Category Archives: Frustration

Decorum, Please

I’m not sure why, but it really annoys the hell out of me when I get emails requesting a “link exchange.”

Take that back, I AM sure why.

It’s like that MySpace thingie, which also pisses me off that people I don’t know think it’s okay to send me a friend request without the common courtesy of a note of introduction. Like, give me something to work with, people.

Sigh. Maybe I’m just not meta enough, but when I add someone to my blogroll it’s because I like their site. And people who pay attention to their stats will see that i’ve added them and maybe they’ll add me, and maybe they won’t, but that’s oh-the-hell-kay. Whatever!

I guess I just don’t appreciate the blatant, in-my-face, oh-so-close-to-rude suggestions that a link exchange will “benefit us both.” I like my online friends, and I’ve met them all by following links, but I also think that, in this big series of tubes, things will get sorted out eventually.

I’m like a kid when it comes to this: If you tell me to do something, no way am I going to. Just to show you that you can’t boss me around. (Whoa, Mads, you’re all tough and shit. Jeeeeeze.)

And if you really really really want me to be your friend and link to your site and you can’t STAND it, a flattering email will get you far.

Who doesn’t like to get mail?

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Filed under Blogging, Frustration


It’s twelve hours since I got the phone call from my mom. 

At first I let it go to voicemail, because I was in a noisy restaurant bar with Reece, but she called right back. And told me that my children were still waiting for their father to collect them from the airport. An hour after they’d landed and Miles called me like I’d asked.

Right, so, of course I freaked out, called my ex (no answer, no surprise), called his wife (also no answer), and phoned Miles’ cell (yes, he’s nearly eight and I got him a cell phone… thank goodness.) Reece gave me her phone since my battery was dying and I still hadn’t heard anything except that Daniel’s car broke down on the drive to the airport. Ugh.

I spoke with the airline rep waiting with them, apologized, and asked her to find them something to eat, since it was seven o’clock and they’d eaten lunch at one. 

I called later, after a few vodka crans and Miles said they were at Daniel’s house. Good. But I didn’t speak to Daniel, because nails don’t spit well over the phone. 

On the up, I stopped at a Linens-N-Things on the way home from the airport. It’s one of the ones that’s closing, and I wondered if I could be so lucky as to find the coffeemaker I want on sale. And I did, so now I have a brand-new Keurig in my kitchen, replacing the ancient Krups that always spattered and scalded me and took ten minutes to brew a cup of organic.

Try 30 seconds, motherfuckers.

And I shall be productive today, and I shall not lose my temper with my ex. And I shall clean the shit out of my house, and it shall stay like that because there is no one here to mess it up. Sad face.

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Filed under Frustration, Kids, Parenting

Opposing Counsel

Some of you who follow my Twitter updates may have noticed a short tweet last night that went something like this: “Omg, rudest date ever.” Here’s the (longer than 140 characters) story:

Joe called last Saturday, after basically three months of silence. It’s cool, we didn’t have an exclusive relationship, goodness knows, but I tend to gravitate toward the “Hey, let’s take a break for a while, no hard feelings” line of breaking things off, rather than screen and ignore calls or emails which he seems to favor.

I like Joe. He’s fun to hang out with and go to football games and watch basketball games and Mike & Mike in the Morning. You know, buddy-style. And while I am, in his words, “damn sexy,” we have never had penetrative vaginal intercourse (Ew, sex ed.) I look good on his arm at parties and restaurants and I’m smarter than most women he knows, which is a big turn-on.

So, last Saturday I picked up the phone and he asked me to dinner on Monday, after he finished his hearing at the courthouse.

(Did I mention that I referred my sweet little brother to Joe, who is a hell of a divorce attorney?)

I met him at a bar downtown, we had a glass of wine and I admired his suit. I’ve never seen him in pants other than jeans, and never in dress shoes. Like, ever. He started telling me about the hearing, and how clueless my sister-in-law’s attorney was. I could tell he was in lawyer mode, and silently thanked the universe that I didn’t have to face him in court. Since this was a dinner date and I was starving, I suggested we finish our wine and go down the street for sushi. And that’s when the real trouble started.

Instead of sitting at the table to which we were shown, Joe scooped up the menus and moved over to a different table. I have no idea why; they were right next to each other. Then, when our server came to take our order, he wanted her to have the chef make half an order of the sashimi assortment because, as he said, “20 pieces of sashimi is too much food.”

For two people? Seriously? That’s 10 bites of food each.

I ordered a spicy tuna roll and he rolled his eyes.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re just going to fill up on rice. It’s a waste.”

“Even so, I would like the spicy tuna roll, please,” I said to the server.

Joe threw up his hands. Poor server walked away with our order and my apologetic look.

Soon the server was back. “Excuse me, I’m very sorry, but the chef cannot halve the sashimi plate.”

“Why not?”

“It’s restaurant policy.”

Joe laughed menacingly, as if this server and the sushi chef had conspired against him and he was now prepared to make their lives a living hell, “Bring the menu back.” Then, “Give us the seven-piece tuna sashimi. And some more sake. Hot.”

No “please.” No nod of acknowledgment when things were presented, much less a “thank you,” which I attempted to deliver, embarrassed by his lack of etiquette. I fucking hate that.

So, dinner for two consisted of one seaweed salad, one spicy tuna roll and seven pieces of sashimi. What?

Midway through the salad, he mentioned something which gave me a chance to tell one of my famously funny sushi stories. Two sentences in, he corrected a detail about a James Bond movie, “It’s blahblahblah,” he shot. I replied, “Huh, really? I thought it was blahblahblah.”

“Listen, I’m the 007 expert here. It most certainly is blahblahblah; I’ll bet you a hundred dollars. Two hundred dollars.”

I sat there, stunned.


“Um, okay.”

“Finish the story.”


“Just finish the damn story, Linnie.”

“I will not tell the story simply to finish the story. It’s not funny anymore.”

I took a bite of seaweed. The couple at a nearby table were looking over nervously. We sat in silence.

“Listen, you could have at least waited until I’d finished before you–”

“Shot you down?”

“–interrupted me and shot me down. I’m not opposing counsel.”

He apologized to me, but maintained his rudeness to our server for the remainder of dinner. I didn’t see the check, but I’m sure he didn’t tip her nearly enough for having to put up with him and his pompous, condescending attitude.

We walked out, and said goodbye on the corner. His car was at one end of the street, and mine was at the other, “I’ve missed you, baby, we should see each other again soon.”

I smiled wanly, “Thanks for dinner, Joe.”

I waited for the light while he walked to his car. I turned on my heel and walked back into the restaurant. The hostess held up my umbrella, “Back for this?”

“Oh, I forgot about that! Thanks, but I actually wondered if you could please give this to our server with my apologies.”

I handed her a ten dollar bill and went home hungry.


Filed under Dating, Divorce, Frustration, Fuckbuddies

Hey, Julie

For all my independence and self-reliance, sometimes I really want to be this girl.

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Filed under Blogging, Frustration, Girldom, Music

so, pretty much a waste of a week. last monday I had the whole oral surgery thing, then just as I was coming out of it on thursday, the stomach virus hit, resulting in day-long pukage. then this monday a nasty fight with one of my brothers (more on that later), followed promptly by a raging UTI.

stress much? sheesh.

so I looked and discovered that mars is going into retrograde for a few months. brilliant.

slow down and get used to the crazy, folks.

coming up: check out my latest decision to be a grownup and tell my brother exactly what I think of him.


Filed under Freaking Out, Frustration, Weirdness

I’ll see your “dumbass” and raise you “inconsiderate fuck”

stop me if you’ve heard this one before.

i just got an email from daniel with his flight itinerary for his next visit which was supposed to be friday-sunday. a very nice note accompanied it, saying that a conference came up and he decided to move the visit to sunday-tuesday. how sweet.

no phone call, no email, no “will this work instead? i really need to attend this conference and i really miss the kids so can we change the dates?” nope, “i’ve moved the visit to sunday morning and i’ll drop them off at school on tuesday.”

wow, so yeah, they have hebrew school for three hours on sunday, regular school for six hours on monday and tae kwon do for an hour and a half monday evening. should be plenty of time to get in your “it’s always a party with dad” activities. that, and you know, homework and stuff.

not to mention that i’ve committed to working at a charity benefit all day saturday because they were supposed to be with him.

i want to go back to bed and wake up and hear that he’s magically been transformed into a beetle so i can squash him on the pavement with a satisfying crunch.


Filed under Divorce, dumbassery, Frustration, Kids, Parenting

a letter to mr. krups

dear herr krups,

i am writing to express my extreme annoyance at the design of my (your) espresso machine.

i don’t know the model number, nor do i have my original receipt. what i do have are second degree burns on my thigh from the damn lid falling off the carafe whilst pouring my daily cup of awesome locally-roasted black stuff.

i noticed this problem when i first acquired the machine, and solved it (sorta) by not using the lid–by storing the lid in the cabinet–thus avoiding plastic-top-falling-onto-counter-every-time-i-pour syndrome, but resulting in tiny little coffee drips all over my counter from the espressing coffee drops being forced into the carafe. that’s messy. i don’t like messy.

so i resumed use of the lid, which has a pour spout and a center opening for the tip of the coffee chamber, sealing off the spattering spray of white-hot liquid from its surroundings. i realize the value of the black plastic lid. it has saved my countertop from daily pinpricks of coffee spots, but has required that i tip my cup up and brace the lid against its rim to avoid a brown deluge which spreads over my counter and floor and sometimes, the clean dishes in the drainboard. that is a drag, man.

i can do the whole bracing thing, but on mornings like this one, when i wake up as if from a hundred years’ sleep, i sorta forget. i sorta just pour and realize just as the lid is tipping off that “shit, i forgot to brace it on the cup rim” and it’s part in my cup, part on the counter, part splashed onto my naked thigh. and it hurts, herr krups. it hurts me real bad.

so, even though i bought it four years ago at a garage sale for five dollars, i really don’t want a newer, replacement machine. i like this one’s simplicity and workhorse durability. i don’t care for the frothing, the self-timers, the auto-grind features of fancypants machines. i just want mine to brew great coffee. which it does.

then i have to figure out how to pour it. i hope you understand what a problem this task is first thing in the morning for someone who has not had coffee yet.

please send a custom lid to me at the enclosed address.

espressly yours,


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Filed under Frustration, Stories


Joe is having a cardiac catheterization this morning.

Luckily for him, he’s nice and doped up on Valium. I am, however, preoccupied with the idea. Not only is it something I didn’t think I’d be dealing with at my age (he’s twenty years older than me–welcome to the wonderful world of May-December, ladies), but I’m in a particularly delicate position.

I was the first person he called.

He told his sister and kids on Monday night. They don’t know about me.

Chances are that everything will go well and he’ll be home by the end of the day. But if things don’t go as expected, he’ll be having surgery. He promised to let me know either way.

But if he can’t call, there is no one else who will.

Feeling helpless = Worst thing ever.

Update: Next to someone whom I love very much slurring his speech in amorous drunken exultation of me, I’ll take someone whom I like very much calling to tell me his procedure went well while he’s all loopy on pain meds and amnesiacs. Cuute.

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Filed under Dating, Frustration, Fuckbuddies

My Life, It is so Glamourful.

I’m tired. Overwhelmed by too much housework and not enough workwork.

Jack is home, whining, because 1) he is tired and 2) he is constipated.

It’s not funny. A constipated four year old is not funny at all. He’s freaking out, scared to poop, and my fuse, she is not so long.

I should go; he wants to watch a VHS (even constipated, the brother is ol’skool) and the only VCR is in my bedroom. I have to go hide vibrators and lube.


Filed under Frustration, Kids, Parenting

I don’t even know what this is.

I’m just curious: Was my mother EVER sick when I was a kid? I mean, there were at least six of us in the house at any given moment, and I know that we had our share of viruses. I’m sure we were predictably whiny and pathetic as she tossed us kleenex boxes and told us to stay in our rooms to avoid making the baby sick.

Thing is, I don’t remember my mother ever being sick until I was in high school and she was really sick (like, hospitalized sick). She must have gotten colds. She must have felt like ass. How come I never knew?

So, whatever, I’ve been fighting this cold and it really pisses me off that, unlike my mother, I am not able to put on a Mom Face and push on. I can barely speak and my head is so full of crap that I get dizzy when I stand.

This would be kind of fun if I was alone and I could go to bed and drift delusionally off to sleep. But both boys are home sick as well, and apparently even boy-fevers of 102.5 don’t preclude pointless bickering and sneaky back-of-the-arm pinches between brothers.

Goddamn 60 degree followed by 8 degree followed by 45 degree weather. I can’t take another 13 years of being sick when my kids are. Stop the polar ice caps from melting. For the love of the polar bears and my sinuses.

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Filed under Frustration, Kids, Parenting, Stories