It’s cold and it’s snowing and I’m crabby due to my dealings with a child who woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and proceeded to breakdance all over it.

Apparently yesterday he brought the wrong book to math class, resulting in a zero; since the mean, cruel, evil teacher refused to give him a pass to go get the right book with the homework inside. Both books have the same cover.

“Well,” I said, “I wish she would have given you a pass, but you should have checked the books.”

This resulted in a huge blowup. “You never support me! You’re never on my siiiiiide!”

This is absolutely true. I am ALWAYS on the opposing side. I root against my child at all costs, and even have a flag with a little picture of him that features a circle around him and a line through his face.

Right.

When I told him he was full of The Crap, he stomped around a little more (junior high is full of stomping) and then left for the bus, sighing and “GOD!”ing all the way.

Every time I hear “GOD!” I want to send him directly to said deity. “GOD!” and “JEEZ!” are the junior high school fight songs. They drive me directly to drink.

So that was my morning. The J-Man was also pissed off at my mother, because apparently last night, she dared to laugh about something Dramatic and Important that he said.

Laughing is a serious offense in this house, because everything a junior high child says is Dramatic and Serious. We commit this crime often, which leads to lots of “GOD!”s and “JEEZ!”es and stomping and sometimes even tears, which of course makes me happy, because it means my team (the opposing team) is winning.

Junior high is fraught with peril, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I would rather stick my fingers in a meat grinder than go through the sixth and seventh grade again. The hormones, they make the children batshit fucking crazy.

Sometimes he can be the sweetest thing, but sometimes I dearly long for the time in which he was still in diapers and sported a toothless grin.

So, there is that.

There is also the fact that my hands are like little blocks of ice. My body temperature is normally a lower-than-normal 96.3. I’m apparently a cold-blooded bitch, so the heat doesn’t bother me a whole lot, unless it’s over 90, but this icy cold KILLS me. It’s not even zero degrees yet, and already I am wearing layers and thick sweaters and complaining like my skinny mother, who is currently at work wrapped in long underwear and thigh-high socks under her office duds.

My stepdad, who has his own thermostat and sleeps in a 50-degree bedroom, thinks we’re wimps. He mocks me as I stand shivering and smoking in the cold garage. “You’re worse than your mother.”

I can’t help it. The only time I feel warm lately is when I’ve stepped off of the treadmill.

Let’s see. What else can I complain about?

I can bitch about the stunning lack of willpower that led me to consume not one, but two chili dogs last night, a “slip” that has caused much gastrointestinal distress as well as a two-pound gain on the scale this morning.

How in the hell can eating two measly dogs cause one to gain two pounds overnight? I wish I knew. Perhaps the sodium and nitrate loaded gut bombs caused me to retain water? I don’t know, but there will be some extra treadmilling in my future today.

Oh, and my date with the nerdy guy went exceptionally well. He is a dyed-in-the-wool nerd, though. He actually plays World of Warcraft.

I’m not kidding.

I really like him though. I’m something of a nerd myself, and we get along famously, enough so that we even went out again on Tuesday night and plan to see each other again. The missing teeth are killing me, but apparently the insurance company is going to pay to get them fixed, so hopefully it will be sooner rather than later.

He’s absolutely not my type, but perhaps that’s a good thing. He opens car doors and doors, he compliments me, he’s extremely nice, he doesn’t mind doing the driving, he’s witty, and he doesn’t kiss badly, either.

I guess we shall see.

I am gearing up for the Bears/Packers game, as is everyone else within a pretty hefty radius, unless you count those heathen Indiana Colts fans, and they can all go jump. I plan to go to a party down at my cousin’s in the sticks, drink much beer, and cheer the Bears on to victory. Go Bears!

Happy Thursday.

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