Time to get away

I think I need to get away this weekend.  Let me explain.

I have a friend – and I’ll leave her name out because she’ll know who she is in about two seconds – who is on Facebook.  Right before she joined she was given some safety advice:

“Don’t use your real birthday because people can steal your identity.”

We discuss this every year in August at about the time of her birthday.   I admire her fortitude for not changing her profile to her correct birthday date.  Way to not give into peer pressure, friend!  Even if most of the pressure comes from me.

My first year on Facebook  I left my birthday off.  But after wishing every single person on the planet a happy birthday the following year – I added mine.  If I’m going to wish you a “happy, happy birthday” I want the same in return.  And yes, I keep track.  But in mature fashion not in a totally childish, petty way.

I try to be respectful.  If a friend’s birthday doesn’t pop up in the reminder window then who am I to blab his or her secret?  I wish that person a “happy day for whatever reason ;)” Yep, I’m so clever.

Today Facebook said it was her birthday.  “No, it’s not,” I said.  To be honest, my alter-ego Ms. Cranky Pants has been rearing her grumpy head again causing trouble.  It happens every year when I return from my road trip and I’m a little disappointed my better offer didn’t magically fall in my lap a la any Hallmark movie.  One day it will.  But not this year.  So, Ms. Cranky Pants has surfaced and is living up to her name.  Thanks to her, I am due for a stern talking-to at work.  Thanks for that Ms. Pants.

So, I have been a bit of a cranky stinker.  “It’s not her birthday,” I complained.   “I’m not going to wish her a second happy birthday.”  Because, as you know, to wish somebody a second happy birthday in one year will pretty much cause the apocalypse to rain down.

Later in the day as I perused Facebook posts I saw how a mutual friend handled it: “I’m so glad I get to wish you another happy birthday!”

Well poop.  It might be time for Ms. Cranky Pants to get out of town.

The Return of Ms. Cranky Pants

So, Ms. Cranky Pants has reared her ugly head again.  I think I’ll blame September.  Due to staff changes at work, plus a couple of road trips, sprinkle a little family drama and September kicked my butt.  By the end of the very long month, I anxiously wanted to say a not so fond farewell to September 2012.  And anyone who had to deal with me probably wanted to say a not so fond farewell to Cranky Pants.

I hoped the new month of October would see the demise of Ms. Cranky Pants.  Personally, I don’t care for her.  She’s a little too irrational and moody for my taste.  Not to mention she rides the self-pity train a bit much.  Plus, out of the Pants family, she’s not the one I want to be known as.  I’d prefer her lesser known sister, Charity Pants.  Or even more well-known sister Smarty Pants.  Unfortunately, I’ve never been mistaken as either of them.  Only Cranky Pants.

I knew if I allowed her to move in, I’d be labeled as Cranky.   You know, the person people feel comfortable enough whisper about when she’s out of the room but when she walks in they try to avoid at all costs.  I also know how hard it is to shake a label once branded.  No, I’ll have to evict Ms. Cranky Pants immediately.  Do you know how hard it is to get rid of Cranky?  It is no enviable task.  She’s kind of stubborn and takes root rather quickly.

I can do this.  One huge step will to be to control my tone of voice.  Snarkiness just seeps out.   What can I say?  It’s a talent.  I’m not sure I like what it says about me that it takes more effort to be a nice person than a cranky one.  But I got this.

At the very least, I can be Ms. Nice Pants.  I like the ring of that.

Yes. I am Ms. Cranky Pants. Gotta problem with that?

I had the best of intentions to finally hand-off the tag game from a couple weeks ago.  But it ain’t gonna happen tonight.  The past two weeks have been uber-busy.  That’s teen talk.  I think it means the past two weeks have kicked my butt.  And there’s no relief in sight.

A month ago I took a week off work in hopes of magically making me a nice person again.  I used to be fairly nice.  Sometimes.  Not so much lately.  The week off actually helped a little.  And then there was Daylight Savings Time.  The older I get, the more evil and sinister that spring forward becomes.

Anyway, that was a two paragraph explanation as to why I’m phoning it in again tonight.  We have a big road trip planned with the Young Women tomorrow so I may be phoning it in all next week, also.  Next week will be my one year mark with CK’s Days!  So, I think that translates to a special “Week Review” of all the best CK’s Days has offered.  Hmm, possibly.

Getting back to the theme of the title, I do have a couple of things to vent.

One.  I went to see the Hunger Games.  I’m still reading the third book so the story is fresh in my head.  I’m not sure I cared for the movie that much.  It was a fairly literal translation from page to screen.  At least, as much as possible time-wise.  But it lacked…something.  Sure, there were a couple of scenes that “something got in my eye.”  Fine.  I cried.  But for the most part it was kinda blah. 

It didn’t help that a grandmother brought her five-ish year old grandchild and sat right in front of me.  Then she was appalled at the violence.  Um, this might be a bit of a spoiler alert but the story is about kids forced to kill other kids.  Like, kill them dead.  In very vicious ways.  It didn’t shock me because I READ THE BOOK.  As violent as the movie was, the book was even more violent.  If only there was a way for that grandma to have known beforehand what she was taking her charge to.  Some kind of internet thing to read reviews… or televison to see previews… or a libray to check out the book.

Other than that distraction,  the movie reminded me of the first Harry Potter movie.  So literal it was boring.  But that series picked up.  A bit.  And here’s the trivia I figured out once the characters got to the training center.  The actors that played Cato and Peeta have both worked with the Rock.  No, that doesn’t have anything to do with the movie.  That’s just how my mind works.  Too bad I can’t make a living out of all the useless movie trivia I have stored up there.  I’d. be. rich.

And yes, I am planning on seeing the sequel.  It will probably be better  since I will have forgotten about the book by then.

Two.  I didn’t want to post this clip but I have to so that you understand what I’m referencing.  However, I couldn’t watch the whole thing.   This went viral making fun of the wife.  I didn’t laugh.  I have had many moments when the dots just don’t connect.  Thankfully, I don’t have a jerk-husband to post those moments on the internet.  So, while I’m indulging in my crankiness, here’s the jerk-of-the-week award to the husband.  Wow!  This just proves my point that there are worse things than being single.

Okay, I think I’ve vented enough.  At any rate, I have to get to bed early.  I really can’t wake up on the wrong side of the bed tomorrow.  Besides, even I don’t like my cranky self.