First of all, I think that October’s Breast Cancer Awareness has gone too far. Not everything in pink needs to remind us of boobs. There’s a plumber with a pink van near my house and every time I see it I think, “why is that giant breast cancer van here?”

The NFL and MLB have both made parts of players’ uniforms pink. This is ridiculous. Why should I have to try to explain to my children the reasoning behind pink towels hanging down by sweaty men’s crotches that are there to remind women to do breast self exams? Why is the NFL involved, anyway? Because men who watch Monday Night Football also like breasts? Are they hoping that some guy named Bert will yell out, “honey, can you bring me a beer? And, don’t forget to feel yourself up in the shower!” I’m not sure that this is on point with the message.

I know that this sounds shallow, but I’m just kind of tired by the entire color and month being taken over by one disease that isn’t even America’s number one killer of women. Before you decide that I’m completely evil, I would like to say that I lost my beloved Aunt Charlotte to breast cancer and had she been more diligent about her yearly exams it could have made a difference. But you know what, she would never have watched a sport on television and she hated pink.

Secondly, I had the following exchange with Jay yesterday.

Me: I just want to warn you that I started watching a movie you’re not going to like. It’s that It’s Complicated one about the divorced people having an affair. I know how old people sex freaks you out.

Jay: Eh…less and less.

What the hell does he mean by that? I am totally offended, but I’m not sure exactly why. I mean, ultimately I want him to be into me even when we’re old, but are we there already? Or can he just see it from here? I don’t know, but I certainly feel older and I blame him. I also blame the smug 20-something people who have recently told me (with great pride) that they’ve never died their hair. Well, good for you. You’ve also never spent all night with a baby gnawing on your boobs or hours in the mirror trying to figure out why your stomach skin seems to now be a separate body part. Let’s just wait and see if your hair virgin status stands when the grays show up. Because I will NOT be flabby, droopy, AND gray while in my 30s. Or 40s. Or 80s. I cannot control the first two, but I can control gray. For $7.99.

Finally, here are two things that annoy me about my kids’ schools. Why is the car line to pick up or drop off kids called a carpool? It is not a carpool. I’m not picking up a bunch of kids to drive to a parking lot closer to their houses. We are not saving resources or limiting pollution. We are sitting in our cars with the engines running for 30 minutes in a line of cars. Not a carpool. Also, why are there so many parent volunteer “opportunities” in elementary school? Every single week, you can volunteer for parent reader, parent math help, classroom volunteer, music, art, and morning computer time. You can also show up for lunch, classroom parties, and donuts for dads/muffins for moms. I spent 10 years teaching high school and I never had any parent volunteers. I just feel guilty for not wanting to go–there are only 22 kids in a class and there are 6 slots a week. Ugh. Can’t we just let them go to school and see them when they get home? Maybe I am evil.

Anyway, that’s it for right now. Maybe I can become a grumpy old woman and take Andy Rooney’s job now that it’s open.