300 Phallic-Shaped Safety Pins & The Burning Fury

So, Darling Ones,

I had a tiny rage meltdown today.

When I checked the mail this afternoon there was the usual printed spam, the electric bill, a package containing 300 teeny, tiny phallic-looking stitch markers, and a letter/offer/advertisement addressed to my mom.

An advertisement from a monument company addressed to my mom but sent to my house.

I went from having a so-so day to incandescent rage in about thirteen seconds.

I’m still pretty salty about how expensive newspaper obituaries are. For the Minneapolis Star-Tribune obituaries are $12.80 a line. Each line is something like 30-35 characters. Adding a photo is anywhere from $89 to $230. My dad’s tiny obituary was $320. We kept it pretty short and didn’t include a picture because he hated having his picture taken and would 100% haunt my ass if I included one.

So not only does the newspaper rob you blind in the middle of the worst time of your life, they promptly sell your information to other morbid money grubbers. The newspaper obit is the only way that company would have been able to put my mom’s name with my address.

I AM FURIOUS. I need everyone to be as furious about this stupid, inconsequential thing as I am.

I’m lucky I have this to be mad about otherwise I’d be super bummed about the 300 eensy, teensy phallic-shaped safety pins.

Stitch markers are one of the things I forgot to mention when I was listing all the things I need. The project I’m working on needs a lot of stitch markers. I bought a bunch if plastic, non-phallic ones when I first started the project. But I need more. So I bought the phallic-looking ones because they looked bigger. I did not read the fine print. My dad just died, I cannot be responsible for details.

When I opened the package today I was disappointed to see I got the stitch markers for ants apparently. I recognize that my hands are larger than the average woman’s, but so am I! For my size (6’5″) my hands and feet are kinda petite. I dated men shorter than I am who wore bigger shoes than I do (men’s size 12).

In other grief updates, yesterday sucked ass. I couldn’t manage to do anything but lay on the couch and read Dan Chaon novels (I finished Sleep Walking and immediately started Ill Will). When BFK texted me to ask how I was doing I sobbed.

Today, aside from the fury, has been better. I got to hyper-focus on making charts for a client brochure while listening to music. It was nice and distracting. This same client also dropped off 5.5 pounds of chocolate at my house. I’m not even exaggerating.

So if you need teeny phallic safety pins or some chocolate, I can hook you up.

Saltily yours,
Jodi

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