Not sure I like this guy. My usual doc no longer practices, thanks to insurance crap. Anyway, He seemed nice enough, but he’s an older doc. The kind that are sure of their skills and set in their ways. I might be finding a different one.

He did the pelvic first, and commented that I have one of the most severely tipped uterus’s (sp?) that he’s ever seen. Duh. He then said he would TRY to determine my due date for me, but that my uterus was going to make that difficult. Guess it’s hard to feel the top of it if it’s buried inside my body like mine is. He tried anyway, and comes up with 9 weeks along. I about fell over. I laughed, and told him that I was actually almost 12 weeks. He didn’t laugh back, and said that we were going with 9 weeks until the u/s said otherwise, and that I would have the u/s in 11 weeks. Then I stopped laughing and wanted to cry. He finished taking notes, closed my file, and stood up. He asked if I had any other questions, and I said yeah – aren’t you even going to try and hear the heartbeat? He sat back down and started in about how at 9 weeks it’s rare to find the h/b and given the shape of my uterus, it would be impossible and cruel to try.

Then I got pissed and said that I would find someone who would if he walked out of that office. Told him that I have known about the pregnancy for 7 weeks now, which would mean that I found out the day I got pregnant by his stupid arse calculations. And that I had a bad feeling about this pregnancy and have waited all month to hear the h/b. That by telling me I am measuring 3 weeks behind what I thought, and to NOT check for the h/b was just plain cruel and unprofessional. THat I would leave there thinking that my suspicions were correct, and the baby did indeed die a few weeks ago, and I had to now wait another month to find out that there is no h/b.

He just sat there open-jawed. Opened my file back up, and started asking questions about my cycles, the day I tested at home, etc. Then he grabbed the Doppler and warned me that it was still going to be hard to find it. Assehole – he didn’t even have to move the damn thing around. The instant he placed it on my tummy, the swoosh swoosh filled the room. I wasn’t angry anymore after hearing it. Sounded loud and strong and perfect. He just smiled and said I’ll be damned. Then he went over and changed my due date back to mid-Jan and apologized. He was really a nice guy, but I just hate that rail-roaded shit that older docs pull on you. Said we would stick with 12 weeks until my u/s – only now I only have to wait 2 months to get one.

Anyhooo – all I managed to find out today was that the baby is alive and seems fine. But that’s enough.

Still can’t sleep. Everyone else is churning out the Z’s, and I am sitting here. That’s really all I’m doing. I should be listening to a little heartbeat in less than 10 hours from now. If not, then it’ll be a very bad day. I thought feeling those flutters would help my mind, but maybe I’m just nuts. Maybe I didn’t feel anything at all.

Found myself staring at the table earlier. I posted awhile back about my table. I don’t feel like hunting for it, sorry. Basically, we have an 8 seater, and one chair is empty. I always felt like it was empty to symbolize the little one we lost a few years ago. MD knows this bothers me, and gave me a squeeze before he went up to bed. Said that the little one already reclaimed her spot, which means we still have one to fill. I hope he’s right.

I wish I had his faith. He is so carefree with his beliefs. In a good way. Not wishywashy, that’s not what I mean. I mean he believes so freely and honestly and without question. He wasn’t extremely upset over the loss of the baby, because he knew that she would rejoin us later on when the time was right. He thinks she did – MG Bear. I would love to sink my teeth into that train of thought, but it’s hard. Hard when your mind never stops asking those questions. Never allows you to accept and move on. Never ever takes a rest.

I’ll stop. Didn’t intend this to turn into a post about religion again. I guess if there truly is a little one joining our family, we will use up that last chair and I will hope that it’s ok with our angel. All the while hoping she’s right there smiling at me from across the table.

But it sure would be nice to be sent a burning bush or something…

My appointment is finally tomorrow, and I feel like a kid on Christmas Eve. I tried to occupy my mind by working on that software program, but somehow I just lost the fucking images file. Over 250 graphics and photos gone. Poof. Did I back that file up? Don’t fucking ask me that. Do NOT fucking ask me that.

Yes, I uploaded the files to the temp site that I was using to view the software live, which means I have most of them, but I lost all my templates. All the templates that I made to make changing shit easier next time. The templates that are were picture perfect after hours and hours of making things just right. Those are gone forever. Where did they go? One minute I was working and uploading, the next minute, the file was gone. Just gone. Thank gawd I at least uploaded the completed ones. Still think I’m going to be sick.

I am exhausted. My yard is destroyed by the slipNslide raceway. My house survived though, I did everything outside today – even the ice cream and cake.

Our friends came by for the party, and then we went and watched their oldest’s baseball tournament. They won, and had the final game this evening. MD took the kids and went without me. I’d like to DO something with my free time, but I am just too damn tired. They’ll be back in about an hour, then the games begin. Pictionary till 3am while the kids watch movies and crash.

I must be getting old, because sitting around playing a game with friends while wearing my sweats and munching on chips and cookies laughing until way too late into the night sounds like a perfect evening to me.

Today is MB2’s actual party for his bday. It’s storming. Better clear up really damn quick, it’s a water theme party. Millions of things to do to prepare as well, but MD had to work till 2 today. Yes, I like the extra cash, but I really would have liked the help as well. Oh well.

When he got home from work last night, MD was in a fabulous mood. He played with the kids, and kept sneaking looks my way. Finally, he came up and said he realized what he did wrong – nothing. That I was just pregnant and ready to rumble and he didn’t play the game right. Said he would fight about nothing any time I wanted from now on, but only if that meant make-up sex afterwards. Yeah, I was back in our bed last night.

Ok, I have shit to do. Then I’m going to enjoy the rest of the weekend.

He is SUCH an ass!!

When MD got back from the store last night, He commented that I was almost out of soda. Said he would run back out for me after dinner. At that point, I was feeling decent, and asked for cookies too. ChipsAhoy. After I turned into CrazyBroad though, I kissed the thought of those cookies goodbye.

I just went and grabbed a bath so I could run to the store and grab some DrPepper. And to buy out every brand of cookie they had. I rounded up the kids, loaded them in the van, and put my purse on the passenger seat. Right on top of a 12pack of DP and a bag full of cookies. Just a single sleeve of cookies – the kind they sell at Casey’s at 5am in the morning when nothing else is open yet in Hicksville.

Damn that man. He just might win this one.

I mowed. I used the weedeater. I braved the snakes. Now I’m cramping. Serves me right. Nothing horrible, but definitely a sign for my stupid ass to slow down.

I took a break and started digging more areas to plant. Yes, that was a break. I was sitting in a tot spot chair with lemonade in one hand and a hand shovel in the other. I must have pissed of some big red ants, because I started to get bit. Several times. Then I got pissed, and went to plot revenge. I am so fucking nasty lately.

They had four very large holes where I was digging. I decided to fill them up. With fertilizer granules. They went bonkers. I watched from the porch as they got right to work digging their buddies out. Was really amazing to see. Then I forgot about revenge and let my mind wander to more important things.

Do ants take a break? I’ve never ever seen an ant just standing there. Never. Don’t they get tired? When the hell does their whistle blow for the day? What do they drink? Water? When? I’ve never seen BossManAnt come out with a jug of GatorAde for the fellas. Hell, I’ve never seen them stop for lunch. Do ants get angry? If I was an ant, and I was digging my way back into my home because some gMB5t bitch was cruel, then I would be extremely pissed off to see other ants wandering around in the grass doing nothing. Zinging here, zinging there, but never really doing anything. Or maybe crazy ant was a scout. Watching out for gMB5ts with granules. If so, then how does one get the cushy scout job?

I have decided to leave them alone. Their life is shitty enough without me adding to their misery. MD’s life, on the other hand ….

I slept on the couch last night. I didn’t fall asleep there, I went to sleep there. MD pissed me off last night. What did he do? Let’s see….

He got home at 8 o’clock last night after working almost 14 hours. He immediately went to the store for me. I was still configuring software for a friend, and hadn’t started dinner. He fixed it when he got home. Then he cleaned up while I worked some more.

The boys were full of it yesterday, and he told them about 4 times to settle down. He finally started bitching and hollering about grounding their little asses if they didn’t knock it off. I told him to chill out and relax. He started having a 15 minute conversation with himself. Went like this:

[Edited later to make more sense - this is MD pretending to be him and I having a conversation]
I deal with these boys all day long, deal with it. I just want a little time to rest after work. When is my time to rest? I never get a break. YaYa, I’m sorry I’m such a prick. Let me feed you grapes and fan your majestic ass for awhile to make it up to you. Don’t be a dick, you know what I mean. Yes, I know what you mean, doesn’t lessen how tired I am. Excuse me for being bitchy tonight, I didn’t know you owned all the rights. Asshole, you know when I’m pregnant, that will either hurt my feelings or get you killed. Then fucking kill me. Please.

Then he smiled. He doesn’t like conflict. He doesn’t like to fight. This is his way of trying to make me smile. Didn’t work last night. Usually I am extremely mellow when I’m pregnant. It’s about the only time when my hormones/chemicals are on track. Not this time. This time I have been transported right back to the good ole days – when I wanted to eat flesh for lunch. Daily. He knew my mood the minute he saw my eyes. Then he sighed and went to take a bath.

I followed and started slamming. I know he was confused. I know I was making shit out of nothing. I didn’t care. I wanted to fight. Fuse had been lit, and I wanted heads to roll. Kids ran off to their room, and then … and then … he fucking ignored me.

He’s been doing that lately. My mother told him that this is how she used to deal with dad when he had his ‘moods’. Said she refused to feed the fire, and eventually he gave up and straightened up. That shit doesn’t with me. He claims it does. He went on about his merry fucking way and pretended life was peachy keen. Asshole.

We tucked the kids into bed, and he went to our room and asked what I wanted to watch. His genitals eaten by fire ants was my reply. He wasn’t amused. He flipped it to RealSex, and I belly laughed. Fat fucking chance. Then I grabbed my pillow and headed downstairs. I kept going up there to grab various bullshit items. I was waiting for him to buckle. Waiting for him to bow down and kiss my ass. Only thing I was able to wrangle from him was to ask what the hell was wrong. I didn’t have a good answer, so I gave the standard – you. He just smirked and switched it to country music video. He knew that shit would run me out.

I was on the couch for about 30 minutes waiting for him to come get me. He didn’t. He did come down for a drink of water, but that was it. I swear to gawd I heard him chuckle as he headed up the steps. I didn’t budge.

I woke up to him telling me that the bed was free now, and he was going to work. I didn’t move. He chuckled again as he left. He thinks he’s won. He really should know better by now.

I swear I am feeling this baby move. Gawd, that would put my mind at ease.

Well he’s bad, bad, Leroy Brown. Baddest man in the whole damn town …

That song is now stuck in my head thanks to my 4yo who has been singing it the past hour. I wanted to pass it along so that others may enjoy its endless melody as well.

And don’t ask. I have no fucking idea where he learned it from.

Here is my attempt to help those that are trying to find answers to their burning questions.

June Bugs/Death to June Bugs/Life Expectancy of June Bugs/How To Kill June Bugs — I thought we had covered this once before, but what the hell?
I know nothing about June bugs. Nothing. Nada Squat. Zilcho. As for how to kill them? Find a penis wielding human to smash the little fucker for you. If one flies in your hair, cut that shit off and fling the locks outside. If one sneaks inside and dive bombs you while you are on the computer, sell your home and move. If you aren’t sure if the little shit is faking death, light him on fire and see if he stops, drops, and rolls. Any other questions are out of my league. Please refer to an online encyclopedia.

Itchy Boob/Itchy Boobs —
Sorry, still looking for the solution to this myself, although my problem is pregnancy related. You see, my buds are growing again. I am using lotion to combat this. If you are not pregnant, then I guess I would recommend soap. Clean those nasty suckers. Or maybe a dog brush for those hard to quench itches when fingernails just won’t cut it. Sandpaper is about the only other thing I can think of. Sorry.

My Boobs Are Bigger Than Your Boobs —
Maybe, but based on your need to peruse the internet with this info, I’m willing to bet that I have more grey matter upstairs. Let’s play nice and call it a tie, shall we?

My Moms A Bitch —
Geeezus. Whose mom isn’t? Grow up, get over it, or call Springer. You don’t want me to help you out with this one. I’m a mom, I’m a bitch sometimes, and I’d be willing to bet that someday you grow up to be just like us. Move along before I spank you.

Seachalot —
There’s your fucking problem right there. Unplug the puter, take a shower, and crawl out from under the rock you’ve been living under. This is not a movie. This is your life, and you’re missing it.

Tony Little Gazelle/Tony Littles Gazelle —
Oh fucker please. The day I own exercise equipment is the day flowers sprout from my ass. I have no earthly clue as to why you people (yes they are several) come here for that shit, but you are way the fuck off base. Only workout I believe in is sex. Works for me. *Please note that this activity could have the opposite effect if the sex results in pregnancy.

Sweet Lamb Ass –
Not really sure how to help you out here. I hope to gawd you’re trying to cook something. If not, I suggest using another search term to find locations that would welcome that sort of …. relationship. Good luck.

I Need A Fucking Job —
Whoa!! Bet your search turned up quite a few leads, huh? Might I suggest taming your terms a bit. While I happen to adore the F word, employers frown on that sort of thing. Or if you are searching for a REAL fucking job, I guess you could head out to California and mention it to the first person you see. I’m sure they could direct you to the nice agents out there that specialize in that type of employment. Of course, I’m just a midwestern gal who watches that shit on the tube, so I could be wrong. I did see a few phone sex operator ads on a work at home board once, would that work?

Creaker Face Whore –
Not really sure how to answer this one either. Am I am creaker face whore? I don’t think so. Then again, I’m not really sure what a creaker face is either. But you can bet your ass that I won’t be searching online to find out. Don’t think my delicate stomach could handle seeing it.

How To Pee Your Pants —
Now honestly, do you really need instructions on how to do this? Yes? Fine. Come to my house about 10 o’clock tonight and stand on the sidewalk in front of my house. I’ll help ya out.

Cats Fucking —
You are just plain nasty. I hope a kitty kat hooks your scrotum one of these days while you are peeping at their business and rips your nads off.

Tampax Pearl Commercial Song —
I just don’t know where you people landed here from. Go back home, would ya?

Need To Read My Email —
By all means, don’t let me hold you up. If you need HELP with checking/reading your email, then I think you should stay away from complicated search engines for awhile. You have other fish to fry before you graduate to that level.

That concludes my help for the day. Changed my mind again though. I’m still going to check on flights to the moon.

Nancy has made tons of little ‘tools’ for me. One being the referral page that is a helluva lot easier to read than SiteMeter’s shit. Quicker too. She also made me a nifty version of SiteMeter that displays ALL the information, including the goodies that SM locks you out of if you don’t fork over the cash. This makes it very easy to browse through the google/yahoo searches to see what sickos morons people were looking for when they arrived here.

As a result of my findings today, I was thinking of moving to the moon. Or trying to find some kind, rich gentleman who wanted to buy me an island far the fuck away from civilization.

But then I realized that perhaps I was looking at this all wrong. Perhaps I should be helping these people find what they are looking for so that they STOP FUCKING SEARCHING FOR IT. Yeah, I’m just nice like that.

By reposting your search terms, I understand that you and your kindred souls will no doubt stumble this way again, and I hope you do. Then you will be lead straight here, to this post and my ‘help’, and then we can all get on with our lives. I am not going to address those i n c e s t seeking asswipes, however. Or the sick fuck who is looking for info about sex with a f o u r y e a r o l d. I hope some computer whiz kid gets a hold of your IP addy (also in that nifty referral script over on the side column) and turns your ass into the police. Filthy bastard.

Let me collect the ones that I feel need the most help, and I shall return in a bit.

Wrote this the beginning of February. I’ll change a few things after Monday to reflect the newest little one. It’s dedicated to all those rude fucks out there that can’t keep their snide comments and looks to themselves. And especially to those that refer to anyone as a breeder.

Wrote this post after running errands one day with all of the kids ….

People stare. People whisper. Some smile. Some utter their oh I can’t see how you do it ’s. Others snarl. Others are outright fucking rude with their nasty comments about no tv and overpopulation and birth control and shit that I hope my children never hear or I might have to smack a bitch or two.

I’ve decided that I am going to print out a flyer. I’m going to pass it out on my travels. I’m going to do my part to ease the confusion over why I chose to have a “litter” as opposed to the 2.2 – the norm – the status quo.

“To Those That May Wonder:

Yes, I have five children. Congratulations, you counted correctly. And yes, I heard you count. So did my kids asshole. Let’s knock that shit off before they are old enough to realize what the hell you’re counting. Right now, they just think you’re insane.

Although it may appear that I kept having children in order to ’score a daughter’, I can assure you that I did not. None of our children were planned. Big surprise, huh? What you might not know is that I religiously practiced birth control. It seems that my children were determined to get here one way or another. I don’t mind. Unplanned doesn’t mean unwanted. Surprises can be wonderful. Surprises can introduce you to something you never knew you wanted. Or needed.

Yes, I can feed them all – and not on your dime either. No, you don’t help to pay anything in my world. We manage just fine thanks. Yes, I’ve thought about college for my children. We will bust our asses like everyone else does to send them. They will go. However, my three school age children are all on the high honor roll, and should be able to snag enough scholarships to earn a place in the school of their choice. How about your kids dumbass? My kids consistently score in the top 5% of the nation – and yours?

My kids are respectful. Helpful. Involved in drama, sports, scouts, peer counseling, D.A.R.E., band, choir. They say their prayers before every meal even though their mama is still on the fence about religion.

They are well-educated on sex, drugs, diseases, child molesters, life, death. They talk to us. The confide in us. They trust us. We are doing our best to raise law-abiding, honest, caring, compassionate, loving, tolerant children. Our kids don’t judge someone by the color of their skin or the size of their house. My kids would give you their last Starburst – even if it’s cherry.

They are my world, my life. They filled a part of me that I never knew was empty.

It’s ignorant and rude to sterotype. I hope your children have a wiser role model than you. Perhaps I should have a couple more kids to level out the stupidity that you bred into this world.

Now go on about your business before my kids get a lesson in ass kicking – yours.”

Feels like a sauna outside. Tstorms a-brewing and it’s just miserably humid. Good day to play outside in the sprinkler. Just might do that here in a bit.

My appointment is Monday, and as it draws closer, my mind is having a hard time concentrating on anything else. The kids want to talk about names for the baby, and I just can’t – not yet. Let me hear a heartbeat first guys. They will be devasted if there isn’t one. I’ve tried my best to protect my heart just in case, but there just isn’t a way to do that completely. Let’s just hope that things are fine, and I’m just losing my noodle over nothing.

Read Michelle’s post about the term breeders. Feeling too lazy right now to throw the link up, so just mosey on over to the blogroll and look for Michelle. I’d really like to hear someone refer to me as a breeder. I really would. I have some pent up energy to release, and that sounds like a fine way to do it.

Reminds me that I need to make some changes to the letter I wrote awhile back to the people that stare and gawk at my large family. I can hardly wait to start showing and make those fuckers’ eyes pop out of their head.

MB2’s birthday was yesterday. He is now 11 years old. My gawd, how time flies. It was absolute hell bringing that boy into this world, but worth every second of it. He’s kind, sensitive, smart, funny, silly, one helluvan older brother, and a mighty fine cook.

His party is Saturday. We are having a water theme. Slip N Slide racer, water guns, SuperSoakers, water balloons — should be fun. We gave him his presents last night so he didn’t have to wait. Everything off of his list. He loves lists. Also means he loved everything he got for his bday. That’s a good thing.

Now I think I’ll have some of the oreo ice cream pie that I made him last night.

Word of advice for those that have yet to earn their Tooth Fairy wings.

Please think this shit through. Take an educated guess as to how many children you want to have. Remember that kids have around 20 baby teeth to dispose of over the years. Do not allow yourself to be caught in a moment of giddy weakness when your child loses their very first tooth.

I just lost $30 last night to MB3, who lost 6 baby teeth during his surgery. Ouch.

5 (6) kids X 20 teeth = 100 (120) X $5 = $500 ($600)

Leave ‘em a quarter, you’ll thank me later.

MD is watching Flash Gordon. I am trying to ignore the Queen songs that are playing in my head. I adore Queen, but I’m not in the mood right now. Not at all. I’m bitchy, and I want to wrap my hands around someone’s throat.

Headache is back. Must be a only fuck with angie at night type of thing. Nothing is killing this bitch. MD still looks like hell. I sense an early bed time is in order.

One more week until my appointment. I cannot wait to know one way or the other if this pregnancy is going to work out or not. Waiting sucks ass.

Nothing really interesting to talk about, so I think I’ll go lie down. After I change the channel and smash the remote into little fucking pieces. Gawd knows he wouldn’t change the channel back to Flash if he had to actually get up off the couch.

Surgery went well, thanks for the well wishes. He is now resting in mom’s bed with the remote and some ice cream. He wanted to run wild, and this was an acceptable alternative. Life doesn’t get much better than ice cream and cartoons.

I am feeling better. Hope MD is. Lots of shit going on at his work, bad shit. Nothing that involved him, so I know that he’d have to be losing a limb to not go in. He wants to know what’s going on. The dirt. I want to know too. I love dirt.

My flowers are starting to grow. Some of them anyway. I finished the rest of the front with starter plants, so at least it is starting to look decent. We are done with it for now, need to start tackling the inside. I feel better, but I get so damn tired. Walk up the stairs, rest. Walk back down, rest. Mop floor, rest. Start dinner, rest. What bullshit. Thank gawd I’m not still working those 12-14 hour days in the restaurant standing on my feet all day. I would not have survived. I have never been this quick to tire. Must be the difference between having kids in your 20s vs having them in your 30s. Too bad your mind handles kiddos better in your 30s.

Lunch is almost ready — chicken and jello (for MB3). What a combo.

My head hurts so bad that I am starting to wish that MrDeath would knock on my door and take me away. This shit going around brings one helluva nasty ass headache, huh? MD is hardly ever sick, and he looks like reheated shit right now. Thank gawd the kids are fine – so far.

MB3 has dental surgery at 7am in the morning. That means that we have to be there at 6am. Which means we need to leave Hicksville by 5:15am to make it to my mom’s in time to drop the 4 kiddos off and head to the surgery center. All of that translates into a 4:30am wake-up. Ever try waking a 12yo up at 4:30am??? I’d laugh, but it’d make my head pound too bad.

I’ll rather enjoy it myself. We’ll be there a few hours for the procedure and recovery. I’m going to take a book and relax. No kiddos. No noise. No stress. Ahh, who am I kidding? I’ll be bored shitless within 30 minutes.

MD is back with my chicken. Hope I can eat it, he drove 30 minutes one way to get it for me feeling sick as a dog.

All of a sudden, I am down to one pair of pants/shorts I can wear without looking positively disgusting. Talk about popping out. Maybe I’ll post pictures, maybe not. Guess I’m off to buy maternity clothes. Already. Good Gawd.

Was out trying to work on the back yard. It’s in shambles. Weeds taller than I am, big patches of dirt, dying flowers, woody roses, milk vines claiming dominance, and piles of previously trimmed shit everywhere.

I was rescuing a tree from weeds and suffocating vines when I heard MB1 scream. Then MB3. Then all 4 boys ran — far the fuck away from the backyard. None of them looked back.

Let me stop and hop about. I got a case of the willies to get out.

No one said shit to me. I just assumed it was bad business, grabbed MG, and split to the front porch. My boys had entered the house and locked the door. What caring kids I have. Good thing a yetty wasn’t hot on my trail.

I stood there on the steps trying to peer around and see whatever the hell they were hollering about, when one of the construction guys (a fine ass bald one, if I may) came around and said they were trying to run the snakes out of the yard for me. Yeah, he said snakeS. MotherFuck.

He said they were just garter snakes, but who the fuck cares? Geezus. Guess they were nesting in one particular pile of trimmings. The one the boys were messing with. snickersnicker The boys let me in, and we watched from the kitchen window.

I saw the men shoo’ing and picking up snakes and hauling them across the road to someone else’s yard. What a way to make friends. Here, have a couple thousand of my little snake friends. FUCKFUCKFUCK, the willies are back.

I don’t know how many there were in all, he didn’t know. If he had to guess, he’d say 10. Said a few slithered (shudder) off as the guys stomped through the brush. FUCK. Said they weren’t very big, only two feet long or so. Said they’d also probably just come back until their home is destroyed and there’s nowhere left to hide. MD’s ass will get rid of all of that shit tonight. TONIGHT!!!

I think I’m having a heart attack. I think I may have to move. I think my gardening days are fucking over.

Living on the corner of Main Street (downonMainStreeeeeeeeeeeeet) provides us with the chance to know every single walker, jogger, stroller, bike rider, and stroller pusher in town. EVERYbody walks this way. We sit on the porch in the evening and give out a thousand hellos to those that pass by. The little ones love it.

Last night we saw one of our old neighbors. He stopped to chat for a bit when he saw us. He is the reverend at one of the ChristMB5 churches here in town. Specifically, the one the older boys attended for vacation bible school.

He asked how they were, how we were, then invited us to service Sunday. He’s a nice guy – a really nice guy. He does a lot of good in this town – his entire church does. I hated to break the news to him that I didn’t really feel comfy in church anymore, but he seemed to take it rather well. Said that God would wait till I was ready. I didn’t want to debate religion and the like right there on the porch, especially since the kids still attend his church every so often. I smiled and let it go.

After he left, I told MD yet again that he was free to attend services any time he wanted, that it didn’t bother me a bit. MD is a firm believer, and I don’t want to hold him back from anything he feels he needs to do in life. Not to say that I don’t believe, but things are so complicated in my mind that I choose not to go to church at all. My kids love to go, and I take them whenever they like. They usually attend with their friends, which exposes them to a variety of different faiths — that’s fine by me. I want them to be comfortable with their faith, and I think letting them sample and decide for themselves is the way to do that.
(more…)

What time is it? Why am I up this early? Why is it so cold in here? Why am I starving? Why can’t I go back to bed? What am I doing posting shit to my blog at 5am?

Being up at dawn o’clock has allowed me to remember bits and pieces from my dreams.

We won’t discuss the human killing androids that wore rice krispie treats in their hair. Or the nightclub ran by cockroaches. I will be glad when the morning sun evaporates those weird shits from my memory.

But there shortly before I woke up, I dreamt (is that a word?) I was at my OB appt. The nurse was obviously confused, because she handed me two identical forms to fill out. Then they requested that I sit in two chairs instead of one. Then they called my name twice to be seen.

I sure as hell hope this is some sort of cruel joke my mind is playing on me based on the bullshit twin theory everyone keeps joking about. It will however, prompt a slew of paranoid is my ass big enough for two chairs? questions this entire pregnancy. Gawd help MD if he ever pauses to answer.

Ice Cream man just blew by here ringing his bell. That bastard had to be going at least 45mph. I didn’t even have time to grab my money. Fucknut.

I could taste that BombPop.

Older boys were caught this morning riding bikes all over town when they were supposed to be at a friend’s house. Of course, the lecture was coming. Trustblahblahblah. MB2 has never been in trouble for this before. He has never broken the trust rule. MB1 could recite my speech by heart.

MB2 didn’t want to do it. Said he had a bad feeling about it, and just knew they would get caught. His feelings are never wrong. After our talk, I saw a look in his eyes that told me I would never have to discuss this with him again. The look in MB1’s eyes told me I’d be better off writing that shit out and taping it to his wall. Then I could just send him to his room, point to it, and save my breath.

I appreciate the individuality of my children. i enjoy watching them grow into little humans. I don’t enjoy watching MB1 grow into a mini-mama. He’s me exactly.

Smart as hell, but only does enough to get by in school. Eerily mature for his age. Good kid overall, but a wild streak lies extremely close to the surface. My wild side almost got the best of me. I hope he’s smart enough to stay on the right path. I’ll be behind him as long as I can pushing him back on track, but that I can’t do that forever. Wish I could.

Oh.My.Gawd.

I can hardly move today. My back is making these weird snipsnap noises when I try. Hurts like a bitch to walk. Yardwork is out obviously, but I have errands to run this morning. Should be interesting.

MB1 has a friend spending the night. Again. They’ve been swapping houses for the past week. I’ve been letting it slide because this particular kid is moving away tomorrow. Just when we are able to stay here in Hicksville, MB1’s friend is leaving. Life just sucks sometimes.

I need to go shopping for MB2’s bday next week. I need to run and buy more grass seed, flower seeds, and border trim. I need to start dinner.

I think I’ll just eat a twinkie and wait for the rain.

I am done – with about 7 feet of border around the house. Only 6 more feet to the end of the front, then the other three sides of the house. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

My hands are bloody and raw. I stink. My body itches. My back went out about an hour ago. The kids all helped, thank gawd. I never would have made it otherwise.

And smart old Ang planted bulbs and seeds. No starter plants at all. So it really doesn’t look like I did much. What a rip off. The border and mulch looks nice though, and I got that part done before the rain starts here in a few.

Now I am off to soak in the tub for about 4 hours. Need to find that damn heating pad too – what a treat that should be.

I am off to rake, pull, til, cover, plant, mark, net, cut, and mulch.

Aren’t you fucking jealous?

I thought not.

We went to the carnival this weekend with J and B. Saw a beautiful little girl there – the kind you can’t help but stare at. She was about 5-6 yo, and just cute as hell. I noticed her father was quite the looker as well. Till I got a closer peek and realized that I knew him. Knew him rather well, actually. I dated him off and on for a year. If you can call it dating.

He recognized me as well, and followed my every move with his eyes for the next hour. He made sure to gravitate his youngster near the same rides that our kiddos were riding. Jen noticed him first, and asked if I knew some hottie was eyeballing me. Then MD asked.

MD remembered him from the casino about 7-8 years ago. He had walked by us at the blackjack table and had stopped dead in his tracks after seeing me. He didn’t say a word, just smiled at me and then at MD, and headed out. He wasn’t looking so good back then, he had a bit of trouble with the white powder demon, and it showed. To say he looked 40lbs should give you a clue.

Saturday at the carnival though, he looked good. You could tell he wasn’t using. Well, I could. I always could. The shine was back in his eyes. I found myself happy for him that he’d cleaned his life up and had a little girl that he obviously adored. MD, to my surprise, echoed those same thoughts as he passed by us on his way out. MD is not the jealous type. He is secure in our relationship, and knows that living here in this small town that I grew up in, we are bound to run across my past. Which we seem to do quite often. I appreciate not having my past rubbed in my face. We all have one.

Seeing this guy has triggered some sort of rift in the system though. Since then, I’ve seen 3 more men from my past. In two fucking days. I guess it shouldn’t have any affect on me after all of these years, but it does. I’ve found myself daydreaming quite a bit because of it. Not wondering about the what-if’s, because I wouldn’t trade mylife for anything in the world. But wondering about their lives. The 4 men that I’ve run into were very much a part of my life at one time – 3 of them I had made plans to spend my life with. I hurt them all very deeply, and it’s these demons that are haunting me right now.

I’m not proud of who I was back then. Not at all. Hard to explain while things are still so jumbled and bouncing around in my mind, but perhaps they’ll settle down and allow me to purge myself later on. Confession time. Come clean time. Open the closet and rid myself of that shit once and for all time. All the while praying to gawd that my family never reads this.

Except for my daughter. I’ll save it for her. I want her to read it. Want to show her what happens when you allow yourself to become a bitter, nasty, cold, heartless woman. I want her to spend her teenage years loving life – not destroying the lives of others.

On second thought, maybe I should save it for the boys as well. So that they never date a girl like me.

To the 10+ people that have popped in here looking for info about JuneBugs – sorry, but you are just ass out. I don’t know a fucking thing about them.

Well, except that they are nasty little suckers that can play dead with the best of ‘em.

Good gawd stop me, I am an eating machine.

You’d think I hadn’t been able to eat for a month or something.

Will save the walk down memory lane for later. Need to lighten my mood up a bit.

I feel great the past couple of days. Started taking Bonine instead of the B6, and it seems to be working better. I actually ate dinner last night and got me a little afterwards. Yeah, it was a good night all around.

I need to work on a friend’s site today, but I can’t get my brain to shift gears. Just simple copy/paste changes, but I’d rather work in the yard. Fuck it, I think I’ll head out to the store and pick up some mulch. Need to go grocery shopping too, or else we’ll be having pancakes and sausage for dinner. Fine meal if you ask me, but I’m in the mood for some bbq’ed meatballs. Sounds delish, no?

My sister had a breast reduction almost two weeks ago. She’s on cloud 9 because of it. She still is in a lot of pain, but she went shopping for sundresses yesterday for the first time in her life. She also bought a new bra – size D. The surgery was supposed to make her a B/C, but the doc said he just couldn’t take any more out safely. Already removed almost 6 lbs as it was. Good Gawd – 6lbs of boobs. On a gal that weighs 115 soaking wet. No wonder she never stood up straight.

I’m extremely jealous though. I plan on having my boobs done in a few years — only I’ll be GETTING some, and not getting rid of some. How unfair genetics are sometimes. I don’t even really care to be bigger, I just don’t think the wet sock in a dry sock look is attractive. I want them fixed, and I will have them fixed dammit.

K, enough talk about boobs. I have meatballs to buy.

Spent this weekend with my friend from high school and her husband and kids. We do this every weekend. She has a 12yo boy, and two twin daughters that are 7yo. They fit in perfectly with my kids.

We BBQ, we play games, the men and kiddos play some sort of sports, and we talk. We help each other. We do damn near everything together. They usually bring along Kevin, who is a well-behaved kiddo from their neighborhood who lives with his single dad. Kevin’s dad does the best he can, but that means he has to work a lot of hours. Jen and Bruce pick up the slack to watch out for Kevin.

They played kick ball last night. Jen and I sat on the ‘bleachers’ and watched our husbands play kickball with the kiddos. 10 kiddos in all, ranging from almost 2 on up to 4 12yo’s. It was amazing to see. Jen and I marveled at how lucky we are to have such big beautiful families. And devoted, loving, patient fathers to our children. About how funny it was that between the two of us, we had enough for two kickball teams. Even without the neighborhood kid and Kevin.

Our neighbor, an older gentleman, popped out and sat down and watched the game for a bit. I asked if we were disturbing him with the cheers and hollers, and he smiled and said of course not. Said he enjoyed the front row seats to such a close (18-19) game. Then told the guys they could use his basketball hoop anytime they wished.

I hope that’s never me. I hope I never have to sit alone and watch someone else’s grandkids playing kickball. I hope I never have a hoop that looks sparkling new. I hope I never have that bittersweet look on my face like he did last night. I hope I am surrounded by kids and grandkids and neighborhood kids and friend’s kids all my life.

I feel sorry for my son’s friend who is an only child. Or his other friend who only has one (very) older brother. These kids live in fantastic-ly large, beautiful homes with every new gadget and gizmo you could ask for — and yet they are here with us. Always.

Those who don’t like my big family can bite my ass. I am feeling very blessed right now.

Never again do I have to fuck with the old house. We’re finished. Completely. It’s spotless, perfect, and the landlords thought so as well. I am holding my entire deposit, as well as the refund of half a month’s rent for being out by the 15th. Life is good.

The relief I feel cannot be measured in words. I’m so glad that shit is over. Now I can start getting this house in order. We’ve been putting things on hold until the old house was done. Now we can get busy. This means I have carpets to clean today. A sink to snake. A box or two of toys that still need to be unpacked. A border of flowers around the house to do. Grass to plant.

I suddenly feel very tired.

I wish they would change the name to Happy Daddy’s Day. Fathers just aren’t the same as daddys. And the men I know are daddys. They deserve that distinction. My dad, MD, Acidman, Dave, Tom … and anyone else who happens to stop by and treats their kids the way these men do.

Here’s to hoping that all the dads get to spend Father’s Day with their children, and that a good time is had by all.

Tomorrow is Flag Day. It’s also an IRL friend’s bday. Never did we envision while growing up that it would also be the day that would mark our mutual friend Shawn’s death. It’ll be three years tomorrow, and I’ll go and sit awhile and bring flowers and just miss him terribly. Then I’ll go home and call her and try to find something to talk about. The silence will make me squirm.

Her and I don’t talk much anymore. Her life took another path. One without kids – on purpose, she doesn’t want any. That’s fine with me, I HATE to see people who don’t want kids get pregnant. Not fair to those kiddos. But although I try not to revolve our conversation around my children, there really isn’t much else in my life worth talking about. They ARE my life. Her life is beer and work. I think I made out better. No matter how big her wedding ring is.

I still care about her, and wish her well, I just think our friendship has come to the end of it’s road. The blacktop is gone and these last few miles have been bumpy and uncomfortable. Maybe I won’t call her tomorrow. She rarely calls me on my birthday anymore. Perhaps I’ll say goodbye to two friends instead of one.

Just met a new neighbor. She was out tending to her garden with a pair of scissors. Not sure I belong in this neighborhood if those are the fucking flower tending standards.

Anyhoo, she seemed nice enough. Conversation shifted to the construction, which is causing us to park on the street in front of her house. I apologized for that, but she smiled and said she didn’t mind. That my van out front meant she had yet another day to gaze at the sweaty hunks working on the road.

I hadn’t noticed. It was then that I realized that I must be ill. I hadn’t noticed hot sweaty tank top clad men working right the fuck outside my window. Sadly, I know that those delicious morsels of man meat wouldn’t do a fucking thing for my jollies right now anyway.

Pregnancy is a cold, cruel creature sometimes. It has the ability to completely put out the fire down below.

I still watch Tom & Jerry.

When will these queasies end? Good Gawd.

Almost done with the old house. That bitch is perfect, and I double dog dare them to say otherwise. Have spent damn near $300 so far to ensure that we get back the $600 deposit. Go figure. Most of that is the carpets though. They make the tenants professionally clean them after moving out. That shit alone was $270. Bastards. They are staying in the house Sunday night after we ‘check out’. I hope they sweat their asses off in that poorly insulated, utility raping mother effer. Working hard to not sound bitter here.

I went over there last night and sat on the porch. I love that yard. So big and beautiful. Yard here is ok, but the road construction has destroyed most of it. It’ll take some time before it’s purdy again. And it will still never be that yard. I am slowing forming a picture of what my perfect house has to look like. That yard is a big part of it.

New landlord is here to fix the a/c. They’re such good people. Last night they brought over some fans for us to use until they got it fixed today. Forget that it was tstorming and 64 degrees outside. It was a nice gesture anyway.

I need to go rouse the sleepyheads. Figures that they’d sleep late now when my pregnant ass is wide awake at 5am, and not on normal days when I might like to sleep in till 8.

Think that fa la la down the steps bruised more than my ego. My arm and back are killing me. Serves my dumb ass right.

I spent the day making hot tamales with mom. 5 dozen of those delicious suckers, and that’s just our share. They will be gone within a week. MB1 and I already put away a dozen waiting on the next batch to cook. Those jeans I had on earlier have been retired for the day. Needed those sweats again. Good thing the landlord can’t see me now.

She’d probably ask if I need a ride to L&D.

I’m rather pissed off right now. Some people are so fucking rude. My old landlord just stopped by to make sure we can be out by this weekend.

She parked her ass on my couch without being invited to stay. Her son grabbed a Coke from the fridge. Her other son ran up and down the stairs giving himself a tour of the house. Then the bitch asks me if I’m pregnant. I asked her who she heard that from, and she said no one – you’re getting rather heavy and that big belly is starting to give it away.

Now I’ll admit, I have been rather poochy/bloated/whatever the past few weeks, but THIS week, I thought I was slimming down a bit. Now’s she got me paranoid. Not that I give a shit if I’m starting to show, but no one likes to be told that they’re looking a little heavy. Especially when this woman looks like she has whales mating under her blouse. Fuckwad.

Perhaps my vision is skewed and I’m just being a crabby ass.

Would you ask me if I was pregnant?
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Want to know the best way to prove your point to your kids about how dangerous it is to play on the stairs?

Lose your footing while talking to them and bounce down those fucking stairs on your ass with one arm and one leg caught underneath ya.

Was making my rounds today when I read this over at WTHHLN. He expressed the same fears that I did some time ago about the path this world of ours is on.

But this post isn’t about science. It’s about how nice it is to have found others who share the same thoughts. About others who like to discuss and ponder the what-if’s of life. About how refreshing it is to know that there are Curious Georges out there that wouldn’t give me the old eye-roll shit if I brought up a topic like this.

Personally, I get that TheSkyIsn’tFallingChickenLittle look every time I go off about the mysteries of the universe and the unknowns. I have no one to talk with about religion and aliens and ghosts and angels and the fears of too much technology. Well, I didn’t.

Guess that’s why I love to read blogs as much as I do. Others reflecting on the very things that I reflect about is very comforting. And enlightening. I like to read about what others think on certain matters. Helps me to think and grow as well.

And now there is a cupcake calling my name. Time for my ass to grow a bit.

Those kids never showed last night, but it’s ok. I have time. I can wait.

But I’m starting to wonder how things can be so different by moving a mere two blocks. Still the same town. Still nice homes and manicured lawns. But things are definitely different.

There was another group of kids walking last night. They were a bit older. They walked down the street as MD and I sat there on the porch having our last smoke of the evening. They each grabbed a cone from the construction and started walking over to various places across the street to ditch them — one place being the back of MD’s truck.

I guess the I don’t fucking think so floating out in the dead of night did the trick. They wordlessly stopped in their tracks and then put the cones back.

So this is Main street.

Past two nights there has been a group of four boys – about 12/13 years old or so – hanging around by the corner. This happens to be blocked off well into our yard. I walked out onto the front porch last night, and eventually, they moved on. I don’t think they intend to mess with anything, but I had my eye out just in case.

Tonight however, I’ve got plans for those boys. I just spent 20 minutes mastering the art of soundless side door opening. My Scream mask is waiting by that door, along with the black cape MB2 uses every year at Halloween. (Yes, he is Dracula just about every fucking year)

I plan on creeping out and parking my ass in the shadows tonight when they arrive.

I hope they piss themselves.

They have the road ripped up by our new house. Completely blocked off all the way down. Our drive is on the side, so we can’t get to it yet. Have to park across the street. What a pain in the ass.

I see the men working during the day. No, I see them standing and placing sticks, markers, and line. That’s all. I was hopeful that once all the sticks were in place, the actual work could start.

Mr Thunderstorm had other plans last night. He sent his friends lightning and torrential rain to completely destroy these sticks, markers, and line. There was a pile of rocks in the middle yesterday. It is now a crater filled with rocks. Not sure what the hell happened there – but it kinda worries me. I swear I heard the lightning strike VERYFUCKINGCLOSE to the house 3 times last night. Loudest damn thing I’ve ever heard. Snap, boom, pow, and crash all at once. Three times. Kids crying and screaming and running everywhere.

Guess there will be no playing in the rain at this new house.

Well fuck. The boys have been without cable for 4 days, and they pleaded to hold off on the errands for another hour so they could get their cartoon fix. Gives me a little time myself to bitch, ’cause that is what I do best.

I like the house, I really do. It has a lot of potential. But I don’t think I can live here forever.
(more…)

I’m so damn happy to be back online that I can’t think straight. Have a million things to do, but I had to post something or else I was going to explode.

Something

There, I feel much better.

This is it. See you on the flip side.

Heard a plug the other day on the radio for an upcoming concert with Matchbox 20 and somebody else. I wasn’t paying much attention, till I heard a certain song snippet. Since they were playing teasers, I can only assume that this meant someone — either Matchbox 20 or this other band — remade Love Is Like Oxygen (Sweet). I admit, I don’t get out much, and most of the music I listen to is older rock. But I do listen to some of the new shit, and I am dying to know if this is true. I loved that damned song as a wee one, and would love to hear someone remake it.

And if no one has a fucking clue as to what I’m talking about, then maybe I should retire the crack pipe.

Ran across this today to handle spam, and so far, it seems pretty decent. It’s easy, it seems to distinguish between junk and potty-mouth friends without any fiddling with filters on my part, and has a few features that might help to lessen the amount of spam over time.

We’ll see. If it continues to please me, I’ll buy the real version.

This morning sickness is strange. Sick as a dog for three days, then I feel great the next two. Wonder what tomorrow brings? Maybe I’m slowly exiting that phase. Wouldn’t that be divine? Too much shit to do this weekend to be sick, that’s for damn sure.

There is a city wide garage sale today. It’s pretty amazing. Guess I might wander around and take a gander here in a bit. Not much else to do really. I would like to start moving shit over, but MD said he’d be pissed if I did. I’ve had an ‘off’ feeling about this pregnancy since the beginning, and he wants me to take it easy just in case. Can’t really pack either, because that’s just not the way we move. Well, we pack — but as we go. Sounds horribly time consuming, but it’s really not.

I wait at the new place, and he begins. He uses 3-4 boxes, and tackles one room at a time. He unloads the room at the new house, puts the furniture in place, and we both unpack the boxes to the floor. I then set everything up the way it’s supposed to be while he runs to start on the next room. And so on. It takes a day or two depending on how far apart the houses are. In this case, we’ll be done tomorrow. I guess it slows down the actual moving time, but the unpacking for weeks and living out of boxes is eliminated altogether. It’s a fully functional home from day one. We’ve already mapped out where things will go in the new place, so in the morning, we begin. I guess we can thank Uncle Sam for these packing skills. And a shitty job market in Florida.

I don’t have a phone. It was switched this morning. Should be a quiet day. I wll probably head over and finish the cleaning, but there’s not much left to do.

I’m bored, rambling, and already missing my computer. It’ll go bye-bye in the morning as well. Then again, so will Calliou, so it ain’t all bad.

Alright, you dirty little fuckballs that left that sonofabitchin’ house last week — it’s time you were schooled in proper bathroom cleaning. I am so disgusted, grossed out, and pissed off right now I could fucking kill you nasty little bastards.

There is more to cleaning a toilet that just swishing the gawddamn brush around in the water. Look under the rim. Clean out the pissy grooves on the seat hinge. No one wants to admire your pubes, so please clean AROUND the fucking bowl. How in the hell your filthy fucking family managed to shit on the OUTSIDE of the bowl, is none of my business. In fact, I will be trying to rid myself of that image for the rest of my life. But the fact remains that you should be the ones scrubbing it — not me. Clean the base where a nice pool of piss has crustified. Wipe the handle and the back of the toilet. Don’t neglect the lid please.

Spraying Windex on the tub faucet fixture does not mean you are done. There is 3 inches of grime-y shit caked on the inside of that bath tub. Please rent your own sandblaster to have this removed. I have never seen water so black in my life. Well, there was the carpet cleaner water from that apartment in El Paso, but I’m still undergoing hypnotic therapy to purge my brain cells of that whole fucking duty station.

Why is there crusty yellow ??? patches on the walls? What the fuck is that? Why won’t the sink drain? Do I want to know? What the hell in stuck in there? I vomit at the thought, albeit not hard to do nowadays. Why does the toilet brush look chewed? What in the fuck makes you think I wanted you to leave it in the first place? Why is the plunger burnt and melted????

WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU PEOPLE????

I’m off to scrub my body with ajax.

Entries will be light for the next couple of days. ‘Bout that time to pack ‘er in and set up at the new house. Then I get to spend two days twitching and foaming at the mouth until the cable gets hooked up. I’d almost be tempted to use AOL for those days, but I don’t want to spend the next three years of my life on the phone trying to cancel the bitch afterwards.

So far, these landlords have done everything they said they would. Unbelievable. And how very nice for a change. Their business is right down the street from the house, so she asked if she could stop by some time next week and help me get the flowers set up. The old tenants let the gorgeous roses go to shit, and the rest of the yard is just a dying mess. She sounds excited to help. Should be nice.

She even hinted that she might use me to clean her other rentals after seeing the kitchen yesterday when they were over there to take care of a few things. So nice to have your cleaning skills appreciated. Geezus, that sounds lame.

Ok, time to head out and finish the to do list for the move. I’m tired already.

Remind me again why I shouldn’t kill those parents that hosted my son last night? Prison? Nah, not a good enough reason.

He didn’t go to bed last night. He is Zombie Boy. He is a walking coma. He will crash any moment while walking, and wake up at 2am ready to go. MotherFuckers.

I finally had to track his ass down with the help of MB1’s other friend. They took his ass swimming. SWIMMING!!! Forget the fact that he doesn’t swim all that well and they just dropped the kids off, forget that I don’t just drop my kids off anyfuckingwhere, forget that he didn’t sleep last night and shouldn’t be swimming — it was only 65 degrees when they went!!

It’s Missouri!! We have had two days over 85, the water is still freezing ass cold. I don’t allow my kids to go swimming unless it’s in the 80’s. Maybe I’m just a big hairy bitch, but I don’t give a rat’s ass. My Kids, My Rules. Period.

Fuckwads. He won’t be going over there ever ever ever again.

K – time for baseball. Gawd help any bitches that foul-mouth their kids in front of me tonight.

Utilities are switched. I’ve just spent the past 2 hours on hold trying to get everything transferred. What a pain in the ass. But, it’s all done. I dread the puter down time that I know is inevitable this Tuesday. Got that be there between 8-5 bullshit. So I must sit there patiently all fucking day long waiting for the asshole to show up at 4:30. The price we pay to have cable modems. I guess I should be lucky this hick ass town even offers cable. Remind me of that Tuesday. Telepathic-ly that is, since I’ll be staring at the dead screen through the tears of withdrawal.

And might I just add that I fucking hate inconsiderate parents. I can’t do a anything else today until I hear from MB1. He spent the night at a friend’s house, and no one is answering. Want him to spend the night? Fine. Want to take him somewhere? Fine – but I would at least appreciate a fucking phone call. First, to ask if you can even take him with you since I have no earthly clue where you went. Second, to make sure I didn’t have plans that might involve having him home. I am being held hostage by a bitch that will not have to worry about my son staying over again for a very, very long time. How incredibly rude.

I feel great today. The sun is out. It’s perfect temperature to open the windows and clean my ass off. Yet I am stuck. And getting more and more pissed by the second.

Go send her well wishes too, she’s another sweetheart.

It’s 45 degrees outside. Yes, you read that correctly. What the fuck? Sun is shining though, and it should climb up to 70. I refuse to hide under my rock today — I’m going to finish cleaning the new abode no matter what.

The queasies are gone, but it’s been replaced with some nasty aftertaste disease. Same one that messes with your tastebuds when you have the flu. Everything tastes funny and there is a constant sicky sweet taste in your mouth that nothing kills. If I could get rid of it, things would be great.

Well, almost great. I also have the itchy boob syndrome now. Very annoying. If itchy palms mean money, would do itchy boobs mean? Something good, I hope.

Go send her well wishes, she’s a sweetheart.

I didn’t go clean yesterday. It was rainy and cold and I just felt like shit all day. I should go over today, but I still don’t feel very well.

I wanted to finish learning how to properly skin a site with inline comments, but I don’t feel like doing that either. I can’t figure it out anyway, so fuck it.

I need to run some errands. I have calls to make. Utilities to switch. Appts to set up. Fuck.All.Of.That.

It’s 55 degrees today. In June. I am trying very hard not to turn on the furnace. The house has that deep down chill to it. My bones have that deep down chill. Me thinks my body is wanting to hibernate. Maybe I’ll just spend the day in the tub.

Fuck. I have shit to do. C’Mon Mr Sun.

I love shit like this:

http://www.kabalarMB5s.com/

The name of Angelia creates a very quiet, practical nature and a clever and inventive mind. Being analytical and naturally studious, you are interested in a factual understanding of the mysteries of life. Your methodical nature requires that you like to finish what you start without interruptions and also to have everything in its place and properly organized. An ability to concentrate could take you into computer programming or accountancy or any work requiring concentration and attention to detail. You have, also, a flair for creative expression with your hands. You take life seriously and can be easily and deeply hurt and go into moods which can be quite extreme at times, causing much turmoil and unhappiness. Finding it difficult to join in conversation with those with whom you are not well-acquainted, you could feel quite alone and uncommunicative with new acquaintances or in a large crowd. As a result, you could be accused of being unfriendly. You desire so much to be understood, but your name has limited your verbal expression to such an extent that it is very difficult for you to divulge your innermost thoughts even to those closest to you. One of your greatest salvations is being out in nature, for it is there that you find the peace and serenity you so much desire.

Filthy people puzzle me. Stupid people puzzle me. When you combine the two — stupid filthy people — it pisses me off. Especially when I am the one coming in behind their filth.

Our new landlord fought with the previous tenants for two days on the definition of clean. She eventually gave up, and hired someone to finish the job. Paid someone money to do absolutely nothing. She fought with this person as well, and ended up getting her money refunded. She said she would clean it herself before we moved in, but I told her I would handle it myself. Fuck. Not a good time to be queasy.

In case there are stupid filthy fucking people reading this, let’s discuss a few things…
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MD came home last night and handed me a set of keys.

Happy Dance is underway.