Dear Puking Cat,

Winston

It’s not that I hate you for puking.

It’s just that I hate that you puke.

Therefore, I kind of hate you for puking.

Nothing long term, of course, but when I’m in the middle of cleaning up your intestinal sewage, it’s kind of hard not to hate you. So, if you can stay away for the next hour or so, I will eventually get over it.

Also, just a word of advice… there is no need to mill about while you are puking. This is not a cocktail party where you are networking for a potential career boost. You are a cat. Who is puking. Try to stay in one place. Your vomit is already projected with such force from your heaving body that there is really no reason to wander from one place to the next. The entire length of the hallway does not need your insides strewn all over it. Really. It doesn’t. Trust me on this one.

Furthermore, I realize that with your long, luxurious fur, you probably need more brushing and regular doses of hairball medicine. The thing is… I have a life outside of caring for you. Or… at least that’s what I’m aiming for. So, if you could try a little harder to puke a little less, then I can try to brush and medicate you more often. Deal?

In addition, we really need to get to work on finding a surgeon who is willing to attach opposable thumbs to your paws. Such a procedure would really help me out. Think of all the time I could save not cleaning up your spewage? (Yes, yes. I know spewage is not a word. Again. You are a cat. Why do you even care?) And think of all the life skills you could gain by cleaning up your own mess. I think it’s a win-win situation.

In closing, I would like you to seriously consider my recommendations for more harmonious living. I look forward to hearing from you directly concerning these proposals.

Best regards,

Annie

 

Dear Local, Small-Town Pharmacy:

Why do you hate me?

I thought we had a pretty good thing going.

Clearly you thought differently.

I’ll admit, maybe I didn’t stop in and use your services as often as you would have liked. And perhaps I took up with Big City Pharmacy for the past few years. But, that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you.

I never took you for granted. You were there for me when I left my prescriptions at home and needed temporary ones. I could depend on you when Big City Pharmacy was out of reach. Maybe I never said it, but I appreciated everything you did for me.

So, why this? Why now? Why the hate? The betrayal? The murderous plot to bring about my demise? Were my transgressions so great that they warranted such homicidal behavior?

I think not.

You can make all the excuses you like, but we both know that 50 and 100 are not the same number. We both know my prescription specifically stated 50 mg. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that my label now read 100 mg? That my pills looked different than before?

Did you think I wouldn’t check? That I didn’t read labels carefully enough to know my prescription may promote drowsiness? I know you like to watch me sleep, but this is bordering on psychopathic.

Why the hate? Why would you want to kill me? What would that remedy? How would that benefit you? Your betrayal cuts to the quick.

However, I will be the bigger person. I will accept your apology. I will also accept your $20 gift card as a way of remedying the situation. But I will never forget.

Sincerely,

Annie

Crazy little thing called spousal support…

I find it hysterically funny that my ex ass hat can be so completely detached and nonchalant about our current situation until and unless it affects his pocket book. Funny I never noticed this lovely little trait of his before.

I think it never occurred to him that he might owe me spousal support.

I shouldn’t laugh or gloat, but there’s a part of me that’s like, “Ha! Take that, sucker. You stupid little worm. Didn’t think of THAT before you started this whole ‘I’m not happy and I need to find myself… with another woman’ crap, did you?”

To be perfectly honest, I had no intention of seeking spousal support because I intended to have found a new job by now. But, considering the fact that I have not yet found a new job, my current insurance is days away from expiring and I still have bills to pay… um, yeah, I’m probably going to ask for some spousal support.

When this first came up he was both shocked and alarmed that I might actually check the box that said “Yes”. How could I?! Didn’t I know money was tight for him already?! I have a good chunk of change in the bank, why don’t I just live off that?! (Um, dear tight-fisted dumbass… it’s called “savings” for a reason.) I think he thinks I’m just doing it to get back at him. Honestly, I have better things to do than plot lame-ass ways of getting back at him. The truth is, I may need some spousal support for the time being. I’m sorry. I will feel guilty later, I promise. But you should have thought of all this before you got yourself into this situation.

Dumbass.

Furthermore, there is a part of me that now really appreciates the fact that I was making more money than he was when we were married. (Um, can I get a “I am woman, hear me roar”?) Not that he would have admitted that. But now that I’m not there… well, he’s feeling the effects of it.

What’s that old saying again? The way to a man’s heart is through his pocket book?

Yeah. That.

Hindsight, you jerk.

Yesterday, I received an e-mail from the ass hat about divorce proceedings. He needed information from me in order to fill out the paperwork. For some reason, it totally enraged me. Which, I suppose, I shouldn’t be surprised by since any type of contact with him what-so-ever pretty much enrages me. I kind of hate how calm and “nice” he’s being about the whole thing. He’s so nonchalant about it all… like he’s going to pick up groceries or getting his hair cut. “And oh, on the way, you want me to start divorce proceedings?”

I seriously want to kick him in the face.

But as much as it frustrates me and puts me into homicidal rages, there’s also a big part of me that’s looking forward to it. I can’t wait to be done with this ass hat. To be able to cut all ties and be done with this chapter of my life and move on. (I wonder if I should plan a party in honor of it all…)

And yet, the more I plan my future, the more I realize just how dumb I was to be with this guy in the first place. If hindsight is 20/20, then apparently, I was blind, deaf, and mute when I got married. As I look back, I’m not sure how I even got here. I’m not sure why I married him in the first place. The little things that I would just shrug off before are now red, pulsating, pus filled pimples that should not have been overlooked.

This may sound horrible to say, but I mean every word of it: I never actually loved the guy. I know, I know. “How could you have been married for almost 6 years and not love the guy?!”

The entire time we were dating, I was trying to convince myself that I did love him, but I never actually did. You know when you “fall in love” and you feel those butterflies and get all giddy about seeing the person and you never want to spend a second apart from them and you are just crazy about them?

Ahem.

Yeah. That never happened. Ever.

I thought that was something the movies had made up. I felt ripped off. I felt gypped. Why didn’t I feel that way about the man I loved?!

I distinctly remember one time he said to me that he couldn’t imagine his life without me. And so, in turn, he asked the same question of me… could I imagine my life without him?

I hemmed and I hawed and I rationalized and finally responded with a, “No. No, I guess not. Yeah. No. I couldn’t.” But really in my mind I was screaming, “Uh, YEAH. Why wouldn’t I be able to imagine my life without you? That’s just silly.”

I would watch romantic comedies and wonder why I didn’t feel that way. Heck, if I got butterflies when Kate Hudson and Matthew McConaughey finally got together in the movies, why didn’t I get butterflies when I was around him?!

I was finally able to convince myself somewhere during the first year of marriage, that that just wasn’t how true love worked. Falling in love like that was one big myth concocted by the movie studios to sell tickets. Sure, it might happen to some people, but the real, true, lasting love happened when two good friends chose to be together. That was the solid foundation for a marriage. Not all this hearts and butterflies crap. That wasn’t even real. Not once did it seem strange to me that I had felt those same hearts and butterflies feelings with other people… just not him.

I was so stupid. Excuse me while I go bang my head against a wall…

One time, early on in the relationship, I had a single clear thought that consisted of, “I don’t really like him. I don’t see a future with him. He’s a great friend, but… I don’t want to date him.” When I told my mom about these feelings she told me that I needed to let him know that.

I. Was. Horrified. WHAT?! How could she say that?! Tell the guy that had had a crush on me for years, who had pursued me with such fervor, who showered me with flowers and gifts and sweet letters, who had already said those 3 magic words, that… I didn’t want to see him anymore?!  I was literally crippled by the thought of hurting someone’s feelings. It didn’t matter what I was feeling… I just couldn’t hurt someone else’s feelings. So I shoved it down, down, down and never spoke of such things again. Except when I did try to tell him and he started to cry. That pretty much sealed the deal. I was gonna marry the guy so I wouldn’t hurt his feelings.

WHAT?!

UGH… why couldn’t I have had some self-worth or self-confidence? What was wrong with me????

BUT, I made the choices I made and even though I may not have been in love with him when I married him, I grew to love him. And even though I wasn’t always so sure about my decision, I had made a vow before God that I was going to honor, come hell or high water. Clearly, the ass hat didn’t get the same message at the ceremony…

And now, here I am, 6 years later, wondering what the heck I was thinking. Wishing I could rewind and get a do-over. Wishing I had taken a chance on that adorable Mormon kid who thought I was so great.

Blech. Hindsight’s a jerk.

Insert Massive Sigh of Relief Here (And pray my breath doesn’t smell like a hippo’s ass…)

Am I a horrible human being?

The sister I have not seen in two whole years and her precious little girl and funnier than heck husband have finally left after a much needed visit and…

What do I do? Let out a huge sigh of relief and giddily barricade myself in my bedroom to have some alone time.

I am a horrible human being.

I’m not crying. I’m not sad. Sure, I’ll miss her, but I’m positively giddy about having time to myself again.

I mean… having family members visit is hard. It’s much easier not to have any visitors. I’m seriously beginning to question my decision not to become a hermit…

I love my family. I really do. Like, a ton. They are the funniest, most awesome group of people you will ever, EVER meet. But when you get older, you understand why people constantly use the overused phrase, “Well, you can’t pick your family!” with a knowing smirk and twinkle of evil in their eye. I mean… you can’t. And sometimes, maybe secretly, you kind of wish you could.

Take my niece for instance. She’s adorable. Seriously adorable. And ridiculously smart and able to communicate on an adult level. Buuuuuutttt… she’s also demanding, spoiled rotten, a major drama queen, more bossy than a Middle Eastern dictator and sometimes, just downright mean. It took all I had not to drop-kick the kid.

“MOOOOOOOMMMM… there’s a scratch on my cup. I think it’s dirty. EWWWWW… I can’t drink from it. It’s not a scratch, it’s not! And it smells like water from a dog bowl! I want milk!!!! Why can’t I have milk?! I want it now! You never give me milk! You’re so MEAN! Get me some milk! I won’t drink this water! *whimper* *cry* *all out bawl until someone feels sorry for me and meets my demands*”

Oh. My. Lord. And does the girl know how to play people… if they don’t do what she wants she just manipulates until she gets her way. I was not in the mood for playing “White Snow the Cat and Purple Cloud the Pegasus” for the 15th time in a row. (Dude… that’s NOT a game. Having two stuffed animals talk to each other about how one is white and the other is purple isn’t “playing” anything. It’s just some crap you came up with that I’m supposed to support so you can feel good about your creativity… but I am telling you right now… I kinda want to shoot myself in the foot every time I “play” it with you.) So she turns her mouth into a frown and begins to whimper. I’m like “Kid, please…” but she starts whimpering louder and louder until Mom and Dad hear and say, “Honey… what’s the matter, cutie?” And she responds with “Auntie Annie doesn’t wanna play with me!” and you get dirty looks and some lame reasoning like, “Well, maybe she’ll want to play with you later…” which pretty much locks you in for yet another session of “White Snow the Cat and Purple Cloud the Pegasus” because you don’t want to look like the bad guy.

I’m pretty sure my ovaries shriveled and dried up this weekend. I have never been so relieved for a child to leave my presence before.

And as if that weren’t bad enough… my sister… God bless her but… the woman doesn’t talk! And when she does, you have to ask the questions and she gives one word responses. And generally, she just sits around looking serious and crabby. I don’t know what to do with her. I hadn’t seen her in a while and clearly, I had forgotten that this is how she is. I had been thinking it was a situation unique to talking on the phone. She barely talks when you call her. I chalked it up to “Phone Phobia” but apparently, it isn’t about the phone. Apparently, it’s about the talking. I get it. I do. Sometimes I don’t want to talk either, but… never? Like, ever? Here, I have a six year old talking my ear off about inane crap, and over there is the adult I want to talk to and she has nothing to say?

What the hell?!

It was exhausting. Especially for a people pleasing extraordinaire like myself. I’m all about pleasing the masses but this? This was ridiculous.

I seriously need a nap.

Ugh…

So, um… yeah.

Apparently my six year old niece asked her mom (my sister) why Auntie Annie wasn’t married yet. (I love that word “yet”. If you didn’t feel old and lame enough already, that little three letter word has the power to bring you to a whole new level of self-loathing.) My sister told her it was because I hadn’t met the right guy yet.

Really? I know she’s six, but I much prefer the divorce story. I mean, at least with the divorce story it sounds like someone once liked me enough to marry me… like I’m not some old maid holed up in her mom’s house with 16 cats and a lifetime subscription to Reader’s Digest.

Now that we’re apparently hiding the divorce from the six year old, I sound like the loser weirdo aunt who’s still living with mom pining away for some imaginary prince charming. Yaaaaaaayy!. Just what I wanted. To be that kind of aunt.

By the way… I’m not saying that single women in their early 30s living with their parents are lame. I’m sure there are very good reasons for why you are there. However, I was the last one to marry in my family (which, I suppose, is understandable being the youngest and all) and having the stigma of being the “single one” just isn’t fun. Kind of like I now have the stigma of being the “divorced one”. Yay! Go me! I am SO AWESOME!

Plus, if one more sentence uttered by my niece consists of, “Auntie Annie, when you get married…” or “Auntie Annie, when you have kids…” I may just lose it. I mean, I know she doesn’t know… but why doesn’t she know?! I don’t care if she knows! I want her to know! I would feel better if I knew that she knew. And then she could know… you know? It’s just that every time she says something starting with those phrases, it’s like rubbing salt in the wound.

I should just send out announcements, so people no longer have to ask or wonder and it would just be common knowledge and we could all move on.

Nah. That’d be too easy. We’ll just continue to play the game of “Guess who knows” and “How to explain your divorce to young children and random acquaintances that you’re really not that close too.:

Best. Time. Ever.

 

I will seriously punch you in the face.

My family is driving me crazy.

And I kind of want to punch them all in the face.

I even got enough sleep last night and had 2 cups of really strong coffee.

So… I’m pretty sure I’m not the problem here.

Pretty sure they’re all just really annoying.

“Oh, please could you offer me unsolicited advice on my life and my career prospects?”

The thing is, my mother is actually soliciting this unsolicited advice.

Thanks, mom. Love you too.

Why does everyone think it’s their job to figure out my life for me? Seriously? Could ya’ll back off just a little? And… I don’t know… do you think we could let me have some of my own thoughts on the matter? I mean, I know it’s my life and all, and I clearly have no opinions on the matter, but maybe… just maybe this time I do?

My favorite is when they talk about me in the third person and I’m standing RIGHT THERE. Dudes, I’m not even in the other room. And I’m pretty sure I was part of the initial conversation until ya’ll hijacked it and decided to make plans for me.

I mean, really? REALLY?

I’m now in such a bad mood, I don’t know how I’m going to get through dinner with these people without punching them in their faces.

Idiots.