What is it about house ownership that is so fantastic? Why is it that when someone doesn’t own their house they’re somewhat looked down upon? Pffft. You don’t OWN your house? Tell me. What is so fuckin’ great about ownership? You get to deal with mould in the basement, the yard needing a new fence, the diveway (yes, that was intentional) needing to be replaced. What’s so wonderful about that? And to top it all off we have to be responsible for taking out the trash, shoveling the driveway, cutting the grass and doing something about the gawd awful “garden” that was as overgrown as … well, my nether regions I’ve been meaning to trim up, when I have a moment…

So, tell me, what do you love SOOO much about the fact that you own your house, because truthfully, I can’t think of a damn thing.

This morning after Carter’s bath I went to the basement to be greeted by a huge puddle on the carpet and a sagging ceiling tile that is threatening to explode revolting bathwater as soon as it’s touched.

Fucking great.

A fitting is cracked on a pipe, which is not a HUGE deal, just a royal pain in the ass. Hopefully it’s a small job and just a couple ceiling tiles will need replacing.

Couldn’t Mike do it? You ask. Well, Mike is about as handy with household stuff as he is a programming computers. Did I mention that he was able to erase an ENTIRE hard drive and not know what he did? Yeah. Handy. But give him a piece of heavy equipment - a crane, a drill rig, or a loader - then he can actually accomplish something besides destructing it.

Thank God for the fact that we have a contractor friend who is on the way over because, dammit, I wanna have a shower. I think I smell like something the cat dragged in (not mine though, he’s such a damn chicken shit).

While I was getting hot today I was deep in thought half asleep, practically dozing when the stylist opened her drawer to pull out a brush. I haphazardly glance in the drawer and saw a round brush full of hair. I don’t typically find this disturbing when it’s my own hair, but a brush of someone else’s hair? Absolutely grotesque.

Thoughts about brushes moving from head to head without the clump of nastiness removed slowly crept into my mind; which then led to thoughts of hair in the drain. A wave of hottest swept over me, I started sweating just thinking about that brush touching me. I prayed that she wasn’t planning to use it because I didn’t know how to express, Can you please remove that fuckin’ disgusting rats nest of wadded hair before touching me with that? Lucky for me (and her) she didn’t use it; though if she was going to, I bet she would have removed the hair. I’ll give her that much.

Is there such thing as a phobia of wads of hair? Specifically wet wads of hair? If there is, I may have it.

Wad, that’s a loathsome word. Ugh.

I had my hair makeover this morning. I am so in love. She did an absolute fabulous job reading my mind considering my brain and mouth were not functioning in sync this morning. I knew exactly what I wanted, but the ability to put the words into a complete coherent sentences escaped me. But chicka got it! She really got it! (Note the exclamation points. I am truly that happy with the outcome!)

My skills for take pictures in my dirty ass bathroom mirror are so tremendously amazing. I know you’re jealous, but don’t be a hater. And don’t mock the stupid ass look on my face either; bitches.

I got mad skillz, I know. It’s difficult to tell, but I have platinum blonde highlights and dark mahogany lowlights, mixed with my natural other colour. I got the whole bottom the dark mahogany.

I am the hottest mama on the block.

The fact that we live in a subdivision of old geezers doesn’t matter. I. am. hawt.

I’d almost go as far as saying I was a MILF.

Hey, I said Almost.

I haven’t always been one to follow the crowd, but it seems over the years I have lost my edge and am now *ahem* mainstream; I’m not very unique (less you count the constant burping and my endless sarcasm, not to mention my ability to be as crass as any man). I don’t dress to impress, or have a style of my own, or any style at all for that matter. Boring some would call me.

And I was called out.

I had signed up for a blog review back in the earlier days of blogging. (Okay, it was Monday, who’s counting really?) When I thought that I might actually get some constructive criticism or *gasp* they would love me, and I would rocket through the blog world into super stardom and I. Would. Be. Someone. Special. The flocks of bloggers would come and I would be unconditionally loved by all. A blog celebrity if you will.

What? That’s not the reason you blog?

Well, I was sorely mistaken. I have been unrelentingly labeled a ‘mommy blogger’ I didn’t think I blogged that much about my kid. Frankly, he’s boring and not worthy of my blog, but I digress, lately I have had a couple entires about Carter. I’ve been having emotionally difficult days dealing with his inability to cope with the fact that he’s growing up and had to move to the toddler room. Big deal.

To be honest, I was disappointed by my ‘review’, being labeled a boring ass mommy blogger, and most of the review bitching about my broken header in my template. Good thing I didn’t have to pay for it. So, my designs suck too. Good. That was my goal.
Oh, but it was mentioned that I have decent taste in music - except for Hinder, which was compared to a can of Spam - fine by me too because I actually agree; since it was song that I was listening to at the moment; and it was part of a tag. No biggie.

So the gist of it. I am a motherfuckin’ boring ass mommy blogger with an alright taste in music and my designs suck ass.

Meh. Nothing I didn’t know already. I was really hoping for a kick to the crotch and bloody lip; or at least a short bus and a flaming finger. Bitches.

Off to watch this week’s ANTM and laugh at the poor girls lives come to an end as they receive shitty makeovers. I can pity them instead of myself.

Must go cry in my wine now.

Edited to add:

Please, don’t think that I’ve lost sleep over this review. I was a bit disheartened for about an hour as I cursed them and cried in my pillow, but I’ve since gotten over it.

Cheers!