Shitty Attitude Accompanied By Farts
12:14 p.m. - 2003-04-09
I am SICK and tired of the fi's shitty little attitude. All day long, he's been being a dick, and I've just about all I can take of it.
I'll be the first to admit that I can be a bitch from hell. But since I've been on Zoloft, things have been MUCH improved. I'm smiling all the time, laughing more (even when things go wrong), I'm more willing to compromise, and our sex life has been better.
But evidently he feels like if I'm not being hateful, he should be. He's been griping all morning, and I'm sick of the negativity. I'm tired of him telling me how bad he feels. (Hey buddy, it's not MY fault you're hungover.) Our house is only two minutes (I'm So Not Kidding) from the school, and it practically took a fucking act of Congress to get him to bring me a Coke today. How goddamned difficult is that? Why is there reason to bitch and complain when I ask for you to bring me something? I'm not able to leave the school grounds. I'm two minutes away, and all you're doing is sitting at home your big lazy ass, anyway. I realize that the History Channel might be having a special on the Timeline of Power Tools, but for Christ's sake, bring me a motherfucking Coke when the commercials come on! Jesus! I'm supposed to be the most important person in your life, for crying out loud. A two minute trip isn't going to kill you.
This is the same man, mind you, who will leave to go get gas and be gone for three fucking hours. And the gas station isn't even a mile away. What does he do during that time? Hell if I know. Generally he says that so-and-so stopped to talk to him. For three HOURS?! Once, he stayed gone for SIX hours. Where was he? The fucking hardware store--one mile away. You think I'm kidding. I'm not.
And in the midst of all of it, I'm supposed to be little Susie Homemaker. "What's for supper tonight, sweetheart?" "Are you EVER going to do laundry?" "There are a ton of dirty dishes in the sink." "Would you fix me a glass of water?" "Where are/is the (insert any miscellaneous item here : cigarettes, remote, keys, checkbook, lighter, bread, toilet paper, etc.)" I DON'T FUCKING KNOW, OKAY? I'M NOT GODDAMN DAVID COPPERFIELD. Nor do I have ESP. Look for it yourself, asshole.
I swear to GOD, if he starts in with ANY of that shit when I get home, I'm going to scream. Loudly. And if he casually walks by and grabs my ass, or my boobs, I'll probably hit him. Because I'm just not in the mood for it today. I was already running late for work this morning, and he made me even later. But I'm not going to bore you with the why's and how's of the situation. More than likely, you're sick of reading this already. I know I'm tired of typing it.
Hopefully something good will happen for me to write about later on. Or perhaps I'll update to say that there's been another murder in this small town. Either way, it should be interesting.
Well, I snuck out of work early. Again.
If I keep this up, I'm going to get fired. But right now, I really don't care. It's ridiculous to have to sit up there for three hours in a room all by myself. I'm perfectly okay with solitary confinement, but I prefer it to be at my own house.
*Drumroll* I got my Cottage Shoppe order in today. (Now, I know I mentioned excitement in my earlier entry, but this is exciting for me.) Let me say again that I love, love, LOVE that place. I got a bunch of body butters and shower gels, and there's quite a variety of scents. Right now I'm wearing a combination of Chocolate Sugar Cookie, Coffee Cake, Grapefruit Vanilla, 7 UP, Blackberry Sage, and Blackberry Vanilla. It's rather cloying, I'll admit, but I couldn't resist smelling every single one of them. At least it's halfway covering up the scent of Otis' DISGUSTING farts. There's no question about that dog being a male...he sporadically pisses on things, is constantly licking his balls ('cause he can't scratch them very well), and farts all the time. Yup. Just like a man.
I guess I'll end on that. Go do something exciting. (Yes. You.)
Love and light,
A.