I’ve been pretty addicted to Philly Pretzel Factory’s soft pretzels lately, and I’m actually ashamed that it’s taken me so long to start going there. Their local location is so close to me that I could literally walk there if I were mobile and not lazy.

Anyway, Mark went there the other day to get me another cinnamon-sugar pretzel, but it was so hard that I could have chipped a tooth on the damned thing. Given that I’m a complainer by nature, I bitched on their corporate Twitter and Facebook.

Well, one of the owners of the location near me contacted me via Facebook and offered me a replacement pretzel, which was great. When Mark went to get it for me today, she ended up giving us two cinnamon-sugars and three of the small regular ones for free. How awesome, yes?

Yay for good customer service! And how fab is social media?

Wait, is eating a Hershey’s Bar while walking on the treadmill wrong?

I like to think I’m a decent decorator. Maybe. Of course my shit has seen better days because of the cats and dog, but whatevs. Do people still use lots of candles, pillows, and throws as extra pieces? Uh, please say yes.

Anyway, I’ve never been much for having artwork on my walls. I have a problem committing to big pieces like that. I can walk into a place like, say, Bed, Bath & Beyond and see stuff that’s cute in my estimation, like those big wall clocks. But I never get that internal push to buy. Ugh. I know my house is minimalistic, and I don’t want to go crazy, but why is it that I can’t just throw caution to the wind and get something for one of the hallways? I got a few paintings at our last house and took them down almost immediately. I need an interior decorator – or a support group for artwork phobics.

This post is more for my records than anything else.

What came out of trying to remedy a very bad haircut was the need to chop it all off. I’ve previously posted photos of what my hair looked like after my hairdresser blew it out and used the flat iron. These are photos of my hair sorta curly, after air drying. I want to keep my hair like this for awhile, I think – and I can show these to her when I go back. It’s easier to see the layer lengths when curly, IMHO.

Please excuse the frizziness, blurriness, nightgown, and double chin.

So Mark is stressed out about work and didn’t hear me when I asked for a fresh ice pack. Part of our fight follows:

Mark: You’re such a loser
Me: You’re fucking stupid as shit
Mark: You don’t do anything for yourself
Me: Why don’t you go live in a trailer with the rest of your family like where you fucking belong?

We’ve since made up, and Mark admitted that we don’t fight fair. I guess any lessons we got from that communication/arguing session we had with my ex-shrink didn’t last very long after all.

And I threw the phone against the wall, and he said I was acting like one of the chicks from the Bad Girls Club.

From a Groupon email about a high-end store:

Instead of wafting through a sea of grimy thrift-store blazers with rumpled tissues lodged in the pockets, you’ll get a wardrobe that smells fresher than a 16-year-old’s bow-adorned first car parked on a driveway made of air fresheners.

That description just sounds … ridiculous, right?

My mom stayed here to watch the pets, and Mark was less than thrilled with what we came home to.

Granted, she did things we didn’t ask her to, like laundry and swiffering the floors. All I wanted was for her to feed and water the babies, give Spenser his pills, scoop the litter, and spend the rest of her time reading, watching tv, being online, or whatever.

But there was a partially filled coffee cup left in the microwave, she never swept after doing the litter, she didn’t wash out Spenser’s kong after filling it with peanut butter, and the counters weren’t wiped down.

It’s funny because I’m a neat freak, but these things didn’t bother me, prolly because I felt like shit when I came home. Mark was the one bothered which is just really odd.

I’m just happy my pets were all in one piece when we got back.

Mark’s mom might be watching the pets next month, and I bet he doesn’t come down as hard on her as he did mine.

Pictured below are the Get Well Soon flowers Mark got me. I have a lot to write about, and I guess it’ll have to come in bits & pieces because I’m not feeling all that great.

Almost 9:00am and we are here at the surgery place. My doctor is already working on someone else. I didn’t sleep well last night at all. Oh wells. I’m basically ready to go back and get zapped. Also, here’s Rosalie Street!

It’s 9:13pm, and we’re just starting to pack now. Oops?