No wait - that's Dizzy Land, right? We did not do The Mouse - I flatly refuse. It seems like too much the marketing machine to me, trading on impressionable little kids and their unable-to-say-no parents. But I digress...
We took the crotchfruit on vacation for his birthday last month. It was a Production, orchestrated by the Sperm Donor with me dragging along less than willingly. I was sucking it up for the sake of the child, since I don't like crowds, amusement parks, rides...shit like that. But the spawn was excited, so I put on my happy face and hit the tiki bar by the pool whenever I could.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Tools
Dear Sperm Donor,
In case dragging you upstairs to see the fruits of my purging-cleaning-reorganizing labor over the holiday weekend wasn't a hint, I figured telling you dead on that I was DONE with living in a shithole full of clutter would do the trick. To be abso-fucking-lutely sure, I told you that it would be a great idea if you and the crotchfruit cleaned up the room you sleep in that used to be his, and for you to clean up the top of your dresser that you insist live in public space. Because when I'm DONE, I'm DONE - and I might just take it into my head to extend my purging-cleaning-reorganizing energy all over your shit.
Since you spent the holiday weekend partying with your brother-in-law while I busted my hump on the upstairs, I figure my request for one day per weekend dedicated to getting this shithole in order wasn't, well...out of order. How convenient of you to find a weekend's worth of shit to do at other people's houses instead.
In case dragging you upstairs to see the fruits of my purging-cleaning-reorganizing labor over the holiday weekend wasn't a hint, I figured telling you dead on that I was DONE with living in a shithole full of clutter would do the trick. To be abso-fucking-lutely sure, I told you that it would be a great idea if you and the crotchfruit cleaned up the room you sleep in that used to be his, and for you to clean up the top of your dresser that you insist live in public space. Because when I'm DONE, I'm DONE - and I might just take it into my head to extend my purging-cleaning-reorganizing energy all over your shit.
Since you spent the holiday weekend partying with your brother-in-law while I busted my hump on the upstairs, I figure my request for one day per weekend dedicated to getting this shithole in order wasn't, well...out of order. How convenient of you to find a weekend's worth of shit to do at other people's houses instead.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Beware The Unwell
Screw the undead. It's the unwell you need to fear. Seriously, when I'm sick, I'm either helpless or mean. Sometimes I'm helplessly mean.
I've been sick for over a week. I don't mean a little sniffle or a little congestion; I mean out-of-work-for-a-week, shivering-on-the-sofa-waiting-for-death sick. And that first part? That out-of-work-for-a-week part? That means I was trapped in the house with the increasingly fretful DH (still recovering from his surgery) and the stupendously annoying demon spawn (home for winter break).
My best efforts at recovery were destined for failure from the start. When I get sick, I cocoon. I want to hole up in my nest with all the supplies I'll need to ride out the storm of my illness. This was not to be.
I've been sick for over a week. I don't mean a little sniffle or a little congestion; I mean out-of-work-for-a-week, shivering-on-the-sofa-waiting-for-death sick. And that first part? That out-of-work-for-a-week part? That means I was trapped in the house with the increasingly fretful DH (still recovering from his surgery) and the stupendously annoying demon spawn (home for winter break).
My best efforts at recovery were destined for failure from the start. When I get sick, I cocoon. I want to hole up in my nest with all the supplies I'll need to ride out the storm of my illness. This was not to be.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Escape
Deety is not a patient person. This could come as a surprise to people who know me IRL, because in some circumstances, I've been known to show extreme patience. But at home, in my personal life...not so much.
DH is recovering from major surgery. This means that he is occupying our main living space nearly 24x7 (barring trips to the shower and short walks outside). The corollary to this is that the television is on nearly 24x7. Deety hates the television. The television is the bane of my existence. It is my version of nails on a chalkboard; anchovies on a pizza; it is the thing my world could do without.
DH is recovering from major surgery. This means that he is occupying our main living space nearly 24x7 (barring trips to the shower and short walks outside). The corollary to this is that the television is on nearly 24x7. Deety hates the television. The television is the bane of my existence. It is my version of nails on a chalkboard; anchovies on a pizza; it is the thing my world could do without.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
One Saturday in July...
<This is not my story - it was shared with me by a member of MWDAS, and I have permission to publish it>
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I ran away from home today. Truly, I did, and I am proud of it. It apparently did the trick, got the message across, worked wonders.
My house was clean for the entire time DH was gone on his business trip. Now, I'm not gonna go so far as to say it was so clean my mother-in-law could've shown up unannounced and I'd've been okay with it. But the first floor clutter was under control, the kitchen didn't look like something from a crack whore's apartment and the floors were clean. Second floor was...tolerable. With DH gone for a week, I had put away the cursed-and-blasted ironing board that he leaves up because he irons every morning, so the loft felt a bit less cluttered and claustrophobic.
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I ran away from home today. Truly, I did, and I am proud of it. It apparently did the trick, got the message across, worked wonders.
My house was clean for the entire time DH was gone on his business trip. Now, I'm not gonna go so far as to say it was so clean my mother-in-law could've shown up unannounced and I'd've been okay with it. But the first floor clutter was under control, the kitchen didn't look like something from a crack whore's apartment and the floors were clean. Second floor was...tolerable. With DH gone for a week, I had put away the cursed-and-blasted ironing board that he leaves up because he irons every morning, so the loft felt a bit less cluttered and claustrophobic.
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