HalfAsstic.com

Hot Mama over at Law School Sucks and so do lawyers, has a post today that I sooo relate to that I feel the need to expound upon it.

We have lived in this house for three and a half years and the list of things to do have grown and grown. And, of course, none of them are cheap.

I like to think that we are pretty easy on our domiciles, but the fact remains that none of these things were wrong when we moved in. This house might as well have been brand new. It was in pristine condition. Fresh paint inside and out, new carpet upstairs and down, everything worked perfectly and nothing was broken. Oh. Well, there is one ceramic tile in the kitchen that has a hairline crack in it that you can barely see. That is the only thing that is preexisting. I do think that the lights on the ceiling fans that we are having trouble with are nothing that we did. The wiring is just shitty and both of them, living room and breakfast room, have shorts and flicker on and off.

The front door is getting weathered and is peeling, needs refinishing.

The leaded glass in it has some broken places.-(thanks to one of Keelan’s dumb-ass friends)

The sprinkler system has a broken valve thingy.

The hot tub has two broken jets.

The carpet in the master bedroom needs cleaning. (The upstairs isn’t getting done until the pigs girls move out. I know when to cut my losses.)

At this point the liquor cabinet is depleted.

The hood vent in the kitchen is kaput. That means no one can burn anything cause we are limited in our ability to export smoke. So, like, there is no cooking going on cause, hey, we burn things on a regular basis.

When we have hurricane force winds, (remember I live down here by Houston, deep up in the armpit of Texas), there is a leak around the atrium window.

We desperately need sand in the backyard, and some in the front. The ground is uneven and holds water that I would really rather run off to my neighbors’ yards. (I AM TOO A GOOD NEIGHBOR!)

The liquor cabinet needs….redecorating.

Speaking of liquor cabinet… The sink in the wet bar is very slow to drain.

My closet would look much better if I had a new wardrobe.

Come to think of it, the floors wouldn’t look that bad or even need sweeping if I had freshly pedicured feet to look at on them. I mean, really, who would even notice the floors if my feet looked fab?

The light track over the fireplace, and more importantly over where H sits in her wheelchair while reading the paper, just stopped working. For no apparent reason at all. We got a new wall switch and swapped it out and changed the bulbs and everything else you can think of that was cheap. No. Must have new light track.

That is all I can think of right now. There is a more extensive list, (if you can believe that), living on John’s Palm.

You know, some people have their lives completely centered around money. Some, (Mostly young horny guys) can think of nothing but sex. Some are so co-dependent, (you know who you are… no, I guess you don’t…), they can’t do anything without involving their co-dependents. Some people are career driven and totally obsessive about getting ahead. Me. I am completely ruled by this little old lady and a damn bell. I think I am hearing it in the middle of the night and wake up and have to become alert before I can determine if she has rung it or not. And to make matters worse it is a cowbell. Not the most pleasant sound at any given time. My whole day hangs in the balance when she is on the pot, because nothing can move forward until she is done. It is almost 4:00pm and I don’t feel like going out and weeding now. I am tired of planning and wanting to do it and it is hot as blue blazes out there and I feel… deflated.

I am in a cranky mood and everything is getting to me today. Stuff that I usually just ignore. I took H in to use the bedpan and when I was leaving the room she said, “I’ve got my bell here, I’ll call you when I’m done.” I felt like yelling, “Of course you’ve got your bell! I have never hidden you bell! That is where your bell lives and it is always there! Yes, I know the drill because for three and a half years I have been depositing you on the bed pan and getting you off when you ring the bell. I KNOW YOU ARE GOING TO RING THE BELL WHEN YOU ARE DONE! WHY MUST YOU ANNOUNCE IT AS IF I DON’T KNOW THE RULES TO THE GAME AND HAVE NEVER PLAYED BEFORE. ARE YOU AFRAID I AM GOING TO RUN IN HERE AND YANK YOU OFF THE POT MID-SHIT? CAUSE, HEY LADY, I CAN ASSURE YOU THAT THAT IS THE EXACT KIND OF MESS THAT I HATE TO CLEAN UP AND I WILL DO WHATEVER I CAN TO KEEP IT FROM HAPPENING! YOU COULD MAKE THE GAME SOOOO MUCH MORE ENJOYABLE BY RESPECTING THE FACT THAT I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING AND AM NOT A COMPLETE MORON. not completely.

Then I went upstairs and…eh, “picked up” my 17 year olds room. I took out a metric ton of trash and threw the duvet up on the bed and piled up all the clothes she needs to sort through to determine clean/dirty. Some stuff was still carefully folded, (by ME), and other stuff was obviously worn. Not my problem. But I basically got the room ready to be organized. I might point out that she has had another little girl living here with her for a couple of weeks and that has significantly added to the mess problem. This chick is not going to be here for that much longer and the room had better not ever get in this condition again.

But, anyway, she and same girl came flouncing in after school and trotted their happy asses up stairs to change clothes for work and trotted back down and left and NEVER SAID ONE WORD TO ME. NOT “HI.” NOT, “BYE.” NOT, “KISS MY ASS.” NOTHING.

Today is my birthday and the little brat didn’t even wish me happy birthday. I may kill her, clean up her room, and take it over for…something, for me. Yes. That’s the new plan.

I am 44 years old and I’ve got a freakin cavity. ( No. Not between my ears, Dad.) I have one in my mouth and it is starting to hurt. I have called my dentist and after much searching for my chart and determining that they have never heard of me because it has been OVER SEVEN YEARS since I was last in, I made an appointment. I am a bad, bad patient. I can’t believe it has been that long since I was to the dentist. My kids records were there and up to date. Even John’s was current. Well, to be totally fair, his was current because he had to go have a root canal because he didn’t go in when his cavity first started hurting. Boy, I am! I am THERE, BABY! No siree, no root canal for me! Just fill that bad boy!

Yes. I am all a dither with excitement. Next week, Wednesday to be exact. I am getting drilled. And not in a good way.

John is out at the grocery store. He went there after dropping off Keelan, because Kessa told him she would cook lasagna tonight if he would go and get the stuff.

But:

She won’t be off work until about 5:00. So when she gets home I will be leaving with my husband and going out of the house for the first time in… a few days. I don’t really keep track anymore. I mean, why bother, right?

John is off work today and it is 3:20pm as I type this. H has just now made it into the living room. Now we can finally go somewhere, as Keelan is home to stay with her. Oh wait, yes, H has been fed. Yes, she has seen the visiting nurse. Yes, she finally got around to doing the daily poop on the bedpan. This is what we were all waiting for so we could go. Now Keelan has to be at work in 26 minutes.

Crap.

Well, Kes is supposed to be home from work sometime soon….

Yes. We shall discuss it here. Now.

People, (and I’m using that term loosely), who turn the ringer volume all the way down on the phone and then leave it in some bizarre locale so that I can’t find it to answer it when it is ringing from the base. Or! I can’t find it when it is time to go to bed and they are all supposed to get hung up to charge.

These are the people that cause global warming.