This is the THIRD weekend in a row that involves cooking and entertaining and right now, I hate everybody. (NOT everyone, damnit. Everybody. Good grammar does not always translate into what I MEANT.)
So, in my scurrying up and down the road there are all sorts of things that just...don't make a lick of sense. Just plain old common sense....I'd be a much better driver if I didn't have to wander up and down the roads going, "WTF?".
Why in the world would you put a tan soft top on a silver convertible? Tan. Silver. Nope...doesn't work. What was going on the day you forked out $40K for a sports car and thought, "You know, I put a tan top on a silver convertible and I'll get laid." Ain't gonna happen.
When you were standing in your yard with a chainsaw, at what point in time did you decide that, "You know. I think I'll cut off all the branches on that tree. Won't that look good?" It doesn't. And you just ruined a perfectly good tree. God has this down. You don't.
And while we're TALKING about horticulture? Or pissing me off? Who in the WORLD got up one day and thought...you know that nasty red color they put in cough syrup for kids? I think I'll dye the mulch that color. And just spread vileness around flowers.
Flipping through the channels...what is the job description for the guy who thought up, Zombie Bridegroom? Better still, who was the guy with the MONEY who thought, "You know? I'll bet backing this will improve my bank account."
And, just incidentally connected to this weekend's activities, who decided that every child attending a birthday party should leave with a "goodie bag?" Seven years ago I rented a lakeside cabin. Bought each of the attending children a Scooby-Doo rod and reel. Bought bait. Set up tables and chairs and food and beverage and cake and turned them loose. (It rained one hour before the party and there was a flooded area of the lawn. I let them HAVE at it and then sent them home.) And at the end of this country extravaganza I'll be damned if one of the attending children didn't run up to me and ask, "So. Where are our goodie bags?" I vowed after that, there is no point in time I will EVER fill a flimsy paper bag with the cast-offs from Big Lots and appease you greedy little ungrateful shits. You want a spider ring? Save the one from Halloween.
And finally, because it's Friday and it's raining, you pull up to the liquor store and park your 40-ft long Beamer CROSSWISE in the first two parking spots? And I have to park halfway out in the parking lot and stomp through the puddles and the rain, with two kids sitting in the car? Oops! Didn't even notice that was the exit door and Oh! My! I'm so SORRY, honey, I knocked that bag out of your hand Oh! sweetheart! how did the floor get so slick? Sugar. Stop scrabbling around in all that creme de menthe.
And pick your own ass up. You're between me and the bourbon.