I’m phoning it in today. It’s grey and gloomy and nasty outside, and apparently, according to this list, someone peed in my Cheerios this morning. Without further adieu, I present to you, darling Internet, my current shit list (but because I am fickle, it’s an ever-changing one).

1. Angelina Jolie. I know, I know, I know, she has done some amazing things for third world countries, but truth be told, I’m still not over the Brad/Jen thing. Mainly, because she made this big stink about never, ever sleeping with a married man because her father had done that to her mother, but then Oopsies, she’s pregnant, and it’s with Brad’s baby. How did that happen? Either she’s clueless about where babies come from, or she didn’t understand what “married” meant. Asshole.

(aside to the reader: cheating is a cardinal sin in my book. I’ve been cheated on before and dished out some black eyes. There’s nothing that makes me feel better than beating the hell out of cheating bastards. Maybe I should hire myself out!)

2. The E! Channel. I used to love, love, love watching E!. It was home to one of my favorite shows The Girls Next Door, and now it has both Kimora and Keeping Up With The Kardashians, both of which make me fear for the world.

3. My uterus, who has not gotten with the program and resumed normal menstruation, despite having a normal period a month and a half ago. While I was perfectly happy being amenorheic r/t breastfeeding, but I would harken a guess that I am now hypothalamic amenorrheic r/t my wonky thyroid. I suppose that I should just take it as a gift from God, but I’m too OCD for that.

a. Pregnancy tests. There’s something that I completely abhor about peeing on a stick and then having to sit and wait and see what the Universe has in store for me. Let me clarify something: I’ve been 100% positive that I was pregnant twice in my life, neither time was I really with child. So my intuition sucks. And sweet LORD are those tests expensive or what?

b. Rh factor. Ah, the reason for my OCD-disorder. I’m Rh-negative, Dave is Rh-positive, therefore any child we have together could be Rh-positive. If I were to become pregnant with another Rh-positive fetus without knowing it, and then miscarry and assume that it was a period, I could develop antibodies towards ANY Rh-positve fetus’s (fetii?) in the future and therefore spontaneously abort them. Rendering me infertile. Unless I get some RhIG in my butt within 72 hours. Sweet, right?

4. People who are late. I’m a freak about time (man, this post is turning into a “”Becky is a Freak because…” list.), I make no bones about it. If you tell me that you will be somewhere at a certain time, I will spend my day waiting/planning/rearranging myself to accommodate said time. So if you do not bother to at least let me know that the aforementioned time has changed, it feels like a smack in the face. Dave used to do this frequently to me, but has learned that in order to tame the beast he doesn’t bother promising me a time. So therefore I cannot obsess.

After rereading this all I can say is, dude, I think I may need therapy.

Who/what peed in YOUR Cheerios today?