JEEBUS H. Christ, I am crabby. I hate everyone. Except, maybe, probably, you.
And Maggie, although she is driving me up the wall and back down again the last couple days. Much like her father, the concept of "let's GO, we have to be somewhere!" does not register. She started preschool yesterday, which is very exciting for all concerned. However, the school requires them to be potty trained to be in preschool. AAAGH. We've been working on it, and she's actually doing quite well, but this morning she sat on the potty THREE times to no avail, ran away and giggled when I tried to get her dressed (I was unamused), and is generally just Not Getting It that we have to move right along here and get the hell out the door.
Then I picked her up from school and she clearly needed a change. When we got home, I took off her training pants to find another pair of underwear beneath them. Causing me to utter a sentence I fervently hope I never have to say again.
"Maggie? Why are you wearing someone else's underwear?"
Not to mention her response:
(Looks over, inspects them) "Oh! That Jimmy's underwear."
Moving rapidly out the door in the morning is important because I am busy with work. Great--it's good clients and new clients, a happy happy mix to say the least.
Let's say you work in public relations. A large part of that job description involves, well, RELATING to the public. And media. So, let's say a nice media person called you several weeks before her deadline hoping to speak to an expert within your orgaization on a certain topic. Now I have worked with some outstanding PR people, and this request tends to be pretty routine. You let the reporter know who to talk to, exchange contact info for both parties, perhaps even set up the interview yourself or at least help out the reporter if she comes back and tells you she is having trouble reaching the person you suggested.
AND, you don't insist that all media calls to your school district go through you and then not return said media calls, despite frequent follow-up from the reporter in question. Can we say unconscionably unprofessional?
Although I must add I deleted a paragraph ranting about one such person I was dealing with --she just called and basically leveled with me about all the behind the scenes stuff going on in her district and I feel much better about the situation (not about the district, though--eeessh). The other one, though? Dead to me. Two of my friends work in her district (a married couple) and I was really hoping to feature this place because of it; not now. Jerk.
More petty annoyances: hello, Weather Gods -- It is SEPTEMBER already. It does not need to be in the high 80s-low 90s and humid. There's been plenty of that. If my neighborhood is going to be overrun with migrating geese and my dog is going to be barfing up the acorns she eats on her walks, could we have some fall weather to go with? Please? 'K, thanks, appreciate it!!
Also, my darling daughter has been up repeated times every night. We're all exhausted and my husband turns into a zombie when he gets less than his needed 8 hours for more than one night in a row. Talking to him is like having a conversation with Non Sequitir Man. I'll say something, he comes back with something that makes no sense whatsoever. Gah.
And finally: if you live in the suburbs, especially one of the wealthier ones in wealthy Oakland County, DO NOT sport the hipster "313" shirt or any other products from Pure Detroit or Made in Detroit. Just. Do. Not. You look like an idiot. You want Detroit hipster street cred? Move here and pay these fucking obscene taxes and put up with our inept government and/or at least get to know and maybe even live near a few people whose skin color and income bracket don't match yours, and THEN you can sport the D pride. We EARN that shit. If you work for the city, the schools/universities, or a Detroit nonprofit I'll give you a pass. Otherwise shut up.
Okay, I promise later I will post about the many fabulous things that are making me happy. Because there are some, lots actually. But what is a blog for if not to keep one from losing one's shit in public?