Random Sunday: The Cranky Edition
People are thwarting me. I understand that they think it's for my own good. In fact, it probably is for my own good, they're probably right. I fail to see what that has to do with the fact that I WANT something. So today's Sunday is Cranky.
Alastair reached in the fridge and gave Lani a Diet Coke. "I love you," she said. "I love you," he said. "Jesus Christ, do you have to do that in front of me?" I said. "Haven't you developed immunity yet?" Alastair said. He's missing the point. If she has just insisted that he stay in bed because he's sick and then waited on him hand and foot, "I love you" is allowable. If he rescues her from a speeding train and they fall into each other's arms, the "I love you" is understandable. If he gets her a Diet Coke, "I love you" is icky. Because this week, I am Cranky.
My daughter was trying to explain to me that looking for a house to buy is a long process. I said, "I've bought four houses and you've bought one, and you're telling me how to do it?" That was wrong of me, she was trying to help and encourage me. But this week, I am Cranky.
Most of the dogs are pretty well-behaved or at least know that "No" means "try that again and the wrath of the Pack Leader will descend on you in all its fury." But Lyle, who's been spoiled rotten for five months because of his imminent death, lost that bit of knowledge, so when I opened up the door and said, "No," meaning, "do not dash through this door at any cost," he dashed. I yelled so loud he tried to crawl under the bean bag. He's doing pretty good with "No" now. I'd feel sorry for him because he probably only has days left (or at this rate, years), but this week I am Cranky.
Lani and Alastair and the kids came back from the Y, rained out. Lani said, "Who knew?" I said, "Anybody who looked at AccuWeather; it's going to pour here for three days." She said, "I'm going to get you a T-shirt that says, 'It's your own damn fault.'" She's already planning on getting us matching T-shirts; mine will say, "I'm not mean, you're just a sissy," and hers will say, "I'm not sensitive, you're just an asshole." Sometimes we are both Cranky.
I have a new laser printer (because my old workhorse HP that I LOVE refuses to talk to my laptop) and I tried to register the damn thing and kept getting error messages. Because all the letters have to be in caps. And the thing I thought was an O was a 0 (oh and zero). Then it wanted the date I bought it, but I didn't know the day, so I put in month and year. Incomplete. So I made up a day. Not according to format. What format, there's no format on the site. So here's my point for Brother: if you're so damn desperate to have me register, why are you being such a putz about it? Also, no I do not want to get updates from you. I've had it with you. And not just because this week I am Cranky. OTOH, it's a nice printer.
And then there's Word. When I open it, it insists on giving me a window to help me choose the kind of document I want. If I hit cancel, it gives me a document anyway. Microsoft: More controlling than my mother.
I had more, but then I saw these pictures on Gawker and wept like a baby, "ugly crying" as Matt Cherette says, and now all the cranky is gone. I heart New York and its very smart courts. Congratulations to everybody there who can finally marry the people they love! I'd say more, but the pictures do it better and I have to cry some more. God, I love a happy ending.
