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.

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.

RTT: Letters Are Dead; And So Is Conversation

Because you know, the internet killed them. Just sayin'...

Okay I'm doing this new thing, because I'm already so random people can rarely follow my thought process in any way, called Random Tuesday Thoughts. Enjoy the link, you're very rude.

So I woke up and my back still felt like it's trying to ask for a new mattress through pain. I'm 23, not 43, and I feel like writing a letter to someone just because I'm laying on the floor. It's cold down here; I'm not happy about it.

Munchface was so excited about Lucky Charms and The Princess and The Frog this morning that she almost brought the roof down screaming out the window at the people cutting grass "OHMYGODIT'SAFWOGGIEONTHET.VANDMOMMASAIDI'MHERPINCESSSSSSSSSSS!"

Which, yes, we think it's hilarious when she says "princess" so we tell her she's Daddy's and Mommy's and Gramma's and that random person running on the other side of the lake's "pinCessssssss". But this morning, while my coffee was still brewing, my back was aching like a geriatric, and I hadn't completed my morning routine, she wasn't a princess, she was Satan's child. As she jumped up and down and danced around, I lost my nerve to scold her for screaming like she was getting beat up by the Gnomes, however, because it was so damn cute. I miss the simple joys of childhood.

I got an e-mail from my high school pen-pal. DUDE! PEN fucking PAL. You write LETTERS - not e-mails. I miss letters and cards and written sentiments to save forever. I miss seeing handwriting and beautiful or interesting stationery. I also actually miss phone calls. I prefer human interaction over e-mails and text messages, no matter how awkward it gets for me - that kept me grounded and always finding ways to adapt. Yes, I'm a socially awkward freak unless you put a drink in my hand and some good music in the background. Yes, I'm weird and most people find me extremely difficult to understand when I start prattling on about this and that. Learning to get along with people and communicating on a primitive level is good for me. It's good for you, too, so do it, dammit! 

Husband started out-processing today... insert sad face that quickly turns to a happy sigh of relief. I am going to miss my glorious Bull-DAWG nation (a.k.a Georgia) but at the same time, it's time for a change. We're headed for the dirty south... Louisiana. Yuck.

-- but anyhow! (see, there I go getting off-topic again - do try to follow)

The Housing people reminded us that we need to hire cleaners. I called Husband and told him to make sure that they knew I wasn't paying to hire someone to clean this damn house. I clean it ALL the time, every day, and if that's not good enough for them, they can pay for it.

The doors and window weren't sealed properly so every day I'm cleaning up a multitude of bugs and random particulates from the great outdoors off of everything. It's actually pretty disgusting since I have small person running around. Here, enjoy this picture of what happens when I don't dust for just two days --

my window - two days; just two days...

the corner next to the window (sans random big yellow spot)

So you can clearly see why I feel like I've done enough. They refuse to fix every problem from the busted door that floods my dining room every time it rains like it's trying to convince me to make an Ark for two of each bug, to the leaky roof that stained the floor and ceiling that they want me to pay for... oh well.

I'm on to another subject again...

Munchface told me yesterday that she was going to go to work for Husband and I decided to take a picture of it:

cue the "aww" and stuff...

My plants are starting to make me depressed. I saved them from our last house, where they were going to be demolished, and they've flourished from near dead tiny things, to big huge elephant ears - I can't save them this time. I'm going to miss them..

So my neighbor offered me $1700 for my mixer again. I tried to tell her she could offer me $10k for it and I'd still say no, but no one ever listens to me. I'm just going to stop answering the door. Munchface tells her she smells all the time - I don't get mad at her. That should tell you something.

I lost my favourite shirt. I'm sad about that. I had to wear something random today, which fits the topic of the blog, but not my mood. I look like zebra. My only belt is zebra print, my sunglasses are zebra, and now my shirt. I have a thing for zebra print, and I love it, but I didn't realize how ridiculous I looked until I walked by the mirror.

I just told Munchface not to be ugly (she was screaming about some outside toy she wanted to bring in the house) and she looked at me with her lazer beam ninja death eyes and said "but Momma, I petty pincess, I not ugee!" and walked away.

I was just pwnd.

I want to know how a silverfish got on my ceiling; also why it decided to drop onto my head. Un-cool.

And now for the end of my blahrghhhhhhh...

enjoy the squish face-

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.