No Good, Very Bad Day

I'm having a bad day.

I figure I can write about it on my blog because if people don't want to hear me complain, they don't have to read it.  That way it's not technically complaining, right? 

Grandma Neff always said that you could only complain on Wednesdays.  I've missed the cut off by 9 hours.  Maybe I'll back-date my post.

1.  This morning I woke up to find that I'd washed every, single piece of my clothing that currently fits (along with all of Husband's work clothes) with an exploding ink pen.  Ink all over every piece of clothing in the dryer.  I tried to get some of it out of one of my shirts so I'd have something to wear to work, but apparently even hair spray and rubbing alcohol can't fix everything.

2.  Shortly following that, I lost my breakfast in the toilet - the toilet, which, by the way, had decided to stop flushing.

3.  I found out that I have to pay an extra $15 to the stupid national massage board to forward my test scores to the Texas State Board.  The same scores that I threw away once I got my accreditation certificate because I was sure I wouldn't need them anymore.  Fifteen dollars isn't very much, but I just can't help but think of all the money I've poured into this massage therapy venture - 95% of which has been a complete waste as I didn't learn anything in school and am having a hell of a time getting licensed now.

4.  Eternal ponytail season has begun.  The humidity in the air makes fixing my hair a lesson in futility.  Whether I straighten it or diffuse it, it ends up looking exactly the same once I step out the door - kind of like I've just woken up after three days of not showering.  I guess the pregnancy hormones must have something to do with it, too, since my hair stays non-greasy for approximately 15 minutes after stepping out of the shower.

5.  We have a meeting today at work where The Boss is going to introduce new working hours.  While it won't change my schedule, it will change several of the project manager's schedules - one of whom has been working 6am-3:30pm for nearly 25 years.  He's going to have a fit when they tell him they want him to work 8-5.  I'm going to try to be as far across the room as possible when he finds out - he's got a temper on him.

6.  Along with the five feral cats that live at work, as of yesterday, we also now have two stray puppies.  The poor little things look like they're starving to death.  It's like a live ASPCA commercial and we all know that in my current emotional state, I'm not allowed to see things like that.  It makes me cry.  And then it makes me want to load those dogs up and take them home.