Time's Up!

Where the hell does my day go? 

When I'm locked into laundry, housework, care for the dog, planning extracurricular activities that won't make the kid's drive me crazy, planning supper, handling the other 5,000 details that DH requests of me, and on top of that, editing and working on my photography business ... See. I was so distracted thinking I had missed something that I forgot the whole point of the sentence! 

At my house in BFE, not a single provider will bring the World Wide Web to my doorstep. Not one. We are, as AT&T put it, unable to be found. How odd: they provide 4G service to our iPhones without complication and always seem to find a way to bill us. 

If I had the Internet on anything other than my phone, I may actually be able to get a few things accomplished. As it is, I have to do everything I can in one location, then load everything up and drive for miles to get to a family member's house and mooch off her WiFi. 

So laundry, housework, dog, etc., etc., all comes to a screeching slam-on-the-breaks-help-me-jeezus stop. 

And then I look up and realize I have twenty minutes to head 22 miles into town, get in and our of hell (ahem, Walmart) and get the boys by 3. 

And mid-drive, I realize I forgot a package I've been meaning to mail off for nearly a week. 

Happy, happy, happy I am not.

What's even more annoying is that I hate rushing around and I LOATHE waiting on people. So why is it I am always running out of time, why is it that I am always making people wait?

It's been said that your biggest pet peeves are likely things that you are guilty of doing yourself.

If this is the case, I now value all of my friends a hell of a lot more.

Aging Is a Cruel Bitch

When I was a kid, I could not understand why my parents tired out so easily.

We all had feet. We all had legs. We looked awfully similar. And apparently felt awfully different. 

I thought it was just an excuse for them sitting in the air conditioning with a big ol' Mason jar full of sweet tea. 

And now, what am I doing? 

Sitting in my recliner in my air conditioned living room, popping two Advil, watching TV, with a Mason Jar full of sweet tea.

And contemplating sending my five year old to get my heating pad.

Oh, Karma. I guess you're teaming up with Age and Pain and together you're gang banging my freaking back. 

Lovely. Someone hand me that Aspercream and the remote. And cook somethin' for supper, cause I ain't for sure I can get outta this chair!

Quiet As a Mosquito

My husband wakes about an hour or two earlier than me. Nine times out of ten he's quiet and I don't even know he's gone. 

Today was that 1/10 day.

Random crash. Hacking and coughing. Moaning. Occasional bang. 

POW! ZING! BAM! WOWZA!

"Are you okay?" (Mentally, I answer my own question. 'Stupid girl, he's never been *okay* you knew that from Day 1!') 

"Yeah. I'm just coughing this morning. Why are you up?"

"I heard you coughing." ('Dumbass, your coughs were in Morse Code and spelled out "Wake Your Ass Up".') 

"Oh. Do I have clean pants?" 

('Did you wash any? Did you put them in the fucking LAUNDRY ROOM?! No? Then you just answered your own question.')

"Yes. Check the dryer."

*Cue slamming of dryer door, noise of putting on work boots and grabbing keys.*

 And now he starts to make a sound like a dove, to echo our doves in the tree just outside. As if their loud ass hoooooo-hooo's didn't serve as an adequate alarm clock on a regular basis, now here this man is thinking he's the Dove Whisperer. 

Charming.

He leaves. Sun is shining right in my face. My body is complaining that three hours of sleep just ain't gonna cut it these days. Ten years ago, it wouldn't phase me. Now, I'm damn near crawling to my heating pad.

Bed. Finally.

Bed GOOOOOD. 

"Mom! MOM!"

Holy hell.

Pin This, That, This, That....

Someone please explain to me why I always seem to get on Pinterest at exactly the same time as The Hungry Girl? 

Oh, let me introduce you: reader, meet Hungry Girl. She waits until 2 am when no one can sleep, and instead of pinning relatively useful things on her boards, she pins 50-5,000 ridiculously delicious-looking dishes. Tiramisu, Moist Lemon Chicken, Soft Pretzels with Homemade (Easy!) Fondue, Baked Lemon Broccoli... I could go on and on and on but I won't because I'm about to chew up my freaking iPhone!!! Now I'm so damn hungry, I can't think straight! And all I wanted to do was get on there to find a life jacket for the Sea of Insomnia I'm drowning in. 

But noooo, here's size 2 I-eat-what-I-want-and-never-gain-an-ounce Hungry Girl, pinning away like she's making the menu for my last meal.

And now, at 3:16 am, instead of sleeping, I'm heading to the kitchen to raid my cabinet and whine about my bright idea to only buy freaking Nature Valley granola crap. 

Cardboard chewie, we meet again. Thank you Hungry Girl, you saved my diet. Bitch.

Wasted Intros and Pleasantries

Someone once told me I was funny.

After reading this, I'm sure that bitch will regret she ever said a word about it.

So I'm here in Nowhereville, USA, surrounded by farms and blips on a map. I'm the only woman in a house of three males. 

It's not great. Typically, I'd see that statement and think, "You lucky heffer, you're getting some every night!" 

No.

My husband, me, and our five and four year olds. So there, perv. No.

As it is, my dear husband, lets call him DH, was anti-wife-working for the first couple of years our boys were little. They sneeze and daycare called, so it made sense. I wanted to finish college anyway. 

Long story short, I now work part-time from home and my husband continually reminds me of the fact that he works full-time and is the breadwinner. And in case he forgets to remind me, he goes to bed after Wheel of Fortune and I'm up dealing with baths and bedtimes. 

I get it. You're tired. Whoppidty do.

But he's not too exhausted to be horny. Another topic, right ladies?

So that's me. This blog is about the horrible things I think that I can't say out loud. The things you don't want people to judge you for.

And you KNOW we judge, so let me preempt your eye-rolls and looks of disgust with a public service announcement: 

I. Do. Not. Give. A. Fuck.

So there we have it. Good day, thanks for joining the ride, and whatever and whatnot.