Temper Tantrum

I woke up feeling like I needed to be productive today. Still in my jammies and my bare feet I gathered all the laundry from various rooms and carried it to the utility room. I was met with a full basket of clean clothes that haven’t been folded and clean clothes in the dryer. I start to feel a twinge of aggravation flaring up in my gut, but I push it aside while I gather the clean clothes and bring them to the closet to be folded.

We have a very limited amount of space and I have developed a carefully planned system for storing clothes. The majority of our clothes are folded neatly and stored in cubbies. It only takes a few items out of place for the whole thing to look like rabid dingo has made a nest in the closet. I sigh as I look at the wall of what was beautifully folded clothes. There are sleepy pants in the t-shirts, work shirts in the good shirts and nearly half of the clothes are folded stupid. That itch of aggravation is growing into anger. Damnit, Dewie! Realizing I can’t repair it, I just take everything off the shelves and start refolding it. The more I fold the angrier I get.

I’m about halfway through the pile when Dewie shuffles in all sleepy eyed and happy. This makes me even angrier. What in the hell does she have to be so damn happy about?! She rubs her eyes and innocently rasps, “Morning babe. You doing laundry?” Oh, it’s on now.

“I was trying to do laundry, but apparently someone can’t manage to put anything where it goes. Or fold anything right. Or fold anything at all. Why are your clothes all mixed up and folded stupid?”

“I don’t have enough room.”

“You’d have room if you actually FOLDED anything.”

“I can’t fold them like you.” She sweeps her arm toward the wall of clothes like she’s showing a brand new living room set on The Price is Right. “It looks like a damn department store!”

“You could if you tried. You just don’t want to. And why was there two loads of clean laundry in the utility room?!”

“I needed underwear.”

“Ok, new rule! If you wash it, you fold it and put it away! You know what? Even better, you’re banned from laundry!” Wait, what? Crap. I know as soon as it comes out of my stupid face that I have made a tragic mistake. That same carefree grin slides back over Dewie’s face.

“Ok.”

And thus my idiotic tantrum reaps its just reward. 

Dog Business

It was lovely outside yesterday. For some strange reason we have enjoyed cooler weather this week with a refreshing breeze and bright, sunny skies. My favorite time of day is late afternoon when the sun is starting to sink and the earth is lit in a beautiful golden light. It’s like nature’s dimmer switch. It was on such a perfect day and such a perfect time that Dewie and I set off on our nightly dog walk. Scout had already obediently relieved herself in the vacant lot on our street and we were on the back side of the block when we approached the house with actual sod. The grass is so appealing that Scout can’t help but throw herself to the ground and roll around in it. She does this nearly every single day.

A couple of years ago, the house with the sod was one of the unlucky ones on the block that suffered the wrath of the falling tree epidemic. Though the house itself has been nicely repaired, it has remained strangely empty while its residents occupy what can only be described as a two story shed. I don’t know the whole story there, but I would wager that it involves jackassery of the highest caliber and a family whose collective IQ might form one normal person.

Yesterday, as Scout dropped to roll, I noticed there was a scowling man standing beside his truck outside the barn-shed with his arms crossed. Thinking nothing of it, I waved at him and went about my conversation with Dewie.

As we walked closer to him, the man yelled out, “Keep your damn dog out of my yard!” A little taken aback, I initially thought that this man must be someone I know who is messing with me. I try to get a good look at him, but he is in no way familiar.

So, I call back, “I’m sorry, were you talking to me?”

“I SAID KEEP YOU DAMN DOG OUT OF MY YARD!! I’m tired of stepping in dog shit when I park my truck over there!” Ok, so clearly I don’t know this guy and he is a first class douche bag. We pass this house every day. Scout rolls in his yard every day. She has never pooped here, and there has never been a truck parked there.

“She wasn’t actually in your yard, and she has never crapped by the road in front of your house.”

“I was standing here the whole time! I saw what she did!!” Ok, now the adrenaline is flowing. It’s go time.

“If you were standing there the whole time, you clearly don’t know the difference between crapping and rolling. Besides, she is on a 6 foot leash. The city owns 5 feet from the street. Since you were standing there the whole time (yes, I did imitate him when I said that. Sometimes anger brings our my inner 5 year old) then you could clearly see that my feet were on the street, so technically it is not possible for her to have been in your yard (yes I did it again, I know)!” It’s then that I notice that I have actually taken several giant steps toward the man and I am actually standing in his driveway. The man pushes off the truck he was leaning on and hobbles into the house. His limp is pronounced and his hip seems to be the culprit. The thought actually enters my head that I could probably take him. I mean his balance isn’t that good. I am strangely disappointed when he walks away. How dare he walk away from me when I’m winning!

We spend the remainder of our walk talking about the crazy man and what a horribly unhappy little person he must be. I very briefly consider taking a dump in a bucket to leave on the edge of his yard so he is clear about what crap actually is. It occurs to me that in a sick way I actually enjoyed the encounter. I am getting confrontational in my old age. If things keep progressing this way, I have a feeling I’m going to be one of those mean, belligerent old people. Fortunately for me, elderly people get a pass on terrible behavior. I think I’m going to need it. 

Egg-sactly!

Grocery shopping is usually one of my favorite pastimes. Let’s face it. I enjoy food. A lot. I also enjoy putting together delicious dishes with as little money as possible. It’s become a kind of a game for me. I spend the morning perusing the ads online and make a game plan as to which stores I am going to patronize and in what order. I know it’s sad, but it gives me a buzz. I love it.

This afternoon, my last stop was Publix. It’s one of my favorites because it’s clean, well lit, beautifully merchandized and the customer service is amazing. I also know when they get their shipments so I can snag the freshest produce and hit the amazing “buy one get one” sales before they’re sold out. Yes, I have put THAT much effort into this. Today however, Publix was a madhouse. It’s Thursday and I’m already aware of the sales, so I can’t fathom any reason for the crowd. I decide to brave it anyway. Apart from the masses of rude people, everything seems pretty normal, until I get to the dairy case.

I round the corner to pick out some eggs and the whole area is demolished. It looks like a midget has been river dancing on the shelves. There’s broken eggs on the floor and strewn over into the yoghurt cups. Almost all the cartons are open with smashed shells stuck to the inside. I’m so shocked that I muse out loud, “What the hell is up with the eggs?”

An adorable old woman in turquoise linen capris and matching blouse walks up beside me. I notice her white hair is wound into a perfect French twist as she reaches over and pats my arm as only little old ladies do.  I immediately feel bad for swearing in front of her but before I can apologize she croaks, “It’s Easter, dear.”

“That’s right, I forgot about that. What is wrong with people?”

The little old lady leans in close enough for me to smell the peppermint on her breath and points to the wreckage in front of her. “You said it, dear. They’re fucking animals. You’d think people will die if they don’t color their damn eggs.”

Pure joy. I love old people. 

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I’ve never been a big fan of newspapers, mainly because they are printed on ridiculously large paper and unless you’re reading it at a table the size of an airplane wing they’re just awkward to handle. Admittedly, I acquire most of my news online. There’s really only one problem with this; almost every single news site online offers a space for the ignorant masses to voice their idiotic opinions.  I know I don’t have to read them, but something in me needs to be reassured that there are reasonable, educated people left in this country. Unfortunately these comments are peppered with stupid, offensive, borderline literate musings that make me long for the days when I could just skip the editorial page.  I can’t help myself; I have to read them even though they often leave me feeling hopeless and skeevy. Here are the worst offenders:

1.     The “everything comes back to politics” people

It could be an article on bird flu, stupid baby names, or the discovery of a rare dinosaur bone. Inevitably, there will be people that blame this on either Obama or the conservative party. I’m pretty sure neither liberals nor conservatives had any hand in naming a kid “Apple” or conspired to hide and then find a rare fossil to further their careers.

2.       Trolling

Because there are no consequences for running your mouth or purposefully picking a fight with someone over the internet, those people who can’t win a fight in real life pick one online. It’s never been funny in the past, and it is not funny now. You know if they said that crap in real life, they would be rewarded with a throat punch.  They know it too. That’s why they stick to the web.

3.       The “every problem in the world can be solved with Jesus” people

Often this is a response to real social issues like gangs, rapists, murderers, etc. Sure. If only Ted Bundy and Charles Manson had been approached by a Jehovah’s Witness, none of that unpleasantness would have happened. I don't know why experts on the human mind have never thought of this! Religion can’t fix mental illness any more than prayer can mend a broken leg. This kind of dismissive attitude is incredibly dangerous and infuriating.

4.       The “conspiracy” people

Not everyone is trying to trick you. You are paranoid and probably smoke too much weed. Sometimes it really is just a coincidence.

5.       The “why did I read this article, this is not news” people

Now, clearly you were interested or you wouldn’t have clicked on it. Did you open the link just so you could berate people that like a little human interest or sleazy celebrity story? You’ve created quite the hypocritical conundrum.  We all bow to you, oh superior one. We look to you to determine our own moral compasses, for you are clearly the most evolved person on the planet. Feel better?

If only they would print newspapers on reasonably sized paper…