Hulk smash...
I know that I have a bit of a temper. When I get angry (which is rare, though my displays of annoyance might border on what some people consider angry), it's ugly. I throw things, slam doors, generally act like a three-year-old being forced to take a nap. It's been a while since I've had such a fit, but this morning just set me off.
It all began looking to be a darn good day. I've been awfully sleep-deprived of late, so I went to bed early last night, woke up with enough spare time to snooze a few times, had coffee and milk on hand for a proper wake-up, seems all good. I start in on said coffee and my usual morning routine, a little GMA (which I really watch for the sake of the local ABC traffic lady, she's kind of funny even if I don't really need to hear the traffic report in the morning), checking e-mail, and reading a few Post/NY Times articles. Well, my day got quite a bit brighter upon reading in a Post article that the Arctic Monkeys are playing at the 9:30 Club on March 27. My regular readers will surely remember my enthusiasm for these young lads, and I must say it's only grown since my original Shriek. Aside from Robbie Williams deciding to take a second stab at conquering the States (pretty please with a cherry on top?), there's very little else that I'd like to see more right now than the Arctic Monkeys live.
But alas, there is no joy in mudville. There is not now nor has there ever been a reference to this show on the 9:30 Club Web site (I check regularly and in fact bought a ticket from them through the site over the weekend and was at the club Monday night, so would've snatched up a ticket in a heartbeat had I known). Apparently, the tickets have been on sale through tickets.com and are sold out. This makes me seethe with anger.
But wait, there's more... Angry me proceeds to get ready, though on a slightly behind schedule timeline as one can't properly shower/get dressed while mad at the world, but it's cool because I've already got my outfit picked out. BIG time saver. I got these excellent pants at BCBG over the weekend, and they're going to look smashing with a black button down and some kickin' heels, I'll be all super-profesh for my meeting this evening about my new gig as community service chair for the DC Chapter of the W&L Alumni Association. I set up the iron so the shirt will look properly crisp and mildly regret not having it laundered. Shower, iron the shirt, rest of the way dressed, blow dry hair, go to put on shirt once it's had time to cool and as I'm ready to leave the house... THE M.F. SHRANK IN THE GOD DAMN WASH. It is too short. The bottom button hits at my belly button and the sleeves just look stupid. I have worn this thing once. ONCE. I washed it according to the instructions on the tag. I did not put it in the dryer.
I am now (both in the story and at this moment) borderline implosion-level angry. I don't have time to iron another shirt, already running late, and don't really have another option at this point, so I'm now wearing the too small shirt, feeling insanely uncomfortable and constantly reminded of why I'm so angry by the drafty sides of the fucking shirt since I can't fucking tuck it in. I think I have to go buy something else to wear at lunch, since this. Will. Not. Do.
Someone, anyone, please tell me a happy story. DMize, how about a bit more about naked Ronny Turiaf?
A mid-day update... my day just got a bunch better, I can pretend it's Monday night again!!
It all began looking to be a darn good day. I've been awfully sleep-deprived of late, so I went to bed early last night, woke up with enough spare time to snooze a few times, had coffee and milk on hand for a proper wake-up, seems all good. I start in on said coffee and my usual morning routine, a little GMA (which I really watch for the sake of the local ABC traffic lady, she's kind of funny even if I don't really need to hear the traffic report in the morning), checking e-mail, and reading a few Post/NY Times articles. Well, my day got quite a bit brighter upon reading in a Post article that the Arctic Monkeys are playing at the 9:30 Club on March 27. My regular readers will surely remember my enthusiasm for these young lads, and I must say it's only grown since my original Shriek. Aside from Robbie Williams deciding to take a second stab at conquering the States (pretty please with a cherry on top?), there's very little else that I'd like to see more right now than the Arctic Monkeys live.
But alas, there is no joy in mudville. There is not now nor has there ever been a reference to this show on the 9:30 Club Web site (I check regularly and in fact bought a ticket from them through the site over the weekend and was at the club Monday night, so would've snatched up a ticket in a heartbeat had I known). Apparently, the tickets have been on sale through tickets.com and are sold out. This makes me seethe with anger.
But wait, there's more... Angry me proceeds to get ready, though on a slightly behind schedule timeline as one can't properly shower/get dressed while mad at the world, but it's cool because I've already got my outfit picked out. BIG time saver. I got these excellent pants at BCBG over the weekend, and they're going to look smashing with a black button down and some kickin' heels, I'll be all super-profesh for my meeting this evening about my new gig as community service chair for the DC Chapter of the W&L Alumni Association. I set up the iron so the shirt will look properly crisp and mildly regret not having it laundered. Shower, iron the shirt, rest of the way dressed, blow dry hair, go to put on shirt once it's had time to cool and as I'm ready to leave the house... THE M.F. SHRANK IN THE GOD DAMN WASH. It is too short. The bottom button hits at my belly button and the sleeves just look stupid. I have worn this thing once. ONCE. I washed it according to the instructions on the tag. I did not put it in the dryer.
I am now (both in the story and at this moment) borderline implosion-level angry. I don't have time to iron another shirt, already running late, and don't really have another option at this point, so I'm now wearing the too small shirt, feeling insanely uncomfortable and constantly reminded of why I'm so angry by the drafty sides of the fucking shirt since I can't fucking tuck it in. I think I have to go buy something else to wear at lunch, since this. Will. Not. Do.
Someone, anyone, please tell me a happy story. DMize, how about a bit more about naked Ronny Turiaf?
A mid-day update... my day just got a bunch better, I can pretend it's Monday night again!!
posted by lunchbox at 10:11 AM
4 Comments:
OK so I'm waiting for Chris Mihm to come out of the trainers room, when the Zag comes over right next to me and goes to his locker. He starts to change into his warmups, then bam! naked and JACKED! Kerwick would have loved him.
Also short small shirts are hot.
God bless the NBA...
"Who thinks the NBA stands for No Brains Allowed?"
-- Anne Robinson
Sometimes lack of brains is a good thing.
Post a Comment
<< Home