So my sister-in-law saw that we now have American Angst Gear and sent me the following email:

Some products that just didn't make the cut...

1. The American Angst Merlot, a fine addition to the Boone's Farm collection - robust, with a hint of cranberry, oak, and formaldehyde.

2. The American Angst Bathroom Journal, for relieving your angst, while relieving your...angst...

3. The American Angst signature licence plate cover, featuring a chain-linked motif, with blinkie lights and a gold-plated finish.

4. The American Angst one-night-stand pack of condoms, with string attached for quick and hands-free removal, cuz you don't know where that skank's been.

Don't you wish YOU'D married into my family? I know! Better hurry up, there's only one single person left to get you in here!

Do ya ever get part-way through your day and wonder if you put deodorant on that morning? Where you sit at your desk and you feel a bit...moist...and you try to retrace your steps after getting out of the shower that morning and try to recall if you may have forgotten one. crucial. step? I don't either.

Have you ever gotten to work in the morning and felt like you'd already worked a full day?? Yes, me too. Let me just tell you how my Thursday morning went. You're going to need a little back-story first so you can understand just how nutso it gets for me sometimes.

First, The Kiddo plays an instrument in band. He plays the Euphonium, which is kinda like a tuba but...not. He chose it because he thought the name sounded funny and different. And has been playing it for about 3 or 4 years now. Occasionally, when a concert is coming up, the kids will be asked to arrive at school an hour early for practice sessions. Yesterday was one of those days.

Second, you should know that George and I both have yuckuhrific back diseases (he: Ankylosing Spondylitis; me: Degenerative Disc Disease.) Because we're both oh-so-smart, we bought a split-level home with 4 flights of stairs. Our bedroom is on the next-to-the-top level and The Kiddo's on the next-to-the-bottom level, but directly beneath us. Because of our combined pain, walking up and down those stairs a hundred times per day is not something we look forward to. So we engage in what *my* parents did: Whenever they needed us for anything (go get me a beer! turn down that freakin' music! Answer the gawdam phone!) they would stand in their bedroom and stomp the shit out of the floor. Quite effective and damned funny. So I do that, and got George in on the action not too long ago. It's a riot, really - you walk in and see someone standing in the middle of the room, raising one leg and marching it into the floor repeatedly. Cracks me up every time.

The pain in the morning tends to be much worse than any other time of day (unless it's raining) so we're even less inclined to walk downstairs to wake The Kiddo up (14 times because he hates getting up) in the morning. So here's how my morning goes:

6:00 am: Alarm goes off for Gracie.

6:15 am: Alarm goes off again, not getting the whole 'Snooze' idea.

6:30 am: Stupid ass alarm goes off AGAIN and George starts nudging Gracie and groaning grouchily to Turn That Shit OFF

6:32 am: Gracie gets out of bed and takes shower

6:50 am: Gracie is done with shower and sneaks into computer room so dogs won't see/hear her (too early to let them out because Dorkass Bella refuses NOT to bark at everything -including the freakin' AIR-when people are trying to sleep.) Gracie then checks email and uploads that day's entry for the site, waiting for water to warm up for George and enjoying her Quiet Time before the day begins.

7:30 am: Gracie lets dogs out and whisper-yells at Bella to Shut the Hell UP with the damned BARKING. Proceeds back upstairs to wake up George, who is always, ALWAYS startled when I whisper "good morning, sweetie! Time-uh git uuuuUUUuhhhp"

7:40 am: Realizes that George has no intention of getting up, so goes and lets the dogs in and let's THEM wake him up by jumping onto the bed and licking his face and head.

7:45 am: Apologizes to George for dog stepping in and about his crotch area (while trying not to laugh) and begins doing One Legged March on floor to get kiddo to awaken. This works WAY better than walking down there and being sweet. The floor stomping drives Kiddo CRAZY. Extreme Piss-Off is highly effective at waking people up. Trust me.

8:00 am: Tries to finish drying hair and putting on make up while yelling at Kiddo to GET DRESSED already! And NO, you can NOT wear what you slept in! I don't CARE if you thought it was pro-active of you to get dressed the night before in school clothes, and then SLEEP in them so you wouldn't have so much work to do in the morning! That is GROSS. Go CHANGE your clothes and brush your teeth and for god's SAKE would you brush your HAIR?!

8:15 am: Yells at Kiddo to STOP playing with the dogs and GET OUT TO THE BUS STOP!

8:20 am: With hair still wet, and only half of face made up, Gracie gives up on the primping and is forced to focus on the dogs. She tries to convince Bailey that it really IS a good idea to come back in the house, even though she knows better - that it means we're going to work and she'll be stuck inside all day, which she HATES, so she does this pouncing thing each time I reach for her, then takes off to do 50mph laps around the pool in the opposite direction of whichever way I'm coming.

8:24 am: Gracie yells at Bella to STOP HELPING ME! You're MAKING IT WORSE! Because she's got some sort of herding dog in her makeup and inSISTS on coming back outside to grab Bailey by the scruff and attempt to drag her inside, which only pisses Bailey off MORE, so they start chasing and biting each other. What fun.

8:31 am: George comes out, laughing, to help me.

8:38 am: The dogs are finally in, Gracie only has about FOUR spots of Georgia clay in paw prints all over her clothes (as opposed to the NINE spots yesterday) and we get ready to walk out the door. But not before Gracie realizes that she's not wearing any shoes and has to go back up to get them...can only find ONE shoe and begins Losing Her Shit cause she can't find it ANYWHERE.

8:42 am: Gracie finally finds shoe (and makes it QUITE CLEAR that George had better not EVEN ask WHY her shoe was in the refrigerator) and they begin to leave again. But not before Gracie runs back upstairs to grab her glasses and laptop bag and purse and bag of goodies for her coworkers, and considers changing pants because she HATES these pants and Okay, OKAY, I'm COMING!

and that's how it goes every morning. Yesterday was even worse because George was sick and stayed home, so my schedule was all thrown off, especially with the extra hassle of forcing Kiddo to get up even EARLIER. We finally get it all squared away and leave to get Kiddo to school for band practice. I finally get him there and think that I'm finally on my way to work but OH NO, not quite, because that's when Gracie realizes that she's only got about 3 drops of gas left in her tank and CRAP I left my sunglasses at home on THE brightest morning EVER.

So I pull into BP (on the corner, of course) and pull up to the pump. The gas cap is on the passenger side of this stupid car, so I don't see as well. I get out and go to pump the gas, only to see that MY pump, of course, has baggies over the nozzles and is CLOSED. Of COURSE. So I huff n' puff, and get BACK in the car and pull to another pump. CLOSED again. Finally find one that is NOT closed and go to pump the gas and realize that I forgot to pop the cap from inside the car. Go back and do that and try to swipe my card but it won't work. After 10 times I give up and choose to pay inside. I stick the nozzle in the tank, set it to fill up and walk into the store for sunglasses, a caffeine-free coke, a muffin, a newspaper and to pay for the freakin' gas. I'm not smart, either, which means I get all the other stuff and THEN go to peruse the sunglass spindle. I finally find a pair that don't look like The Terminator on Crack, realize I have no place to hold them where they won't fall and break, so I hook them on my gloved pinky finger, and get in line. There are about 6 people ahead of me, because the Asshead Redneck at the front of the line is spending her kid's future on 32 different lottery tickets. I, of course, make it clear that I'm irritated. I sigh, and mutter, and am having a hard time keeping everything in my hands. It FINALLY is my turn and all the contents in my arms come tumbling onto the counter. I also inform her that I've got Gas on Two (which would be funny if it weren't TODAY) and she begins ringing it up and then, in the snottiest tone I've ever heard, she huffs "LADY, I can't RING IT UP if the nozzle is still in your CAR!" so now *I* am the bitch holding up the rest of the line (yes, Karma rocks, doesn't it??) and I have to go out into the 22 degree morning and remove the nozzle, slam it back into place, bitching all the way because I'm so damned retarded (but hey! I NEVER pay inside, I don't remember these things!) and try to hustle back inside, but not before I step in gum. I pay for everything, ask her to put it in a bag because I'm having a hard time juggling it all, and that's when I look over and see that I still have the )*(#$()* sunglasses hooked to my gloved pinky. There's no WAY I'm driving all the way to work without sunglasses - not EVEN in the mood to deal with the migraine THAT would cause - and I tell her to go ahead and ring the guy behind me up, because it's not HIS fault I'm a dumbass, and he refuses. Says he's not in a hurry. Well now I'm all flustered cause I'm just not used to a Southerner being POLITE and I pay and grab all my stuff, half of which is not in a bag, because apparently cashiers are docked an hour's pay if they don't use THE smallest bag available, and suddenly I hear a car alarm going off.

Well of COURSE it was MY car. I've got all this crap in my arms, my keys are slowly sliding up the arm of my sweater and I'm trying to grab them and walk out the door at the same time, but this MORON guy is blocking the door so he can sit and STARE at my car as though the car is yelling at him PERSONALLY and he's all offended. I'm not in the mood to be patient, so I gently push the door against him and laugh embarrassingly and say "It's me...it's mine...I'm sorry...not my day...." and he moves and I get the car alarm off and get in my car and cannot BELIEVE it's only 9:00 in the morning and I still have a full day ahead of me.

I'm tired.

Someone Arrived Here Searching For: female bathroom etiquette[Ed. Note: Clean up after yourself and wash your damned hands...beyond that, we don't care. We know you fart, we know you poop, your *ahem* surreptitious flushing of the toilet in tandem with your gas isn't fooling anyone. Just don't make the next person have to clean up after your bad aim. Seriously.]

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