soapboxdiner

Oh God, does this entry ever end?

Tonight marked (failed) attempt #2 on SBD's Home Highlight & Dye Night (tm). Much sadness had, but Lo - SBD was had Good Neighbor over instead - and proceeded to watch Good Neighbor take vaccuum in hand as she began cleaning my carpet of all the molting parakeet down that dusted the rug (and the book cases, and under the book cases and on the entertainment center too). But in my defense, the rug had, in fact, been vaccuumed Sunday. I cannot be held responsible for my birds' spastic balding tendencies).

Anyways, so once a vaccuum comes out and someone who does not live in your home begins cleaning, there are only two courses of action one can rightfully take:

1. Sit down with a beer and instruct said person on which area of the rug they missed...

or

2. Hand them a beer and tell them to relax as you finish.

Of course, being the sucker I am, I choose #2. Only it didn't stop there, the stupid, stupid humanity of it all. No, I had to go and start folding that last load of laundry on top of the dryer. And as if I hadn't learned my lesson there, I decided that the bedroom floor was teetering dangerously close to nasty as well, what with a 2-year-old toddler deciding dinner was taking all together too damned long and sneaking off to the room with some Pringles and a lollipop. Funny how smart the little hellions are though, toddlers. Upon being caught with the Pringles, she hid the evidence and deny deny denied that she'd taken them, only to surreptiously toddle off to Steven's toy cubby to mash the baked vegetable byproducts into a fine, salty dust, which she then blew back into the recesses of the cubby as far as her little toddler breath could blow them. Then she hid the container/evidence (open and upside down) under the dresser, bless her sweet little toddler heart - which says nothing about where I found the half gnawed and salivated upon hard candy stick of the lollipop.

Lord knows I was pleased as all get out at my good fortune at getting to clean another mess.

By that time, Steven had two breakdowns and a migraine from "the stess like cancer, mommy" and we'd both missed dinner that Good Neighbor carefully prepared on the George in the kitchen.

Fourty minutes later the cancer was cured and dinner was cleared from the table, just in time for the GN and I to look at each other and say, "Well, the food is done, the housework is done, the kids are done... ready for yoga? Um, yeah - no. Me neither." And with that, yoga was canceled and we all went home.

p.s. Were you aware that yoga = 24 hours of freaking ow. What the hell was I thinking, doing proud warrior like I insane woman? Even if inverted relaxation pose rocks me (like a baby)? Glutton, I am.

So... How about another installment of Wacky Conversations Held at Work? Yes. So, today there was this patient who came in to pick up some of his materials to take with him on his 2nd opinion appointment, right? And there I was, chatting away about the lovely weather we'd been having when I foolishly asked him about his weekend, bearing in mind that this was a retired military man and professional gentleman. I figured we'd discuss his round of golf or his taking the little wife out on the yacht for the first time of the season. And then he replied, "Oh, I just headed down to Gold's and did a five mile run. I was going to go longer, but this cancer..."

How's that for awkward segways? So I congratulated his fitness... and commisserated (though commisseration can hardly define the upbeat and excited nature of the conversation) on all things running and biking and aerobics (what? Sweating To The Oldies is too aerobic, Mr. Self-Appointed Rigid Definition of Exercise Guru.) And here is where it gets funny.

So the man was relating how in his younger days he happened upon a book that changed his life: Fit or Fat. Apparently, the man was so transformed by the book after it helped him lose his Travel Vacation to the Orient fiver, that he went out and purchased and distributed copies to all his fat friends!

Oh, and - what's your name, honey? You should get yourself a copy, too.

Um, yeah. Remember whose care your prostate is currently in, bucko. Always good advice.

And lastly for the evening, might I share tonight's second regular installment of SBD Goes Passive-Aggressive and Likes It?

So, upon walking into work this morning, who did I happen upon but The Girl and Her Friend. Only, after taking note of them walking in, I took extra care to fiddle around in the car for a couple extra seconds in order to avoid them. But wait, that's not the P/A part, oh no. After my doddling, I was quite dismayed to arrive at the time clock only to see The Girl and Her Friend lolly-gagging in front of the clock. And this is where my chest swells with the pride in being able to call myself SBD: Her Royal Majesty, Queen Passive-Aggressive, Duchess of Seething Putridity and Confrontation Avoidance By Way of Distainful Eyeball Aversion.

Yes, I walked up, fished my badge from the mirky depths of my purse, shouldered The Girl out of my way, and swiped my card. Then I turned around and walked to the office without once acknowledging their presence.

Ah, good to be an adult, darlings. Good to be an adult. But I figure, I missed my high school commencement, I skipped my reunion - what better time to exercise my right to play the haughty head cheerleader than now - today - clocking in to work?

Ever so proud almost describes it.

Interestingly, The Girl came by the office two times today, where I again exuded my privilege as Her Royal Majesty, Queen Passive-Aggressive, Duchess of Seething Putridity and Confrontation Avoidance By Way of Distainful Eyeball Aversion. Only, I cheated and snuck peripheral peeks and she was definitely looking at me with the question "What'd I do?" plastered all over her smug "I'm the Dumper, you're the Dumpee" pug face. Ha haha ha ha HA! Yeah. Back atcha beotch, only better.

It is my steadfast hope that I made Ethel proud. My diss may not be as good as her diss, but a diss is a diss, I say. And given my title as Her Royal Majesty, Queen Passive-Aggressive, Duchess of Seething Putridity and Confrontation Avoidance By Way of Distainful Eyeball Aversion, I think more practice will be necessary to hone the fine, barbed point of such perfect dissing. And really, what better opportunity to practice my skillz than over some year-past-expiration trivial and irrelevant happening that bears no meaningful significance in either of our respective and mutually exclusive lives?

Right. That's what I'm saying.

10:56 pm - 04.06.04
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