(Advice Smackdown? What? Eh. Didn't feel like it, frankly. Better luck next week, suckahs.)
I had to work from home today because Jason took my car keys. And his car keys. All the car keys.
Well, we do have one extra set of keys, because we're not complete fools, but the extra set is only for the Subaru, not the Ford, because we hate the Ford and want it gone gone gone so why bother making an extra key for a car we'll be trading in any day now?
Guess which car Jason drove to work today. Go on! You'll never guess. Fools.
I called Jason to make sure he had both sets of keys, just in case pregnancy stupidity was causing me to overlook the keys that were like, in my hand or something.
Amy: I think you took my keys.
Jason: D'oh! Shit. Fuck damn bitch.
(We are a household that watches a lot of Simpsons and HBO. Can you tell? But don't worry, we totally plan to buy The Incredibles DVD so the baby will have something wholesome to watch. And I already moved our Eminem CDs to a very high shelf, so we're cool.)
After sending my boss an email describing my keyless plight and swearing up and down that I actually had stuff to do and would not just spend the day surfing the Web while clearing out my TiVo queue, I received the following reply:
Sure, sure. The old "my husband took my car keys by accident" excuse.
I was tempted to write back:
Well, I figured you were tired of the old "puking my ever-loving guts out" excuse by now.
Then I thought better of it.
Either way, I actually did have tons of work to do and only spent the barest minimum of time torturing my fetus with the doppler. (And even less time torturing the dog, cat and other various parts of my own anatomy with the doppler.)
The baby hates the doppler. As soon as I lock onto the heartbeat the baby moves away. It's like a sullen teenager, running to its room, slamming the door while screaming LEAVE ME ALONE! It's frustrating, yet infinitely amusing. My child has a prenatal 'tude.
Anyway. Work. Diligence. Etc. How about some more awkward and embarrassing moments?
Yesterday, back when I had my car keys, I stalled my car at a stoplight. And in my frantic attempt to restart the car, Miss-Automatic-Transmissions-Are-For-Pussies turned on the windshield wipers. It was not raining.
Last week, back when it was my turn to drive the Subaru, for which we have extra keys and also XM Satellite Radio, I realized that I am making the conscious decision to listen to Kelly Clarkson.
When you're stuck with regular radio, you don't always have much of a choice. It's either commercials, crap pop, that one Jane's Addiction song with the steel drums or more commercials. But with XM, you have four hundred bazillion options. You can go from Pixies to Zappa to Ben Folds to to Snoop to Wilco to the Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack.
It's totally awesome.
So why the hell am I listening to Kelly Clarkson? And even worse, telling the Internet about it?
I blame pregnancy. Which is also to blame for some fairly gnarly hemorrhoids and the fact that I am wearing a maternity top with polka dots today and was fully intending to go to work like this.
So maybe, actually, Jason taking the keys was a good thing. Thanks, babe. At least one of us is still thinking clearly.