hormonal hungry hippo

It's been a long day. While nothing bad or worthy of distress actually happened, I've cried more times than I can count. But here, for the hell of it and because Wheel of Fortune college week bores me, I'll try.

Episode #1. 8am. Breakfast table. George jumped into my lap. He rubbed his little kitty face up to my chin, and I burst into tears. I don't know if it was the pure, unfiltered look kitty adoration in his eyes that got me...or the realization that he's just left the litter box and probably had crap on his feet.

Episode #2. 9am. Shower. I'm all soapy and warm when I realize there's not ONE towel in the bathroom. I'd hauled each and every dirty towel down to the washer an hour earlier (and by each and every dirty towel...I mean our entire towel stock. I'm a bit behind on laundry.) I'm nakey and wet and have no towel. Tears flow. I haven't vacuumed in days, so rolling around on the carpet isn't appealing. My sweatpants worked in a pinch.

Episode #3. 3:30pm. Wallyworld. Some mental midget was hangin' outside the store, greasy mullet blowing in the wind, likely waiting for his ball and chain to come out with his Natty Lite and nudie magazines- it's pay day, folks. Smoking away. Beside his FREAKING NEWBORN BABY. The poor bambino (who looked to be all of a week or two old) sat innocently in her infant seat, stacked precariously atop the Walmart cart, while Father of the Year puffed away. The wind was positioned just right to waft the second hand smoke right into her tiny little defenseless face. I bit my tongue and kept walking as tears sprung at my eyes. Not my baby, and certainly people do FAR worse, but it made me sad. Made me pissed as hell that people like him have kiddos while so many more worthy people don't. And also made me wonder how harshly, exactly, the state of Texas punishes kidnappers. I sat in my car and cried for a few minutes, then left before I stole a baby.

Episode #4. 4pm. The big kahuna. When I came home from lunch, a large box was waiting. This, I knew, was the bridesmaid dress I'd ordered for my cousin's wedding. The one that's in 5 weeks. The dress I had to get into a screaming match with the bridal store over in order to get it in time for alterations. The dress I purposely ordered a whopping 4 sizes up from normal, thinking I'd have enough fabric left over to fashion a jacket, purse, headband and some leggings. Maybe even a boutenairre for J. I dash inside, rip open the box, and think...hmm...looks small. Up in my room, I realized the dress was HOPELESS. Wouldn't zip over my bum, squeezed me in all the wrong places, basically looked like something I'd stolen from a kindergartner. MAJOR, HEAVING SOBS. The wedding's in 5 weeks! My cousin doesn't need this stress! I'm so faaaaaaat! $200 in the toilet! No dress for the wedding IN 5 WEEKS! I called mom and all that came out was "waaaaaaaaahhhh!!!!" which of course, scared the daylights out of poor mom. Imagine her relief upon finding out it was a stupid dress inducing the hysteria. (Update: found new dress, spoke to designer's rep, will be here by May 16. Halle-freakin-lujia. Even better, because I was STILL crying like a lunatic when I called about the dress, they dropped the standard $75 "mega super crazy rush" charge.)

Episode #5. 10 minutes ago. My DVR is broke and is forcing me to choose between Grey's, The Office, and CSI. How unfair is life? My remote broke too, so my night's pretty much shot.

Yeah, I realize life is pretty good when my litany of complaints includes a misfunctoning DVR box. But, too bad. It's my blog, and I'll cry if I want to.