustion from this cocauphony of yuck would light the hemisphere.

p.s. my children yelled "happy mothers day!" to me, and then spurned me in favor of their father. i think it is a conspiracy.

Posted by: robiewankenobie at May 13, 2007 04:04 PM