Thursday, November 3, 2011

Wtf baby?

My 17 month old has recently turned into a bit of an asshole. She has her first cold and is simultaneously cutting all 4 of her incisor teeth. Which makes our house a fun place to be, as I'm sure you can imagine. Because of her cold, everything is covered in snot. Her hair, her face, my pants, my shirt, my couch, the dog... It's fucking gross. And if I try and wipe her nose, it's like I just kicked her in the taint.

But back to the assholery. I think she hit the terrible twos early. And I'm not a fucking fan. If we're watching tv and it's something she doesn't approve of, she marches her tubby ass over to the DirectTv box and hits the off button. So we turn it back on. This quickly becomes a game of turn off, turn on. It's horseshit.

We have had to move the table up against the wall and keep all chairs and the bench tucked all the way in. If she finds a crack in the fortress, she pulls a chair out, gets up on it, and climbs onto the table and starts throwing the contents of the fruit bowl out. Also, the fruit bowl contains no fruit. It is filled with painted rocks, sunglasses, papers, bookmarks... Pretty much all the things that should not be in a fruit bowl.

Her next bout of assholeishness comes when she decides to fuck with the cat with no tail. Sammi. Now, Sammi is a mean old bitch and doesn't like kids. She has earned this right, considering Ghost's ex wife aborted her last litter of kittens. But Ireland will have none of her child hating ways. She wants to pet Sammi and god damnit, she will and does! And then Sammi sends a nice roundhouse paw straight at Ireland's face with her claws ready to take some skin. We do this fun game at least 3 times a day. Never gets old for either of them.

Where did my sweet baby go? Who replaced her with this asshole??

Thursday, October 13, 2011

The lazy Hooker.

I'm bored.  My days are filled with Ice Age and cleaning.  And boozing.  Don't get me wrong, I REALLY enjoy being supremely lazy and staying home while my husband is out working.  But I'm fucking bored.  The one truly awesome friend I made here is moving in like a month, and I'm super bummed.  My other awesome friend is knocked up and newly married and in a nutshell, no longer fun.

I want to start a cooking blog because my food is the fucking shit, but I'm too lazy for that.  It would involve taking pictures, downloading them to the comp, uploading them to a blog and then coming up with some snarky commentary.  Yeah.  Too lazy.

I want to learn how to sew, knit and crochet.  But I have no sewing machine.  I have no yarn.  I have no hook and needle.  I have no motivation.

I want to be a better housekeeper, but I'm not and I think it's just time to call a spade a spade.  I fail at cleaning.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

That was a better idea in my head

Do you ever get a brilliant idea and then once you put it into practice, you realize, wow, that was super fucking stupid!!!  Yeah, that happened to me today.  Wasn't the first time and I'm pretty positive it won't be the last.

For Christmas, I had asked Ghost's mom for a home waxing kit.  Well, she bought me one...sort of.  It's actually an eyebrow waxing kit (hi, I don't HAVE eyebrows).  So today after getting out of the shower and putting lotion on, I realized I needed to do some maintenance on my giner.  So I thought, hey, I'll just use the eyebrow waxing kit!  So I heat it up and prepare myself.  I knew it was going to hurt, because I've gotten brazilian's before.  What I didn't count on was that voice in my head that would soon scream, "don't pull that you stupid bitch, it's gonna hurt".

So Ghost comes into the bathroom to watch.  I tell him to leave.  I know I won't be able to do this with him watching me.  So I apply a sample strip to my leg.  I let 'er rip.  Didn't hurt, wax wasn't too hot, and it was easy enough to remove.  So on to the giner.  I sit on the toilet seat lid, pull my legs up, and apply some wax to my ass cheek/meets giner area.  I pull my skin tight, hold my breath, and rip it off.  Not tooooo terrible.  So I decide to go a little further in.  I apply to the outer lip area.  I grab the wax to pull off.  Shit.  That hurts.  Ok, so I decide to take this one a little slow.  Meanwhile, my brain is screaming at me, "abort mission you whore, abort mission".  With each tug and pull, I wince, tear up and cringe.  But at this point, it has to come off.  I mean, I can't walk around with wax on me for the rest of my life!  So I ripped and I ripped fast and hard.

Then I promptly put the wax away, put my pants on and walked out of the bathroom with my head hung low. Ghost knew not to ask any questions.  I'll just need to save up to get this shit professionally done again.  If only I had my wax nazi.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Oh, Smitty

This past winter, Ghost got a new phone number.  Shortly after, we started receiving very odd calls, very late at night, from an obviously inebriated woman.  She would ask for Smitty.  We don't know a Smitty.  So Ghost would tell her she had the wrong number, but she would continue on rambling about how she was Smitty's Grandma and deserved to talk to Smitty.  So Ghost would hang up.  She would call right back and get progressively more aggressive and rude and would start cussing at Ghost about keeping Smitty from her.  These phone calls went on, not every night, but maybe once a week or so for a few months.  It was always around 1 am too.

After a while, the phone calls stopped.  Until recently.  Smitty's grandma called again a few weeks ago and then a few days later, some man called asking for Smitty.  Ghost continues to tell these people that Smitty doesn't have this phone number.

This morning, Ghost had a missed call from a Phoenix, AZ number, so he called it back.  The woman said she knew she had the wrong number and that this was her ex husband's old phone number and she was trying to reach him.  After, I told Ghost he should call her back and ask if the ex husband's name is Smitty.  Then, perhaps the mystery of Smitty would be solved.  Or perhaps Smitty is the ex husband's son?  Who is Smitty?  And why does Smitty's drunk grandmother call us looking for him?  Why are you keeping Smitty from his grandmother?  Most importantly, why oh why, did you name someone Smitty?  I need answers!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Pillow Talk

I have a problem.  Well, it's really only a problem for Ghost.  When we finally decide to go to bed at night, I occasionally decide I need to get chatty.  This drives him insane, but he usually ends up laughing hysterically.  Or ripping all of the blankets off of me (my pet peeve) and telling me to shut the fuck up and go to sleep.  Last night was one of those nights.  It went a little something like this:

*you have to imagine the conversation below in only whispers*

Me: Hey

Ghost: What?

Me: Did I ever tell you about the time I was on a boat in the ocean in Japan and I was harpooning whales?

Ghost: You were never on a Japanese whaling boat.  Shut the fuck up.

Me: How the fuck do you know?  You don't know shit, you curly headed fuck!  The boat was called the Nishin Maru.  I harpooned a whale.  It's really interesting because...

Ghost: It's not interesting.  It's made up.  Go to sleep.

Me: Hey...

Ghost: What?

Me: Once, I was on the Savannah and I got dumped by my tour group.  So I took up with a pack of lions.  They taught me to hunt, and roar and I took down a gazelle!


Me: I hate you.  

Ghost: Yeah, well, the feelings mutual.  Go to sleep or I'm gonna kill you.

Me:  Hey...

Ghost: Oh my god, what?

Me: what temperature did you turn the thermostat up to?

Ghost: 72, why?

Me: It's too hot.  It's like Satan's butthole.  What was it at before you turned it up?

Ghost: 70

Me: How many goddamn times do I have to tell you, one degree.  That's all it should ever get turned up or down.  You should get up again and turn it down.

Ghost: Fuck off.

Me: Ok.