Who Stole My Sharpie?

August 11, 2005
I can’t find my sharpie! And this is the trigger event that has me mad enough to kill this morning.

The missing sharpie led me to the supply closet. There were NO SHARPIES in the supply closet. 3 weeks ago there were THOUSANDS! Now – there are none.

And thus I am plotting people’s deaths.

I swear – if they asked me teach a class on being pregnant, I would choose Pregnant Bitchery 101.

I’ve been doing tons of Lamaze breathing these days – and not in preparation for delivery – but to try and keep myself from a.) screaming and b.) strangling someone.

Of course, it doesn’t help that completely shitty things have been happening on a constant basis.

Shall I go into yesterday’s dentist appointment?

I was angry before even getting in there just remembering the whole “full mouth debridement” scam at my last visit - and I was preparing a small speech (which, sadly, I never got to give.)

Then, while in the waiting room – there was a “Best of Friends” DVD on – only it was stuck on the menu screen. So I heard the beginnings of the Friends theme over and over and OVER again.

At one point, I got up and tried to hit play or do anything to MAKE IT STOP – but the efforts were all in vain.

Finally – I’m called to the back by this size 0 Malibu Barbie assistant in scrubs.

So I waddle down the hall following her – in total pregnant stance – right hand clutching lower back, left arm flailing in the air for support. She looks back and waits for me several times because she’s waaaaaaay ahead of me.

So I sit in the chair and I proceed to pull out the fax from my OB detailing what meds I could take, etc, which I’m sure they never requested (and I was correct).

So I hand it to her and say – “Here’s the note from my obstetrician detailing what meds I can have and all that good stuff.”

And she giggles in her tinkly, Barbie-assed way and says:

“Oh! You’re pregnant?!?”


I got totally sarcastic with this bitch –

“Ummmmmmmmm - yeah!”

What I should have said was, “No bitch, I was doing my best impression of Fred Sandford pretending to have a fucking heart attack!”

I was pissed for the rest of the visit.

The whole dental part went shockingly well – but I was too angry to notice.

Anyway – I went home and nested for the afternoon – cleaning out old clothes and whatnot.

And that was my day.

And here I am.

Fuming and sharpie-less.

Waaaaaait a minute –

I just received this postcard.

The reverse reads:

Dear Pregnant Bitch:

Life (and ink) is too short to deal with your rantings any longer. Jaune and I have gone to Paris where she can live the type of free and topless life she’s always dreamed of. She really lights up my life – a lot more than you ever did or could. Don’t try to find us.


Isn’t that raspberry beret a little cliché, Sharpie dear? Where did you find it - in a secondhand store?

10:41 a.m. ::
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