It all started when I spiraled into a rage early in the week after realizing I had been de-friended by a 'friend' on facebook. Stupid, right? This person was also a business 'friend' and we have done things together as real friends, or so I thought. I understand people can use facebook however they want and maybe this person just wanted to scale down to close family and friends only- and I totally get that. But I always enjoyed seeing pictures of their sweet daughter and enjoyed their posts, so I was insulted and hurt by the de-friend. Childish I know, but it stung nonetheless.
Basically from there the next few days was a comedy of errors. Here are the highlights:
I have felt like shit all week. At the beginning of the week, I thought I was going to die. I had an excruciating stabbing pain in my back. I was convinced it was a pulmonary embolism and I would drop dead any moment. I called the doctor and after 20 minutes of explaining my concerns and symptoms, rife with fever and being at death's door, the appointment lady said "I have an appointment on Thursday at 11am." It was Monday. bitch
Whatever. I'm still alive, no thanks to her. Raquel and Lola think I'm a hypochondriac. What do they know? Plus, now I'm pretty sure it's West Nile.
School starts on Monday. Hallelujah. We had meet the teacher night on Thursday and all went well, except I was fucked up the ass by the PTA.
You heard me.
I always pre-order school supplies for the next year so I'm not scrambling around five office supply stores like a rabid pit-bull looking for a bone in search of different colored folders and specific sized scissors and various width ruled paper that some masochistic tenured teacher created on a whim.*
When we got to Fifi's new classroom, the supplies I pre-ordered last year weren't there. We were sent to talk to the PTA, where we found a growing line of 20 parents anxiously waiting to rip someone a new asshole. Little did they know it was our assholes that were going to get ripped.
I was told we weren't on the list of those who pre-ordered, as were the other parents standing there. We were informed unceremoniously that we had to "prove" we pre-ordered our supplies. Prove? I would like to prove that my checkbook will fit up your ass. (That's a lie. I don't have a checkbook, persay. Perhaps a debit card would work.)
Obviously someone didn't turn in a whole bunch of orders and checks. Shame on me for not noticing the check was never cashed. I know, tiny violins for my First World Problem.
No amount of arguing mattered, so I kept calm and carried on to the store knowing I had to get supplies irregardless of who was at fault. And I was on a Starbucks fueled rampage to get it done; vaguely resembling a cracked-out lunatic scavenging through the piles of goods looking for the right brands, sizes and colors. An orange folder with pockets and brads, a yellow folder with pockets only, and they must be vinyl, an 11x7 vinyl pencil case with grommets for fuck's sake! What's with all the vinyl?
To top it off- that night devil baby (who does great at school and always uses the potty) comes home, takes a bath, runs around naked and brings me a small sparkly make-up box and says "pee pee."
She totally pissed in the box.
|Piss box. You're welcome.|
So that's the highlight reel of my week. With any luck, next week devil baby will be perfectly potty trained and Fifi will graduate college so I can drink my vodka in peace and not worry about school supplies or finding piss in random boxes. A girl can dream.
*I'm sure they have a pool on who can drive the most moms bat shit crazy with their evil and fucked up school supply lists. They'll be sorry when I stroke out. Unless that's their plan. Well played masochistic teachers, well played.