Gorillabuns

crazy

Let me first preface this post by saying, most of the time, I'm a pretty nice person. Friendly to all and slightly easy-going... well, until I was fertilized with this thing aptly known as, "the downfall of my existence."  Now? I'm a balls to the wall, crazy-assed psycho. I don't remember being THIS whacked with my last two children, but this pregnancy? I'm pretty much certifiable. I secretly think I'm having a boy because where else would all this pent-up rage and testosterone come from? I liken my mood and attitude to a bodybuilder on triple the dose of butt-clenching steroids. Not that I would know anything about bodybuilding due to my lack of any exercise-induced endorphins as of late and yes, I have dated someone on steroids in the past and no, the 'roids didn't shrink his package. Anyway..... I think I've finally lost my mind and my filter for being nice - TO ANYONE.

Examples of my maniacal rage: Last week, I bitched out a guy at the Target snack counter for not being able to ring up the fruit snacks I was trying to shove into my kids for a moment's peace while shopping and not-so-politely suggested he pull such items from the shelf if you are not able to purchase food. AT THE G-DAMN GROCERY STORE! I berated a dude at a Wendy's drive-thru due to their lack of truth in advertising. A 99 cent value drink is not 3 ounces. I've shouted "HOLY SHIT YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!!" to the medical billing person when realizing the payment due for my last ultrasound is half my mortgage payment this month. The next ultrasound performed at the end of this month? Will be the ENTIRE amount of my next month's mortgage. I might have had a little stroke with this last statement. Excuse me while I check and re-checked myself. Yep, I'm still functioning - ever-so-slightly. Let's not even go into the "Olive Garden incident" with my husband and I won't begin to broach the subject of my older daughter pushing her right to live.

Someone recently suggested I get on meds to manage my attitude but sadly, my doctor thinks deep breathing and bio-feedback is the way to go. I think I know where she should shove her bullshit bio-feedback suggestion. I might even help her.

 

family blind item #1

What family member (by family member, I mean Rich's family) asked ME to babysit his second ex-wife's 97-year-old Alzheimer-ridden mother for a few hours so he could attend his on-again, off-again lover's ex-husband's funeral. The husband in which she was married to for 45 years but left him for this fruit-loop a little over three years ago. When I said I was sick (lie, lie, lie) and I couldn't do it, he said that is was okay, the church had a nursery. for babies. Yesterday, I found out he ended up dropping off "the poor thing" at his FIRST ex-wife's house for watching.

How many strange and just plain wrong things/situations can you find in this sentence? (Don't point out punctuation and sentence construction, please.)

the usual

This past holiday weekend was filled with the typical fanfare of what one would expect from the 4th of July:

boring-ass parades (oh, GOD!!! How I HATE PARADES!!!),

red, white and blue outfits, hot dogs, hamburgers, the smell of rank onions permeating my brain for days, hot and humid 98 degree weather, friends,

6 white t-shirts (my uniform) and 5 bra changes coupled with six showers from the heat, two parties, a never-ending pool party, more friends,

more food, a 12-pack of "root beer", bubbles,

sparklers, fire works, ass-chewing our rude Rasta-neighbor dude for shooting off a cannon of fireworks at 1:15am (FUCKER!),

crabby children, crabby mom,

with the weekend ending over a huge fight. The subject?  What constitutes Italian food and pseudo-Italian food? For the record, this hormonal bitch DOES NOT think Olive Garden (Denny's by the Prix) is considered edible Italian food.  End of a quite rational discussion.

I do believe I need four days of sleep to recover from the holiday weekend.

How about you? Was your weekend everything you dreamed of and more?

sanity

Well, I survived Vacation Bible School. Funny enough, the kids did too. Minus my one mini-meltdown due to a massive peeing incident on the last day, all in all, I would consider the week a success (no one died).  In the end, I think Mason ended up having sort of a crush on me. I guess secretly, he likes to be called out and disciplined every 30 minutes by an uptight older lady. I can only imagine his future mate - uptight and dominating. He'll fight it and love it all at the same time.

This week we are doing a whole bunch of nothing. A few play dates will be had while I secretly wish small voodoo curses on those who happen to be lucky enough to go on a vacation.  without their children. Man, I haven't a clue what that would be like - a vacation or being without my children.  A double whammy for a vacation without children. I might even return as a nice person if such a thing occurred.

Alas, I'm stuck with no vacation, too much time with the kids and no alcohol.  My sanity?  It pretty much left in the middle of the night without a forwarding address.

there really IS a reason why i'm getting fatter

Well, it's official! I either had drunken sex with a fun loving alien

or had a mad all-nighter with Frankenberry. and thank god! I only have one love child as a result of this affair.

In other news, as far as Vacation Bible School is going, I wish it was over. Actually, I'm very proud of myself.  I haven't killed a little pecker-head named Mason. YET. I've yelled "Shit" once and exclaimed I need a heavy-duty cocktail to an unsuspecting victim but all in all, I think I've behaved pretty well. I will not go into yesterday's incident of decorating pirate bandannas with fabric paint.  I do believe I will need to go to counseling over this activity.