Wheels of Fortune

Wheels of Fortune

FINALLY got the car and it is working.  I bought a little maroon Kia Optima LX of vintage 2008; it’s roomy and seriously the most comfy ride ever.  I had 2012 VW Jetta’s for loaners and hated them.  How ironic is it that the more pricey VW looked like cheap plastic and was uncomfortable to ride and drive, on top of all the electronic crap that’ll undoubtedly fail spectacularly just a few years down the line?

I have working AC in a car that uses less gas than the little AC-less beast I’d been driving for the past several months.  Bonus points because it has working cruise control and a stereo with a CD player.  I dunno that I’ll ever use the CD player, but you never know!

I also have a three-day weekend this weekend again.  I’m supposed to do blood tests tomorrow but God only knows where my paperwork is for that since we’re still in the process of unpacking and G the pack-rat has different ideas of what’s important and where to put things.  In a place where so far we’ve seen three different types of poisonous spiders, he put the baby’s car seat and stroller in the garage.  I don’t know if he’s really that clueless or if it’s some passive-aggressive warp to his personality.  I’m willing to concede that he’s never had a baby of his own but come on – he’s this child’s grandpa and ostensibly loves the kid to death.  There surely must be some brain engagement.

There will be bug spray this weekend when short people and puppies are removed from the premises for a while for safety.  G says he’ll spray.  Any bets on who actually ends up doing it?  G has alternately worked himself sick and played the whiny little boy trick.  I could definitely live without that schtick.  After all the grief I’ve dealt with this week, I finally lost my temper with him tonight, told him I didn’t know I needed his permission to go to the store to get batteries (for the TV remote.)  I had no great desire to go anywhere but it was preferable to staying around listening to his endless bitch-and-whine-fest.  His ankle hurts.  He can’t do anything.  He can’t walk the dog or wash the dishes, he can’t do jack shit.  Nevermind that I have to go to work to pay the bills regardless of what I feel.

I do love the man but sometimes I just can’t deal with it any more.  The one year old whining I can take.  At some point a fifty-something man needs to grow up already.

With that in mind, my vacation tomorrow sounds less than appealing.  I don’t have the money to spend the day driving or yard-saling this week, but my mental health requires I get the heck outta Dodge.  I’ll figure it out.


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