Getting A Few Things Off My Chest

My brain still has not adjusted to being back at work, and we are still having computer problems, which hasn't helped. Sitting around with nothing to do(everything I need to do is on the effing computer!) gets my panties in a serious bunch. When I finally do get my computers fixed, I'll be all stressed out because I'll feel behind. Phooey.

Why do they put the most horrific colors on the underpants that they sell in packs? Why can't I just buy a three-pack of black? Men can buy packs of underpants in reasonable colors. Why do I get stuck with a florescent yellow-green pair? Do these companies know how huge my butt looks in florescent yellow-green? Who decides this? Tell me, because I want to punch them right in the face. I have enough of a complex about how I look without dealing with that!

Last week I spent a great deal of time writing for a prompt from a website, posted my link, read and commented on several of the other blogger offerings...and not ONE person from that writer's site even looked at what I had written. I've kind of felt like the kid who just doesn't fit over there, the kid who tries too hard to be accepted(OMG, I am reliving my childhood!), and this sort of sealed the deal for me. If it weren't for my virtual blog-friends(is that the right term?) commenting, I probably would have cried because I was feeling hormonal. So...I give up trying to earn their approval for my writing. If I feel like it, I'll write for the prompt. But I'm not going to stress about it, and I'm not going to spend hours reading and commenting when it's not reciprocated. Instead, I will save all my love for my regular, and beloved, readers.

Last night I tried to cook a seven-steak. I hadn't ever heard of seven-steak before; I had to go look it up to even figure out what the hell it was. I wanted to put it in the crock pot all day, but when I said something to Larry about it, he got this 'ew' look on his face, so I didn't. So I ruined it, trying to cook it on the stove. Sometimes I don't even know why I bother trying to cook at all. Even my own child would rather eat waffles! Somebody else needs to do the cooking; I feel too incompetent with a spatula. Plus I keep setting my kitchen on fire and the alarm company is probably going to start charging us extra.

And why the hell can't my gray hairs gather in one spot like Jo Beth Williams in Poltergeist? It's bad enough that I HAVE gray hairs, can't I at least look trendy or cutting edge for once?

There just isn't enough chocolate to put me in a good mood today. I hope that tomorrow is better!

This concludes the venting/whining. We now continue with your regularly scheduled programming...