Men And Excuses, Sandwiches and Cats, And Saving Lots Of Money With The Internet: RTTR

So, again, Husband has made an excuse not to make the drive from Louisiana to Georgia. I've done it alone with a cranky toddler and a scared-to-death cat. I think he can make it on his own. I'm not into men's excuses. Every guy I've ever dated has always had a plethora of them. It's starting to get old. They wonder why women always bitch at them all the time, and I can't really sympathize with them. They do it to themselves.

When are women ever allowed the opportunity to make an excuse when something they don't want to do is coming up?

Don't want to cook for four extra people that showed up without notice and uninvited? Fuck you! Get your ass in the kitchen and make these people some sammiches.

Don't want to make brownies for your husband's entire workplace or your kid's school bake sale? Too bad. It's your job. Get to it. Don't whine while you're doing it, either, because we'll laugh at you.

House dirty? Put your computer down, stop doing your job, and start doing your real job. Scrub those floors!

What I am trying to say is, I'm not ever allowed to make excuses for not being productive or not doing what people think I am supposed to be doing. I have to work through any illness, irregardless of how I feel; I must make sure everything and everyone is fixed up, all nice and happy and satisfied, no matter what I have going on; I make plans, and they're always iffy because I may or may not have to drop them for someone else. It's a drag, and I hate it.

So, Husband gets to make another excuse, and I have to rearrange my schedule to compensate. When is it my turn?

Hey, I don't feel like you coming home tomorrow, why don't you do it today, when the fuck you said you would, because you've already changed your mind ten different times, and save me the trouble of having to put up with your shit? How's that sound?

I'm not happy. I shouldn't blog angry. He's not so bad.. well, he's a total asshole, but hey, most men are assholes. I'm just tired of excuses. I can't make them, so I think perfectly capable people shouldn't make them constantly, either.


Moving on!

My cat stole half of my sandwich. He drug it right off the plate, carried it off to wherever he goes to hide, and came back smelling like caesar vinaigrette. I guess I made a man a sandwich today, after all.

He also has a thing for poptarts, but only the kind with lots of sprinkles on the outside. Fucking weirdo.


Hershey's Cookies 'n Creme candy has nothing on Palmer's. Palmer's is the best. Nom.


I did a lot of online shopping in the past few weeks. I found a pair of boots for myself and my Mom, a coat for her to wear to work (that has to be returned because, hello, how is anyone supposed to fit into that thing), and a new cell phone case.

I've saved hundreds, and it always feels nice to get a deal. $80 phone case for $11 and super cheap 1-3 day shipping? Yes please! $300 boots for $35 and free shipping? Of course! But in the end, I guess I would've compromised and bought something less, how do I say this, nice, to save money. I just happened to get lucky.

Though, the cell phone case thing was non-negotiable. I won't ever skimp on one again. The cheap one I bought shattered into a couple hundred pieces when I sat my phone down on a counter a little too hard. Insanity.




Still rebelling, one Tuesday at a time. Head on over to Stacy's awesome blog and link up to the fun!

The Good Times Had by a Freelance Writer

So, among the many things I do to make ends meet, I freelance write. Now, don't get me wrong, I love it. It gives me the freedom to work on so many different projects that I normally would't get a chance at. It's rewarding and fulfilling on so many levels.

But, sometimes, I hate it. One of these sometimes is when I'm commissioned to write a speech for someone who really didn't want my help in the first place. How can I say that, you ask? They refuse to let me do my job. There is a difference between tossing around ideas and then letting me go to work and deliver you a great speech, and taking over -- basically paying me hundreds of dollars to be your PA and type your shit up for you.

Since everyone always posts up "What If" scenarios, and people, like the incredible author/artist of The Oatmeal, create amazing comics out of their horror stories, I'm going to write the speech that I wish I could give to difficult clients here.. in my blog.. because I like money. I would rather continue to receive money, than lose out on it because I want to post up my issues like I'm grand-standing in a public forum.

You know, that thing I'm doing now, only it's not to a room full of people who already hate me.

Enjoy!


Dear Audience,

Thank you for whatever reason I'm here. I'm a clueless Douchenut, so I really don't have a idea as to why I'm actually standing here, but thanks. Here are a few really awful and extremely stupid jokes to make you question why I am in whatever position I am in; I am quite certain your fake laughter will give me whatever confidence booster I'll need to make it through the rest of the night. I'm not exactly sure I like any of you, but it warms me more than my fist of whiskey to hear your finger claps and discontented chuckles.

Now, here's the part where I should be telling you it's all thanks to you, but no. Fuck that shit. It's all about me tonight, baby. Me, me, me, me, and me. I love me. I'm accomplished at something, but I'm not quite sure what it is. I'm sure it'll come to me in the next however long I choose to stand here, but right now? Total blank. Oh, did I mention I love the way my farts smell? Because I do. They're awesome. More about me. Blahdy blahdy blah blah blah blah blah. Blargh.

I would also like to give thanks to the chick I hired to help me better articulate absolutely nothing. She's awesome. This bitch can type like.. fucking fast. She got a lot of money to help me, but instead, I decided to go my own way. I'm a fucking REBEL! Here's the gist of what I put her through:

 I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, and I'm not entirely sure where I'm at or how I got here. I hired someone smarter than me to research and write me some pretty words. She's now far more competent than me, and could quite possibly steal my position based on her gleaned knowledge alone.

But, I decided I wanted jokes; lots and lots of really un-funny and extremely offensive jokes. Also, I wanted a small slideshow of ponies and unicorns and rainbow-shitting cupcake faeries to go with it. You're definitely welcome for those. There's also a few images of me spending my insane salary on some equally insane vacation. Do you like my hot pants? Daddy likes.... Let me rub my nipple in a failed attempt at sexual humor and innuendo. I do these things so fucking well, and she knows it.

She also researched the people who should actually be here, and she wanted to thank you all, but like I said, fuck you. It's me time, and I'm cashing in.

Words and stuff.

Man that bitch can type.

Now, I realize that I've completely ruined any chance I have at making you think I have any idea why I should be here.. or grateful.. or even alive, because I'm a fucking tool. Please let me just take the cheap-ass trophy or certificate you made me from some crap-ass Microsoft program, sans speech, and I swear, to Zeus, that this awkwardly painful moment (for everyone involved, mind you) will never happen again.

Also, I'll save $700 on something I could've easily done myself. Which is cause massive embarrassment and give you all something to discuss, at-length, in e-mails and at the water cooler, behind my back, for at LEAST a year. Probably more, depending on how drunk I am right now and who's wife is hottest. I'm grabbing your ass, hot wifey, I'm just sayin'.

Spanx. See?! I'm totally not hilarious at all!
Continue on somehow with the rest of your miserable night,

Douche-y McFuckNut

My Cat Only Loves Me When... A List

Today I want to talk about my cat. His name is Stephen. He's an abused rescue that I shoved in a cat carrier and moved from Louisiana to Georgia. He went from being born and raised by the hard-knocks of the streets, to being a fat and lazy house cat in the course of 13 hours. He's extremely intelligent; you only have to show him something once, and he's got it. He's also a really big pain-in-the-ass.

He knows he's loved, and he knows he's cute -- it's a dangerous combination.

He's still really skittish for some odd reason, even though he's babied like he's king-of-the-castle. I swear sometimes I think my Mom likes the cat more than me. You're welcome, old lady.

I think he's adapted well, and we enjoy the shit out of him. He's a constant source of joy and entertainment, and even when I have to spray him in the face with the water bottle for trying to tear something up, I still can't help but smile.

But.. he's just like every other cat: he only loves us when he wants to, which is never when it's convenient. I have compiled a list of times when he wants love and attention, and I'm going to share it with you guys. If you have cats, feel free to laugh, because you know they do it to everyone. If you have anything to add, add it in the comments.

My Cat Only Loves Me When:

- I have to pee.
- I'm trying to take a shower.
- I'm brushing my teeth.. my back teeth, and I haven't spit yet.
- I'm doing something to my hair with an extremely hot tool.
- I'm putting on eye liner, mascara, or eye shadow.. just the darker shades that are hard to get off without reapplying everything.
- I'm trying to sleep.
- I'm about to get up and do something.
- I'm cooking.
- I have just accepted the fact that he's not going to come be nice to me and I set my laptop desk up.
- I'm drinking something hot.. or cold.. and I just took that first big swallow, but haven't quite swallowed yet.
- I'm on the phone with someone other than family.
- The kid wants attention.
- I'm reading.
- I'm trying to clean up the kid's mess of small toys (meaning I end up digging them out from under things like beds, couches, chairs, and the one table in the house that you're always guaranteed to hit your head on).
- I'm not in the mood.
- He's hungry.
- I just fed him and I'm taking the scoop back to the container.
- While I'm trying to feed him, and I have a scoop of food and am not paying attention to him wrapping his self around my ankles.
- I'm doing laundry.
- I'm trying to wrangle the kid into the bathtub or bed.
- Mom is all "He hates me, he's never going to bond with me, emooooooo stuff!".
- I'm writing... like now.
- He thinks I have food.
- He knows I don't have food, but am contemplating getting up to get some.
- I'm thirsty.
- I'm trying to concentrate.
- I want to practice making babies with Husband.
- Husband is sitting next to me.
- Husband wants to hold my hand.
- I really, REALLY have to get up and go pee.
- I'm trying to play with him, which usually ends up in pouting and biting.
- Mom is trying to love on him.
- I'm carrying something that obstructs my vision.
- My screen saver comes up on my laptop.
- It's time to clip his nails so I feel really bad about holding him down.
- I'm standing in front of the heater.
- I'm getting something out of the oven.
- Did I mention when I'm trying to pee?

I never understood why kids and pets only want something to do with you when it's the worst possible time. It's like they have this sensor built-in to detect when you have something going on, so they can be all up in your shit with their huge eyes and their little noses.. DAMN THE CUTENESS! DAMN IT TO HELL!

And, to leave you wondering why in the hell I even waste your time with my blog in the first place, here's a few pictures of the little rat-bastard. I do love the little shit...

He gets between my legs at night so I can't move... asshole.

This one is from his "street" days...

I SEE U. Y U NO CAN MOVE? OH. IZ CUZ OF MEH.

POP ALL THE BUBBLES!

Why, no cat, I'm not trying to go pee.

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.

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!

The One Where I Give Husband A Whole New Nickname

So the other night, Ass-band reached a new level of mean. Which, if you know him, you're probably now sitting there going "OMGNOWAI! HOW?!"! And I would sit here and be all like "well let me tell you" and proceed to type out this blog.

Me: "You never laugh at my jokes anymore... it's like you don't think I'm funny but other people think I'm funny so what's your issue?"
Ass-band: "I laugh at you all the time!"
Me: "THAT'S NOT THE SAME THING!! I hate you!" *takes his shoe off and flings it into the yard while extending my middle finger*
Ass-band: *annoyed face* "Go pi--"
Me: "NO! STFU!!" *random AIDS hateful thing to say and another middle finger*

Me: *random trying to be normal conversation*
Ass-band: *something completely rude and stupid*
Me: "SEE?! You're such an asshole!"
Ass-band: "I love you - which negates the stupid shit I just said, right?"
Me: "You're a douche-y epic fail..."

Me: "I'm going to blog about how mean you're to me and everyone on the internet will see it and call you Ass-band forever! You're like a less productive lap band but you hang out on anuses all day. People will knooooooooow!"
Ass-band: "You don't need to write down every stupid and mean thing I do/say because you know I'm going to do it again..." (which what he really meant was "you don't have to because it would be repetition and then what kind of blog would that be? everyone will see you're really a freaking weirdo and they won't like it anymore and then you'll be sad and I'll laugh at you, not with you.)
Me: "The world is going to pwn you and call you Ass-band." *insert silence and a very disheartened facial contortion - which is what Ass-band calls my facial expressions*
Ass-band: "I'm goin' to poop - leave me alone."

Now, to clarify, he's not really going to poop because that would be too much information. He says that when he either doesn't want to do something, or he wants to shut me up. Which is mean because he'll sit there for half an hour playing solitaire on his phone, use half a roll of toilet paper (no, that's not an exaggeration) just to piss me off, and then make a glass of tea, spill it everywhere, and sit and play XBOX. It also stomps on our communication, which is key for a healthy marriage/relationship, and that makes me sad panda face it for hours afterwards. The spilling of the tea annoys me to no end, and makes me want to throat stab kittens; I love kittehs :( He also likes to scream random things from inside the bathroom and make Melodrama beg and cry and beat on the door for him and that is just wrong. If you want to hide out, don't antagonize the toddler.

So I look up from the outline I'm writing for a speech and realize he's been gone for a while, and it's already late, and I get kinna upset cause he wasn't planning on saying good night or anything. I go stomping off to the bathroom door and stand right outside it and this is the result:

Me: "Dude, seriously, what the fuck - not cool."
Ass-band: "Well I told you what I was doing..."
Me: "Yeah, uh-huh, I heard that. Were you gonna come say good night and pick up shit you left laying out? I'm your wife, not your maid - I work, too, and you said you'd help out if I made money."
Ass-band: "No - you know already so why are you bitchin'?"
(I AM NOT BITCHING! My concerns are legit, son >_<;;)
Me: "Why do you hate me????"
Ass-band: "I don't? If you want a kiss, get it while I'm poopin'!" *cue his weird/creepy laugh*
Me: "Go die, but pick up your mess first, mean ass!"
Ass-band: "I figured you'd get done with whatever you're doing and just come to bed..."
Me: "No, because I have to do all the stupid cleaning shit before I go to bed, remember?"
Ass-band: "Yeah, whatever, they're probably not even going to show up and then you did all that for nothing." *cue more maniacal laughter and a very sad face from me that quickly turned into a really angry face*

Mean. Ass. Man. The End.

So I get right up next to the door and wait for him to come out. When he does, I get right on his back and lean on him while he's walking and the following ensues:

Me: "I'm the weight of the trees that you just killed for no reason!! The trees and the money YOU wasted - FEEL MY WEIGHT SMOTHER YOU!"
Ass-band: "I don't even like trees, woman; They take up space and that space could be a parking lot. I like those better than trees."
Me: *dumb facial contortion* "You could be a parking lot..."

Yes, I realize, that was stupid and a terrible comeback. I'm an awkward reject, it's to be expected of me to say dumb things - though I'm usually the comeback queen so...

Ass-band: "Kate, really? How the fuck am I gonna be a parking lot? You're stupid."
Me: "Well, you can't, but you could be a speed bump and people could run all over you like you run all over my HEART!" *cue sad panda face*
Ass-band: "I spilled tea; you gonna clean that shit up or not?" *maniacal laughter and an ill-timed "I love you" cover-up*
Me: ... *silence and a really random facial contortion*



This has been an important PSA about Ass-band and his mean-ness. If you see this person, call him Ass-band and laugh at him so he's not right about no one liking my blog :/