Pissy. Pissier. Pissiest.

I woke on the wrong side of my web this morning. Really. The wrong side.

The Ultra I Cannot Believe I Have To Face This Day wrong side.

There’s another fucking open house; and I’m not ready. A good deal of it is my own fault - I crammed too much in too little time, and left not enough for cleaning, organizing, emptying of the fireplace grate, moving some stuff off the front porch….and while the majority of the list is complete (including wiping down the windows in the french door that spearates the office from the kitchen that drove my agent nuts) I’ve still my bedroom (read: furcovered bedroom) and my bathroom (read: consignment area for previously worn clothing) and…the ubitqutious trip of the front porch.

I’m still in a tee, and panties, glasses, and a baby hair clippie. I don’t want to do anything today. I don’t want other people through here - mostly, I don’t want to bother getting ready, yet again, for no one to show. It’s depressing. Disappointing. Incredibly frustrating. Hence, the pissier part. Now I’m doubly pissed. I’m not done, she’s due here in a little over an hour, and I don’t want her dicking with my ac levels, ramping up my electric bill, so she can not wilt in the midday heat that has attacked the northeast. My guess? She plans these open houses with central air to combat her lack of it at her house - she may not even care if no one shows.

I’m starting to think she may nap in my bed.

Plus also? While I’m being pissy, I might as well go nuts - H has not called. B has not bothered to have him call me, or hint that he should call his mama, or any of the things that he harrasses me to do, to have H call him. Evidently, it’s not that important. I got offered a killer job, big money, big moving package, and I cannot take it, because it’s in Ohio, and it might interfere with B’s parenting time.

I’d be more inclined to worry about that, if I actually thought he DID any parenting.

To top it all off, I’m supposed to go to a baby shower tonight, so I can hear all about the Happy Couple, The Impending Happy Event, the Lovely and Happy Nursery they’ve planned for the Damn Near Second Coming. In this frame of mind, it might be safer for all invovled for me to drop off the blanket, and slip away prior to the cutting of the cake, and the intimate details of the blessed event, instead of bringing forth my sense of impending failure, and doom.

Hmm. Maybe I’m being a tad dramatic.

Fine. I’ll be a grown up. Or at least fake it nicely. I’ll finish up the house, but I’ll avoid the Estate Agent. She bothers me, and I’m not sure I’m up to seeing her 21 year old brimming with youthful confidence face at the door. She can kiss my ass about the stuff on the steps to the garage, if I don’t get to it; I’ll go to the shower. I did RSVP. They are expecting me.

Plus, they’ll have cake.

Cake, makes just about anything tolerable.

Maybe, even in this state of mind.