Getting glad in the same pants I got mad in

My grandmother, my mom's mom, had a way of getting to the meat of the matter, summing up a situation in a simple statement.

One of her favorites was, "Well, she'll just have to get glad in the same pants she got mad in." Translation: she needs to turn that attitude around immediately, today, not tomorrow.

And maybe I need to heed that advice. I'm grumpy. It's not that I don't have just cause, it's just that being cranky will get me nowhere and fast.

You see. . .

-The weather has given me a sinus headache from heck;

-Our plumbing has gone awry yet again, we have wet towels wrapped around our commode and the mere thought is making me sick at my stomach;

-Our cats are digging as if they have a chip bearing coordinates to a gold mind beneath their skin;

-My stomach hurts 24/7 now and my doctor is crazy;

-Drew Carey is going to host "The Price is Right" and I feel certain he won't be reminding us to spay and neuter our pets;

-I am forced to resort to seeking out guest appearances on other shows by the actors on Veronica Mars;

-I had seven inches cut off my hair and I am certain that my hair needs to be either shorter or longer, this inbetween is killing me. . . and my mood apparently.

Guess I just need to get glad in the same pants I got mad in. . . eh?

Do you ever. . .

spend time with someone so neato and perfectly well-rounded that you end up feeling infinitely less interesting, less cool, less with-it, less hip, lesser all the way around than everyone else in the whole wide world?

Why is it that. . .

someone can disagree repeatedly with you, but the moment you offer an opposing view or an educated assessment, you get the other end of a dial tone?

Nancy Reagan told me to "Just Say No"

I went to the doctor. I let her feel my glands. I let her check my throat. I even let her check my temperature IN MY EAR (before you start thinking nasty thoughts.) I answered about 50 questions.

I left with a 30-day supply of Allegra-D, some nasal spray (which I have no intention of using), a perscription for an antibiotic (just in case) and the diagnosis of severe adult onset allergies (or something like that).

I don't like medications. I don't like not being able to breathe even more, so I took the lesser of the two evils. Now, I am flying high as a kite, daydreaming and talking with a very sexy masculine voice.

I can breathe, so it's all worth it. There is a threat that this will interupt my sleep, however, which is causing me, and I am certain Cynical, some added anxiety, as:

No sleep
+ medications inducing hyperactive behavior
+ already cranky patient
+ impending busy weekend =
one big old nasty, crusty nosed, fussy, b*tchy Ragged

My most attractive

I'm sick. Ugh, puny enough that I didn't even go to work yesterday. I would have gone, except that I got maybe 2 hours of cummulative sleep Sunday night.

My eyes are swollen. I have a bit knotty gland in my neck. I blew my nose at least 60 times yesterday. As a result my nose is red and the lotion in the tissues has clogged a pore next it causing a big red blemish that hurts whenever I blink. I have this awful, pale, "I may throw up on you" expression. I ache all over. OTC medications have done nothing to reduce the pressure, the drainage (yuck. . . as if you needed to know that) and pain.

So, I came into work today to share all of the glory.

I wanna work from home too

I don't know if I have shared this or not, but the big news at Chez Ragged is that Cynical is now working from home. It's been in the works for quite a while and even though we never anticipated that things would move along this quickly, but we learned last week that effective Monday, he'd be working it all out in the homestead. Our Sunday afternoon was spent in a flurry of activity all designed to get a work space established for him.

And I am happy for him. I truly am. I am also green with envy. This morning as I left, all coiffed and prepped for work, seeing him standing there in lounging pants and a t-shirt was more than I could handle. Realizing that he'd get to watch Knitty Gritty live and not on "tape delay" (if he so chose) simply put me over the edge.

The jealousy turned to pure angst when it occurred to me that he'd be there to receive the good mail personally. Blech. . . and I am here at work, in my work-related attired, where my only happiness is e-mail from my buddies and the fact that sometimes I slip my shoes off under my desk where no one can see, as if I am really getting by with something.

Above is a shot of the bunny that we repeatedly harrassed at the Fiber Festival last weekend. I love the bunny because his nose never stops twitching.