It’s 36C (97F) degrees right now.

I have no air conditioning.

I feel like I am standing at the gates of hell.

I hate to sweat. I detest sweat.

The dudes came today to clean the ducts and clean the furnace of its disgusting grime. They were supposed to be here Saturday, then canceled. Then, today, they were supposed to be here at 12:00 NOON. So I made arrangements to leave work early to be there (here) for them. At NOON.

I get a phone call at 11:00am that they are waiting in my driveway. *Apparently* wanted to get ahead start. Fuckers. Apparently they are the only ones who work.

Regardless, they came in, got it done.

I was all “YES! YES! YES! Air conditioning!” (tip: Make sure you read it like Sally says it in When Harry Met Sally, cuz that’s how I said it.)

But before I coud turn it on, Mike called and was all “No, not yet. I have to buy new air filters on my way home because those ones will be trash now, we don’t want this re-occurring mould issue, right?

I was all, “FUCK IT, I want my air dammit! You get to sit at work - IN AIR CON-fuckin’-DITIONING - and I’m here boiling my ass off. Not the weight loss plan I had in mind.”

He’s all: “Just wait ’til I get home.”

I was all: “Motherfucker, I’ll wait, but it ain’t gonna be pretty. And I expect Dairy Queen tonight.”

Here I am. Waiting. Patiently. Eagerly. Bitchy. as. hell.

Fuck, I hate to sweat.

Hence the extra 40lbs I’m carrying around on my big ass and inner-tube-like love handles. Yes, that’s right, I smuggle inner tubes under my shirt. Fucksakes. Stupid sweat.

If I was an R-rating before, that’s probably just been bumped. Motherfucker! (Just for good measure.)

Dick Simmons’ got nothing on me

We’ve all heard it before. Pet ownership can have many benefits for people, including reduction in stress. I believe it to be true, for the most part.

Greeting from my beautiful pit bull, Briggs; her tail wagging wholeheartedly, whipping the walls as she waits patiently (as possible) to smother us in kisses is a wonderful way to end a stressful day at work. Her warm kisses and gentle nuzzling are very much welcomed as we sit down together after evening chores are complete.
Life without pets is just not the same to me. The unconditional love, even on the bitchiest of days; their complete and udder lack for the ability to judge us bodes well on the days I decide to let Carter sit in front of the TV with a box of Corn Pops while I read USWeekly. (Don’t judge. It’s only happened once a couple times. )
Even Connor (the cat) has his affectionate moments, when he’s not scared shitless of his own shadow; he will jump up on the desk for some belly rubs as I read blogs. After his futile attempts at suffocating me in my sleep with his fat ass, he curls up at the end of the bed at night. It’s enough to make your heart melt.

Where am I going with this you wonder.

Were all the facts considered while conducting these studies? I don’t think so because their judgments are slightly skewed considering the tremendous stress and anxiety I endure trying to take these animals to the vet.

Hunting down Connor has become a two day event in preparation for his yearly visit. The cat box comes out the night before so he can investigate. Check it out for traps and poison. After he’s given it the all clear, he’ll embark on the task of cramming his fat ass in. He’ll turn, ever so slightly trying to keep even a whisker from touching the side of the box. Once his attempts are foiled by his fat ass, he slowly backs out of the crate and bolts like there’s a chance I’m going to strap him in there and hang him as bait in front of cat hating rabid dogs.

The next morning, I walk around the house meowing like a cat, which sounds vaguely similar to the raccoon fight in my backyard last summer that woke me from a deep sleep; as I’m calling his name I’m cursing him to no end. Most times he will appear, maybe I sound like a cat in heat to him; I dunno. This cat is a boarder line circus freak. A pet store special. He’s so inbred, he doesn’t know his ass from his head most days. I love him so.
If all else fails, I can usually find him huddled in the farthest corner beneath the bed in the spare room. Nothing can coax that fat bastard out like a bowl of dry cat food shaken slightly in a metal bowl. He’s then crammed into the cat carrier, ass first so he doesn’t have to endure the ride trying to turn around. Thoughtful, I know.

The dog. She loves the vet. So much so as soon as we pull down his road she’s bounding all over the back like her ass is on fire. Crying, panting and jumping at the window hoping that, just once, if she hits the glass at the right angle it will set her free. She bounces, whimpers and whines as we walk through the door, gasping for air since she’s tugged her collar so tight, which doesn’t phase her in the slightest, as she makes a bee line for the reception.

What’s so bad about this you say? Well, throw in an 18 month old toddler who turns in to a blubbering mess because he wants to hold the carrier and the dog’s leash; all the while getting into everything in sight. Carter’s to the point where putting him in a stroller is like subjecting him to a straight jacket. (Which I’ve never thought about doing. Not even once.)

Where’s his father? Sitting on his ass reading a fucking magazine.

As Briggs is trying to sniff the ass of the chocolate lab, Carter is running in behind the reception desk and the cat is shaking the shit out of the carrier. I see Mike out of the corner of my eye, reading this fuckin’ magazine; not a care in the world. My lasers of death searing a hole through his temple don’t even phase him. I politely (as possible) say. “Mike? A little help?” His gaze meets mine. “What? What do you need help with?”

Nothing asshole, just wanted you to critique my ability to balance awkwardly on one foot as the cat shakes the shit out of my arm, the dog pulls in the other direction, and I try to corral our child who’s embarked on his own little journey.

Men. I wish life was always as simple as theirs.

Since returning from Maternity Leave I’ve been running off my feet on a daily basis. Before you get your panties in a knot, this is not a pitty post. I work for a living, that’s my life, I accept it. But dammit, it’s trying on good days.

Today is a day for me; a mental health day; though one day will not change my mental state, it’s a start. Gawd knows, one day is not enough; more like a padded cell and a frontal lobotomy to fix this bitch.
Things have slowed at work as I am in the midst of changing positions and I decided that today, I would stay home. Alone. Do what I want for a change. And so far, I haven’t done a damn thing. Sweet and utter bliss I tell you.

Carter and I got up at normal time, I shipped him off to daycare, and here I sit. I’ve taken a leisurely shower, taken time to apply my make-up, straightened my hair… all to sit here and blog. Do I give a damn? Nope. I haven’t washed any dishes, I haven’t cleaned anything. I am sitting here on my fat ass, eating a Twix and reading blogs that I’ve been so far behind on, and it feels great. You’re so damn jealous right now; your jealous envy is oozing through my computer screen. Don’t hate the player, hate the game, beotches.

And with that, I leave you with this.

What Every Girl Should Know

Ever feel like just kicking someone in the throat because? I’ve been having one of those months days. No one in particular. Just everyone. Watch out, I’ll mess you up muthafucka!

It’s not you. It’s me.

Every time someone asks me a question, I wanna ram my pen up their ass.

If they so much as question something I am working on, or finished, I feel like slamming their head on the table, then kneeing them in the throat and kicking them repeatedly as they stare up at me with tear stained cheeks and beg me to stop.
Every time Mike asks me what’s for dinner? I want to shove his head in the stove after I’ve ripped it from his body with the help of a spoon.

I want to stand on my desk and scream at everyone.

“FUCK YOU!!! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!”

Am I PMSing? Nah. Not this week. Just in a generally bitchy mood.

Gimme some chocolate - me love you long time…
Or you can go fuck yourself too.