Thursday, June 30, 2011

What I Did For My Summer Vacation

These people only have two kids. Enough said.
 So, I have shingles. Again. On my face. Fun times. It just proves that although I appear to be handling my stress level well, obviously, I'm NOT. Incidentally, ten people have asked me today why I haven't had the vaccination shot. One, I already HAVE the shingles; I don't think I need to be vaccinated for something I actually have. Two, I'm not over 60, so they won't give it to me. There’s something funny in there, but I’m not sure that I’m in on the joke. (Usually that means that you ARE the joke.)

Spiritual Truth Number 76: Working at an 8-5 job in an office somewhere is less stressful than being home full time. I don’t want to hear you complain one second about your commute or your boss or your co-workers. Shut it. You’re basically whining that you have two hours in the car to listen to whatever you want by yourself, you have someone above you who takes all of the heat even if you screw up, and there’s no way that you can prove your co-workers are worse than being trapped in the house with kids. I’ve never once had a co-worker run naked covered in wet grass and mud from playing in the sprinkler through my newly mopped office, throw up on me, or put his/her hand in my glass during a business luncheon to fish out ice cubes or a lemon. We don’t feel sorry for you. We think you’re a light weight. From now on, if I ask a woman if she "works outside of the home" I'm going to add "or do you slave inside of it"?

On the Subject of Food: The dishes. My God, my God, wherefore art there so many dishes??? And why are they in my sink with the food still on them instead of being scraped into the garbage first? What is wrong with you people? There is nothing grodier than a sink full of soggy Fruit Loops, unless maybe Raisin Bran. (I think it's that dadgum elf since I never see anyone actually putting anything in the sink.) I know that it’s like not “green” and stuff, but I’m seriously thinking about going all paper products in this house. Think of the water we’ll save. That’s being green, right?

I've also decided that my children aren't human. They are garbage disposals from another planet. Today I've cooked four times. FOUR TIMES! Like with the stove on. (This from the woman who doesn't particularly like cooking.) It's so bad that I'm actually debating if it’s a DHR moment should I decide to serve Pop Tarts for dinner tomorrow. (And if I get one email about my kids’ diets, you are too stupid to live and breed. I just said that I cooked four times today. I’m not actually going to serve Pop Tarts for dinner [at least I don’t think I am]. Go get some kids, and then I’ll listen to you. Maybe. [Okay, so probably not even then.])

And for the love of all that is good, no more caffeine, chocolate, sugar, red food dye, Kool-aid, ice cream, sugar cereal, doughnuts, cookies, or soft drinks for The Little Flower after like one o'clock in the p.m. Seriously. I'll kill you.

This isn't actually my house. Thank God.
Housekeeping, or lack Thereof: My poor, poor living room. It's a fort. It's a dining room. It's a video arcade. It's a bounce house. It’s an art coffee house. It's a water park (don't ask). It's an official bio hazard. It's cheer practice central. It's gymnastics class. It's a construction zone. It's a concert hall. It's a piano rehearsal studio. It's a disco. It's a movie theater. It's a day care center. It's a dog run. It's base in an elaborate game of hide and seek. It's an extra bedroom. It's a science lab. It's Thunderdome (two men enter/one man leaves). The only thing it's not is a living room.

Running To and Fro: I'm taking all of the credit for the gas prices falling. You're all welcome. I've been on the road so much that the oil futures have once again become secure. We run from one thing to the next, and we are barely on time for anything. I used to be on time everywhere, like as in early-is-really-on-time. Now I'm still wandering around my house aimlessly looking for a hair bow or flip flop or blanket or keys when it's time to be there (wherever THERE is on any given day). During the school year this place is operated like boot camp. Like for Marines. It must be the chlorine or sunblock or sleeping in an extra hour. Someone should do a study. 
George and Flat Stanley

Me No Speaka You Slang and a Random Panic Attack: When did the word "beast" replace "awesome"? And what exactly does it mean? Someone told me I'm 'beast' and one of my kids stopped me before I put a shoe upside his head. Holy Smokes, Batman!!!! I almost forgot all about Flat Stanley! I have to mail him off to some people today…who can I rook into that deal? Who loves me enough to return some photos? And who has kids who have to do this same sort of stupid, er, I mean, Socially Important, ahem, Project. And I think I’m also supposed to be selling some mess for volleyball gear like cookies or pizza or something. Ugh. Fund raisers stink. Cause you know who’s keeping up with all of the money and paperwork and actually selling the stuff, right? (And I’ll give you a hint, it’s not the Wonder Twins.) Double Ugh.

Spiritual Truth Number 131: You can't actually sleep if you have more than four people and a dog in the bed with you. It's more like a wrestling match. And I don't care if it is a king size bed.

Music, Music Everywhere and No Talent Anywhere in Sight: Why is the piano amplifier set on 11 all of the time? Do my kids need to have their hearing checked? And who decided that the keys should make a farting noise as a musical choice on the keyboard in the first place? Is someone actually trying to play Beethoven in the key of Gaseous Emissions? The dude who programmed that deal needs to be fired. 
Wiz Khalifa, for those not in the know.

I know all of the words (well, to the edited radio version) to Roll Up by Wiz Kalifa. This alone is reason to question all of my life choices leading up to this point. Worst. Song. Ever. It doesn’t even have a melody or any singing. It’s more like grunting. It's like the "Oh, Sheila" or the "Blame It on the Rain" of this generation. (I know the words to those songs too. What does that say about me as a person?)

Conclusion: How long have we been out for summer break again? Like four months? WHAT? You lie, Sir! Only four weeks? That can't be right. I'm having like a Groundhog Day do-over loop. Lord, help, no one should even have to ask me why I have the shingles. I’ve got your shingles right here.

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