1. Costco milk jugs. Was there something wrong with the good old fashioned design? This new wave dealy they use at Costco is one thing and one thing only: crap. Every single time you open the thing and attempt to make your first pour it spills. Every. Single. Time. And, not just a little splash from over shooting the cup or lack of physical arm strength to hold the jug steady. It spills in the annoying way that causes it to drip down the side of the jug, splash all over and around the cup, and dribble onto the floor where it leaves that almost indiscernible spot that eventually turns into the sticky, dirt covered drop that requires you to mop your kitchen like four days earlier than originally planned. Even the designers knew something was wrong, because after about four months of torture, they mysteriously installed a lip at the opening of the jug to prevent the above from happening. Only thing. It DOESN'T work! Back to the drawing board, geniuses. How about you scrap this.
And go for something like, I don't know?...This!
2. My job. You all saw the post (if you didn't, here it is). The only thing I'll add is, this week I worked 4 hours. That's right, four hours. How's that for downsizing?!
3. McDonald's Location #25046. Here's the thing with McDonald's. I'm, normally, a HUGE fan. Mickey D's and I go way back. Way. Way. Back. I used to live in Barstow, Ca as a girl. Barstow is known (for very little since it is a dinky-run-over-about-to-disappear-altogether town in the middle of the Mojave desert) to many SoCalers as the half way point between L.A. and Las Vegas. It is also home to one of the very most awesomest McDonald's locales on the planet, affectionately known as Barstow Station (probably because it's made up of all these train cars stuck together and it's humongous). So, Mickey D's and me were like this (imagine Dumb Mom with fingers intertwined). But, I have had a number of "issues" with the McDonald's I am forced to frequent in this millennium, as it is the only one remotely conveniently located to my current (way less cool) home (plus, I hate BK so that's out). Let me lay 'em out for ya. First, they are ridiculously slow. As in, I have actually turned my engine off while waiting in the
4. The library. Although, the fact that I had to pay $15 in fines last time we went in that place may really not be the library's fault (but, I'm pretty committed to the deny, deny, deny philosophy on life, so library's fault it will be). I just can't seem to whip this beast. I tried not even taking them there because they are incapable of going in and coming out empty handed, but I started to feel bad (you know, denying them the pleasure of experiencing literature and all), so back we went. So then I tried keeping everything in a predesignated "library bag", but that didn't work because once they took the books out to read them, the books' bond with that bag was eternally broken, and the two were never to be reunited again. Hardest part is just remembering when the stupid things are required to be back. And, this is the library's fault, 100%. They started printing out a little receipt (unlike McDonald's) with a list of the books and their due dates on it when you check them out. What happened to just stamping the date in the back of the book (or on the little cards) like they used to do? That was brilliant. Then, the only way you could forget the due date was to lose the book. I can keep up with the books (generally), no problem. It's the tell all receipt I can't keep track of. See. Library's fault. Told ya so.
5. Stretch marks. I know, most of us have them (if you don't just shut it); it's part of life. But mine are bad. REALLY bad. So bad that the other day when I emerged from the bathroom searching for a shirt, #2 was there, and he had some concerns.
#2: Mom, are you sweating?
Me: No. I'm not even hot. Why?
#2: Well, it looks like it because you have water running down your tummy.
Me: (Looking down confused). Um, yeah, that's not water kiddo, that's stretch marks from when my tummy used to be all big from having you and the brothers inside.
#2: Silence followed by a series of blinks.
Uggh! Gross! Should not have to have a conversation with a wide-eyed-visibly-horrified four year old about why my stomach appears to be melting off my torso like hot wax.
Any plastic surgeons want to lend a hand? I will totally wear a midriff bearing top daily for at least 6 months of the year, for advertisement purposes only, of course.
But, In an effort to not be all negative and bad tempered. Let me tell you one thing I don't hate...
Shopping! Even if it is for school clothes. I still love it. Would be better if #3 would keep his hands in the stroller instead of trying to yank any and everything his open palm makes contact with off of the hanger onto his head, but sacrifices are like a huge part of getting what you want, right :).