Have a day.
2006-01-04, 10:25 p.m.

Happy flippin� New Year. The top 10 reasons I am in a mood:

For starters, I am tired, bone tired, because last night Hubby had to make absolute certain his legs were wrapped around mine and they twitched all night long and ANNOYED the SHIT outta me. I would reach that twilight plane, blissfully almost asleep, and
TWITCH.
Dammit.
Doze.
TWITCH.
Dammit.
Doze.
TWITCH.
Lather, rinse, repeat.

By 6am I was ready to go all Misery on his ass. But alas, no sledgehammer.

Second, I like gifts, really I do, except when they come from my cat.

Yesterday morning I was awakened by being stared down by big yellow-green eyes and a prissy little �Mew� (a strange sound coming from a big big cat). Usually that means �My bowl is empty, haul your cat-slave self out of bed and feed me.� However, this time it was the mew with attitude, the I�m-SUCH-a-good-boy-come-gloat-over-my-prowess kind of mew, and he led me into the living room, where he stood proudly beside the jumbo fresh frog carcass displayed in front of the television.

NOT what I need before I�ve had my coffee. One kitty door sealing, coming up.

Third, over the Christmas holidays, I was scarred for life.

Part of my daughterly duty is filling out medical forms for Mama and S.O. Neither has great eyesight, and Mama�s handwriting is often shaky nowadays, so I call out the questions and jot down their answers.
Mama has an upcoming regular checkup with a gynecologist. So I�m at the kitchen table with her and S.O., calling out the regular questions, writing away, S.O. puffing on his oxygen tank, Mama chatting about her cataracts, both quizzing each other if they�ve taken all their medication, when I saw The Question:

�Are you sexually active?�

From far away, I heard her response something like, �Well, I�m still alive, aren�t I?�, at which point my brain melted. I retained just enough reflexive mental capacity to slam my hands over my ears and chant LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA I CAN�T HEAR YOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUU
and try to find my happy place, only now it was more warped and psychedelic than happy.

There are some things one is never, ever old enough or mature enough to handle. Color me there.

Fourth, I�m listening to Audio Visions on XM Radio, they are playing something exquisite, and THEY ARE NOT DISPLAYING THE TITLE OR ARTIST like they are for EVERY OTHER STINKING CHANNEL.

Fifth, I�m already pissy, so Hubby wandered in here while I was in the middle of typing and kicked back in the recliner, turned on the massager thingy, and asked for a glass of diet Pepsi and something for a headache. When I brought them to His Highness, he then asked for a pillow to put over his eyes so he could snooze. Certainly dear, I have nothing better to do than run my ass off for your comfort. He had his new book on his lap until I asked him if he had laid it on the better part of his brain in hopes that the information would filter through by osmosis. And when at last I sat down in my chair, all smug and ready to smolder in PMSy indignance, he started being all thankful and sweet and now I�m mad that I can�t be mad at him.

Sixth, Hubby�s Great Ice Tray Mystery. It�s plastic. You put water in it, it freezes and gets hard. And when you want an ice cube and you go BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG on the sink with it, please don�t wonder why it breaks.

Seventh, two children, living room carpet, and blue jello. Self-explanatory.

Eighth, gaining two ounces over the holidays, instead of losing weight. Yeah yeah, I should be thankful, but I am sick and tired of the plateau. I should be thankful of basically holding steady, due to all the diet �help� provided by my mother and mother-in-law. MIL was more than happy to cook what she thought I could have, chicken breasts and green beans. Except her version had chicken breasts wrapped in bacon with a sauce of sour cream and cream of mushroom soup, and the green beans were baked with a pound of cheese, cream of mushroom soup, and eleventeen cans of French-fried onions. My mother had a caterer make fresh chicken salad, one shredded chicken with one vat of mayonnaise and a quart of chopped sweet pickles. Wanna snack? Well, there�s caramel cake, pound cake with icing, chocolate fudge, butterscotch fudge, divinity, sugar cookies, chocolate cake, lime pie, lemon pie�vegetables? Don�t think we have any.

I came home craving broccoli. No. More. Sugar.

Ninth, the mysterious cerebral pop-ups. Odd, disjointed words and memories have surfaced lately for no reason whatsoever. Waiting at the door for the children�s bus today, I suddenly had thoughts of smilax. (It�s a vine�want more, there�s this neat thing called a dictionary.) Grocery shopping, and having a brain invasion of the black bears we saw during a Gurl Skout trip. If it�s something I WANT to remember, like where I left my keys, then there�s not a chance in hell.

Tenth, the disappearance of my Christmas money. I got money from Mama, S.O., and MIL. Hubby got all practical and snatched it, decreeing that combining and depositing our Christmas loot would pay for all the gas we used during our trip. I have four words for him: Stargate Atlantis box set. It�s MY Christmas gift money, dammit.

Eleventh, the parachuting Suzuki guy. Every time they show that stupid commercial, I am going to pester Suzuki executives to explain exactly how the materials were transported up there to build that house, why that couple chose to live in such a difficult and unforgiving territory, how does the guy get back up there every evening, how can he repack his chute without coating himself and his dark suit with a thick layer of sweat and red dust, and WHY MUST THEY AIR IT EVERY TWELVE MINUTES ON EVERY CHANNEL KNOWN TO MAN?

Twelfth, listening to music again, this time with the stirring accompaniment of the adult male of the household snoring LOUDLY behind me. My mood improved when I found that the side lever of a recliner does double duty as an ejector seat.

He�s getting me a glass of ginger ale.

Things are looking up.

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