Friday, June 3, 2011

The Train to Bitchland....

I have been cranky for the past few days.

Was it the heat? Hormones? Could it be the fact that there are only reruns on television? Or that middle age doesn't seem to be treating Keanu Reeves as well as both he and I had hoped?
What did you say about me?

Whatever it is, there are two sure signs that I am heading toward Bitchland.

Sure Sign #1: I am mean to telemarketers.

Yes, I know you are trying to make a living, feed your family and pay the rent. 

But when I run up stairs or down stairs searching for the portable (or stumble from the bathroom, hurl Buzzy to the floor, interrupt a meal or, God forbid, a nap) because the ringing phone might be one of the boys with a question about the meaning of life, and it's you wanting money for the local PBA (yet you speak with a heavy accent not indigenous to local and, when asked, don't want to admit your location) or to chat about my banking habits or cleaning my chimney, I really want to scream at you.

I normally don't....but lately, I have been less than cordial. Today, I may have raised my voice a bit and used that awful word.

Yes, that one. Twice.

Sure Sign #2: I temporarily stop recycling.

Even though I suspect the recyclables we carefully separate all go into the same giant pile and are dropped into the ocean with the rest of the garbage where it will strangle thousands of baby seals, I dutifully follow the rules.

When I am riding the express train to Bitchland, however, I tend to toss everything into the garbage with a perverse and demented pleasure plus an attitude that says to the earth, "Fend for yourself, planet. You're on your own!"

You heard me, Al Gore, you smart ass. 

And tomorrow, as usual, I will receive my daily call from Mike Huckabee. It's a recorded voice and therefore, doesn't hear me shout that awful word again. But the neighbors will.

I will snap at the caller who wants to discuss AT&T's U-Verse despite my insistence that it's not yet available in my area, and I will toss my Diet Coke cans into the garbage with a flick of my wrist.
"She keeps hanging up on me!"

I hope I feel less cranky soon...for the sake of the planet. And telemarketers.

And you, Mike Huckabee because it suddenly occurred to me that maybe it really is you because you want to ask my opinion about whether you should run for the presidency again in 2012. 

The answer to that is no. Unless you are interested in having a moody blogger as a running that case, let's talk.


  1. Just testing to see if wordpress will allow me to leave a comment x

  2. Don't worry, we all get bitchy. I usually direct my anger at other drivers on my hour long commute to work in downtown Dallas. If they would just move at an appropriate rate of speed, and NOT swerve into my lane whilst texting, everything would be fine and nobody would get to see my "Angry Finger."

  3. I tend to jump on the Bitch Bandwagon a bit too frequently, but try and make sure not to hit "publish" or "send" until the coast is clear. Well, clearer, as it never really goes away.

    Anyway, I had to laugh because I do the same thing when this happens. I find myself not caring that I spit my gum out on the street instead of throwing it away or I'll toss junk mail in the trash instead of the recycle bag. It's like my own personal rebellion or something.

    At least I don't club baby seals, so that's something.

  4. Cat, I don't show my "angy finger" as often as I'd like becasue I fear people will show me their "angry gun." I do still flash it at old ladies, though.

  5. Glad to see I'm not alone in my rebellion...although that does make me worry more for the earth, though.

    Tough nuggies, earth (that remark indicates I'm still feeling bitchy).