Monday, August 16, 2010

You're on Notice!

There are several things that I would like to warn about not pissing me off. I have a teacher voice, and I'm not afraid to use it.

1. The 45% extra volume to my blood. I don't care so much about you, but you're making my hands sausage-y. Even that I could deal with (despite the fact that I had to take off my wedding and engagement rings), but I can't feel my damn hands in the middle of the night, which wakes me up and gives me arthritis like finger joint pain. And according to all the research of done on this lovely symptom of third trimester-hood, the only cure is to give birth. Blood volume, you're on notice.

2. White paint going over a different shade of white paint on a ceiling in a room with little natural light and no overhead fixture. You frustrate me! I have no idea if I did a good job with my two coats, or if there are glaring omissions that will become obvious the moment we install a ceiling light fixture AFTER all the furniture has been delivered and it will therefore be much more difficult to do paint touchups without dripping all over the furniture. White paint, you are officially on notice. If you think the sailor's language I used while applying you was scary, wait until you see the single raised eyebrow of death that can stop a charging rhino in its tracks (or a Freshman from texting).

(Random thought I had while painting: Has anyone ever decided to paint a room painter's tape blue? It's kind of a pretty color, although it would be very difficult to use painter's tape to make a clean edge. Apparently, I've been channeling Stephen Wright.)

3. Lafayette radio stations. Why oh why are you incapable of playing anything other than Easy Listening, Soft Rock, Classic Rock, Jesus Rock or people talking solemnly about religion? While I am more tolerant of mediocre music than J, after seven years with him, I find my standards are much higher than they once were. (Full disclosure: I actually liked The Macarena the first time I heard it. I will be joining the witness protection program for having admitted that, and I fully expect J to demand a trial separation once he reads this). I can only sing along to Hall & Oates so many times before I rear end someone on purpose just to end the boredom. So, radio stations, you are on notice. Improve the musical quality, or I will become a menace on the road. (This is a college town, for the love of all that is holy! How is it there's no artsy, cutting edge student DJ to save me?)

4. Pregnancy brain. It's not my imagination--I'm really not firing on all the normal cylinders. I know for a fact that I signed up for another parenting class, but I can't seem to find the information about when it was or if I've already missed it, and I can't seem to keep the thought in my head long enough to place a phone call to find out. (The minute I've stopped writing this, I'll have forgotten again until 10 pm tonight or so, when it will be too late to reach anyone at the center. Just watch). I'm not even sleep deprived yet, and already I can't keep things in my head. So pregnancy brain, if you don't give me back at least some of my normal faculties, we're going to have WORDS. Unless I forget.

5. Wal-Mart. Not only are you difficult to get to, and the antithesis of much of my belief system, and the required pharmacy for J's new insurance, but you are also only about 2 for 7 in terms of successful trips. Nearly every time I come to you to fill a prescription--which shouldn't take a half hour of me killing time in America's Shopping Wasteland, by the way, as CVS can do it in 15 minutes--there is some sort of problem that you neglect to tell me about until I've waited in line, killed 30 minutes, and then waited in line again. Wal-Mart, you have pissed me off to such a degree, I'm going to have to pull out the big guns. I'm calling your parents to come in for a conference! Take that!

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