So my Monday started with a head-butt to my left eye - well not on purpose, i hope. An accidental head clash minutes before the alarm went off at 6:10am.
It didn't help that the person responsible was bitten, by what one could only describe as, the PMS bug.
He says it's stress.
It still baffles me that when some men get stressed, instead of talking about it, they bottle it inside. It's as though they're hoping that it'll just absorb right back in. If only, that could happen with that extra layer of fat that mysteriously appears around ones' waist.
Anyway, it started a few days ago and i guess the mood peaked on Saturday before we went out for his colleague's birthday party.
We were running late and according to him he gave his word that he would help out with the BBQ.
Fine.
Then we get a call from the birthday boy to say, he forgot his ATM card and he's already at the rugby game and he's about to play. And whether we could stop by the supermarket and buy some crates of beer, sausages, bread and sauces - basically the majority of the stuff.
OK fine, no worries.
So anyway, we end up spending longer than expected in the supermarket and J's stressing even more because there was no exact address given on the website and it's our first time there. J gets this surge of road rage as we catch every red light on the way. I swear if he was a character in a cartoon, he would be red in the face and steam would be shooting out of his ears.
As i glance over i'm thinking, i know we're late but i'd like to get to the place in one piece please. CALM THE FUCK DOWN.
We eventually get there an hour later than expected and his display of major irritation has got me in a fucked up mood. After that, i was thankful there was alcohol.
I find out later his main worry was that the game would be over and everyone would be waiting for us to bring the food and drinks.
Yes hello it's notour J's fucking birthday bash!
Why should he feel responsible to do everything? So yes, he offered to help out and yes he did a good deed. But in my head helping out means organising furniture, flipping a few sausages around when you pass the grill or change the CD when it gets too repetitive.
Like everything, J likes to be in control.
Maybe it's a male thing.
So after i told him he was being an arsehole, he kept saying i didn't understand.
I DO FUCKING UNDERSTAND.
I just don't understand why he had to be such a fucking arsehole!
...
So it's now Day 3 and there isn't much of a lift in spirits.
His words are kept to a bare minimum and whether it's coincidental that each time i enter a room that he's in, he moves to another.
I dunno.
All i know is i've got another deadline to meet, we've run out of non-junk food and the cats are down to their last can of food.
It didn't help that the person responsible was bitten, by what one could only describe as, the PMS bug.
He says it's stress.
It still baffles me that when some men get stressed, instead of talking about it, they bottle it inside. It's as though they're hoping that it'll just absorb right back in. If only, that could happen with that extra layer of fat that mysteriously appears around ones' waist.
Anyway, it started a few days ago and i guess the mood peaked on Saturday before we went out for his colleague's birthday party.
We were running late and according to him he gave his word that he would help out with the BBQ.
Fine.
Then we get a call from the birthday boy to say, he forgot his ATM card and he's already at the rugby game and he's about to play. And whether we could stop by the supermarket and buy some crates of beer, sausages, bread and sauces - basically the majority of the stuff.
OK fine, no worries.
So anyway, we end up spending longer than expected in the supermarket and J's stressing even more because there was no exact address given on the website and it's our first time there. J gets this surge of road rage as we catch every red light on the way. I swear if he was a character in a cartoon, he would be red in the face and steam would be shooting out of his ears.
As i glance over i'm thinking, i know we're late but i'd like to get to the place in one piece please. CALM THE FUCK DOWN.
We eventually get there an hour later than expected and his display of major irritation has got me in a fucked up mood. After that, i was thankful there was alcohol.
I find out later his main worry was that the game would be over and everyone would be waiting for us to bring the food and drinks.
Yes hello it's not
Why should he feel responsible to do everything? So yes, he offered to help out and yes he did a good deed. But in my head helping out means organising furniture, flipping a few sausages around when you pass the grill or change the CD when it gets too repetitive.
Like everything, J likes to be in control.
Maybe it's a male thing.
So after i told him he was being an arsehole, he kept saying i didn't understand.
I DO FUCKING UNDERSTAND.
I just don't understand why he had to be such a fucking arsehole!
...
So it's now Day 3 and there isn't much of a lift in spirits.
His words are kept to a bare minimum and whether it's coincidental that each time i enter a room that he's in, he moves to another.
I dunno.
All i know is i've got another deadline to meet, we've run out of non-junk food and the cats are down to their last can of food.
: End of rant :
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