The title should say it all. I am in a ranting sort of mood. This means I'm going to be overly sarcastic (even for me) and mean and I'll probably swear and show very little in the way of reason or common sense (although I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who would like to testify that I never show very much in the way of reason or common sense). But it's a rant and that's what rants are for.
Consider yourselves warned.
First of all, it's four in the bloody morning and I am wide freaking awake. I am not sleeping. I'm never sleeping. I honestly can't seem to sleep anymore unless I take a nice swig of Nyquil about an hour before I want to go to bed. I didn't take any tonight (last night?) because of the Massive Fucking Headache. No, instead, at the suggestion of my nurse friend, I took four Ibuprofen and sequestered myself in a dark room. A dark room that turned out to be full of sleeping, snoring and farting mammals. None of which was myself. Somehow, I managed to fall asleep only to be woken up shortly thereafter by a very restless Big.
Big, as a general rule, is not restless unless he is trapped in a car with the Gator Girl. So for him to be pacing and whining and trying desperately to get my attention at TWO IN THE MORNING, is a definite sign that he needs to go O-U-T, post haste. So, being the good dog mom I am, I got out of bed (and you know when I move the Gator Girl moves) and stumbled around in the dark as I searched for clothes. It's Big's bad luck that he's having this problem at the end of January when I decidedly cannot go outside in my tee shirt and boxer shorts. It was also Joe's bad luck as he had to listen to the increasingly desperate whining from Big, the increasingly frantic Oh-my-God-what-am-I-missing pacing from the Gator Girl as well as me swearing as I first stubbed my toe on the nightstand (stupid frakking nightstand...who the hell thought it was a good idea to put it next to the damn bed?) and then again when I was consequently swarmed by dogs trying to come to my rescue.
But I managed to find my clothes and extract Big, and only Big, from the bedroom so we could repeat the performance downstairs in the foyer while I looked for a coat and shoes and the Fat Cat meowed incessantly.
Big and I made it outside just in time which is a good thing because there's nothing like cleaning shit soup out of your carpet.
My kingdom for a fenced in yard. Seriously, I think if Joe was the parent responsible for the taking out of the animals (and don't get me wrong, he does it from time to time but the vast majority of the bathroom breaks are handled by me), we would've had a fenced in yard seven years ago.
But whatever. We got back to the bedroom and made more noise as the Gator Girl rushed to greet us and I tripped over dogs on my way back to the bed. I'm pretty sure we annoyed the hell out of Joe. This, in turn, annoyed the hell out of me.
Oh, I'm sorry if Big and his exploding ass were inconveniencing you because me and my super fun migraine were having the time of our life!
I told you, it's a rant.
Want to know something else pissing me off? That stupid ass show Jersey Shore. That piece of crap show has been on the air longer than Firefly. Are you kidding me? This is the kind of world in which we live? Not to mention the fact that I'm beating out my brains trying to break into an industry that just gave frakking Snooki a frakking book deal. You have got to kidding me. That girl couldn't identify a complete sentence if her life depended upon it. My only exposure to this show has been via Joel McHale on The Soup and it horrifies me. How can people who get shitfaced and piss behind bars because they're too drunk and stupid to maneuver their way to the toilet be so much further ahead in life than I am?
This must be what going insane feels like.
Anyway, I seem to be all ranted out now. My stupid frakking migraine is even affecting my ability to rant properly. Whatever. I think I'll take my super fun migraine and go watch the Australian Open. On mute.