Cranky Pants

I don’t know what it’s been lately, but for some reason I have been a super duper cranky pants to the max ten thousand times infinity.

I don’t get it.

I just started a new job, I’ve got the best friends and family in the whole wide world, and I’ve been exercising a shit-ton, which for all intents and purposes should be boosting me with all those happy-pappy endorphins folks keep raving about. Like Kale. And Coconut Water. And Bark.*

But alas, I keep waking up and falling asleep on the wrong side of the bed, and it is all around a big  fat pile of suck because I am not one who hides my emotions well. And then it’s all day with the, “Are you okay?” question, as if I appear to be barely making it through the world’s longest dump.

But I’m fine. I know I’m fine. I know my complaints are lousy and in great need of the Real World perspective. I know I got it good, great even. It’s all quite honestly just a crap-tastic mood I can’t shake. I so desperately need Cher to come up to me, slap me in the face and say, “Snap out of it!”**

So I’m here. Writing about my crappy mood. Hoping that by doing so I can “exercise the demons”*** and put this frowny face “no but how are you really feeling?” smirk behind me.

I know! I’ll make a list. Maybe you, trusty reader (MOM) will at least get a kick out of it. There is always something hilarious about yelling, frustrated comedians**** and I am no exception. Or maybe I am. Shit, I hope this is funny.

To start – my hands smell weird. I keep washing them so maybe it’s the soap?  AND my jeans are poorly dyed so the blue keeps rubbing off on my hands so it looks like I have a poorly circulated, wrinkly, dung pooh carrying righty and lefty. Explain that. Boo.

I’m jealous that a dog at work gets more attention than me.

When people park on a busy street and then push their car door open all the way and then, like, sit there for a moment as if it is EVERYONE ELSE’S PROBLEM that their door is open to oncoming traffic. I just wanna… I mean. GAHHH.

One-way streets in general. Fuck you.

No matter how hard I try, there is never a non-hoop jumping way to get in touch with my doctor and my pharmacy and my insurance and everything takes ten more steps than necessary and then I get frustrated so I have to be a squeaky wheel and be all bitchy and then I worry that my doctor hates me because she is kind of cold already and because she hates me and she’s cold she won’t give me proper care and I really want a doctor/patient relationship like they have in those pharmaceutical commercials where you can “talk to your doctor” and your doctor’s eyes are kind and understanding and you are really super close and all that.*****

There’s a dude that is trolling me on Facebook? And I feel weird about it? Because, like, why? And now I have to unfriend him? And it’s like, why?

I judge people for playing Candy Crush yet I am addicted to Tetris and Bubble Shooter so much so that I breezed through an entire season of Archer without ever looking up.

Wanting to “make it.” Worried that I won’t. Confused that I’m doing it all wrong. Feeling like a failure. Blahblahblah.

Seriously, it’s like my hands smell like Play-Doh.

My truck makes a cracky sound when I have to turn it really tightly and I can’t avoid it because LA.

I realize that in the great world of the Calvin and Hobbes Universe, as much as I want to be Calvin I am in fact Susie Derkins.

Some guacamole has landed on my boob.

I really should take more pictures because according to Facebook the only thing I’ve done this past year is loosely participated in other peoples’ exciting lives.

I can’t explain it concisely, but that new Shades of Grey trailer makes me angry.

Maybe they smell bad because they are so dry. That’s a first.

I keep having to pee a ton and I’m worried that it means I’m dying. See doctor rant above.

At the end of the day I know I am wallowing and I know I should take a moment to appreciate how good I have it and seek the positivity in my life and all that because there are starving kids in Ethiopia and all that and I get somewhat scared that I can go through the motions of thinking that way but I’m almost being a phony to myself because just beneath the surface that glass is half full pep talk is a cynic rolling her eyes and maybe all that means is that at my core I am pure evil.*******

All day yesterday I thought it was Thursday.

There. I think I got it all out. And now I feel supremely stupid that I was such a cranky pants.

– One L

“Gray skies are gonna clear up, put on a happy face.” – Bye-bye Birdie.

Notes:

*unsure if people are raving about bark. I just think it’s an underused and fantastic sounding word.

**If only because THAT WOULD BE AWESOME.

*** To be read in a Robin Williams voice.

****Steve Martin, Richard Pryor, Chris Farley when his face turned all red…

*****None of my friends are doctors.  Wow. What severe disappointments.

******* But is it evil if at least I am aware of my potential evil? Isn’t it good that I worry about becoming evil and that in fact is what is saving me from becoming evil? It’s like how crazy people don’t think they’re crazy. so if you’re questioning that you’re crazy chances are you are not crazy. That has to work for evil too right?

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