I'm An Angry Freakin' Angel

It's official. I'm too angry and irritable to be an angel, even a freakin' angel. While I'm often irritable (just ask my family), I'm not generally an angry person. But talking to a surly NJDOT employee about a missing license plate from a car you drove when you lived there 16 years ago would probably even tick off Mother Theresa. It seems they sent me a letter 16 YEARS ago following a car accident, asking for proof of insurance or the return off my license plate. Well, I never received said letter (and I'm super responsible and organized so I know this was not my fault), and they therefore suspended my license. Did I mention this was 16 YEARS ago? Now the Federal government has instituted some national policy that requires states to check to make sure there are no issues with a license holder from any other states they lived in. So lo and behold, PENNDOT passes along this good news. But hey, for a faxed letter and a $100 restoration fee, all will be right with the wold.

And I should take comfort in knowing I have my *&^!(%!@$ dog to cheer me up. That is when she's not whining and woofing at me. Have I mentioned lately how much I hate my dog? Yesterday she ate three cupcakes, including at least one wrapper. Her legs aren't strong enough to jump up on my bed without assistance, but she can reach to the back corner of the kitchen corner to eat food that doesn't belong to her. Among her recent treats? Three-quarters of a Shoo Fly Pie, about two dozen dunker cookies (of a consistency that makes biscotti look mushy), and chocolate chip pancakes. And don't tell me dogs can die from chocolate. If that was the case, she'd be long gone by now and I wouldn't have all these problems. I could go on and on on the Maddie issue, but I've got other fish to fry today.

Like the fact that I'm allergic to my house. I'm fine everywhere else but in my own home. I'm even fine in certain rooms of my home, but not every room. Could be the cat, the dog, or the guinea pig. Or maybe it's my responsibilities as a mom and wife that I'm allergic to. The mere thought of making dinner tends to make me sneeze uncontrollably. I've literally gone through a box of tissues in the past 24 hours. How long before my nose falls off and when it does, can I get a smaller one?

And then there's being home for three days with a sort of sick kid. Abby's been battling a cough for weeks, but about a week ago it started to cause her to gag and choke and vomit. Nice, huh? Well, the good mom that I am decided it might be time to visit the doctor (again). So off we went we me grumbling about wasting $20 when all they were going to tell me was that  (insert your own sing-songy pediatrician voice here) "It's just a virus, nothing we can treat. Blah, blah, blah." Instead, it turns out she has a mild case of bronchitis or walking pneumonia and we're treating her with antibiotics. Oh, and yes, that stuff she's coughing up is probably contagious so she should stay home a couple days. Well that's all well and good except that she only feels sick and down for the count when she's actually hacking up a lung. Otherwise she feels fine and BORED. And while I'd love to play the entertainer, I happen to have a crap-load of work as a result of being out of the office for three measly days during which we went and released two new books. Oh, and LogMeIn, which I use to connect to my work computer when I'm home, should today rename itself LogMeOut because I've been bumped offline more than I've been on.

So what's an angry, irritable Freakin' Angel to do in a case like this? Vent and rant on my blog, of course, so you can all get a good laugh at my expense. Go ahead. You know you want to.