In Which I Gripe, Grouse and Complain

8 days of false labor.  8 days of contractions holding steady at 8 minutes apart.  I’m starting to lose my ever-loving mind here, and have just become a tad bit mean.  I have a few things I need to say out loud, and when I do I feel so guilty for being crabby over such minor things and want to donate money to charity to make up for my bad attitude….or go shoe shopping to cheer myself up.

Here’s my list of complaints from today:

• To the guy in the car with the loud stereo – I don’t want to listen to your music.  If I did, I’d play it on my own radio.  It shakes my car, wakes up the two year old, and drowns out talk radio.  TURN IT DOWN!  Also, no matter how loudly you sing it, nobody wants to “lick you like a lollypop.”
• I hate overpasses.  Dallas has huge looping ones that cross over each other and look like spaghetti noodles in a bowl.  They lean and turn sharply like roller coasters.  I HATE THEM. They completely freak me out.  I have to turn the AC on at full blast to keep my hands from sweating as I drive over them.  The whole time I chant my mantra, “I hate this. I hate this.  I hate this.” until I get back down to ground level.  The other day, while we were at the top of the scariest one we drive over, my teenager said, “If there were an earthquake right now, we’d all just go tumbling over the edge with nothing to stop us.”  Some people need to learn when to shut up.
• My GPS likes to make up routes from time to time.  She just toys with me.  I swear that one day I will open the window and fling it out, but then I’ll probably get a ticket for littering.  Today she took me off and on the same highway 4 times.  If it wants me to drive on Highway 121 for 14 miles, can she just say that?  I don’t need the help to keep the drive interesting.  I already have the twisty overpasses of death to worry about.
• I’d like to tell that snotty GPS to take her “Recalculating” and shove it wherever a GPS could put it.  I tried it she doesn’t listen.  I need a glass of wine, a stiff drink or a hammer for the GPS.
• I ordered a large black coffee at Starbucks today and the snotty barista retorted “Do you mean a venti fresh brew?”  No.  I mean a large black coffee, and are you still a barista if you’re a dude?
• To the kid at the gas station where I stopped to pee this afternoon – Yes, I’m huge, waddle, and look like I’m about to explode.  Your horrified facial expression when you asked “You’re not going to have that baby in here, are you?” was not the highlight of my day.
• I’m officially tired of peeing.  Several times today I went to the bathroom, emptied my bladder, waddled back to the couch and sat down only to have to immediately get up and go again.”  My mom told me, “Oh good! That means the baby is really low!”  Really?  Who knew?  I thought that the bowling ball between my thighs feeling was the big tip off.  At this point, a fitting epitaph on my headstone would read “Hang on a minute. I’ll be right back.  I had to pee.”
• As much as I hate stores playing Christmas carols before Thanksgiving is over, I love the song Silver Bells and was happily singing along until the announcer lady at T.arget cut in to say something or other and I missed the end of the song.  It was stuck in my head and driving me crazy all morning until it got replaced by the phrase “lick me like a lollypop” set to a booming bass.  Thank you both for driving me slowly insane.

Speaking of which….I’m headed there now.  Thank you for listening.  The kids’ Oma has told me that “Ladies don’t fart.  If they don’t b*tch every now and then to let off pressure, their heads will explode.”  So you see?  I needed this.  It was a life-saving measure.

Feel free to chime in.  Add whatever is bugging you to the com box.  For some reason other peoples’ petty gripes are funny to me, and I could use the distractions.