Coco-nuts

My youngest child has very odd taste in food. He thinks it’s a treat to go to the health food store and pick something out. He comes home with all sorts of oddities: star fruit, melons, a giant cabbage one time, and tonight … a coconut.

Somehow, even though my husband took him to the store, it became MY job to figure out how to open up the coconut. Read a wiki, got the coconut milk out, and then took it out to the driveway to smash it open with a hammer. Success! But then, all the meat of the coconut was still attached to the shell.

No problem, I thought. I’ll just jimmy it out with a knife. A sharp knife. Great idea, right?

My husband walked by my operation and I asked him what he thought the odds were that I was going to injure myself. He just chuckled, which I knew meant 100%. I agreed. It was a matter of time.

I think it was less than 30 seconds later that the knife slipped out of my hand and I stabbed myself in the other hand. In the palm. I cried out in pain. “What’s the matter?” my husband called from the other room. “Stabbed myself,” I answered.

At first I didn’t see blood, but then I SAW  BLOOD AND LOTS OF IT. For a tiny little puncture, that fucker bled like crazy. But I totally deserved it. That was a dumbass move and I paid the price. Pro tip: don’t jimmy out coconut meat with a sharp knife. I don’t have another answer for you at present. I have to stop hemorrhaging blood so I can figure it out.


One day later …

Still about half of the coconut meat needed to come out, so thought I was going to be smart and just smash it into bits so I wouldn’t sustain any more injuries. I took a huge piece of coconut to the driveway and threw it to the ground with gusto.

The shell back bounced up toward me so I went to stop it from hitting my face and/or vital organs with my OTHER hand. The shell was all jaggedy so when I put my hand out to stop it, I got rewarded with more lacerations.

Conclusion: coconuts are dangerous, and should be outlawed.

#ParentingFails

Most days I am an ok parent. I’d give myself like a B minus. I’m not knocking it out of the park, but I’m not Child Services material either.

My kids are growing up way too fast. With YouTube and Instagram and basically anything they can find on an iPad, they know stuff that I didn’t know until I was a little bit older. My 10 year old was looking up songs he liked and watching the videos on YouTube. I wasn’t comfortable with some of the things he was seeing – mainly gratuitous instances of the Twerk. So I thought, ok, he just wants to listen to the song … I’ll turn him on to Spotify. I installed the app on his iPad, helped him set up a playlist of his faves, and that problem was solved. Well, except for the occasional f-bomb and questionable lyric in some of the songs he chose.

Then the 6 year old wanted Spotify on HIS iPad. I let him access my account rather than set one up for him. I helped him pick songs and created a special playlist just for his stuff. He was satisfied, and I went into the kitchen to do something domestic, while the boys remained in the adjacent living room.

Maybe 30 seconds later, the following song BLASTS from the living room, off my 6 year old’s iPad:

“THIS SUMMER’S GONNA HURT LIKE A MOTHA FUCKA”

“FUCKA”

#ParentingFail

And by the way, I’m STILL mad at Maroon 5 for even producing that piece of garbage. You’re better than that, Adam Levine. And … other band members also in Maroon 5…

Watch Me

I try to stay hip to the music they’re listening to. So I thought it would be hilarious one evening when I retrieved a container of Cool Whip from the fridge if I put on a little performance.

My boys were watching TV or, more likely, something inappropriate on their iPads, when I leapt into the living room holding said container of whipped dessert topping. I thrust the container out with my left hand. “Now watch me WHIP,” I said. “Now watch me Nae Nae!” And did the requisite Nae Nae move.

They both gave me a blank, horrified stare and definitely didn’t appreciate the mom humor.

#ParentingFail

This just makes sense

Finally, trying to keep these kids clean is a chore. Especially when evening sports activities suck up some of our at-home time. This week we had a tournament that was a half-hour drive away. We basically had time to get home around 6, everyone change clothes, and run back out the door.

They didn’t get a chance to shower Wednesday night because of this. Then during the day Thursday we found out we were playing again that evening. They go to my in-laws after school so I called in a favor and asked if they could shower over there before the game. The only problem was they didn’t have a change of clothes so they would have to put their dirty clothes back on. I figured they could change when we got home … but when we got home that evening, we were in such a rush,  I forgot.

Therefore, they had on dirty underwear on Friday. It was basically going on three days old at that point. So I told my 10 year old to put on a clean pair. His response? “I’m about to fart, so …”

To which I said: “Well fart in the dirty ones and then put the clean ones on!”

I thought that was solid advice. #ParentingWin

A few words about my yoga class

I know I’ve written about yoga before, about hating the Ohm. I stand by that.

This morning I attended a yoga workshop and noticed a few things, good and bad, that I wanted to share. Keep in mind that if you are a yoga person, some of this might offend you. Let it go.

First, a bit of the good. I take quite a bit of personal satisfaction when I am able to do moves that the younger yogis in my class cannot. Today’s exhibit: holding a plank for a long fucking time. Boom. I saw you go down on your knees, little twentysomething. Although it was NYE last night and you probably had a few drinks so you’re not at your best right now. Still. My planking is superior to your planking!

Also, I’m ok with the inverse of this. When there’s an older woman who just totally schools me in class. It gives me hope that I will be spry in my older age.

Now, a bit of the bad. People who grunt in class. I want to throat punch them SO HARD. This one woman, she was older, probably a hippie back in her glory days, grunted and make pleasure sounds for almost EVERY MOVE that we did in class. How am I supposed to find inner peace if you’re over there having an orgasm every 30 seconds?

Yoga pants that are basically see-through. Not that I’m looking, but if I can see your panties through your yoga pants, you need either a longer shirt, or you need thicker yoga pants.

People who show off. It’s great that you can do a full headstand or whatever, or crow that moves into a headstand, but if we’re not doing that pose, then there’s no need for you to be doing whatever show-offy thing you’re doing. Happy for you that you’re advanced in your yoga practice, but the rest of us are struggling and we all hate you.

People who invade your personal space. Yes, I know sometimes there’s not much room to maneuver in those classrooms. But if you’re flailing your arms around then please try to contain it to your mat. If you’re constantly knocking into me I’m going to probably turn around and clock you in the face. Namaste.

People with less-than-perfect hygiene. Someone near me smelled like what I can only describe nicely as “ass.” It was more of a “feminine odor” if you catch my drift. It was so bad that at one point, when hunkered down in child’s pose, I tried to sniff out the situation to make sure it wasn’t me. Yeah, just enjoy that visual for a minute. It happened. It wasn’t me, but the scent was distracting enough that it kept me wondering.

I know yoga is supposed to be a time of quiet reflection, where you try to free your mind and find peace. But these kind of things distract the hell out of me and make me cranky. I’m trying to be a better person and it just brings all the nasty in me right to the forefront.

I know I’m not the only one. I caught the eye of a woman across the room who was glaring at the orgasm lady. WE ARE IN THIS TOGETHER, SISTER, is what I tried to convey with my eyes.

Do you find these same kinds of distractions in your yoga practice? How do you overcome them? Obviously I need a way to rise above, because it ain’t workin’ so far.

 

Level Up: Old person achievement unlocked!

This weekend, I almost killed myself. Not on purpose.

I have to take some pills for certain issues I have. I have plenty of issues, but they don’t make pills for all of them. Anyway, the weekend was crazy because we had a baseball tournament for the older kid, about a half hour drive away. Our first game Saturday morning was at 8:45. We had to be there a half hour early, so that meant 7:45 we had to be out of the house. There are three pills I take in the morning – one of them first thing before I eat, and then the next two with food.

I cannot say for sure if I took the next two.

Felt fine during the tournament, other than it started out 45 degrees and was about 75 by the time we were done. I had worn jeans, a t-shirt, a hoodie, a vest and a winter coat in the morning. So by the end I was down to just the t-shirt. Even the jeans were too much at that point, but what are you going to do.

When I got home, I remembered those two pills and honestly couldn’t remember taking them or not. Usually I would give myself the benefit of the doubt and skip the pills, but this time, I decided that I 100% hadn’t taken them earlier, and so I took them. Maybe again. I don’t know.

I started to feel like total shit a few hours later and had forgotten by that point what I had done. When it hit me, I took to the Internet to see if the symptoms matched. They did. Bottom line, I could have died for my dumbassery. That is a giant #hashtagfail.

Of course, I then obsessed over said symptoms and probably made them 100 times worse in my head. My husband talked me out of going to the ER twice. Probably because he is so cheap and he didn’t want me to blow a $150 co-pay.

So this morning, I had to go to my local pharmacy to get some other stuff, and I picked up one of those weekly pill sorter things. I figure it’s probably better to bite the bullet and feel like an old person by using that, than do this to myself again and not live to BE an old person. But I feel like this is a milestone that nonetheless needs to be called out. Pill sorters are not for people under 40. Under 60, even! But, so it goes.

This post probably isn’t as funny as maybe it could be, but those are the facts of the case. I almost overdosed myself and so now I have a pill sorter. The end.

Dating, Explained

My kids watched some TeenNick program last night on TV. I was marginally paying attention. It’s such drivel that I can barely stand to be in the room, but I want to maintain some semblance of being interested in what they’re watching. The gist of the show we watched was that a girl’s parents thought she was too young to date, but she liked a guy and he asked her to be his girlfriend, so she hid it from her parents (spoiler alert: not well).

Of course in the end, the parents end up loving the boyfriend and give her the thumbs up to date him, so it’s all good.

I completely forgot about it, and I thought my kids did, too. Until today, when I foolishly allowed my kids to help me paint the trim in my bedroom with primer. I know. Mistake. Anyway, we’re all painting, and my 9-year-old says, “Mom, do you care if I date?”

Come again?

“You’re WAYYYYYY too young to date,” I said. “Who do you even want to date?” I am constantly asking him if he likes anyone in his class. He always acts like I have just asked him if he’d like to get a tooth extraction.

“No one,” he responded. “I just wanted to see if you were ok with it.”

“I don’t think anyone in the fourth grade is allowed to date,” I told him.

“On a date?” my 5-year-old began. “Girls do all the talking and boys do all the farting.”

We dissolved into giggles and the subject was dropped. I don’t know if that was a line from the show, or if he made that up. I have a feeling it’s the latter. That’s pretty insightful, coming from a kindergartener. He basically broke down the dynamic of male/female relationships. I’m so proud.

So much for family tradition!

Today, Good Friday, has become the day each year that my boys and I decorate Easter eggs. We’re home all day and the kids quickly run out of things to do which don’t involve emulating WWE superstars. So, why not spend an hour of togetherness and harmony, coloring eggs and reflecting on the season of Easter?

My ultra-dumb cats were hands down the most excited for this project. Especially my black cat, Mack. He’s obsessed with eggs being cracked, and remnants of eggshells are his favorite. He watched the entire project with interest. The other two were around, but none as jazzed as he. Here’s Aero/Duck (see My Cats Are Assholes for an explanation of his name) looking at the finished work with disdain.

Duck Easter 2015

My kids were slightly less enthusiastic. My oldest was gung ho at first, but by the time he dropped his third egg into the vinegar-infested coffee mug, he announced that he was bored and going outside. That left me and the five-year-old to finish the job. He lost interest as soon as all the eggs were dipped into a color, and was not interested in the least in applying stickers or doing any sort of cool, multi-colored effects. So I had to finish by myself, and truth be told, I really didn’t do anything fancy. We made 18 eggs, of which probably half will be eaten (and that’s even being generous). The refrigerator stinks of vinegar and egg each time you open it.

While decorating, I made a few observations about egg decorating that I thought I’d share:

  • There’s always one tablet that doesn’t dissolve. This year, it was yellow. That thing stayed intact through the whole decorating process. The color itself was fine, but the tablet was basically whole when I dumped it down the sink.
  • The Paas people have tried to make their product last beyond Easter by making these stupid-ass games like memory with six pieces. Just save me the paper and charge me the same. I don’t even care.
  • The wrap things that you can shrink wrap onto the egg. Tried this one year. They don’t tell you that you can’t color the egg first because all the dye will wash off in the boiling water. Maybe they assume we’re smart enough to figure this out? They would assume WRONG.
  • I miss the wax crayon. Do they still make that? You could write stuff like “Daddy Smells” on the egg and it wouldn’t be revealed until later. Bring back the wax crayon and take out those stupid games. And the egg stands. Those flimsy things can’t even fulfill their purpose.

I see these egg decorating things on Pinterest and I can’t even. Or using food coloring. Sure, that sounds great – I’m sure half my kitchen table would end up looking like a rainbow threw up on it. My hands, too. And I’m sure my eggs would look JUST like the pics I see. #nailedit!

I think I’ll stick with the tried and true, cheap method that only takes a bit of cleanup. After this year, I thought this would probably be my last year doing it, as it seemed like no one enjoyed it. However, I think the tradition isn’t just about togetherness – it’s about trying to figure out how to bend that stupid wand, it’s about not noticing an egg is cracked, it’s about the stupid kit and all the stupid stuff I just complained about above. It’s about throwing uneaten eggs out a few weeks later. Because even though it lasted all of five minutes, we still came together as a family to mark the coming of another holiday. And because I think the cats would really be sad if we didn’t.

Brackets are for suckers

I am currently sitting pretty in third place in a bracket group that my husband put together. There’s no money at stake, and it’s just our extended family, but bragging rights are on the line. I also want to be sure to mention that I had been in first for the entire tournament until this week.

I should also mention that I could give two flying shits about NCAA basketball. I know nothing about it, I have no favorite team that I root for (unless my alma mater is in the tourney, and they’re not this year – and usually aren’t!). I spent maybe 5 minutes filling out the bracket.

My husband, on the other hand, researched the teams and put a lot of thought into his bracket. You know what place he’s in? Second-to-last. Apparently, according to some calculations he did yesterday, he can still pull out a “W” if all the remaining games go his way. He enjoyed a long stead in the basement of the bracket, until his mom, who knows less about it than me, finally fell to the bottom.

I kind of feel bad for him. He’s been following the games religiously (even trying to stream them in the car on our drive to and from Florida!) and is taking his poor performance hard. On the other hand, I am slightly gleeful that I’m doing so well with #zerofuckstogive. I have to admit it, when I first learned that I had jumped to the lead in the pool, I started keeping tabs on what was going on. Yeah, I picked UAB to upset. That’s what kicked it all off. Why? I don’t know, I just figured in my quick assessment of the bracket, that there would probably be some surprise upsets along the way. That just happened to be one that I picked. So I guess I did use some logic in choosing.

I almost always choose Gonzaga if they are in. However this year, I went against my usual formula and only chose them to go to the sweet sixteen. If they go to the final four i will be forever kicking myself. Sorry, Zags!

One thing that I have to say about March Madness is that it is WAY TOO LONG. Hell, it won’t even be over in March! The madness extends into April. That’s bullshit.

Anyway, in case you’r wondering who I picked to win it all, my bet lays with Kentucky. Many family members, including my husband, chose Wisconsin. We shall see who prevails – quick decision making or methodical choosing!

Puke vs. Throw-Up

We all have various euphemisms for the act of vomiting. My favorite is “tossin’ cooks” but I’ve also been known to use terms such as

  • hurl
  • spew
  • barf
  • ride the porcelain bus
  • hug the toilet

And I use these all pretty interchangably, as they pretty much all mean the same thing.

However, last night, my 5 year old and I were snuggled in his bed, and I was waiting for him to PLEASE FALL ASLEEP I STILL NEED TO FINISH WATCHING THE DOWNTOWN ABBEY FINALE. His mind often wanders as he begins to drift off, and he’s come up with some real gems of questions for me in this state. One that comes to mind is “why do people have butts?”

Anyway, we’re laying there and he has been silent for a while. I’m thinking I can make my escape, and I start to shift my weight, preparing to throw the covers off and creep out of the room like a ninja.

“Mom?” he whispers.

*sigh*

“What?” I ask.

“Remember when I had that really bad stomach ache that one time?”

“I remember.”

“And then I thought I had to make diarrhea but I ended up puking?”

“Yes, I remember when you threw up.”

“No. I puked. Throw-up is thicker and puke is more like water.”

“Didn’t realize there was a difference!”

… so apparently, there is a distinction between different types of vomit. Thought I would pass this info along.

She’ll get a hold on you, believe it.

This morning, I treated my ears to the musical stylings of the Hall & Oates Pandora station on the way to work. They didn’t play one single, solitary H&O song for my entire 20 minute commute. But they did, however, play another amazing 80’s tune: the duet between Genesis frontman Phil Collins and Earth, Wind & Fire singer Philip Bailey, “Easy Lover.”

I admit to being a big fan of this song. If I ever have an 80’s cover band, which I do intend on doing someday, this song will definitely be on the setlist. I will do Bailey’s part, and when by myself, I also do air drums and an occasional air guitar.

I jammed out on this song on the way to work, and then I needed to watch the video. I haven’t watched this video since it was airing on MTV, so I was in for a little bit of nostalgia. Here’s the video so you can follow along with me.

First, the fashions. They are shown in suits, and in their rehearsal clothes. Phil Collins looks like he raided my 68-year-old father’s wardrobe. The sweater vest and ill-fitting khakis just scream “retiree.” All he’s missing is a sun visor and prescription sunglasses. Bailey is sporting a Bill Cosby-type sweater which is not much better, but he at least looks age-appropriate.

Were these guys EVER cool? Or was Phil Collins always a dork? I was too little to know. My first exposure to Collins was when he remade “You Can’t Hurry Love” and I remember comparing him to Squiggy from “Laverne & Shirley.” I was probably 5 at the time, and so when that song came on the radio during the Casey Kasem Weekly Top 40 countdown, I would say, “The Squiggy Song is on!” That’s what I think of to this day if I hear the song.

Back to the video. Aside from the fashions, this video is pretty amazing. The premise is that these two dudes, Phil and Philip, are CLEARLY buddies, which is amazing considering one is an uber-dorky British white guy with no rhythm (evident by his dance moves) and an American black guy from a kick-ass R&B band. Philip is in London, presumably to record this video, so the video is more of a “making the video” if that makes sense. The two buds take a helicopter ride together, then get to rehearsal for the video. A huge crew is at work putting the stage set together, and they produce a set of white risers with some abstract art in the background. I’m pretty sure my son’s fourth grade play had a more complicated set than this.

The “talent” arrives and Philip is in a head-to-toe leather motorcycle outfit. He appears to give some feedback about the set. Then my dad strolls in looking like Charlie Chaplin. Oh, that’s right, that’s not my dad. I keep forgetting. It’s actually Phil Collins. I believe they really tried to showcase what a FUNNY GUY Phil Collins is, so they had him act really over-the-top in all his scenes. He and Bailey embrace like old buddies, even though they were just in the helicopter together.

They take a bunch of goofy photos together. Actually, Bailey looks like he’s taking the photo shoot seriously, while old jokester Collins is the one clowning around. At 1:23, you can really see how high Collins’ pants are. I think Urkel would even tell him to take it down a notch.

At 1:24, one of my favorite moments takes place when Collins is in the stylist’s chair getting a much-needed haircut, and rehearsing his lyrics (didn’t he write this song? he is a HORRIBLE lip-syncher btw) and hands Bailey a brush for him to do his own hair. Ouch! Is it because he’s black, he’s gotta do his own hair? That’s cold, Collins.

They begin a run-through of the song, standing together over a lyric sheet. Collins has really put some gusto into his singing and, to be honest, looks pretty much like I do when I am belting this song out in my car. Straight down to the finger wagging and the facial expressions. Again, even though I’m pretty sure he wrote the song, he has to look at the lyric sheet. Once they’ve nailed this run-through, they move on to a rehearsal on the masterfully-crafted stage. Honestly, if this was the actual video for the song, it would be the most boring video ever. It’s just basically the two of them standing there, shimmying uncomfortably, delivering the lyrics. Couldn’t they afford backup dancers? Since Philip couldn’t even get a makeup person, I’m guessing the answer is no.

Also, I’m pretty sure that Philip has better dance moves than this, but he’s probably holding back because he doesn’t want to make Phil feel bad. At 2:15 he starts to let it out a little bit.

At 2:20, the besties decide to try some hilarious hijinks. They try to knock down their mikes in tandem and it’s an epic fail. Well, Philip nails it but damn Collins can’t even knock his mike down. Maybe his high-waisted khakis have restricted blood flow to his extremities.

After this very rigorous rehearsal, they break for lunch. Phil tries to make idle chatter while Philip just wants to read the damn paper. Some creeper lady dressed identically to the Crocodile Hunter sits one table away and very obviously takes photos of them. I don’t see any actual food on either of their lunch trays, but they are drinking a yellow beverage that is presumably lemonade, as well as Coke, as well as water. I hope they’ve built pee breaks into this video shoot!

Maybe there was vodka in that lemonade and rum in that Coke, because by 2:34, Philip is now acting goofy as hell, trying to teach Collins some very simple choreography. Of course, Collins can’t even handle it, which is probably why they put him behind the drums when he was in Genesis. I won’t even discuss what Collins does at 2:40 because it’s so horrifyingly awkward. But he does follow up that move with hiking his pants back up above his nipples.

Back to the stage rehearsal now where they are refining the choreography. Bailey does a very nice spin move, while Collins claps his hands like a deranged child.

Back to Bailey trying to teach Collins something that resembles the funky chicken. I don’t know. Bailey does some smooth, Earth, Wind & Fire-type move and Collins follows that up with some kind of awful pelvic gyrations. Bailey laughs but I’m sure on some level he is feeling dead inside.

We move to the dressing room, where that old cut-up Collins has found some costumes that look like they could belong to EW&F. He dons some kind of gemstone headband and shows up to Bailey with these Egyptian-inspired outfits. Bailey rolls his eyes and wishes this shoot was over already so he can fly back to America and never have to hang out with this English weirdo again.

The men suit up, but we are treated to a shot of Collins lacing up his Chuck Taylors followed by a mischevious smile. Oh, even when he’s dressed up, that old Collins just knows how to bring the party to any situation.

Looking like a couple of funeral attendees, despite Bailey’s pink pocket square and matching loosely-tied pink tie, this odd couple gives it all they’ve got for the video shoot. Collins misses a couple words because he sucks at lip synch. But what he lacks in accuracy he makes up for in passion and gusto. Bailey delivers a more subtle performance, just trying to get through it so he can leave. This part of the video starts to drag on a bit. Some techs press buttons and slide sliders. Then we’re brought into the rafters of the studio to view the performance through a tiny monitor with the stage in the backdrop. Very scintillating way to end this video. The guys give up on the performance before they even finish singing, and walk off stage together, palling around like the bro’s for life we know they are.

This is such a study in 80’s awkwardness, I don’t think it could be any more perfect. I’m just sad this is the only collaboration between the two. Luckily, Collins gave us many, many more awkward moments throughout his career, but I don’t think any can hold a candle to this performance.

Good song, though.

Tuesday after the time change SUCKS.

In case you have just emerged from your cave, we sprung ahead Saturday night. This is when we set our clocks ahead one hour in order to enjoy daylight when we leave our office dwellings in the evening. It feels really weird leaving the office and being greeted by the searing glare of the sun. I feel like a Twilight vampire as I shield my eyes from the blinding light.

Sunday was great. It was an hour later when everyone woke up, and the day flew by really quickly. Bedtime wasn’t that difficult, surprisingly. I wasn’t tired, so I stayed up til almost midnight watching episodes of Orphan Black that I’ve had on my DVR for at least six months.

Then I remembered what Monday morning was going to be like. I turned the TV off and got myself to bed post-haste. The morning was rough, but honestly not that bad. The kids had a hard time getting up, but once they did, they were fine. When I picked them up from their grandparents’ house, I could start to see some fatigue setting in for my little one. He was pouting because he had gotten his shoes and socks wet. OH! BUT THE BOOT WAS FOUND! The snow melted enough that a heroic fourth grader was able to retrieve said boot. It is currently drying out by a heating vent and should be completely dried out by approximately July 14.

The evening went fairly smoothly, but getting the kids to bed proved to be fairly tricky. They weren’t tired by their usual bedtime of 9:30 (which still felt like 8:30 to them) so they dawdled until 10. They share a room and sleep in bunk beds. Once I got them to get in bed, then they turned into raving lunatics, pretending to cough and not pretending to fart (e.g. actually farting) to get each other to laugh. The dog went insane. Cats were chased. And quicky, it was 10 and they were still wide awake and I WAS PISSED.

So, not surprisingly, this morning, waking them up was like DefCon 5. I’ll admit, I didn’t want to wake up, either. I didn’t go to bed until around 12 because I wasn’t tired. However, I am taking my lumps like a champ. My youngest, on the other hand, basically spent the entire morning in tears. First, because we asked him to get dressed. TOTALLY UNREASONABLE REQUEST, DENIED. Tears. Then he calmed down and I asked my older son to come brush his teeth. Younger son has meltdown again because he thought I asked him to brush his teeth. More tears. Thankfully, I left to go to work after too much of this. I could tell it was just going to be one non-stop battle royale to get out the door.

Everyone feels like shit today. If I could have a meltdown involving lots of tears and announcing how unfair it was that I have a meeting to go to, and still have the respect of my co-workers at the end of the day, I’d be under my desk right now and I would have thrown most of my office supplies down the aisle. My brain is basically performing basic survival functions right now and not much else.

I’m sure many people feel this way today. They should just close everything down on the Tuesday after the time change so our bodies can catch up. It’s just an hour, but it wreaks havoc for days to come.