Is me being cranky the worst thing to happen to you? – I didn’t think so

Sometimes I’m cranky. I wish the world knew how to deal with it.  I didn’t sleep well, I ‘ve had a headache since the moment I woke up, and I’m just not the happy bunny high on sugar, marshmallows and kindness. Sue me for it.

Also, NO it’s not “that time of month” and may the gods of gonorrhea and butt boils smite you for even thinking that.

All I’ve wanted to do today is stuff disgusting amounts of food in my mouth and just whine and bitch… fine, so I don’t even have anything specific I want to complain about, but if you gave me the chance I’m sure I could find a list long enough to fill the better part of your day.

You still listening? Good.

I didn’t want to be a foul-mouthed rude bitch at work so I tried to keep conversation to a minimum, and my dear friend who has come to understand me so well in so little time tried to woo me with talk of chocolate cake… which would have worked except the only place in this freaking country with cake good enough for me to wallow in my own lack of self worth is closed on Saturdays. Fuck.

Which left me with no alternative except to continue to be cranky. Not.My.Fault. I honestly think I would have felt a weeeeeee bit better if I could have spread the misery. My sister ended up being exceptionally annoying today, in her words, “but I’m not even trying!” which I knew… she’s just naturally that irksome sometimes.

The boyfriend and I haven’t had time for much communication lately and so when the blessed nightly phone call came, I was like “Oh FINALLY! SOMETHING will cheer me up!”… big surprise, he doesn’t like me being less than happy-go-lucky (in his defense I did refer to the possibility of him being gay in my previous post, but that’s becaluse I was talking about ME being a cranky old man!)

Even as I write this I KNOW tomorrow he’ll say something terribly sweet and when he reads this blog he’ll probably defend himself with some flawless logic and rational (two things I am NOT friends with at the time being) and then I’ll feel worse for being a brat when he’s just so damn nice.  (Yes, I’m complaining about dating a man who’s too nice… you won’t believe how annoying it is to be with someone who always seems to be right… especially when I’M the one who’s usually right. )


SO, looks like you’re stuck with the butt of my bad mood because even though I’ve consumed enough chocolate to give me diabetes, my bar of Toblerone has now been reduced to scraps of silver foil scattered on my bed and even before then… my chunks of chocolate sanity didn’t say a single word back to me. Not even a single syllable of condolence. So I’m making sure I entire the ENTIRE THING. All by myself. Fuck sharing.


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