Mr. Anonymous continues his reign of crabbiness... Last night during the whole commenting system-switching process, some comments that had never made it through Echo were imported into Disqus. One of them was what can only be described as an essay from Mr. Anonymous, the commenter I referred to in Monday's Take a Memo post. I read just enough of it to know that I didn't need to read the rest. It was more of the same--you're a horrible, bitchy person; if you don't want people to comment, don't allow comments; blah, blah, blah. I knew that if I read the whole thing, I would end up in the same bad mood I was in Sunday and Monday so I just hit delete.But what the hell? What's wrong with people these days that they have nothing better to do but to go onto a person's blog and write an entire essay about how much they think that blogger sucks? If he had bothered to read my previous responses to his comments, he would have known that I had no problem with his original comment. I had a problem with his second comment, which wasn't a comment at all. His second comment was him cutting and pasting my disclosure policy into the comment box and hitting send. To me, copying any content from a person's blog, disclosure policy or otherwise, pasting that content into the comment section, and then posting the content without responding to it in anyway is not a comment. It is spam, which is what I told him. I wasn't even snarky until he called me snarky in one of his deleted replies (they made it through to Blogger, even though they didn't show up on Echo). Just the same, does snarkiness really require an essay response?
What the hell? There's enough bad things going on in the world right now to get wound up about. The earthquake in Haiti. What happened to Baby Gabriel. Global warming. The recession. Heidi Montag's quest to become a plastic doll. Kate Gosselin getting another TV show. A random blogger's perceived snarkiness is not one of them.
Where did all the oatmeal go?... In yesterday's post, I mentioned that I haven't been sleeping well at night because the gas heat in my house is making my skin so dry that I scratch all night long. I finally grew tired of mimicking a dog with fleas and set out to buy some much needed Aveeno yesterday afternoon. I went to three stores before I finally found a bottle that was (a) actually on the shelf, (b) not out of date, and (c) not over $10. What the hell? Was there some huge Aveeno sale the week before and I missed it? Why has everyone jacked up the price? I'm sorry, but pushing the price of a bottle of oatmeal-infused lotion to $10 or more in winter when people need it the most is price gouging, plain and simple, and ought to be illegal. I have half a mind to write my senator about it, whoever the heck that is. He's probably the one with all the oatmeal.
My unkissable lips... My lips won't stop peeling. I have tried pretty much every chapstick on the market--Chapstick brand, Blistek, Burt Bees, Neosporin, Carmex, you name it--and nothing works. My lips still look like what I imagine a person's lips would look like after three days in the desert. What the hell? If they peel anymore, they may very well peel completely off my face. Then I 'm going to have to go to the dollar store, buy a pack of Silly Putty, sculpt a pair of lips out of it, and super glue them to my face. Won't that be fun?
Who wants Clean House?... In case you thought I was making the whole hoarding thing up in regards to my grandmother, I took pictures. Sorry that they're so dark, but she had very few lamps with working lightbulbs. Keep in mind, too, that these pictures are the cleaned up version of her house. It was far worse before my sister got her boxes out.
Here are pics of her bedroom:
Of her guest room (the only guests are her clothes):
Of the formal living room (not much formal about it now):
Of the kitchen:
Of the storage room in the den (she's taking the storage part way too literally):
Now I know it's not full blown, crazy-lady-with-all-the-newspapers-and-cats just yet, but still, what the hell? Who thinks that's normal, let alone clean? Miss Niecy and Trish the Yard Sale Diva would have a stroke. I tried to give my grandmother the whole Clean House/Hoarders lecture over Christmas--you'll still have the memories without having all the items--but she wasn't having any of it. Instead, she just got pissed and said, "Fine, I'll just have your father pull his trailer up to the backdoor and throw all my furniture away." Is that what I said for her to do? No. I just told her she needed to get rid of clothes from 1982.
And who wants What Not to Wear?... Speaking of clothes from 1982, did I tell you that she woke me up from a much-needed nap over the holidays to make me retrieve two containers from that trailer that my sister had deemed trash? She went on and on about how the containers contained her precious gardening tools and fertilizer and how my father and sister were just throwing away all her stuff. Guess what was in those containers. Not garden tools. About five pairs of Reeboks from 1982 that were soaked in liquid fertilizer. Do you think she had me put them back on the trailer? No. She left them on the back porch. What the hell? She's never going to garden; that would require her to either wake up or put down the cigarettes for five minutes. Even if hell freezes over and pigs fly tomorrow, she is still not going to be doing it in those shoes. With all those chemicals, she's likely to grow a couple of extra toes so why does she have to keep them?
Don't forget From Underdog to Wonderdog... The fleas are finally gone. You'd think I would at least get one week where I didn't have to worry about the dogs' skin but no. Bella has been doing the butt scoot for the last few days like the anal polyp is coming back, and Bailey had some black, scabby place on his back. What the hell? Can the canine skin gods just give me a break already?
At least they like me again... Yesterday I said the dogs were keeping their distance from me at night. Who knew all it took to get my dogs to like me again was to do situps? I tried to do some last night, and all of a sudden I got a face full of fur. They were licking me. They were sitting on my stomach. They were flipping on their backs, as if they wanted to do situps with me. What the hell? I give them bones, and they ignore me. I lay on the floor and grunt, and suddenly I'm their favorite person again. I give up.
To read other bloggers' What the Hell moments, be sure to check out today's post at Blue Monkey Butt.
