Today has sucked hard so far. It really has. I am sick of rain, sick of being fucking cold 24/7, and sick of being sick of shit.
It started around 3:00 A fucking M, when my lovely daughter rolled over and kicked me. Hard. In the back. She was sleeping with us (again) and had somehow managed to take up over half of our king size bed. This little 4 year old takes up more room than her giant father and fat mother. What the hell? Anyway, I was all cramped up on the edge of the bed, and I tried moving her over. No such luck. She just rolled closer to me. So I slept fitfully until Jay was up getting ready for work.
Then I got up to take Charlie potty at 5:30. He is a quick pee-er that early, especially when the wind is howling like a motherfucker and the rain is coming down so hard it hurts. But not this morning. I am freezing my ass off while he is sniffing every fucking leaf in the yard. I was all "Hurry the fuck up, Charlie, I'm cold." and he just looked at me like "Whatever, Bitch, you're on my time now." . Finally after marking the same pole right by our door that he always pees on, he came trotting inside as happy as could be. I was blue from the cold. Damn dog.
Once Jay left, Charlie and I went back to bed. Since he had just peed, I let him sleep on the bed instead of his crate. Again, I tried pushing my bedhog daughter over to Jay's side of the bed, but she wouldn't budge. So I crawled onto my 1/4 of the bed and tried to sleep. When I woke up with a raging migraine at 8:00, it was to Evan trying to get in my room to crawl in bed with me, too. He finally got it open and crawled into the wide open space on his dad's side of the bed. Charlie went to town licking everyone, and then Evan asked "Why is there a yellow spot on your bed?" Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. So I put Charlie in his crate, yanked my king size goose-down comforter off the bed and tried to find a dry-cleaners that could clean it today so I could actually have a comforter on my bed tonight. That was one nice thing about having a queen sized bed, the down comforter could actually fit in our economy sized washer. But, no, king size won't fit. Fuck. No such luck. Plus Jay would kick my ass for spending $30 to wash it when I could go down to the laundry mat (can I get a "EWE" please) and only spend $4 to wash and dry it (can I now get a "FUCKING CHEAP BASTARD" please).
Then I went to make coffee, and guess what, NO FUCKING COFFEE CREAMER. Fuck. I cannot drink coffee without coffee creamer. And, NO, milk is not the same thing. So I went to load up the kids in the car, and noticed the front screen door was wide open. The Christmas boxes that I have been meaning to take to storage but keep forgetting and now it's too close to Christmas so why bother are soaking wet on the sun porch. Awesome. No, fucking awesome. Anyway, I loaded up the kids and Charlie (who jumped right in with muddy paws), went back to try and shut the screen door, and then took off for Starbucks. Because I wanted coffee now, plus, we were still all in pajamas and Starbucks has a drive-thru.
When I got there, there wasn't a huge line, and I mistakenly saw this as the first good thing that had happened this morning. Man, I was wrong. Apparently, some douchelicker decided to order 1500 half-caf, extra hot, no whip, half milk half cream, extra shot of piss coffees because it took him 10 minutes (NOT SHIT, 10 MINUTES) to order and then another 15 minutes to get his order at the window. They handed over like 6 trays of coffees to him. That is just wrong. And if I hadn't had the kids and dog in the car, I would have gotten out and given the fuckbag a piece of my mind. And then kicked his van. Because he is a rotten douche who should just fucking die a slow painful death. I come to Starbucks for quick service, and at the drive-thru, I expect even quicker service. Let me make this clear, folks, DRIVE-THRU ORDERS SHOULD BE NO MORE THAN 4 COFFEES AT A TIME OR ELSE YOU SHOULD STOP BEING A LAZY COCKBAG AND GO INSIDE. All I wanted was one, just one, grande white chocolate peppermint mocha. Nothing special. No special demands. And that fucker ruined my coffee experience.
Anyway, as I was driving home, a semi wouldn't let me on the freeway. It was wide open in the other lane, and he just wouldn't get over. What a fucker. So I basically had to slam on my brakes and pull over to the side of the freeway to escape getting run over by the cockmonger. Great.
So I finally got home and noticed that the screen door was yet again open. I grab the kids and dog, my coffee, cell phone, Kenzie's blanky, and their bag of Cheerio's and chocolate milk and race like a greyhound to the door. Once I get them settled and Charlie downstairs, I went to try and close the screen door. Apparently, the guys had the smart idea of running the Christmas light cords under the screen door, thus making it almost impossible for the screen door to shut on it's own. And since the wind had been howling all morning, the screws for the screen door had been ripped out and now the screen door is sitting at an angle and won't close at all. I found some twine and rigged it shut until my step-dad comes home and can fix it.
To top off my perfectly awesome morning, I am fucking cold. I have been cold since moving to my mom's. She is always hot. Always. Even in the snow, she was sweating. It's the change, or so my step-dad says. Anyway, the heat is never on past 60, and since we are living in a partially finished basement, it is at least 10 degrees cooler down there. I'm sorry, but 50 degrees is not warm at all. My fingers are constantly numb, and my feet are like ice blocks. I am bundled up all the time in super pretty outfits. Today, I am wearing wool socks with my slippers, striped fleece pajama bottoms, a long sleeve t-shirt, a bulky sweatshirt, and a hat. Inside. And I am still cold. The kids are wrapped up in blankets and are constantly wearing slippers. Fleece has become my best friend. And I have to go out and get colder every time Charlie has to pee or poo. Nice. You may be wondering why I just don't head upstairs, and the answer is simple. Charlie isn't allowed upstairs. And he fucking whines when he is left downstairs alone. And I just don't trust him enough yet to leave him alone around the computers, t.v., and laundry hamper. And if I crate him, he goes crazy. He doesn't mind being crated at night as long as Jay or I is in the room, too, but the minute we leave, he goes nuts.
Plus, Charlie figured out how to jump the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs. Neat. So I had to move it up a few stairs so that it was too high for him. But it makes it virtually impossible for myself to get over it without breaking my crotch. And I think, due to the sexual favors I had to trade in order to get the dog, my husband would like to keep my rip in the rug from getting broken. He would be even madder if my mouth got broken, but his clamhammer is in need of both, so it's best if nothing gets broken.
My head is ready to explode. I just took 2 222's and it should kick in soon. Those little pills that you can only get in Canada (gotta love the Canuck's) are the answer to my migraine nightmares. They are codeine with caffeine and are sold at all pharmacies up there. You have to get a prescription in the US for them and they cost about $15 for 20. A bottle of 200 is $9 up there. Imagine that, an insurance company screwing their customers. Who would have thought that. Anyway, before any of you blow your load and pick up the phone to call the cops on me, you ARE allowed to bring 2 bottles per person over the border. I claimed them when I crossed over. So simmer down now.
So that is the tale I have to tell today. And if you don't like it, fuck off. Not really, but today I could give two shits about anything. I've got to get out of here and try and get feeling back in my fingers. They are turning blue from the cold.