Special… having my own bathroom.

Not so special… having people need me only when I’m in the shower and try to talk through the door that’s 5 feet away when there’s water rushing through my ears.

Special… having friends ride the bike trails with me now that they know I ride with some frequency.

Not so special… having people stare at me when I’m riding like I look like some sort of prize in my bike helmet and tank and shorts (Oh, note to the Bubba who spoke to me through his pickup truck window: No, thanks. Not ever. No. No. No.)

Special… having my husband agree to make dinner even though he works full-time.

Not so special… just having a bowl of cereal while he spends time wondering what to make for dinner.

Special… having Morgan wake up early to make me muffins because he loves me.

Not so special… having Morgan eat all the chocolate chip muffins and leave the lemon poppyseed ones for me.

Special… getting a free lip gloss mailer from Bath and Body Works.

Not so special… having to spend $10 just to get the free lip gloss.

Special… listening to my husband tell me how proud he is that I just rode my bike 25 miles.

Not so special… listening to my husband say, “Wooooo… you stink!” after riding 25 miles.

Special… working up a sweat, even if it’s not an appreciable quality for those who have to smell me.

Not so special… boob sweat. What’s up with that?

Special… reading a comment on my blog from my friend Joe-in-the-Netherlands.

Not so special… reading a comment about missing my Date in Delft with him online because of my shit Monday. I’ll make it up to you.

Special… getting the low down on where Mallory is all the time even though she’s 20 years old and doesn’t have to tell me.

Not so special… wondering if “Going fishing” or “Playing ultimate frisbee” is a euphamism for “Getting drunk.”

Special… having my family do all the laundry since Mommy is so busy with reading and writing and taking class.

Not so special… having my family ruin my expensive Victoria’s Secret bras by putting them in the dryer.

I’m grateful that I got up early and made coffee. I should have gone to the ATM for cash, gassed up my vehicle, and then come back home and crawled under the covers. It was that kind of day. Peet’s Sierra Dorada started me off well. It just didn’t tell me that my good day was going to last until 8:00a.m. It’s spicy and that helped. A little.

There are a myriad of things I wish people would have just told me so as to minimize the pain of dealing with crap later on.

For instance, couldn’t my mother have told me that I would have this coarse, black hair that would grow out of my face where no black hair should be?

That would have been nice.

It’s been a day of learning. Here are the results:

• When your laptop cancels all programs every time you open them up, it may have a virus. That’s entirely possible. Even on a Mac. Me and Jayne are not on speaking terms. It may have something to do with my calling her a bitch stupid Crapple when she refused to do what I said. I will apologize to her when she gets out of the shop.
• Quit always being the one who volunteers to put the Power Point slideshow together for group projects. See above.
• When your husband decides to go fishing in the evening and needs money to get some bait and you give him the last $10 bill from your purse, you won’t have any money for a snack during break from your class the next day. Asking the Type-A bitches for a loan is not advisable when you’ve alienated yourself.
• On your way to class, when your truck dings! at you and tells you that it’s low on gas, you should probably not curse the day you were born. God will take it as confirmation that you want to go to heaven right then and let you get in a near miss. With a train. To make His point, He might make you wait for another train on those same tracks on your way heading in the other direction. He’s funny that way.
• Don’t get upset about the zit on your face signaling the sloughing of the uterus. It’s better than the painful one on your thigh. Or your ass. I can neither confirm nor deny either of the latter zits. Sorry.
• When you’re trying to get sympathy for a crappy day and you visit your husband at his work, don’t underestimate his need to trump you on a shitty Monday. He will win.
• When your hair looks terrible and you decide to wrap it up in a scarf and look all urbane and hip, it’s best not to visit your husband’s job when he works at the hospital. People will think you’re a cancer victim who has lost her hair and give you sad, pathetic face each time they walk by you. Especially while waiting for him outside the Cancer Center. That would just be stupid.
• When the pedicure gal asks if you’ve been losing weight, don’t put too much faith in it. She’s really just been looking at your feet most of the time and may not have a good point of reference. Just remember that she’s crotch-level. Wait. Actually, that may be worth something.

I will just be happy for the crotch level compliment.

Lately, I’ve been experimenting with combining two different blends and it seems that anything Boca Java works with anything else. I’ve determined that the Moroccan coffee is best undisturbed and should be in its pure form. This morning it’s 2 Peet’s coffees: “Major Dickinson” and “Sierra Dorada” since it’s not as strong as the others. Does anyone else blend their own coffee? What works? What’s good?

It’s official. Not only does McDonald’s offer their new premium blend (which they need to define as “tastes like ass”), but Dave over at Blogography agrees: Ass Coffee should be seen as such.

Thanks, Dave! I’m pretty sure they’re going to contact me soon to be a spokesperson for their coffee and then I’ll be rolling in the dough. I can see it now: “If McMocha Likes Our Coffee, So Will You! (ba-da-bop-ba-baaaahhh) She’s Loving It!”

You, in the meantime, need to stop working so hard and come over and play on the X-Box360 with Kennimus.

I’ll make snacks. You like butter, right?

Right.

Just not butt. Or Ass Coffee.