Part of the crankiness is hormonal (and is strangely intense this week). But it kind of came to a head last night. After a not so quick trip to the beach only to find Ventura Harbor smelling like raw sewage along several miles of drive, we came back and I tried to clean up some construction dust. I have the worst designed expensive vacuum in the world. It was the Consumer Reports top rated machine the year I bought it, so I was very excited to do research and get something good for my money. But it has stupid design flaws that make me hate it every time I use it. After it once again fell over, and in doing so jammed and bent my thumbnail back an eighth of an inch into my nail bed, I'd had it. I quickly devised a plan to kick the crap out of my lousy vacuum and throw it over a cliff and see it smashed into tiny, tiny bits. I got as far as kicking it a couple of times when my mom told me I should probably have a beer and think it over. Newcastle Brown Ale to the rescue.
I woke up this morning feeling much better, and much less cranky. I got a little extra sleep which helped. I started thinking about the completely unfounded but pervasive notion that women can't make good decisions because of being hostage to nature by way of their hormones, and the implied opposite, that men can make good decisions and aren't hormone hostages. It's probably more true to say that since women get so much experience making decisions with varied body chemistries that we're actually more suited to making critical decisions at any time of the month, than men are when they're just a bit off from normal. (Yes, that could be an equally unfair notion.) Anyhow, I was wondering if my little incident with my POS vacuum should be reviewed in the light of day with a different set of hormones flooding my synapses. So in the light of day, after a little distance and on the way to work, I thought about it more calmly. In theory, I could get some money on a trade in for this sucker. In reality, had I truly gone off the deep end, driven the vacuum into the hills and pushed it over, I wouldn't have regretted it this morning. Just because I hate it more than usual during my period, doesn't mean that destroying the evil vacuum is the wrong decision. In fact, in the rational light of day, I'm kind of disappointed that I didn't have the satisfaction of seeing it die a horrible death.
Anyhow. Trying to be happy here, right? Maybe.
- Mom and I are not pushing each other's buttons as much as usual. We are both still alive and mostly having an ok time. Mom is helping me with stuff around the condo like the evil sand wall. (Cranky: Some jackass put exterior grade, very sharp, sand infused paint on the interior hall wall best positioned to snag ones clothes in passing. And it won't come off for love nor money. My mom is always at her most determined when she's fighting a lost cause though, so progress is being made, even if it's slow and probably not worth as much effort as she's putting into it. It's starting to look like a good place to try Venetian plaster.)
- I've decided that I need a new vacuum, no more putting up with this one. I hear many good things about the Dyson, but I'm leery as I've also heard a rare few people who are extremely dissatisfied with them and they aren't cheap. I think I'll buy the bagless $100 brand that my brother has as he really likes it and stupid design flaws tick him off too.
- Work is actually pretty interesting this week, but as usual, that means that something is going a little wrong. Troubleshooting is fun stuff, but often something has to break first.
- Bonus: Newcastle Brown Ale. It is tasty, tasty beer. I don't like bitter things, and this one is sweet, smooth, and flavorful. Even better, it's reliably stocked or on tap at most SoCal bars - unlike Sam's Seasonals, my usual standby. Anyhow. Brown Ale. Great stuff.