Even though the holidays are over, it seems that damned Grumpy Cat is here to stay. Fine. I guess I have a love-hate relationship with that sulky-faced critter -- he reminds me way too much of myself and I don't like that. But this is where I'm at today, so screw it.
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Yes, I'm going to bitch. I fully acknowledge it and own it ahead of time, so the anonymous snarkers out there have been disarmed. So now, in no particular order:
I'm sick of hearing about Lance Armstrong. He's a cheat and a fraud. The End. Let's move on.
I'm sick of the NRA. 'Nuff said there.
I'm sick of spanko women who consider me a threat, even though I am completely and utterly harmless. No, I'm not going to elaborate on that, so please don't ask. But for Christ's sake, I'm not some drop-dead-gorgeous young femme fatale. I'm 55 years old with saggy arm skin and age spots. Get over it.
I really, really miss video shooting. Nothing I can do about that; it is what it is. I thought I was past that and had accepted it. But then I read some accounts from my friends about some fun shoots and I felt such an ache.
Sometimes, I feel like this blog is redundant and irrelevant. Sometimes, I feel like I'M irrelevant.
We're visiting my stepfather tomorrow. That stirs up a hornet's nest of feelings I'd just as soon keep at bay. But I know it's the proper thing to do.
Mr. D is away for the holiday weekend skiing, so I will not see him Monday. So, in an effort to make my Monday even more crappy, I'm going to an endodontist in downtown L.A. that afternoon to get a second opinion on the tooth that has been driving me crazy for months. I am dreading this like you wouldn't believe. Eventually, I just know I'm going to need a root canal. Major $$$, and major discomfort.
I'm so tired of worrying about money, and feeling guilty because John pays for nearly everything. I know he can afford it, but I still feel rotten about it. Yesterday, I ordered our Boardwalk Badness tickets and booked our hotel room. We're already $900 into that party and I haven't even booked the flight or the shuttle yet. How the hell do people afford to go to everything?? Next month, Joe and Ten are having a party in Vegas at the Suncoast and we have been invited. But that's another trip and another hotel room fee, and I just can't ask John for that. He'd do it if I asked him. But I can't.
I'm sick of hearing myself complain, and no doubt you are too. So I'll stop now.
On the good news front, John seems to have gotten over his money loss from earlier this week; he was very chipper on the phone last night. I look forward to being with him. And I will get to see Mr. D on Tuesday. My dental appointment was originally on Tuesday, but then I switched it to Monday when I found out he wasn't coming. It will be nice to have a reward to look forward to as I navigate the nightmare known as Downtown Los Angeles and deal with my intense fear of dental work.
Grumpy Cat signing off. Have a great weekend, y'all.
Yes, I'm going to bitch. I fully acknowledge it and own it ahead of time, so the anonymous snarkers out there have been disarmed. So now, in no particular order:
I'm sick of hearing about Lance Armstrong. He's a cheat and a fraud. The End. Let's move on.
I'm sick of the NRA. 'Nuff said there.
I'm sick of spanko women who consider me a threat, even though I am completely and utterly harmless. No, I'm not going to elaborate on that, so please don't ask. But for Christ's sake, I'm not some drop-dead-gorgeous young femme fatale. I'm 55 years old with saggy arm skin and age spots. Get over it.
I really, really miss video shooting. Nothing I can do about that; it is what it is. I thought I was past that and had accepted it. But then I read some accounts from my friends about some fun shoots and I felt such an ache.
Sometimes, I feel like this blog is redundant and irrelevant. Sometimes, I feel like I'M irrelevant.
We're visiting my stepfather tomorrow. That stirs up a hornet's nest of feelings I'd just as soon keep at bay. But I know it's the proper thing to do.
Mr. D is away for the holiday weekend skiing, so I will not see him Monday. So, in an effort to make my Monday even more crappy, I'm going to an endodontist in downtown L.A. that afternoon to get a second opinion on the tooth that has been driving me crazy for months. I am dreading this like you wouldn't believe. Eventually, I just know I'm going to need a root canal. Major $$$, and major discomfort.
I'm so tired of worrying about money, and feeling guilty because John pays for nearly everything. I know he can afford it, but I still feel rotten about it. Yesterday, I ordered our Boardwalk Badness tickets and booked our hotel room. We're already $900 into that party and I haven't even booked the flight or the shuttle yet. How the hell do people afford to go to everything?? Next month, Joe and Ten are having a party in Vegas at the Suncoast and we have been invited. But that's another trip and another hotel room fee, and I just can't ask John for that. He'd do it if I asked him. But I can't.
I'm sick of hearing myself complain, and no doubt you are too. So I'll stop now.
On the good news front, John seems to have gotten over his money loss from earlier this week; he was very chipper on the phone last night. I look forward to being with him. And I will get to see Mr. D on Tuesday. My dental appointment was originally on Tuesday, but then I switched it to Monday when I found out he wasn't coming. It will be nice to have a reward to look forward to as I navigate the nightmare known as Downtown Los Angeles and deal with my intense fear of dental work.
Grumpy Cat signing off. Have a great weekend, y'all.