Bring on the Grump.

I'm Grumpy. There's no other word for it. I'm not angry or pissed off or out-of-sorts, just grumpy. I spent most of my long weekend snowed-in and now I'm ready for my real weekend, the one where I get to go to the gym and go to the movies and fun stuff that involves not being in the house.

Mostly, being stuck inside was cozy, it's just that I missed being able to spend the days out and about. When I'm stuck inside, my tendencies turn towards sloth-like behavior (except the termite-eating part. I don't do that).

I spent a lot of time reading (finished "Good In Bed", started "Lost Horizon") and cooking and watching TV. I also spent some time whining and looking out the window longingly. The cats did some of this too.

This morning Kenny tried to start my car and the battery was dead. Again. We ended up having to go get a new battery (thank you, Kenny!) so I was extra late coming in to work, but, as usual, nobody looked up or said good morning when I arrived. Welcome back, sucker!

So, so sum up: Being home= whiny. Being at work = whiny. There's no winning with me.

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More complaining, New location.

So, my gym is generally a nice place and I've had mostly good experiences with the other members. There's the occasional ass-monkey, but mostly it's fine. However there is the one girl that I disliked on sight. Dig if you will the picture:
Tall, whippet thin, blonde with tasteful highlights, tan (but not too tan), perfect skin and perfect teeth, all completely ruined by the constant superior, snotty look on her face.

I was in the locker room, and I'd set my CD player down on the bench while I got something out of my locker. The bench is probably four feet long and was otherwise completely empty. Superior Girl walked in all fancy, went to her locker and then turned to put her $765 Prada bag down on the bench. She saw my CD player and froze, mid-gesture.

She stood there shooting hate-rays at my CD player, because it was in the exact spot she'd decided was the rightful resting place for the $765 purse. Rather than set her precious baby down next to my humble CD player, she just stood there, frozen, bag dangling from her outstretched fingers.

A year went by.

I finally snapped, and without meaning to, I grabbed the CD player out of the way. She slowly set the $765 purse down, and, confident that it had achieved the spot it deserved, turned back to her locker without acknowledging me in any way. What a bitch. My $20 Marshall's purse was pissed too, and swore it could kick that Prada's ass any day of the week. Heh.

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More complaining, different topic.

So, I finally watched the "Survivor" premier (which I'd taped). I said Goddamn. Are they using the same casting techniques Mtv uses for The Real World? Seriously, where the hell do they find these people? And where's the diversity? One black woman, one Asian man, that's it? And is it me, or do they all seem to be getting younger and more model-attractive (exception: Rob's pointy man-boobs. *shudder*)? This isn't Temptation Island.

And, the men's tribe? 1950 called, it wants it's machismo back. Not that I was really impressed with the women's tribe either. Really, go ahead and kill that spider. There are only 800 million more where that came from. Gah.

There were a few people who I didn't hate, but I'm not sure if it's because they're good people or just because they didn't completely suck, comparitively.

And "Joe Millionaire"? Yawn. The twist was so predictable that I couldn't believe they were thinking it would be a big shock.

Note to Zora: take the money and run. Fast.
Note to Sarah: I'm glad that you made that secretive blow-job hand gesture to Melissa, rather than just say it. You sure fooled us. The camera didn't pick that up at all.
Note to Evan: ew.

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Yes, her purse really did cost $765. Insane.

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