Things Dan Wishes He Hadn't Done, Part Infinity

I wish I could say this is the first time he's made this mistake, but I would be lying. He's actually done it before.

It's been one of those weeks. I'm bitchy, bloated, crampy, achy, miserable, hormonal, whiny, unpredictable, and craving Peanut Butter Snickers (which they don't carry anywhere in this Godforsaken place. ANYWHERE).

Pretty much, between the Pity Parties and the Pissing All Over Everyone Else's Parade, I've been a busy girl this week.

Then this happened:

Unfortunately, when it happened? I wasn't prepared. So I sent Dan to the store with a very explicit list AND A PHOTOGRAPH of what I wanted him to get. Because, like I said: He has made some serious errors in this area before.

He not only had the instructions of what to purchase on a list, he also had in his possession a cell phone with an equally explicit text message.

I literally left no room for error.

To recap:

1. He had a list. An explicit list.

2. He had a photograph on his phone of what to purchase.

3. He had an equally explicit text message on his phone, which he had on his person and could use to call if he had any questions.

Kotex.

No freaking wings.

I hate wings.

No brand except Kotex.

In this case, I have serious brand loyalty. There will be no deviation.

Maxi pads.

Long.

No more, no less.

And yet? He came home with this:

In case you're wondering, yes... those are, indeed, bladder control pads. Potty pads for pissy old ladies. It says so right on the bag. The bag also does not have the word "Kotex" anywhere on it.

Even sadder, he has done this exact same thing before. Exact. Same. Thing.

AND he did it at the Big M, where my reputation is already questionable. Now I'm a crazy lady with horrible taste in ring tones who can't tell the difference between chicken and fish and who also pees her pants.

Worst of all, I think I accidentally married a dumbass.

Because really? There is no other explanation.

Sorry, honey. I still love you. But I'm going to keep sending you to the store to buy me Kotex UNTIL YOU GET IT RIGHT.

It's the only way you're going to learn.

Keeping it classy...

The landlords have been doing some outer maintenance on our side of the apartment building for the last two days.  Which is fine, not like they asked or care what I think, but hey... it's their building, right?  And I'm not complaining, but absolutely everything they're doing seems to involve them standing underneath one of the five windows we're currently paying rent on.  Sawing wood?  Under the bedroom window.  Painting Mr. Awesome's porch railing?  Under the other bedroom window.  Hammering stuff together?  Under the kitchen window.  Taking a lunch break?  Under the living room window.  Smoking their lips off?  Pick a window, any window.  


This has left me with the stress of keeping the dogs quiet, the tv turned down (like I want them to know I'm sitting in here watching back to back episodes of Maury that I DVR'd last week... embarrassing, right?  But so sad and so true), only flushing occasionally when I pee (they don't need to know I pee 15 times a day, either), talking quietly on the phone (I'm pretty sure they would be shocked and appalled by what generally constitutes a "conversation" in my life, not to mention how many different and creative ways I can use the word "douche"), and making as little noise as possible so as not to disturb them (God forbid I bother them with the fact that I live here and stuff).


I've been tip-toeing around, like a little mouse in it's house.  I've been so quiet, so peaceful, it's almost like I'm not here.  Javi and Maisy have been stuffed full of Pupperoni for all the not barking they've done, and we've been model apartment tenants for the past two days.  

Feeling pretty smug about all of the quietness I've accomplished, I turned on the tv after returning from the store this morning and decided to watch something intelligent (since basically all they heard coming out of my apartment yesterday was "You are.... NOT THE FATHER!" followed by, "It's gonna be a changing day in your life...").  I settled on Behind Mansion Walls (okay, not necessarily clever, but at least I learned something about the murderous habits of the rich and drug-addled).  I popped my popcorn, poured myself a diet Pepsi, and settled down for some sipping and munching while the landlords and their workers chilled beneath my livingroom window, smoking, gossiping,  and obviously taking a break.


So there I was, mid-munch, taking a giant slurp of my diet Pepsi, when suddenly, without any warning, one of those huge, almost painful, spontaneous backward burp/hiccup combos erupted out of my mouth.  


"HEEEEEEE-UUUUUPPPPPPPPPPPP!" said my esophagus, as if it were bidding at an auction where the auctioneer was extremely hard of hearing.


"WOOF!" said Maisy, falling off the couch and charging to the window, apparently intent on killing whatever beast had awakened her with such a hideous sound.


"YAP!" said Javi, who has no mind of his own and always barks when Maisy barks.


Dead silence thickened the atmosphere from below my living room window.  The chatting ceased, the cigarette smoke hung in mid-air as my hic-burp echoed through the window and down, down, down through the mountains, the prairies, to the oceans white with foam.


"What the fuck was that?" I heard one of the workmen ask.


Sounds of hushing ensued as they all fled from the window and back to work, obviously terrified of finding out what kind of dog (or sea lion) would emit such a heinous bark.


I think for an encore I should hang my ass out of the window and fart.  Seriously.


Want.  To.  DIE.

Adventures in Ambien, Part Infinity

I've been really good about ONLY taking Ambien if I haven't slept in 5646738756 days.  Basically, I take it about once a week and I'm very responsible about getting into bed as soon as I take it, so as not to have any head shaving, dog shaving, eating everything in sight mishaps.  (Or texting, phoning, messaging, emailing, Tweeting, FBing, etc.) 


(Read:  Dan is very responsible about getting me into bed as soon as I take it and keeping me off the phone and out of the fridge and away from the clippers.) 


I've been averaging 2-4 hours of sleep a night for the past week and yesterday I finally succumbed to a migraine and exhaustion and took an Ambien at about 8:00.  I meandered into the bedroom with the fan, and passed out face down on the bed and slept like the dead.  


Dan, being unusually thoughtful and considerate (and really glad that I went to bed early so he could channel-surf to his heart's content, which drives me 100% batshit crazy, and watch the Met's game without me sitting on the couch huffing and puffing and being bored), stayed up until about 10:30 then tip-toed into the bedroom without turning on any lights and apparently passed out next to me.


(Sidebar:  Speaking of channel surfing:  THIS DRIVES ME NUTS.  NUTS.  NUTS, I TELL YOU.  Dan cannot sit and watch ONE PROGRAM.  He watches ALLLLL of them at the same time.  I seriously CAN'T STAND IT.  And while he's watching umpteen shows, he's also constantly scanning the guide to see if he's missing anything.  I'm all, "PICK A SHOW!  OH MY GOD!  JUST PICK ONE AND WATCH IT!"  And he's all, "Why does this bother you?"  GAHHHHH!)


I woke up at 2:30, so hot and sweaty that there was literally a puddle between my boobs.  (Sexy, right?)  I got up, peed, pondered briefly on why it was cooler in the rest of the house than in our bedroom, and went back to bed, pausing briefly in front of the fan to air dry myself.


Ugh.  Hot hot hot.  No air.  Miserable. I kicked off the sheet, flopped around a few times, accidentally knocked Javi off of the bed and elbowed Dan while I was flailing around trying to find a cool breeze.  Dan woke up, got up, peed like a race horse (that needed to be said because seriously... WHY DO MEN PEE SO LOUDLY????)  and came back to bed, muttering something about it being too fucking hot to sleep.


Eight seconds later he re-commenced snoring and I drifted back off.


At 4:30 I was awake again,  sweating like a cold drink on a hot day.  I got back up, peed again (I mean, I was awake, so why not?  It's kind of my M.O.  If I wake up, I pee.  Period) and once again stood in front of the fan for a few minutes to cool off and air dry.


Plopped back into bed, trying to figure out why the fan wasn't putting off enough of a breeze to cool us off from less than 5 feet away.


Cursed the fan.


Cursed the heat.


Cursed the bloody Empire State.


Cursed the bloody Empire.


Cursed.


Sweated.


Fell back asleep.


When we got up this morning we bitched and moaned about how miserably hot we were last night, how little Dan slept due to the heat (apparently he snores while he's awake and annoyed about not sleeping), and how we apparently need a new fan because this one?  Ain't workin'.


Dan went to work and I went back into the bedroom to grab the fan to bring it out to the livingroom.


Hmmmm.


Something doesn't seem... right.


*Lightbulb moment*


Apparently, in my Ambien fog, when I hauled the fan into the bedroom last night and set it up, I pointed it TOWARDS THE WINDOW, so it was blowing air OUT of the bedroom.  Every time I got up and cooled myself off in front of it, I was standing between the window and the fan.


Oh my freaking DUH.


Guess what Dan isn't going to hear about this evening...