Three is a Magic Number

Misery loves company, but she will never foot the bill

Yesterday I managed to scratch my cornea by getting a chunk of mascara stuck to the inside of my eyelid. That's right. I injured myself by putting on makeup. Think about that for a while. It's truly pitiful, isn't it? It was my good eye, so it was a little scary, wondering if I'd leave the doctor's office with an eye patch, but they don't do that any more. (If I haven't mentioned it here before, I have a good eye. My other eye is my evil eye. Ha. Just kidding. Or maybe not.) Unfortunately, they also don't do anesthetic drops any more, because people would keep using them to mask increasing pain and end up with gigantic eye ulcers and sit there saying "but it doesn't hurt!" So I've spent 1.5 days (so far) feeling like I got soap in my eye just because some people are stupid.

Anyway. J spent the weekend helping our nephew put a new roof on his house, and he was still quite worn out yesterday evening. We sat there drooping in the living room, marinating in our misery, and I said "I think the level of self pity in this house is at a 7." Last night, Boo came into our room at 3:00 (so I guess it was actually this morning, wasn't it?) and said she couldn't sleep. When I left for work, she complained that she was tired and had a headache. So tonight, I think our household self pity level will go up a couple of notches.

More delusional marketing

This year is no different. Our beaches are as pristine as ever. These are not the droids you're looking for.

Jinxed

I get up at 5:00 am Monday through Friday. Well, technically, my alarm is set for 4:55, and I tend to get up after the first snooze at 5:10. But either way, that's pretty damn early. And every morning I lie there and say "I can't do this any more. This is too damn early." And then I haul my ass out of bed.

Last night, when I went to bed, I felt achy and chilled. "Maybe I'm sick," I thought. "And I can sleep in tomorrow." Unfortunately, I felt fine when I woke up. Well, as fine as one can feel at o'dark thirty.

However! It turns out Boo was sick. Or should I say "sick." I'm sure she did have a stomachache, but I'm also sure she could have gone to school. And I was already at work by the time we decided she could stay home, so it's not like I got to roll over and go back to sleep. But still! Afternoon nap! Sweet. I feel a little bad about jinxing her into being sick, but it was for a good cause.

How I feel today

I'm not the most attractive person in the world. I can accept that. But I usually feel like I look halfway decent when I leave the house to go to work. And then, two hours later, I see myself in the bathroom mirror (click to experience the full horror)...

... and I think, (a) did I look like this when I left the house? and (b) if so, why do I bother? Why don't I sleep an extra hour or so and just skip all of this? And you know what? You can't even see my poorly-painted toenails here. We're talking top-to-bottom, full force glamour here, baby.

Fun at the grocery store

Item the first... this variety of Gatorade was on clearance at my local grocery store last week

 

And this variety of Gatorade was on the shelf:

Do you think the good people at Gatorade are trying to tell us something? 

Item the second: No, Marie Callendar, I am not going to use a food thermometer to make sure my chicken pot pie is done. If I was interested in using actual kitchen equipment, I wouldn't be eating a frozen chicken pot pie. Also? Requiring a frozen chicken pot pie to be cooked inside its box, and then printing complicated multi-step instructions on the bottom of the box? Kind of awkward.

 

Item the third: I am so glad I'm not alone in this. Fight the good fight, mystery editor.