April 17, 2006
Sometimes I Hate Myself
It's 8:13 a.m., and I'm stuffing M&Ms in my piehole, completely negating that minty-fresh, newly-brushed feeling. It's the only thing that can possibly counteract the despair I feel.
Fresh Pepper has removed me from his Links list.
I've been rejected by a guy who bakes pastries, lives in his parents' basement, and can't speak intelligently to a female to save his life.
I want to die.
When I lamented to Nicholle, she offered this solice, "I would say, 1 He hates ANTM, 2 His latent lust for you is too risky in his new relationship, 3 Your most recent post is more up his alley & he will be sooo sorry"
Which means she's probably been drinking since 7:00 because Nicholle never offers solice when mocking laughter is an option. Either that, or she sincerely pities me because my life really has become that pathetic and boring.
Oh, God. I'm Dooce. I've gone and fixed my marriage and, consequently, jumped the shark. Husband and I are all disgustingly content and shit, and now I no longer have that fathomless well of evil hatred to draw from.
I'm doomed.
I enter as Exhibits A, B and C -- Easter decorations:
Exhibit A
I have pastel plushies on the mug-rack in my kitchen, people! I'm scared to look outside -- I'm afraid there will be Easter eggs hanging from my bushes, or a little sign on the front lawn that says "Caution: Bunny Crossing!"
Exhibit B
So Garrance and K had a couple cute little bunnies in their table for Thursday Dinner, and I just had to have one! So I went to Marshall Fields, like they said, and indeed, found a couple of the little 8" bunnies. But wait! Why have 8 inches of bunny when I could have TWENTY inches of bunny?!
Husband took one look at the huge bunny on our coffee table and said, "Huh. I've never really... done Easter decorations."
I have to be in dire straights if Husband can so easily call my coolness into question.
Exhibit C
Those eggs? Hand painted. By me.
Clearly, I have but two options: take my leave of life; or sabotage my marriage, thus regaining my previous venom.
Because, if Jessica Simpson has taught us anything, it's that fame trumps marriage every time.
Now, on to make my marriage a living hell. So many options, but which one is right for us? The sudden and complete loss of interest in sex? Public eye-rolling and condescension whenever he speaks? Rapid and random changes in mood?
Or perhaps the most insidious of all -- accepting the Lord Jesus Christ as my personal savior.
Comments
Post more pictures of your dog. That's why I still read Dooce.
Posted by: AB at April 17, 2006 03:49 PM
You missed an obvious method of sabotaging your marriage.
You have my number, just give me a call.
Posted by: Marty at April 17, 2006 05:27 PM
I hate that Fresh Pepper guy.
Posted by: Fresh at April 17, 2006 07:31 PM
um, dooce is mean and NOT funny anymore.
Fresh is snort worthy fodder-- If I could just read his life before I go have root canal on Friday I won't need laughing gas.
Posted by: runwaylights at April 17, 2006 11:19 PM
Isn't the basket on big bunny's back for a bottle of wine?
Maybe you're just turning into me . . .
Posted by: Lola, a little late at April 18, 2006 09:39 AM
I'm going to have a serious talk with husband! You can never have enough wascally wabbits! I, myself, colored 1dz eggs on sat. and would look at them in the frig every hour! Spouse feels I have serious issues but I think not! Its fucking easter!
Posted by: garrance at April 18, 2006 04:07 PM