So Unpopular

Someone just unsubscribed from my blog?! What the…?! Honestly. I just received an email that was all, “Hey, you suck. So someone has just totally unsubscribed from your blog. Yeah. That’s right, loser. Just so you know.” Except not in those exact words. Mostly, just in words like, “Unsubscribe notice: [insert email address here] has unsubscribed from Desperate Working Momma. Loser.” For real! Except for the “loser” part. But whatever, I understand the subtle nuance of the unsubscribe notice. I’m no fool. Truth.

Honestly. Unbelievable. Such a shock! I mean, truth be told, I had no idea anyone was still SUBSCRIBED to my blog.

Imagine my surprise, yo?

Sunshine Day!

You know those days? You know… the awesome days? The sunshiney days Greg, Marsha, and the rest of the Brady gang memorialized in song? The days in which everything seems to go your way? Like, you wake up early enough to eat breakfast before leaving for work, so you start the day with a healthy meal and absolutely NOT vending machine Pop Tarts and a Diet Coke? Because, ew? And people are super pleasant on the train and don’t glare at you and get all huffy when you—totally by accident!—poke them with your extra long knitting needles which perhaps you aren’t entirely comfortable with yet and may be wielding a bit haphazardly? PERHAPS? And you remember to clip on your PIV card and your many building swipe cards and security badges before you head to a different floor to hand-deliver a report? And you don’t get all stuck and panicky in the stairwell until you remember that if you run all the way down to the lobby you may be able to catch the elevator back to your floor with someone who did NOT forget said security cards and whatnot? And you can get back to your desk any time you want, and do not find yourself outside the office door knocking on the glass until someone—who all the while is obviously judging you for being so careless—comes by to let you in? And you absolutely can’t wait to see what else such an awesome day will bring you, and you DON’T want to crawl into a hole with your Diet Coke and Pop Tarts until the angry, entirely NOT awesome day just goes AWAY? You know? Those days?

Today is so not one of those days.

I’m right… once in a blue moon.

Happiness is spending the better part of an evening arguing with TGIM about whether 2010 is REALLY the start of a new decade, or if it begins NEXT year.

I maintain that 2010 does indeed usher in the start of a new decade and that TGIM and Wikipedia can suck it.

(Hey. We don’t have cable, so we have to make our own fun.)

Wondering

Sometimes I wonder weird things.

Like, why do morning commuters who ate curry for breakfast gravitate towards ME on the train? Or, how can Uggs be so very VERY comfy—like foot pillows! fluffy foot clouds of pillowy… ness!—yet so very VERY ugly? You know, at the same time? Or why can’t knitters and crocheters get along? Honestly. I’m like, hey, what’s with all the hate? Why not try both skills? Be bicraftual! Or throw in quilting or weaving or something and go polycraftual. Just saying.

And lately, I’ve been wondering about the origins of silly children’s games. Like “Heads up, seven up.” Oh! And “Red Rover.” This particular wonder probably stems from an experience I had driving with TGIM the other day. There we were, driving along—well, TGIM was driving; I was trying not to side-seat drive because it is ANNOYING, apparently—when suddenly, a flock of waterfowl decided they needed to run—no, waddle—across the road right then—on foot! or web-foot! whatever!—directly in front of our oncoming vehicle.

Several things occurred to me at once. One, birds are stupid. Because, WINGS? Two, it is SUPER difficult to refrain from side-seat driving. And three, I need to get over my compulsive need to correct myself. It inevitably makes me appear foolish, not to even mention that it makes text-messaging somewhat tedious. Which sort of defeats the whole purpose of texting, I am told.

Whatever. I digress.

With extraordinary willpower I refrained from throwing my arms out to brace for impact while shrieking girlishly. Instead, I helpfully pointed out the front window at the birds and shouted to TGIM, “Duck!… Duck!… GOOSE!”

Because it occurred to me as we were about to hit the stupid waterfowl and maybe crash and/or die, or at the very least, be stuck scrubbing feathers and blood and goo off the grill of our car, that hey, those weren’t ducks at all! Gosh, no! Those were geese! Duh!

TGIM slowed quickly and laid on the horn, at which point the geese apparently remembered that they did indeed have wings. And could fly. OVER the oncoming cars. So no splat, which I’d put down under “Good.”

I sat silently, hoping that in the heat of the moment, perhaps TGIM didn’t notice. Please, please, please…

Yeah, right.

“Duck, duck, goose?” he asked, throwing an amused sideways glance my way.

“Well, they weren’t ducks,” I started defensively, “they were clearly geese, so…” but it was no use. TGIM snorted, then chuckled, and then we both dissolved into laughter.

Of course, while I was laughing at the funny coincidence (not to mention the sudden onset of nostalgia for a favorite childhood game) brought about by my compulsive correcting, TGIM was totally laughing at ME, which, how rude, right?

AND now I’m wondering why I didn’t sock TGIM in the nose when he decided to share the story, ad nauseam, with everyone we know.

Fantastic. Now I’m going to be stuck with serious thoughts all day.

Stupid geese.

Offensive Driving

So I totally had one of those crazy TV moments again yesterday. It was so silly, really. I mean, no one ASKED TGIM to jump behind my little Miata to pound his fist on the trunk and screech like– well, I’ll just say it– a freaking INSANE person about the lawn and how I was sort of maybe tearing up one teensy tiny SUPER little spot or some nonsense… but I suppose I should back up.

Heh. Back up. Heh heh. Hee.

Ahem.

See, we have this long, steep and windy, ridiculous driveway. So there you go. Oh, you need more? Well, only one car fits in the carport, so we have to park single file. SINGLE FILE. I know, in this day and age! So sometimes– at the buttcrack o’ dawn, mind you– I need to back one car down the driveway so TGIM can take the other car to work. Aaaaand now I’m thinking “Back it up like a dump truck, baby!”, thanks a lot, GLEE! Damn Quinn Fabray and her Power Motto!

But I digress.

So, I have to back a car down the driveway. It takes half a mo, and is thusly absolutely no big deal. Me backing the car down, that is. Except sometimes it is because I am BUSY. Doing morning stuff. But whatever, because I am an awesome driver. And it’s usually just my cute little Miata, which I am super stellar at driving, thanks to all the mad maneuvering skillz I learned during those four years of navigating the Capital Beltway. So, I’m an awesome driver, that’s all I’m saying. A little aggressive sometimes, sure, but that’s called offensive driving! No, that can’t be right. I’m not a defensive driver, so… whatever the opposite is, that’s what I am. Not that TGIM would ever admit it. Because he is a guy and I am not and only men can be awesome aggressive drivers because it’s a GUY thing and I am simply reckless, apparently. Which is a LIE.

Are we clear?

So whatever. I may have a little bit of a chip on my shoulder when it comes to driving around TGIM. So, yesterday morning, when he had to leave and I was all, “I am BUSY! Doing morning stuff!” he went out, jumped in the Miata, and instead of backing all the way down the driveway, he backed just a short distance and a little off to the side, onto our grass. His big plan was to maneuver past the Miata in the Sequoia, then pull the Miata back into the carport for me.

Naturally, as I watched him doing this, I had guilt. Because maybe I wasn’t all that busy, okay? But I mentioned it was morning, right? Buttcrack o’ dawn, and whatnot? Don’t judge.

So I ran out to the still-running Miata, put ‘er in gear, let out the clutch, and… nothing. I mentioned the steep and windy ridiculousness of the driveway, didn’t I? So I wasn’t TOO worried that I seemed to be spinning my wheels but going no where. Which is redundant. I see that now. See, as I already mentioned, TGIM had parked half the car on the lawn, which happened to be covered with morning dew. But, as also previously mentioned, I am AWESOME. At the driving thing! And since my daddy taught me how to pull out of a dead stop on gravel hills in a manual transmission with minimal rollage, I was NOT going to let a small thing like wet grass under my rear wheel stop me from showing TGIM– who was watching from the other car– that I could DO THIS, thank you very much.

So, steep hill plus wet grass plus Cat with chip on shoulder apparently equals Bad. Because as I eased off the clutch– and nothing!– I may have instinctively gunned it a little, you know, to rip up the grass a bit and find some purchase underneath it. Which was a super good plan and was totally WORKING– vrOOOm… vrOOM!– until I heard yelling and felt someone pounding on the trunk of my car.

What the…?!

I ask you: What person, in his or her right mind, would run up behind ME, whilst I am totally busy rocking the clutch and showing the neighborhood how to get ‘er done?! VROOOM!

Well, TGIM will. Yup.

I stopped the car, pulled the emergency brake, opened my door to see what the HELL was going on, and THAT is when I totally had one of those TV moments. (Hoo boy! I bet you thought I’d never get here, eh? Is anyone still reading? Hello?) There stood TGIM, arms spread wide in an Oh-No-You-DI’NT gesture, looking alternately from me to his suit, which was plastered in wet grass, sod, a little mud, and other lawn bits. It was classic slapstick comedy– you know, something you see on TV or in a movie and laugh at but think could never ACTUALLY happen– but with very real, and no doubt costly, dry-cleaning repercussions.

I was horrified! So, naturally I started to giggle.

Then, “What are you DOING?!” TGIM asked. Not nicely either, which RUDE.

“What are YOU doing?!” was my obvious reply.

“You were tearing up the LAWN!”

I was all, “Um, yeah, but what were you thinking?! I’m driving here! I totally HAD this! You don’t just run up behind someone’s car while they are DRIVING and pound on the trunk! Because of a tiny strip of grass! GRASS! That’s craziness! You’re crazy!”

“But… you were tearing up the LAWN!” At my blank look, he added, “Why didn’t you just let the car roll a foot or two so the back wheel would be back on the pavement?”

I glanced back at our steep and windy ridiculous driveway, then back at TGIM. “Oh,” I replied. “That could work.”

And it did.

As we walked toward the house, me to finish getting ready and TGIM to change and rinse the lawn from his face, I had a sudden thought. “Hey… Maybe those crazy TV show moments really ARE set in reality.”

We were both laughing as we walked into the house.

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