National Grouch Day

Last night, I was watching the Chicago Bears lose to the St. Louis Rams. Anyway, it was 23-3 with less than 3 minutes to go in the third quarter. This lady called it a night. Glad I did not watch the forth quarter. The Bears were going to lose their first game of the year, and I did not want to stay up for that. I wonder what the final score was.

Okay, so I did not really see the game last night. I don't watch much football. But had I watched it, I would have been reminded not to count anyone out. The game, as people at work are talking about it, was bizarre. I did not get a lot of the details – when men talk football, I sort of feel like Charlie Brown in his classroom. You know, hearing, "Blah Blah Blah" out of the mouths of the teachers. I sort of want to ask how Matt Leinart's ass looked in Cardinal red, but I would not want to offend my male co-workers.

I really don't know what I would like to talk about today.

I heard someone say recently, "To me, there is nothing wrong with this at all." I see those words as a signal – a marker, so to speak – that there may be something wrong with "this," whatever this is.

Similar to the axiom (yes, I meant to use this word): "You can't judge me." Instead of "you can't judge me," I think the speaker means to say, "Don't judge me." We make judgments on a daily basis, and I have a hard time believing that people do not judge even if they try not to judge.

I took Monday off – you see, Sunday, October 15, was National Grouch Day. Now, I wonder why the day was placed on top of National Poetry Day, and it did not coincide with Oscar the Grouch's Birthday (June 1). I guess the planners of the holiday did not evaluate these factors or talk with me. Shame. So in light of the event, I took Monday off (since I could not take Sunday off; no one would know the difference).

And I grouched around all the freekin' day. I kicked the cat, kicked the dog, and I took candy from babies. I went to fast food drive throughs and said "waaw waaw waaw" and other indistinguishable language. I called the Savannah Morning News and said my paper was not delivered, even though it was (I did this twice, even though I did not intend on reading the papers).

And you know, after all of this National Grouch Day celebrations, what the kicker was? No body noticed anything different. Son of a bitch!