Friday, July 16, 2010

Visitors Welcome

This weekend my lovely parents are coming to visit.  And by this weekend, I mean they are showing up on our doorstep by 11am Friday morning.  Apparently SOME people dont work on Fridays (I kid, I kid).  Because they were showing up so early and because I typically role out of bed and start functioning around 830am, today I had to wake up super early (8am) and get to work, so that I was done when they got here.  So I do some work, shower, and run downstairs to eat some Special K cereal.  Its a new box, so I try and open up the plastic bag inside the cardboard.  Thing is not only child proof, apparently its idiot proof because I cannot open it.  I pull as hard as I can, and the whole bag rips in two, cereal spills all over the floor and all inside the cereal box.  FML.  Why arent those damn bags ziplocked?  It would really make life so much easier.  So, in honor of my parents coming, I decided to make a little list of other things from the past week that have really gotten on my nerves:

1.) Traffic in the Lincoln tunnel at 930pm on a Thursday night DUE TO CONSTRUCTION.  Why cant NY figure out that people are still leaving work then?  It took me an hour to get home (I live 12 miles away)

2.)My vacuum cleaner.  I hate it.  It sucks, well no, problem is it doesnt suck at all.  It sucks in and then proceeds to spit out every piece of dirt, dog fur or grass that we track into our house. 

3.) Jet Blue Planes- Although their service is top notch, I hate their seats.  Most uncomfortable seats ever

4.) The idiot house cleaning lady in SF who decided to bang down my door at 6am last Friday morning, which was exactly 4 hours after I got in from a night full of 7 bars and many more cocktails with my friend Melissa.  When i opened the door, shaking from the alcohol withdrawal and visible shocked that someone was banging on my door so early, she blinked fast and said "sorry, wrong room".  I wanted to punch her teeth out.

5.)Stabbing myself in the eye with my mascara.  I do this weekly.


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