A Letter To Bad Drivers: This One's For You

I had some requests to do another rant, so this week, we're taking a look at bad drivers. I'm going to make it a letter so everyone can print if off, highlight the appropriate section, and hand it to anyone that you think needs to see it. Who knows, it could save some rage, a life, or just make you feel better. Awareness should never be overrated.

My Take On Your Take On Chicks Who Game

Hi, I'm Kate, and I'm (obviously) a chick. I am a chick who games; I mean, I really game.

I don't pose half-naked with my controller for Facebook pictures and I don't play those ridiculous "take care of this baby animal" games on my hot pink DS. I don't even have a DS, truth be told; I have a first-gen PSP. I have been known to sit on a couch for days on end -- no shower, no sleep, no food -- and play KOTOR until my eyeballs were almost literally bleeding. I used to think budgeting for a new game was the most important financial decision I would make that week, and I made grown men cry as they watched me blow through Halo 2 on Legendary with no deaths and no do-overs.

Too Much Coffee, People Who Skipped Grammar In School, And Cyber Stupidity -- RTTR

I've been hard at work lately, doing research and reading tons of resumes. By research, I mean playing the shit out of Fable III, Halo Reach, and Halo ODST. Throwback to some great games wut?! Yes. I have an awesome friend who let me borrow his old school first gen 360, and I'm banging out an article that's going to take a lot of patience to write.

Also, if anyone wants to donate to the game fun, I'll give you my paypal. I'm spending all my money on bills and coffee these days, and I can't afford the ridiculous prices for games.. they used to be necessities, but then I had a family and a kid and responsibilities. OMFG. WHEN DID I GROW UP? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?! ::shakes fist angrily towards the sky::

Speaking of coffee, I'm up to a $30/week budget for that shit. It's insane. I'm killing my insides. It's totally cool, though, because I enjoy killing my organs with black gold. Well, more like, caramel gold.. I like coffee creamer and sugar in my coffee.

I've had this stupid hair stuck in my eye for FOUR FUCKING DAYS NOW. It's not cool. My eyeball is raw. How does that even work?! It just does. There's your answer. It's in that unreachable top crease, and it's driving me insane. Not that I really need any help, but it's a helpful motherfucker. Touche, hair stuck in my eye, touche. I don't know how to make the little accent thing on the top of the "e", so get over it already.

I hate to call-out bad grammar (well, not really, but this time I kind-of do.. maybe.. probably not. Whatevs.), but I have to say this to everyone that wants to be a writer:

Everyone makes mistakes. It's learning to correct your mistakes, and better yourself that makes you a good writer. When you balk at the notion, it tells me you're not a writer, you're simply someone who wants to seem deep and interesting. Get a beret, or something, but please don't harp on how awesome your shit is. When you can't even discern the STARK difference in "your" and "you're", and you make no never mind about it, it annoys me.

If your resume has more grammatical errors than a kindergartner's poetry, you look like an idiot. If your blog posts are so incoherent that I can't even grasp the topic you've chosen to write about, you look completely incompetent. I'm not going to give you the time of day.

I know I'm not perfect, but I choose to use ellipses like they're going out of style. I know the right and wrong way to use commas, but sometimes, I choose to splice shit up FOR THE EFFECT. Like, how it would sound if I said it. SO THERE. FUCK YOU. CAPS!

This week, I'm ashamed to own a Chrysler vehicle. One of my most favourite people on the interwebz was in a contest, and was banging out the hilarity in her quest for votes. I enjoyed her not taking herself so seriously, and having fun with the process.

She got disqualified. Another contestant got upset that she was losing (because obvs she's internet famous and awesome, but OMFG EVERYONE IS MISSING IT WHAT DO I DO?!), and lost her sense of humor. She set her husband loose on the Twitterverse, and he said some pretty nasty things to this awesome lady that was just trying to have fun, as well as some of her interweb supporters/friends.

IT GETS BETTER!

She the decided to write a completely terrible blog post about said person, slandering and bullying her. She set her "fans" after her and her readers, and she made all kinds of false accusations. This, in itself, was enough to make me pretty peeved, I'm not going to lie.

THEN! as if this wasn't enough! she contacted Chrysler and made a big stink, leaving out all the nasty things on her side that weren't all in good fun and humor, and Chrysler. backed. her. up. y'all.

Chrysler promotes cyber bullying. I say that with complete conviction. I know what's right, and what's completely wrong, and I also know THAT I AM A REAL PERSON AND SO ARE MY FRIENDS AND YOU CAN SUCK A NUT! I don't make friendly-time with proxy servers and cheaters, because I only make friends with people who can hug it the fuck out.

When has a proxy server or a cheater ever had the capability to give a fucking AMAZING hug? Nevah!

What I'm really saying here, through all my weird hilarity, is that the real bully is the man who threatens a woman, or anyone else, on the internet. The bully and the cheater isn't the person who made jokes and did what she always does, it was the person who stooped to petty and childish tactics.

I have been internet harassed, and it was awful. It made me a wreck, and hurt more than I can describe. It wasn't over a contest, it was over something that happened in the realz, but it was carried to the internet, and I was threatened, my child was harmed, and my husband's career was threatened. It was the worst time of my life, and it's still going on, because petty fucking people have nothing better to do with their time.

I've learned to let it go, but it still hurts. It's still wrong, and to see a power company ENDORSE THE SHIT pisses me off to no end. Like, pisses me off more than when my husband decides to be a fucking dick all day and treat me like I'm an idiot because I have a vag. That, my friendly readers, is a whole fucking lot.

I voted for her, because her contributions were awesome, and so is she. I didn't cheat, I didn't vote for the stupid iPad 2 (that CHRYSLER was BLATANTLY using for incentive votes), or the cookies (which WERE JUST A FUCKING JOKE OMFG), or for any other reason than I loved her shit, so. hard., and I love reading her blog, also so. hard.

So, there. Fuckity-fuck-fucker. Now I think I have it off my chest, I'm going to shit-talk my Jeep because ITS PARENT IS RIDICULOUS. It should've been adopted. I'm just glad I didn't buy it from a dealer, because technically I didn't pay them for it. I paid the dude who did a craptastic job of restoring it.

This, my friends, ends Random Tuesday Thoughts. It has a whole 'lotta rebellion in it. Enjoy the rest of your week, awesome people, and remember to head on over to Stacy's awesome blog and link up to the fun.


I'm not adding the linky thing today, mostly because I'm lazy as shit, but also it's over there -----> on the side of my blog. Have fun, and rebel on!

UPDATE TIME BITCHES!

So, there's this guy, and he's pretty much fucking awesome. He wrote this blog post about all the Chrysler Blogger Face-Off shit, and it's perfection.

Go HERE, and enjoy.


Also, I realize that it was Ignite Social Media that made the wrong decision, but CHRYSLER BACKED THEM UP. Obviously. The shit is still going on.

There's Work And Then There's Housework -- RTTR

NOTE: I wrote this Monday night, because I thought it was Tuesday, despite the fact that I had just watched and live tweeted The Bachelor. Don't judge me, my brain is fried.

First, let's talk about those people in your family that are always out to get you. You'd think after spending an entire childhood being a fucking bitch would be enough for some, but no. They drag it all over into adulthood, because they can't grow up. Stalking your FAMILY MEMBERS on FACEBOOK is RIDICULOUS. Please grow up soon, thanks.

Second, let's talk about work. I'm working on so many things I can't keep them all straight. Funnest thing going on is trying to get press passes to a stellar concert full of epic win. Least funnest thing (hat statement is one that totally works in my head, but is so wrong on paper.. blogger.. whatever), but one that I feel compelled to work on, is a piece on people and celebrity deaths. It's hard to write it in a manner that won't get a brick through my window, but I think I can pull it off. We shall see.. I'm setting myself a midnight deadline to hurry the process along.

Third thing, my eyesight. This problem keeps rearing its ugly little face. I can barely see, my glasses are crap, and I'm in so much pain it's just not cool. I really hope I can grab a new pair of glasses and it will magically disappear, but I'm almost positive it won't. I think my sight is going to be as bad as some of my family members. Lame.

Fourth.. wait, why am I counting? Wow. I'm losing it.

Housework. SUCK MY NUTS! I know that it's a huge part of my duties and all, but seriously. People can't even make it to the trash can or the laundry room ONCE A DAY. I'm literally doing EVERYTHING. I'm exhausted, I'm drained, I'm sick of it. The only person in the house that will take a piece of trash to the trashcan is me. There are two other adults and a kid, who USED to love throwing things away, and nothing ever makes it. It makes it to the kitchen table, RIGHT NEXT TO THE TRASHCAN, but not in it. I don't get it. I'm lost. Also, the floors needing to be deep cleaned every single day is getting insane. I can't keep up. I commend people with more than one kid, and I can totally sympathize.

My Valentine's Day present will most likely arrive AFTER tomorrow, and that sucks. I did get a super sweet owl print bag from Journey's today. It's exactly what I needed for running around with the Munchkin. I no longer have to deal with my bag falling off my shoulder, because it's a cross-body bag. It's got a really pretty yellow silk lining, too. Cheap, quick, cute, fun, easy.. everything I needed. TAKE THAT Coach bag I've been drooling over for months!

I'm making a really amazing roast for tomorrow. I'm not planning on going anywhere unless it's to Lowe's to get a tub repair kit. We didn't make it today, so maybe tomorrow. Who knows.. I'd really like to get my shower fixed, but I'm the queen of putting home repairs off.


This concludes Random Tuesday.. because I'm starting to bore and confuse myself. Oh, and if you haven't seen Code Monkeys, the 8-bit cartoon G4 TV came up with, you're missing out. Get on Netflix and watch it. It's awesome.

Head on over to Stacy's blog, grab a button, write some crazy shit, and link up to the awesome fun that is Random Tuesday Thoughts. We're still at the rebellion, and it's so much fun I think you'd like doing it, too.

Peaces.. Deuces.. Peace.. Whatevs.

The Things I Do For Money, The Waiting Game, And Gramma's Oatmeal: RTTR

So Tomorrow was going to be the day I finally got the hubs back from Louisiana. I don't think that's going to happen. I really appreciate all the shit he's gone through since I moved, but I think it's time he told everyone and everything to go to hell so he can come home. I'm tired of waiting, sleeping alone, changing dates, hearing my kid cry because she misses her daddy, and dealing with everyone's drama.

Do you think I'm really that bad of a person, guys? I wouldn't MAKE him do anything. This was a mutual decision, and I don't appreciate the accusations or the hateful messages. Man up, grow a set of balls, and learn what "staying out of things you don't know anything about" means. I promise, what you think you know, isn't at all what's really going on. Maybe you should disregard gossip and worry about yourself.

I'm a bit cranky when it comes to this subject. That's about all I can say. I miss my best friend and regulator, so I'm not exactly thrilled that it's going to take more time. Also, it's getting harder to keep the munchkin on the up-and-up. I can't tell her to be good because Daddy will be here soon if soon never comes.


I pounded out an article that took me a week to prepare for. It's pretty sweet, and I'll be linking to it in a post as soon as it's live. I wrote a speech for someone's kid who did something "cool", and got to hear more of the same crap I just posted about. Lame jokes.. lots of them. I finished up the last of the graphics I plan on doing for a while, and had another 100 e-mails from douchenuts who think it's my job to make them free shit. I'm letting you know now that it's not my job to give you something that takes away from my paid-for time and my family, for free. Ever. If I offer, then I offer. If you e-mail me 12 times in a day TELLING me to do something, I'm going to remind you that eating a bag of dicks can be cleansing, and block you from my life. Forever.

Now, this eating of the bag of dicks can also be applied to people who make me work hours on things I offered, and assumed would be simple, and then never contact me to finish them, or treat me like I'm their fucking bitch and can't even say thank you before they're telling me what I am and am not going to do for them.

Fuck off. My time is worth $125 an hour, and if you want me to bow to your every whim, you will pay me for it, I clock my hours with the same timer my Dad uses, and trust me, I clock your free shit. I clocked in almost three hours out of the goodness of my heart, and you will pay me for it, PLUS whatever time I waste from here on out, since you want to be a fucking tool.


Also, if you type like a douche, I'm going to block you. I won't even accept your money if it means I have to read your messages. I mean, come on: "Dhuz eyU mayK gRaFiiXx fu ah Tallt?!??!G won noe, tryyk. iiMma nea tuhh giit ah bluu XxX owna bakk. lmk. ppeecce."

What in the fucking fuck does that even mean?! I'm totally serious, here. I know what "lmk" is, but other than that, I'm fucking lost. I copy+paste-d that from an e-mail I received two hours ago. My head hit the desk so fast I wasn't prepared for it.

If that was you, you're blocked. Forever and ever. And if you leave a comment on this post, I will hunt you down and shove my old Grammar book into your ear canal in hopes that it, by some divine miracle, punctures your brain and oozes its useful knowledge all over it. Get a job, and maybe you'll learn proper english.


It's going to be super nice outside today, Thursday, and Friday. I can't wait to get out and enjoy it. I'm hoping the munchkin will be up for some serious walking, because it's going to happen. Wednesday can kiss my ass. It wants to be rainy. I hate Wednesday right now. Wednesday, you're a bitch.


I cheated when I cooked supper last night, and made spaghetti from a canned sauce. It was a huge mistake. It tasted like I dumped a cup of sugar into it, and then added some Karo syrup. No one could eat it. It was a total waste of meat, spices, and time. I promise, family, I will never do that again. Ever.


I made myself some oatmeal for a snack and breakfast tomorrow. I used the same oats my gramma used to use, and I added in some brown sugar, a dash of nutmeg, honey, and a spoonful of some home canned maple peach preserves. It was awesome, but it paled in comparison to hers. No one will ever make oatmeal like hers. Also, butter beans. She made the best, and I am just trying to make mine a fraction as good these days.


I have found the worst thing about living out in the middle of the country: waiting around for the dude to refill your gas tank. Everyone else is fine with the slight drop in temperature due to conservation, but I'm not. I haven't taken my boots off all day, and I'm in so many layers it's hard to walk around.

Also, I think I may have over-shot the limits on my Jeep. I decided to wait to get gas, and then I forgot I was low, and drove it around today. I may or may not be able to get back to town to fill it up. Anyone have a gas can? Because I'm a failure.

You know the drill, head over to Stacy's awesome blog, grab a button, write some shit down, link-up, and get in on the Random Tuesday fun! Now with more REBELLION!


Have a very random Tuesday!

Your Number Come-th Up, Judge-y Parent!

Okay, this is purely a rant blog. It in no way means I think that any one of my friends and fellow bloggers are these types of people. It does mean that others have encountered this shit in real life, away from the internet, and I feel like it needs to be said.. by me.. on this blog. I'm out to get the ones who make us not-so perfect parents feel like a bag of douche for not being as awesome and sun-shiny as they seem to think they are.

Hey! Guess what? You're not perfect and rainbows do not come falling out of your ass every time you fart. I don't like you. Most parents do not like you. Life? Yeah, life doesn't like you, either. No one likes a show-off. Or you. Because you're a fucking tool.

If you are easily offended, don't read this. If you read this and you're like "OMG THAT BITCH IS TALKING ABOUT ME!", you're wrong. I don't know you. This is about the kinds of shit that other parents have given me/others during the course of our lives as parents. Some of this has nothing to do with me, but I'm writing it the way I'm writing it because I'm awesome and I'm dedicated. I never reveal the sources of my inspiration. Get over yourself, most of this shit is hilarious as fuck. Just laugh, dammit!

Aaaaaanyhow, back to my rant. Well, the points of my rant.. Here are some reasons why I don't like you. I also got some pretty great fodder from some not-so amused dads. Apparently other moms are too nice to say mean things. I don't believe in "sticking together" if you can't fucking be nice. Go eat some mushy peas, mean-ass. Here are some letters to mull over while you stuff your judge-y face:

Dear 'Oblivious' Parent,

Is there any reason why you feel more inclined to talk shit about my clothes, my kid's clothes, or how I'm letting my kid/kids play on the playground, than pay attention to your own kid/kids? Because, I just want you to know, your kid has a face full of sand and something that resembles dog shit, and I'm not sure you care at this point. Oh, and while you were letting your kid/kids do shit like that, my kid was perfectly safe and happy and I was probably playing with her or watching her play like a fucking helicopter mom, you accomplished nothing by treating me like I'm on 'American Idol: Parenting Edition'. And your kid ate shit. I hope you get some all over your face because you still have no idea it happened. Like my top? I got it at fucking WALMART.


Dear 'Savvy' Parent,

I like your shoes. Were those on sale for $400 or $900? Oh, mine? I got mine at the fucking Dollar General. They were in the clearance bin for like a buck. With the money I saved, I bought my kid four new outfits, a new pair of shoes, and that bubble bath that costs more than all my beauty supplies combined. She likes it and it makes her smell like Jesus rubbed his awesomeness all over her. No, I don't mind that my shit looks old and ragged, because my kid has the best of everything and I work my fucking face off to make sure she never goes without. I like spending my money on her instead of me; it's the reason I'm a fucking GREAT mom. I may be on the lower-class side of life, but you'd never know that my kid doesn't have rich parents. I'm glad that you have lots of money, but why is your kid wearing Walmart while you wear Gucci? Thanks for making me feel like Parent of the Year. I needed that. My last pair of slacks that are work appropriate just ripped, and I was having a bad day.


Dear 'Awesome-Rack' Parent,

Congratulations! You fed your kid from your/your wife's boobies and not from a bottle. You achieved something so wonderful that the angels cry. Oh, me? Why didn't I breast feed my kid? BECAUSE I FUCKING COULDN'T! Thank you, though, for telling me I'm a terrible, no-good parent, and rubbing the glory of your success in my face. It makes me get this warm and fuzzy feeling deep inside my vag. I tried, and I was really down on myself for two fucking months because I couldn't have that bond with my kid. If you had bothered to ask before you sat on your titty pedestal, you might've saved some face. You just look like an asshole now. And, for the record, we bonded. We bonded the shit out of each other. That kid tells me every single day that I'm her best friend. She also got to bond like Gorilla Glue to her dad. It was awesome. We are awesome. Fuck you.


Dear 'Earth-Friendly' Parent,

I'm glad that you chose to use cloth diapers. That makes me happy for you, and I'm sure that you feel a little more righteous because you saved the fucking tree people or whatever -- awesome. I chose to use the diapers that I can throw away. It's my choice. I had enough shit thrown at me while my kid was in diapers, I didn't feel like dealing with washing them and drying them and wondering if shit was going to be stuck in my washer. Just because YOU did something, does NOT mean the rest of the world has to. Every parent has a choice and your way isn't always the only way. I know you feel this way because you're a martyr and you do so much good with your cloth diapers and your fucking ego, but no. Fuck that. You're not holy, you didn't save the tree people, and your washing machine probably smells funny. There, how do you like MY opinion? If it pisses you off, I did my job. Because you piss me off. A lot.


Dear 'Wow' Parent,

Your kid is not a testament to you. You kid is a kid; a human being. They aren't a prop. If you treat your kid like a fucking accessory, you're an asshole. You have no place to judge me or any other parent. You're the Paris Hilton of parents, and you suck. The end.


Dear 'Psycho Hippie' Parent,

Breast feeding your child when they're in pre-school is just creepy. I'm not doing it and it's not because I'm a bad parent. It's because I talked with my kid's pediatrician and I chose to go with her facts and not my own weird internet research. New age parents confuse me. If our parents fed us real food whenever we were ready, why can't you do that for your kid? You seem to be semi-stable and normal, meaning your parents did a good job with you. Why would you want to do something that isn't healthy for your kid for your own sake? You are also the 'Wow' parent.. making your statement. It's a really messed-up statement and I don't understand it, but it's there. I salute your decision in my own way. All I ask is that you stop telling me what's best for my kid.. because you don't know anything about her. You should also stop being so fucking high and mighty. No one likes people butting-in where they have no business sticking themselves in. I did what was right for my daughter, and she's a healthy, intelligent, well-adjusted little hellion that has gone through a lot in her three years of being alive. I think she's doing fan-fucking-tastic all things considered. If you think she needs formula at three, when it loses all nutritional value between 10-14 months, that's your opinion. Now, please go choke on it. Enjoy your day, you're very rude.



Okay, so the last one is from me.. but whatevs. I know a lot of parents feel like ass when other parents act like they've never had a breakdown, never had to deal with bullshit, never been stressed or tired, or they just have their fucking shit together all the time. I am calling you out, mean parents. STOP BEING SO DAMN AWFUL! Not every parent is the same, much like the children we rear. We all have different ways of coping with things and raising our kids. We were all raised differently. If you can't accept that not everyone is going to be as amazing as you think you are, you're a huge bag of ugly.

POWER TO THE COOL PARENTS!

We have meltdowns, we don't always like our kids even though we love them with every fiber of our being, we do the best we can with what we have, and our kids are the kids everyone wants to have. I love being 'Mommy' to my little tornado. She makes me mad, sad, tired, hyper, cry, smile, laugh, fuss, and amazed every time she comes into a room. I couldn't imagine my life without her in it, and I'm thankful every single day for her. I know I've had some days where I'm like "Baby Jesus, please give me a break!", but everyone has had those days. It's normal. It's called being a fucking parent. Try being a REAL parent sometime, judge-y parents.. you just might find it's a great experience. Also, when you try it and love it, apologize to the parents you've shit on over the years. Make our day.

RTT: Things Suck More In Louisiana

Today has already been one entirely over-stressful day. That sucks because it's not like I'm not ALREADY stressed out from first test jitters and financial ruin looming and the winterocalypse and the cat.. did I mention he pounced on my head while I was putting makeup on? Yes, he did. He apparently needs to seek therapy.

So we, errr, I mean I did our taxes today....... the state in which we live in has -- yet again -- fucked us over. And not even with the consideration of lube; just nasty, horrible, dry rape. Thanks a lot, La. Thanks a whole bunch. Fuckers.

My first test is today. Imagine a girl with extreme anxiety problems and a tendancy to over-analyze and worry who just happens to be a genius that sucks at math and taking tests. That's me, and I'm nervous. I'm freaking out and the cat isn't helping. He's staring at me with this judge-y eyes like he just KNOWS I'm going to flunk it because he's a cat and they're like super all-knowing creatures. Fuck you, too, Spazzy McSpazz.

My phone, my glorious phone, with my awesome SIM card and my SD card full of things of importance, is still missing. I seriously hope no one stole it and was stupid enough to chuck it out somewhere like the last time. I really kinda need that thing. It's like, super important.. and stuff. I'm like a failure when it comes to having a phone. This will make the second time it's been stolen, and that really sucks because I NEED it. It's not like it cures cancer or anything, but it does hold potential job interviews and my life on a phone and a bunch of other shit that really means like, a lot. I'm emotionally compromised because I can't call anyone. This is like cutting me off; stranding me on a deserted island; putting gum in my hair when there's no peanut butter or mayonnaise in the house to get it out. SERIOUS. SHIT.

 I don't want to go to school today.. I don't want to take a test. I just want to lounge around the house and study some more. It doesn't help that I just found out I'll be missing gumbo tonight. Definitely sad-facing over here, and like, there are tears and shit. Gumbo is important. Almost as important as my phone, but not quite.

Gameboy Pokemon sucks. Just wanted to share.

E-mail To An Asshole That I Will Never Send - Maybe

So I have this friend.. had this friend.. that used to be my, I don't know, best friend of sorts. She was the person I called anytime, anywhere, and talked to for hours at a time.. or until one of our phones died. She was always there for me no matter what was going on. I loved her like an extension to my family. My daughter loved her and even Ass-band loved her. It was the perfect friendship. I did all I could do for her, and helped her through all kinds of shit that I really didn't want to get into but that's what best friends are for and I loved her so I did it no matter the consequences.

And then, almost three years ago, she stopped talking to me. She's on my accursed Facebook, and she wouldn't even say hey if I tried to start a conversation. I'd long since been kept out of the loop when she changed phone numbers and I'd started to feel like a stalker for my once-a-month comments like "Hey XXX, I miss your face. Call me sometime and we'll catch up over coffee!"...

I don't want to feel like a stalker, so I stopped doing it about a year ago. Ass-band keeps asking about her, Melodrama sees her picture and asks me to call her, and my best dude friend always asks have I talked to her and I'm always having to walk around with a stupid look on my face and an eye twitch.

I tried to e-mail her the other day, but I couldn't bring myself to hit the send button. I've wanted to tell her so many things over the course of [almost] three years. I've wanted her to share in my joys and my sorrows, just like she used to. Our lives overlapped so much for so long that it was just natural to see my Sidekick glued to my ear no matter what I was doing. I think back fondly on the many years of friendship and tomfoolery, but the charade is over.

Here's the letter I decided to write and pussied my bitch ass out of sending. I'll share it with the blog world, and if she sees it and happens to know it's about her, so be it. Enjoy. I suck at writing letters, by the way.

XXX,

Wow, it's been almost three years! I found your e-mail in my address book, and I am hoping against hope that you didn't change this, too. I heard you moved and changed your number (well, read off your Facebook), and I tried to get in touch with you to get your new number and address for Christmas gifts and the likes, but you brushed me off. It kind of bothered me, but since I'm a pussy when it comes to my friends, I never said anything.

I changed my Facebook a while back, and you added me again. I was elated. I took that to be a good sign, and I tried to talk to you again. To no avail. That really hurt me, because I love you like a sister; I have told you things my husband doesn't even know and I have been there for you through good times and "I'm so depressed I'm going to kill myself in this manner" times.

Why exactly have you chosen to abandon the bond that we shared? Why have you come to ignore the one friend who never did you wrong? Was it something that was said -- or something that was not?

I guess being southern, a mother, and using boxed mac-n-cheese to make my husband happy made me not good enough, but your attitude and the way you've made me feel all this time kind-of tips the scales in my favour of being the better friend and better person. No matter how busy you think your life is, it doesn't even compare to any woman with a child, a job, a degree in progress, a husband, and a bird.. or some other kind of pet but still. All you have is you and your husband to worry about.. and he's a grown ass man who should know how to make a sandwich if you're busy with other shit.

Look, all I'm saying is that through all the hard times and the busy times and the times when I wanted to flat out drink myself into a coma for a month, I've tried to still be there for you. Where's your try? Fuck this shit.. I hate writing damn e-mails and I'm tired of coming up with nice ways to say:

Hope you're happy, hope you're well, hope you choke on a carrot. Seriously, eat a fucking dick unless you want to say hey and then I'll totally be excited and talk to you again because, again, I'm a fucking pussy when it comes to bitches like you. I think it's because you're cute.

All my best, 

Kate

I Amaze People With Myself

Yeah, I totally am. I'm 23, almost 24, and I'm sleeping on a loveseat. And I'm cold. And I have no blanket. And I have TB in my arm.

Moving on...

I started school this week. It's a bitch. I've still yet to regain feeling in my right index finger. So. many. notes. ohmygod. I thought real college was rough until I became a student at a Vo-Tech school. I now realize that my college days were a breeze and everything I ever did there was magical and wonderful and so much fun. My professors were amazing, my friends rocked, and my living situation did not include in-laws or parents or anyone else like that.
I had to get a TB scratch test done. It always sucks, but what can you do? I guess I could not do it and waste the money I've put into school and quit. Quitting is for losers, though, and I am most definitely not a loser. I'm super fucking awesome and you should be very happy about that fact.

I took some pretty cool pictures today of Melodrama and my friend's dog, Muffin-top. We're going to call her Muffin-top because everyone else in my blog has a code name so the dog gets one, too, and we're also going to give the friend one since everyone else got one and she gets Rage. You know, because she has horrible road rage. Especially in Natchez. Definitely in Natchez.

So Rage and I were talking about something completely random the other night on the way home from class and we decided to call our men folk, Ass-band and Walter (I really hope he never sees that I've decided to call him that), and it was all good and great while we were laughing and listening to the phone ring and whatnot... until they answered and we said hey and magically my phone unpaired from the car and died.

......

The phone has yet to be seen again. I think someone stole it and since we were sitting in traffic with other people from the same class it could still link to the car and when we drove away it lost that ability. And I realized it was gone. Which sucks ass because now I have no phone. Epic. fail.

*ahem*

After blowing me off because I'm boring and a bitch, Ass-band did something nice for me this evening. I was rather shocked but, hell, I'm not complaining. He brought me a huge salad and a drink and actually told me goodnight instead of grumbling about my computer light and my studying in bed and falling asleep with his ass on my leg and farting. Loudly. I was happy.



Until I realized that Rage and Walter snore, and Muffin-top is having whiny puppy dreams. And then there's the fan..s...

Did I mention I'm freezing to death?

Isn't she lovely?

Muffin-top is hella awesome.

Did I happen to mention I'm going bald? Oh yes I am.

Oh, About That

I think it's been far too long since I actually got to blog, so please excuse and errors or thoughts that trail off into something else -- also be aware that my screen is dimmed to the lowest setting and I can barely press my laptop keys because someone is being a down-er and wants to "sleep". PFFT! Sleep... sleep is for the weak.

So where to begin, where to begin?

Melodrama started Daycare. That was extremely tragic -- for ME. Not her, me. I bawled and begged and sank into this horrid depressed state where I just sat around eating random food for comfort for a good, oh, three days?

I'm totally fine now. *coughcough*

Melodrama loves it and the staff is amazing and it gives me time to apply to countless jobs and house hunt. Go me. I'm getting my shit together. Finally. I really miss working from home because I miss my kiddo and she's really falling behind on her sign language. *mental note*
I've had a lot of people tell me what an abomination I am for sending her packing to a daycare center when I don't even have a job yet. I've also had people call me out for not using cloth diapers and not being able to breast feed, but who really gives two fucks about any of that? Certainly not my self-esteem/self-worth issues.. nope.

I'm totally fine. *hackhack*


I decided, after not being able to find ANY decent paying work in this odd little place, to take some classes and become... drum roll please... a Phlebotomist. *cue applause*
It's a 12 week course that will give me the skills and knowledge to stand in a clinic/hospital for 12 hours a day, 6-7 days a week and draw blood. I will be paid to be a needle vampire.


Fuck you if you just asked yourself if I would sparkle. Haven't you heard? I hate Twilight. I wish that woman would stop publishing her childish and pathetic drivel of a diary. The End.


I'm still, totally fine. *coughhack*


Husband FINALLY got all the massive amounts of stuff finished so he can start work. Hopefully he WILL NOT decide to take the job on the oil rig since he got the job he's starting next week. I just got him back from the military and would like a little time to be, ya know, a FAMILY.

*twitch*

zOMFG! WE FOUND A HAUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We are in an extreme state of love over this 1930's carpenter-style abode. It is a definite fixer-upper, but I couldn't be more in love. It's perfection! I will provide a link to the historically registered masterpiece. You will fall in love, too, if you love houses and projects and the likes.


The holidays were a mixture of ups and downs. This was my first holiday away from home and I was BEYOND a bawling, sniveling, wretched bitch of a mess. I think I pretty much died at one point and the only thing that revived me was the putrid smell of sweet cornbread.

*pleasesavemefromthisplanetI'velandedon*


I got a new car.. right before we left for my state for Thanksgiving. The night we left to come back, two days later, my tire exploded on the interstate at 75 miles an hour and destroyed my new pretty Jeep. Well, destroyed is a pretty strong word. More like maimed and disfigured horribly. Thankfully I'm an amazing and stellar driver and I made it safely to the side of the super busy Interstate 85-S before breaking down into shaking tears and grabbing Melodrama and the phone to call my Dad -- who was an hour away and asleep, so not at ALL happy to hear me begging for his Daddy powers.

*thisismylife...*



I am actually about to share a picture... just one. Not of the Jeep, or of the new me (now with short hair and 15 lbs lighter), the disgusting sweet cornbread, or anything else. I am going to share my amazing photography skills and delight the blogging world with my gorgeous daughter. With the picture, I also close this atrocious mess of a post and promise my next one will be less of a failure and more... better-er.


xoxoo;

cutest. toddler. ever.

Oh, and here's the link to the house we're getting.. err, HOPE we're getting.

You know you want to see it!

Pizza isn't comfort food when it makes you violently ill..

Today, like the rest of the past few weeks, has been insane. Here is a little bit of a recap of today that pretty much mirrors the last two weeks, and will project on to the rest of this month:

Melodrama had the entire house up before morning Taps to pile into our extremely depressing car and drive two hours to Atlanta. If you live in Georgia, or have ever been to Atlanta, you understand. It wasn't exactly my dream morning.
We get to 400, and BAM! - traffic. Lots and lots of traffic. Of course Ass-band wasn't exactly helpful; Why would he be when he knows I'll just put on my Super Mom cape and do everything with a smile?

So after dealing with a missing doll, cup, and stray M&M, we finally get there.


OHMYallegoryforgodDUDE!!!!! They have full-time super cool therapy dogs that just sit on really funky couches next to massive fish tanks all day. Melodrama was so excited about life at the moment of eye contact with the animals that we spent 30 minutes standing around in a massive lobby with a volunteer and several other screaming children. Cue anxiety hives, exhaustion, migraine, and general unhappiness. Now, to elaborate, I love my daughter more than I love caffeine, right? I don't love crowds, screaming and squealing noises from well over a dozen children, and I'm allergic to dogs.
Yes, the dogs were amazingly friendly and over-enthusiastic about my toddler hanging from their necks, the fish were gorgeous, and the volunteer that lead us to Lab was super understanding of Melodrama's ADHD. No, I wasn't having a good time - especially when there were other mothers there trying to ask me strange and semi-personal questions.

"How old is your daughter? You look exceptional for a young mother."
"How did you lose all the baby weight?"
"How do you keep your piercings in?"

To answer your extremely nosy questions, Mom-zillas:

- She's two; Yes, I'm pretty banging for a young Mom.
- I don't sit on my ass eating cupcakes and Twinkies all day. I get up off my lazy ass and stay moving ALL DAY. Thanks for the compliment - albeit it wasn't delivered in a very considerate fashion.
- I just fucking do.

All in all, Melodrama came out two vials of blood lighter, 20 + stickers and band-aids more decorated, and exhausted both myself and Ass-band. It was a rather eventful day that I can't even continue typing for fear of reliving it in my mind and becoming even more wiped out.


I get home to e-mails that won't wait - nice right? I am now going to be hosting a very awkward visit from my Dad and my Step-Mom. This should make for one hella fantastic blog when I return from the land of Children's Hospital of Atlanta next week sometime.

Melodrama just informed me that I should be cleaning up her mess thanks to Ass-band; I guess I should get on that now.


Anyone have any M&M's I can give her to quell the screaming and running around? hehe.. yeah.

Socks And Dish Gnomes

So I came to the conclusion long ago, and reaffirmed last night, that missing socks and the likes = laundry Gnomes, right?

Well, dishes have Gnomes too, dammit!
let's get some story action going --

I was all set to go to bed last night at an extremely awesome and human time. 10 p.m. Right?

Wrong.

Husband informed me that I had to wash socks. Just socks. Nothing else... socks.



 

socks... well, ABU socks, but still socks.


He couldn't just look through the laundry baskets and find another pair that were already clean - they HAD to be the ones that he wears every Monday that have the crusted and rotted elastic and that huge toe hole.


I assume the hole is important for proper toe-breathing. What else could it POSSIBLY be?

So I run all around the house, upstairs and down, looking for all of his work crap so I can actually do a full load -- meaning I'm digging in toy boxes, under couches, inside random cabinets and drawers; with the main goal of finding socks. Please remember to note that this is a toddlers home.






yes, this is mine... I know. Don't say anything...


Flash to like 20 + minutes later...


I finally have everything wrangled together in one general pile, right? I start the laundry and settle in to surfing YouTube and playing my Facebook app obsession.

Flash to 10 or so minutes later... Yes, I "flash". I'm a Super Hero with awesome-super hero-Jedi-Ninja powers. Be warned.

I decide that I'm bored, and I want to do something productive with the hour and six minutes it takes to wash the clothes - the dishes.

YAY! I'm not procrastinating! (see previous blog about procrastination here)

Well I figure out there are several ways that I can use my time wisely. I can make the tea which I almost forgot was steeping in the kettle on the stove. I usually forget up to three times before there's finally a gallon of sweet tea in the fridge for Husband and Munchface -- an oversight that I blame on the knowledge that I'm allergic and making it breaks me out. Hives = un-cool un-fun-ness. The end.

I can pick up toys, fix up my coffee so all I have to do is press a button and I get caffeinated amazing-ness in the morning, and yes, the dishes.






the cleaning process - you shoulda seen it before o_o;







I also did something nice and set up a "thank you" picture for the person who gave the board to Munchface...







NOMZ!


I do all of the above, and re-settle onto my little spot on the couch to continue my internet debauchery - my little way of doing the whole "relax" and "piddle around" thing...


Ninja-Jedi-super hero-awesome -flash to the highly annoying "beep" sequence of the wash cycle ending...


I'm extremely excited -- it's time for bed and the dishes are done, the toys are put away, the coffee is ready to brew, the tea is made, the internet is surfed, and now the laundry is done - go me.






I even made up a list for Husband ^_^


I get up to meander in to the laundry room, dreading the weight of three sets of ABUs, 7 shirts, and numerous pairs of sock, and what do I see?



DISHES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!






This is after I picked them up, but you get the idea (yes, that's my heat that I pack - are you scared?)



ksjdhfskjdhfskjdhfksjhdfksjhdfkjshdfkjshdfkjsdhfkjsdhfkjshdfkjhsdkjfhskdgfouweroiweyisdbvkjsdbvsmcnvakdjfoqeihfFUCK!

DUDE! Did I not JUST do a LOAD of DISHES?!

Dish Gnome, you sneaky, sneaky little rat bastard!

And it's not like it's a load of dishes, either.

It's a fucking cup; It's a fucking salad fork; It's two fucking dishes.






fuck you, dishes.


Do not fail to note that it's Husband's TEA glass -- complete with sticky tea goop in the bottom that I can't scrub out by hand because my hand doesn't fit into teeny tiny crevices, and neither does my sponge.

And they're sitting there all defiantly in the window sill where he put them...




Now, everyone is always complaining about their Laundry Gnomes. Not this guy; This guy is complaining about Dish Gnomes.

Dish Gnomes are not responsible for missing silverware - no, not that. They're responsible for fucking up your clean kitchen and your life with randomly-placed dirty dishes that escaped the last load of the day.


I was so proud of myself and all that I had accomplished... Braving the case lot sale crowd at the Commissary for groceries; Cleaning my house; Cleaning my bird's cage like I was preparing it for his transformation into the first Zombie cockatiel; Cooking a dinner that pleased everyone, including small person a.k.a Munchface; drawing awesome chalk art at 9:30 p.m to amuse Munchface while she trampled invisible bugs and alerted the neighborhood of their impending doom of the presence of the moon at the top of her lungs and honestly didn't really pay all that much attention to my chalk art so I really didn't have to do it but I did at the same time because that's just what the fuck I HAD TO DO...






when he goes Zombie, he's going in style, son...







the rabbit is NOT mine; it's Husband's...







that weird duck thing isn't mine, either.


.. and these two tiny dishes are just fucking raining despair and defeat on my sunshine-and-fucking-rainbow-cereal-shitting-unicorns day.

I felt like the biggest domestic failure ever.




Jedi-Ninja-super hero FLASHHHHHHHhhhh!!! ...


So now I'm sitting outside chain-smoking and sipping the first soda I've had in months; debating on whether or not this is an epic enough emergency to call my Mom's work and have them page her so I can wait ten minutes just to be able to cry about my meaningless woes to someone who gives a shit about me..

Because if Husband loved me, even a smidge, he would've put the dishes in the fucking kitchen where the Dish Gnomes couldn't ruin my night.




Touché, Dish Gnome. You're the clear victor in this battle.

You've won my sanity and an all-expense paid cruise vacation to suck my hypothetical balls.




Douche-y as you are, I applaud thee.












random picture of something I made for work, because I feel like putting it here. fucking deal, son.