Sometimes...I want to kill the entire world.

I am having one of those days, and it isn't even lunchtime. I have THREE major gripes, no, make that FOUR, and several million smaller ones, that in the interest of time and my attention span, I can't even get into right now. 1) There is some disconnect between the following: Me, blogger.com, Mozilla Firefox 2) Why does my Mother wear my shoes? 3) Why does my Mother see fit to make snide comments directed at me? 4) Why is Jason so cheap? Smaller ones: Why can't I find any decent clothes? Why can't I make it to Home depot before my poor plants are devoured? Why can't I find a bird bath? Lets address these, and if I have the energy I may address the smaller ones, but I probably won't. 1) I decided yesterday that it was ridiculous to have a worthless blog, so I updated it (finally), the republished it. Note, that I have recently installed Firefox, so I am now using a new browser. Also note, that while I have a Ph.D., this obviously in no way means I have the most basic and rudimentary understanding of how the hardware and software of a computing device work, but I still like to think I am "smart" and will try and fix things, only making them worse. Much worse, usually. This is relevant because I just assume that Firefox is like IE, but just giving Bill Gates the finger, but I am almost constantly reminded that these are, indeed, two completely different web browsers. So, back to the blog. I also made a few minor, cosmetic changes as well. Very minor. And updated my links. First of all, I couldn't run spell check. I don't type very well, so this is an absolute necessity for me. So I had to actually read my post 5 times to make sure there were no obvious spelling mistakes. Then, when all was said and done and I actually wrote, edited, posted and re-published my blog. Then when I went to view my blog, I had my old, unchanged blog come up. I ran around, chasing my tail for a bit, re-publishing and re-viewing, over and over and over again. Still no change. So I looked at the Help pages. No help. So I wrote to the blogger help people. Oh, BTW, I DID figure out to get spell check to work in the process, however. I had to enable pop-up windows, so at least the works now. SO after I wrote my pathetic, help mail, I tried refreshing the window, and lo and behold, there is my new blog. So the blogger help crew will now think I am a total moron. Idiot. My Mother. I will just lump points two and three together, because they both have the same root cause, that being my mother. You know that saying, you can't choose your family? I feel this everyday. My mother lives with us. Why? Well, the official reason I give everyone is that she lives with us so that she can look after Martin. The actual reason is that she is terrible with money, and never saw fit to save any, and now she can't support herself. Why can't she support herself? I really have to explain this. She saw fit to have two children. My sister, Michelle, and myself. I am 34, my sister is 40. We have different fathers. My mother was never married to either one of these men. This is a fact that I have always been acutely embarrassed off, and I would go out of my way to hide this from everyone. In fact, I am not even sure Jason knows this. I know it is stupid for me to care about something that I have no control over, but to this day, it annoys me. And this is not the place to go into why, exactly. Anyway, so my mom had to raise us two girls, with minimal help from our fathers. She was basically a office administrator type. She changed jobs a lot, probably because she had problems with her bosses about raising two kids by herself. When I left home (Good riddance, says I), she had the house she had bought, and a full time job. My sister had moved to California around the same time for her first "real" job, so my mom was an empty-nester. Then, I don't know how it happened, the house was fore-closed on, and mom moved in with Michelle, looking after her kids over the next 10 or so years. My mom is obnoxious. So obnoxious, in fact, most people don't like her. She is 56 or something like that, so she isn't terribly old. She stayed out of the job force long enough, now she could never go back, because she can barely turn a computer on. I have inherited her. Michelle divorced her husband, and moved to Chicago. She was thrilled to have mom out of her life. Have I mentioned that mom is also an alcoholic? One in EXTREME denial about it. I put my foot down when she came to live with us. I said, no drinking. You drink, you leave. When she drinks, ugh. I can't even describe it. She turns into Satan or something. Yeah, like I want that looking after my child. Jason, Martin and I took a long weekend to go back to my undergrad school. I was invited to give a talk there, and we spent the Sat going to a football game. We got back late Sunday night. When I got up the next morning, she was loaded. Completely tanked. I was actually seeing red. Really. I was. I called into work. She blew it off, like it was no big deal. Slurring, "do you think I can't look after my grandson?" I told he NO, YOU CAN'T. Just writing this pisses me off. Having her there is such a burden, and Jason can't stand her. So she looks after Martin. I hate her. I really do. She is my mother, and I hate her. I hate her for being so financially inept, that she can no longer support herself, and I have to support her. I hate the fact that she lives with us. She'll probably live for another 30 years, then I'll be in my 60s by the time I am free. I used to wish that she would get married again, but no man will put up with her. I hate her. I wish I could kick her out of my house. So, with that cleared up. Why does she wear my shoes? Why? She has shoes, I have seen them. When I was backing out, leaving for work, she was bringing Martin out for a walk, and she was wearing my shoes. Why? I don't want her bare feet in my flip flops. I am getting more and more neurotic as I get older, and one thing I am neurotic about is shoes. I wouldn't even consider buying a pair of used shoes, because the thought of someone else's bare feet in a pair of shoes is just disgusting to me. Yuck. No. So now, when I wear my own M***er F***ing shoes, I have to share her shed skins cells, skin mites, etc. STOP WEARING MY SHOES!!! WEAR YOUR OWN!! So, I have been a bit slacker on my ironing lately. So when I woke up this morning, I realized I was going to have to iron. Jason got up early and cleared out. BTW. I work in this office, see. I work in sales, see. So even though, there is only 5 people in my office. These people being the three applications scientist (my two co-workers and me), the north American director of sales (my boss), and the eastern region sales coordinator (Jackie), we are expected to adhere to a business-type dress code. We can sometimes get away with business casual, when no customers are around. Like today. Like most days, in fact. I love clothes and I LOVE dressing up, so this is no problem for me. But I am pregnant. But not showing, yet, but clothes are beginning to get a bit snug. So today I am wearing, my cool, kicka** Ralph Lauren khakis, with the leather trim on the pockets, so I can feel like an urban cowgirl, and I am wearing a 3/4 sleeve, dress shirt, light blue with white collar and cuffs. Since I got a bit-o-belly, I have been wearing my shirts untucked. My shoes are these cool, closed-toe slip-on mules from Nine-west. Tres Chic. So, I would call this look, business casual. Like, if my boss, or uber-boss were to show up, I would not feel underdressed. So, I get this iron and put on. In between, feeding and changing Martin. She takes one look at me and says (can I get a drumroll please), "Oh, we are casual today (insert bitchy tone here)". I got pissed, I couldn't help myself. I said, no, I am not. She said "it looks casual to me" I said "well, not for my office". Grrrr. What a bitch. Why does she care? Why? What business of hers is it? I could go to work in a stripper's thong, and the only thing she should be asking is "same time home? Shall I feed Martin chicken today?" None of her F***ING business. None whatsoever. I hate her. But I feel responsible for her. I can't just put her on the street, can I? Can I? Jason. Now, I love Jason. More than anything. More than Martin, more than Samantha, more than chocolate, more than shopping, more than make-up, more than my family (duh, on that one). For Jason, I would do almost anything. I'm glad he doesn't know that. It's like that Meatloaf song, but I can't think of anything I would do. Well, I wouldn't vote democratic. Just kidding. But yesterday he offered to take me shopping. So we went. Nordstroms I having their big, anniversary sale. I LOVE Nordstroms. So we go. I had looked on-line and found a sweater, some maternity pants and a cute maternity shirt. Of course, they had none of this in the store. SO we looked and found nothing. I really don't want to buy "normal" clothes, that I won't be wearing for another year, so. However, I have been craving this new Chanel make-up palette. Coromandels. And also a glossimer. Well, Chanel is high-end make up. So the two items came up for a grand total of 88. I usually try and shield Jason from the true price of make-up, but he was right there this time. I have to admit, this is pricey stuff, but I was depressed. Well, he was annoyed, to say the very least. It's not like I spend this kid of money all the time. Sometimes he acts like I go mad, spending money willy-nilly. It is annoying. I am not that irresponsible. Besides, I make almost 6 figures a year. I would think I could buy some make-up with out the snide comments. humpf. Like I said, no time or energy for the rest. Thanks for reading!