If I were at work, Amazing Head of Hair and I would be answering some jeopardy questions from my calendar right now. Questions like “what flower is also a nickname for liberals” or “who’s going to get this peri-op work done” (oh wait, no, that second one came from my boss). Then we follow jeopardy with a tuna melt sandwich from the roach coach (with fries of course). This means a trip out of the building down to the van that sells the sandwich, some chatting with other co-workers, then a trip back to the desk, followed by eating and internet surfing (because this is of course my lunch break). Then after that I feel sick from the tuna melt and fries (what was I thinking…each time) so when I hear another co-worker is driving to a place for food I say I’ll go for the company so I can grab a coffee or smoothie or fruit or something to make me feel better than the deep fried greasy skank that I am.

Now when I get back, it seems so close to the end of the day that I begin my ritualistic bitching about emails I’m receiving or work that I don’t think is necessary, to which Amazing Head of Hair listens attentively because he’s sweet that way and wherever he came from I think he was taught that you give your undivided attention to silly women rambling at their computer screen. This attention of course makes me feel like I need to say more. Before I know it, the day is done, and neither of us really seem to have gotten anything accomplished.

So, here I am skivvy-less in my bedroom and I have already taken care of half the stuff I need (that should have been done all yesterday). Which leads me to my pet peeve of the day. I’m just going to go ahead and post it inside this post because it seems somewhat relevant to my morning.

To set the stage, we must remember I’m at home, in my sweats, sans underwear (what a wonderful feeling), and ready to have a snack. So I grab the GIANT tupperware container from my fridge and sit down with a fork to gorge myself on the contents. It’s obviously not fries, although now that sounds good, but instead it is a big thing of fruit. I made stir fry last night so in trade my sister cut up pineapple, peaches, and strawberries for dessert. And when I say giant tupperware container, I’m talking the size of a basketball. But it’s fruit right, so I can’t feel like a total fat ass.

Anyhow, I open the container (still feeing a little rebellious that I’m planning to just sit and eat out of it like a trough) and what do I find? A big silver spoon sitting on top of the fruit. Okay. Here’s the deal. I’m not very picky or anal or anything like that. Honestly, my sister thinks I’m a slob and that I behave like a man most of the time especially when I don’t notice things like the newly mown lawn OR the blooming flowers OR that she just put toilet bowl cleaner in the toilet and how could I not have noticed that! (For the record, the toilet is for peeing and I had to pee. I didn’t turn on the light in the bathroom, because I’ve peed a million times before and I know how to do it in the dark, so NO, I did not notice the blue water waiting to be scrubbed.)

But I do have a few things about the kitchen and the fridge that put me in the less than male category. Do NOT put leftovers in the fridge with nothing covering them (and as my former roommate will attest to, another plate turned over on top of that plate of food does not constitute covering it: Tupperware, plastic wrap, some sort of smell blocker so my milk doesn’t taste like mushrooms or curry or fish.) I also don’t understand why even if you’re not going to wash the dish that you’ve set by the sink tonight, you can’t just rinse the food off so I don’t have to use sandpaper to get whatever that crud is off the dish.

But finally, I know you didn’t want to wash the spoon. I know exactly what your thought process was. You used that spoon for the salad, you don’t want to wash it, you leave it in the tupperware container with the fruit thinking that you’ll use it again when you get more fruit. Tell me honestly, that spoon is friggin’ cold to touch now that’s it’s been in the fridge all night. You know what else? It’s sticky as hell from all the fruit. Are you going to use it? I didn’t think so.

Just so we’re clear, I’m using this as a means to justify the fact I just ate all the pineapple. Sorry.

And be sure to use this as the example every time someone brings up what we do for a living or when I’m trying to describe my frustration with certain “positions” spitting new information at doctors when they don’t know how to teach.

You see, the reason you don’t hear the rest of us telling stories like yours is because we do that every fucking day. That’s our job. You are not uniquely talented.

And quite frankly, “you-who-poses-as-a-teacher”, you suck shit at teaching.

If you’re running behind ask me if I still want it. Chances are I’ll say ‘Hell no.’ We all know that we shouldn’t order an appetizer anyway because then we’re not hungry enough for dinner so if you bring it with my dinner it’s as if I ordered TWO dinners. Jesus people.

(Afterthought: and if I ask for dipping sauce for something, most likely it’s because I don’t want to eat what I have without the sauce. Know what this means? If you don’t bring it to me until the end of the meal, my food will be cold because I’ve waited. Or if I couldn’t wait, then I’m one cranky bitch because I just ate a meal without a key ingredient. Anyone who knows me knows it’s all about the sauces. I order based on sauces and side dishes.)

How has it really been a month since I went to the store and planned this feast? This same neglect can be applied to my “promptness” in returning phone calls and emails. To me, each voice message or email that comes to me was sent a mere day ago, not the actual month or so that you left it. May my pet peeve for liquified veggies be the karma all you have been wishing upon me.

May you feel the wrath of toilet paper karma one day when you have the worst shits of your life and not even scraps floating around on the floor or stuck to your shoe.

And then meow like I’ve offended you when I accidentally poke you out of the way.

Who’s fucking idea was it to make Tropical flavored Starburst. People. Don’t fix something that wasn’t broken.