And on top of it, I seem to have caught a bad case of the grumps. If there were an emoticon for pushing down everyone in the whole wide world and taking their lunch money and then kicking their puppy on the way out, I'd insert it here. It would be a very scary emoticon.
I think part of the problem is it's mid-October and 90 degrees outside. I know, I know. "DeNae, what did you expect when you moved to Las Vegas 9 years ago?" Hey, little voice in my head? Zip it already. I've had enough of your sass.
Besides, I'll tell you what I expected: I expected the planet to rotate several degrees in whatever direction necessary to give Seattle's weather to Las Vegas. I'm sorry, Seattle. I realize this would probably give you Nome's weather, but I can't solve all your problems for you. The good news would be that Santa could live in the Space Needle. Couldn't you be happy with what you'd have, instead of what I'd now have and you wouldn't have any more?
Honestly, there is no pleasing some people.
For that matter, I have an entire list of as yet unfulfilled expectations about which the universe, frankly, has some explaining to do. (I would like full points for not writing that last sentence with the Ricky Ricardo punctuation. People with the grumps don't do Ricky Ricardo punctuation. Ever.)
- I expect that when I have four chocolate chip cookies for breakfast with a diet pill chaser, I should be down ten pounds by lunchtime. What is the matter with the pharmaceutical companies, anyway? If we can put a man on the moon or a rabid ferret on Donald Trump's head, I honestly think we could get a diet pill that has a little more muscle than what is currently available by prescription. I want a diet pill that chews through my clothes. And my husband totally agrees, especially about the clothes thing. (Sorry, kids. Probably shoulda warned you not to read mommy's blog today. You too, bishop.)
- I expect to be able to drink three gallons of Diet Coke every day and still get a good night's sleep. Hel-LO, Universe? I finish that last DC a good hour before bed time. So what's the holdup? Beauty like this doesn't grow on trees you know; it requires nine hours of unconsciousness. And don't tell me to take a sleeping pill. I try to avoid putting artificial substances in my system.
- I expect my dog to do the vacuuming. Her fur, her responsibility.
- I expect publishers to just divine that I have a best-seller simmering in my thumb drive, and start lining up on my porch with big baskets of cash and writing contracts. What are you waiting for, guys? A query letter? A finished product? A whaddyacallit, manuscript submission? Who has time for that nonsense? I'm baking cookies over here! And I hate to harp on the obvious, but this blog isn't going to write itself, you know. I believe a little re-think on the old priorities is in order, I really do.
- I expect to be allowed to nap while teaching piano lessons. Hey, that's what all you moms are doing. I think my furniture came from the Martha Stewart Narcolepsy Collection; five seconds after a student's mother sits down and opens her paperback, she's out like a light and drooling on my leather couch. It reveals a shameful lack of discipline if you ask me, but if they get to sleep through their own offspring's assaults on 'Malaguena', then so do I.
- I expect the debit card reader to always say "Approved", even if my previous purchase was, say, Japan. I've never heard a credible explanation of why my having new stuff leads to the debit card reader mouthing off to me, embarrassing me in front of the Albertson's cashier and leaving me no choice but to ground it and take away its cell phone. Listen up, you smart aleck debit card reader: When I say, "Yes, I'd like cash back", you'd better say, "No problem. Will a million get you through the weekend?" or I swear, you won't have Facebook privileges for a month.
- And finally, I expect that once I turn the calendar to October, I'll be able to dig out my cozy sweaters and suede boots, drive to the mall in 50 degree weather, see my breath as I head through the parking lot, and drag my newest acquisition home through a huge pile of fall leaves. That's not asking too much.