I Am a Small Clown

This weekend, I was the bearer of bad moods.

(I hope that I used the right bear/bare.)

(If not, I don't care.)

It all started on Friday morning, when Husband and I got into a dumb fight on the way to work. Sometimes an argument can really ruin the whole day, you know? I topped that by descending 27 flights of stairs, for which my calves have still not forgiven me. I, in turn, have not forgiven whoever reported a false fire in my skyscraper.

At least I have now exercised enough for the rest of my pregnancy.

(Success feels great, doesn’t it?)

Basically, the rest of the day was terrible, except for when I died and went to Chicken Madeira Heaven. (Thanks, mom!) She is a girl after my own heart, that one. (In actuality, I am a girl after her heart, since she is the one who birthed and raised me.)

But, forget about that short, curly headed ray of sunshine.

This is a pity party.

On Saturday, I woke up early and it was beautiful outside! However, my insides were FOUL. I was a mean, little lady. Husband tried to help and he did, a little bit. (I am a sucker for massages.)

Then, Husband made me late for a baby shower, then I forgot to buy a gift bag, then I forgot to buy a card, my high heels were squeaking, my calves were screaming obscenities, I lost the gift receipt, I accidentally squeezed the new loaf of bread, I started crying in the car, I screamed bloody murder because it felt good, I worried that I may have caused psychological trauma to my unborn child, then I got lost on the way to the shower, then I had to interrupt the baby shower recipient for directions, then I cried some more, my make-up got messed up, then I realized that I was parked outside of the correct house all along, then I cried a bit more, then I felt like a fat hormonal pregnant woman, then I accidentally matched the baby shower theme (Sailor party), and then I ate two servings (of each) of strawberry spinach salad, cake pops, handfuls of Swedish Fish, and strawberries with dip.

In all honesty, though, I felt a lot better after pigging out.

The crazed lunatic phase naturally followed.

My SIL asked me to pick up some balloons for a birthday/baptism party. I arrived at Party City, grabbed the balloons, and headed out into a (surprise!) windstorm. As I made my way across the parking lot, I wondered which was more likely: Me flying away while holding the balloons or the balloons slipping out of my hands, while I stood there like an idiot.

Thank goodness I was a pregnant midget and not just a normal midget!

Well I stuffed thsoe 30+ balloons into the back of my Mazda 3 during a windstorm, with only my abnormally short legs and arms. 

Only two people laughed at me, only one balloon popped, it only took ten minutes to accomplish, and I didn’t get into a wreck while driving my clown car.

All the while, I laughed hysterically, like the crazed, pregnant lunatic that I was.

Then, I ate a lot more food and sweets, and collapsed into a sugar coma.

(I feel a lot better now.)

Brace Yourselves

Within the first two hours of being awake this morning, I have been annoyed several times. This could mean that I am a grouch or that… I am a grouch. The jury is still out.

On Tuesday, while partaking of Husband’s delicious muffins, I bit a blueberry that “popped” in my mouth. If anything “pops” in my mouth, I immediately imagine biting into an eyeball.

The thought of squishing an eyeball between your teeth is disturbing, am I right?

The muffins this morning seemed to be overly blueberry-ish and I had a hard time crushing the eyeball thought with my mind vice (anyone?).

This unfortunate event may have been less traumatizing if Husband had let me drink milk, instead of forcing me to drink the citrus cocktail, which is delicious, unless you’ve just brushed your teeth, which I had.

Things only got worse when Husband quizzed me about Bon Jovi on the way to work. I don’t like Bon Jovi and never will. How then, am I supposed to know that his name is really Jon Bongiovi? After Husband made fun of me for not knowing this (he has a bad pestering tendency, I tell you), I had an epic freak out in the passenger seat.

I kid you not, my spaz session included punching his hand, screaming, writhing, and scratching the roof of the car.  (Too much information?)

Sometimes I am completely aware of my annoyance and frustration levels rising. On this occasion, there was no warning.

It was a pure freak out.

I felt bad, okay? I really did. It was a great morning, minus the above and soon-to-be-mentioned things that rubbed me very much the wrong way.

(Are you tired of this post yet?)

I am also annoyed by an old woman who acts like she is 20, never stops smiling, has a fake voice, and pretends she is my best friend. No thank you, I say. Lastly, is a 20 year old who acts like she is 40. Nope, I will not be converted to your vegetarian ways. For one, steaks are too tasty, and second, you don’t have any idea what you’re talking about when you tell me that you would eat meat in Europe, but not America.

I love Europe, but that doesn’t mean it’s perfect over there.

That’s it. I ranted.

I think today will be a good day… until I get nauseous at approximately 5:20 pm. Until then, let’s have some fun!

This was my dinner last night.

That is all.