And what company or restaurant or whatever has a jingle/tagline that's like "somethingsomethingsomething yummmmmm?" I can hear the "yummmmmm" part in my head, but I can't hear what comes before, and it's driving me up a goddamn wall. A goddamn wall, people.

In case you hadn't yet picked up on it, my crabby mood is back somewhat. It's not nearly as bad as before, though, so that's something. A couple of weeks ago it was an "everything and everyone in my path must be destroyed, DESTROYED I TELL YOU" kind of mood. Right now it's more of a "you have stupid hair and while I accept that it's neither fair nor reasonable, I hate your stupid guts because of your stupid hair, so get away from me before I say something you'll regret far more than I will, you stupid-hair-having dipshit" kind of mood.

Random and unreasonable things that set me off include, but are not limited to, ultra low-rise pants on people who shouldn't be wearing them, the non-word and supremely stupid "chillax," (Which in my defense, is so fucking stupid, not a jury in the world would convict me for bludgeoning someone to death for using it. Not a jury in the fucking world. Chillax. I hate whoever came up with that abomination SO. GODDAMN. MUCH. But I digress.), and actually, any word that isn't a word, but that people use as a word because they are stupid, ignorant bastards intent upon causing me to have an aneurysm. "Volumptuous," "redunculous," and my all-time favorite, "smoove." I HATE YOU SO MUCH, YOU PEOPLE OUT THERE WHO USE THESE GODDAMN WORDS. HATE. YOU. WHAT THE FUCK, YOU LAZY COCKSUCKERS? YOU CAN'T POSSIBLY BE BOTHERED TO LEARN THE MANY WONDERFUL AND PERFECTLY SERVICEABLE WORDS THAT ALREADY EXIST?! YOU HAD TO GO OUT AND CREATE NEW ONES INSTEAD?! YOU'RE TOO GOOD FOR THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, HUH?! IS THAT IT, YOU FUCKTARDS?! IS IT?! I. HATE. YOU.

I also hate reality television, but more accurately, I hate people who love reality television, and even more specifically, I hate people who love reality television, and who insist on telling me all about somefucking program or another even though I have told them repeatedly I DON'T WATCH REALITY FUCKING TELEVISION, and yet still they yammer on and on and ON. I am this close [] to stabbing someone in the ear with a screwdriver the next time someone tries to describe an episode of Survivor or the Biggest Loser or whatever other stupid programs are out there. BLAH.

I also hate all SUVs and their drivers, but most especially do I hate the choads in Hummers. There is both hatred and contempt flavoring my words as I speak of these cretins. I can't decide if I hate them more because they drive a vehicle that gets maybe 12 miles to the gallon, or if I pity them for whatever flaw, physical deformity or other pathological or personal issue compels them to drive what is clearly some sort of surrogate for whatever they lack; penis, self-esteem, friends, whatever. It's a toss up. Either way, whenever I see a huge fucking Hummer monstrosity thingie out in the street, I am mere seconds away from ramming into it with my tiny, fuel efficient little car made of plastic which, admittedly, won't do that much damage. But I will, motherfucker, with my overflowing wells of rage and the golf clubs in the back of my tiny plastic car. SO WATCH OUT, HUMMER CHOADS, I'M COMING FOR YOU FUCKERS NEXT.

I also hate that it's not raining, I neeeeed it to rain, damnit. My head is killing me, and my sinuses are killing me, and it has got to stop. Granted, I don't know for certain that rain would help, but it couldn't hurt, right? Exactly. This two droplets every now and again bullshit isn't cutting it, Nature, so SHAPE UP AND GET WITH THE DOWNPOUR ALREADY.

I think that is all that I have time to bitch about now. Perhaps if the mood is still around tomorrow, I'll share with you all the other seven million things that elicit a completely unreasonable response from me.

Although before I go, I should tell you that Ted the Head is doing well (called such because his head is disturbingly large due to him being so painfully skinny right now. Poor big-headed bastard.) He got fixed on Monday, so he's still recovering, but he's not having any trouble with any of it. He doesn't seen to mind the cone head, he doesn't mind when we put ice on his "scrotal area," as the doctor called it, and he has no problem at all taking the myriad pills we've been shoving down his throat. He's just an amazingly good dog on all fronts. I think we might have hit the stray dog lottery with this one, people. He's a little spazzy when around other dogs, so we're working on that, and he's a little tense with separation anxiety when we're not home, so we're working on that, too. But he's been doing very well with the training we've been giving him, and when he recovers from his little procedure, we're taking him to an obedience class. By the time we're done with him, he'll be the very best dog ever. Super Ted!

I admit I wasn't a dog person much before, but he's such a doll I can't help but love him. Our Big Head Ted.

And now, having dialed down my crabbiness to a more manageable level (See? Even just talking about pets helps keep stress levels down. Such a good Ted.) I'm going to try to go to sleep. And by "try to go to sleep," I mean close my eyes for ten minutes and then toss and turn for 30 or so, then get up and watch tv for a bit, then go back to sleep for an hour or so, then get woken up again by a cat jumping on my head, then fall asleep for ten minutes, then wake up for no good reason, rinse, lather repeat. Bleh.

Or I could just take a sleeping pill. It's the pussy's way out, but whatever.

Either way, sleep well and behave, chickens.

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