I have deemed that word appropriate

My dad and his siblings once lobbied to have the use of the word "crap"  allowed in their home.  They failed.  But it is allowed here, so I can tell you that today has been a crap day.  It has been crappy.  Craptastic.  Craptacular.  Full of crap. 

Crap-crap-crappity-crap-a-crap-crap.

It has been one of those days where a whole lot of small crappy incidents have combined, along with killer PMS, to make it a craparific day.  Which naturally means that I finished off the day eating peanut butter and honey on a toasted English muffin and sipping cocoa while wrapped in my pink bathrobe.  This is my one true solace.  Once that ritual was complete I wrote an angry letter to one of the offenders.  (Dear Fresh & Easy, You suck.  Sincerely, Rachel)  ("Suck" is also allowed here, even though I'm pretty certain it would not have been in my Dad's childhood home.)  And now I'm going to snuggle under my covers and pray for my headache to go away and for the Bluebird of Happiness to nest back in my soul.

I'm curious - what is your end-of-a-really-crap-day ritual?

I've lost it

Well, I've lost it. It's been a pretty good run, but I've officially turned into the Least Funny Person on the Planet. All week long I've been trying to think of anything clever or funny to write about and I've got nothing. I knew I would lose it eventually and now I'm going to have to move into a home for people who don't get the joke - where the only thing on TV is Jay Leno and Everybody Loves Raymond.

To prove that I've lost it here's a list of things I've considered writing about:

1.) The show I watched last night on PBS about people dying on Mt. Everest
2.) The blouse I'm attempting to sew and the fact that I don't actually know how to sew clothes
3.) Sandwiches and how much I love them
4.) How driving over the Grapevine made the inside of my head explode which made me want to die some slow and horrible way because it would be less painful.

See, more boring than cardboard. Admit it, you've already moved onto more exciting things like trimming your toenails or calling your accountant.

I'm sorry. Come back in a week. Maybe it's just a phase.

The deep blue sea, the deep blue sea, there's lots to see in the deep blue sea.

Yesterday I was in a bit of a funk. Not a huge funk, just your average you're not sure where it came from or why you're in it but you know what it is and you want to get rid of it kind of funk. It was enough to make me want to put a blanket over my head and call it a day. But one of my goals for Liz's YOLTILALALB is to use my time after work more productively and while the act of putting a blanket over my head could count as exercise if I did it about a 1000 times, I doesn't quite fit into my ideal life. So I went to the gym, in the hopes that I would sweat out the funk, or at least see the Cat Woman. No luck on either. (Sidenote and possible future post: I have a feeling the gym is making me less funny. I'm concerned. Maybe my giant butt is the source of my sense of humor. Like Samson's hair. And here I am writing a "what I did last night" post. I'm officially dull as oatmeal. Drat!)

I came home and ate a bowl of cereal (because that's what I always want most when I'm in a funk) and decided that it was time to bring out the big guns. I needed Doris Day. I had a friend in college, Betsy, who loved Doris Day movies and would make us get one on almost every free-rental-Wednesday down at Scene One Video. We would pick up some brownie mix and when they were done baking we'd pull them out of the oven, put them in the middle of the living room floor and eat the brownies right out of the pan with forks while we watched Doris sing and prance around in cute outfits. Happy memories. There is are few things better for the soul than a warm pan of brownies and a Doris Day movie*.

So I popped in The Glass Bottom Boat, because even if Doris didn't do the trick Paul Lynde in a dress would. And while I watched I worked on Liz's stocking for a bit (Hey, I can't help that her birthday is in January. She'll have a whole year to enjoy it. And sorry, no hints. Wait for the picture.)(If you want a stocking for your birthday you had better put in your order now, with the minor celebrity of your choice, before I put them up on Etsy.)(Okay, one hint, because I can't stop giggling over it: lunging is involved. Picture me laughing like a loon right now.). So the Doris/cereal/lunging combo worked magic, but what really got me out of the funk was that wee little bird you see over there. I made her out of scraps from the World's Largest Felt Collection after I had gotten as far as I could on the stocking. I've named her Evelyn. She has issues with her equilibrium but she's pretty cute.

*Although not the one where she's married to an alcoholic Frank Sinatra and he gets into some accident. That one was depressing. So depressing that I've completely blocked the name of it out of my memory.

Funk

Things that should get me out of the funk I have found myself in today:

1.) Cheery visit with Liz and Liz tonight
2.) My bed is nice and cushy and is calling to me even as I type. Listen, you can hear it... (rachel....rachel...come to me.)
3.) It is sunshiny outside but not hot like it has been
4.) Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow which will include...
a.) Trip to the gym, because nothing cures a funk like 45 minutes of death on the eliptical
b.) Holy French Toast. In case the eliptical fails me
c.) Christmas shopping, which I actually feel like doing
d.) Amanda's birthday, which will necessitate a phone call to her which always cheers me up (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!)
e.) The triumphant arrival of Sam, Stacy, and Ben the Blessed Nephew (accompanied by Katie) from Idaho-Land of the Spud!

But until all of those things happen I'm going to do the dishes. Doing the dishes has a very healing affect on me. Be gone funk!