Gigi over at Kludgy Mom has a whole lot of website going on. Fun, creative, nurturing, and talented, Gigi has a place where moms feel comfortable dropping in, dropping out, meeting like-minded bloggers and sharing ideas.
But not all is sunshine and gumdrops at the site, perhaps the kludgy part of the name hinting at a darker, unhappier side of motherhood. In that vein, Gigi started a bloghop called Friday Flip-Offs, the title a tad more sinister than actual posts. At first, I liked the idea of joining a cluster of rants, but then chickened out, figuring I could rant at my own Carnival of Rants.
But then I saw Gigi's flip-offs again and decided this time around I really would give it a whirl. Besides, I promised I would do it and a good Do Bee never goes back on a promise.
To Mother Nature: You low-life dung-eating crack whore! How dare you shake and bake my neighborhood like a piece of Kentucky Fried extra crispy. My garden is wilting, my clothes are so sweat-drenched I have to change every other hour, and our thermostats are on 80 (!!!) because my husband thinks it will lower our energy bills. Meanwhile, no one wants to do house chores or run errands because they're too dehydrated, nauseated and just plain uncomfortable, despite drinking buckets of water.
To Late Night Re-Runs: Are all of you suits still on vacation? Every show a re-run for more than two weeks and the evening news still hawks the lineup like it's must watch TV. Never mind that I saw the program only a few months ago. I'm on the verge of permanently switching to "That 70s Show." At least have a heart and run something from last year. Maybe I won't remember.
To our 19-year old: Clean up your room. It smells. And I think I saw something in the corner starting to sprout legs.
To Entenmann's: I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I love you. I hate you. No really, I hate what happens to my body whenever I partake of the sweets that pop out of your ovens. Never darken my door again.
To the squinty-eyed checkout girl: You give me bad service whenever I use your line at the grocery store. You spend more time looking up prices for the vegetables, counting the money, giving back change, in fact, everything takes you more time. It's gotten to the point where I avoid you like the plague, even when you may have the shortest line. Why? Because I know the minute you wait on me your line will slow like molasses. No thank you.