Dear Roomie

Image by ZedZaP (great to be back ) via FlickrWell readers, I have to move again. I don't have a set place yet, but one is coming, of that I am certain.

My time here has set and a new day is dawning... yet again.


I'm about two weeks from having funds to get settled. That doesn't worry me as much as the way my awesome roomie has decided to behave over the last 10 days. I am leaving him this letter in response to a post-it that he left me this morning telling me to be out on Friday 5/15/11. He meant 4/15/11, I had no need to check the calendar.

Dear W~

I do not know what I have done to deserve your hostility. I guess it's because that is the only way you have ever had anyone leave your home. But you have no need of it with me. Rest assured, I will leave as I came: Grateful-for your kindness, generosity, and hospitality; and Hopeful- that I have not been too much of a burden. Everything that I have brought into the house to replace what I have used is yours to keep.

I only pray for your happiness, and if that is being with S, then I pray that God gives you both many years of love and joyousness together.

As far as details of the move; I only have off Monday 4/11 and Friday 4/15. I will do my best to remove my items during the week, but may have to leave some items until Friday. I hope that is alright; but I will be vacated by Friday afternoon at the latest. If you are not here, I will leave the key on the breakfast bar and lock up when I go.

Thank you again~
Aria

Pray for me readers... I'll write as I can until I'm re-settled.  Blessings!

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Oh Garth, How Do I Love Thee...

Image via Wikipedia

In my past life, prior to the current Texan house mama existence I live now, I was quite changeable and went through many incarnations.

Well one of those long ago incarnations included a foray into country music. I can't claim to like much in that genre these days... yes, despite living in Texas. *eyeroll* Why do people automatically assume that southerners love country music? I knew WAY more country fans when I lived in California than I have yet to meet in Houston~ish. Seriously. I digress...

It's been years since I've been a little bit country, and even longer since I've watched Donny & Marie, oh wait, they're on DWTS now, anyway, the point I was getting at is that the only country artist that I ever bought was Garth Brooks... OK and Dolly Parton, but that was to get "I Will Always Love You" before Whitney made it the gargantuan crossover hit that it became. In that respect, I was ahead of my time.

But back to the only county artist I ever bought more than one album of, that being the juggernaut that was the Garth Brooks song catalog. I knew 'em all. Every lyric, every inflection every yee-haw and sly wink at the camera. I could sing any Garth song with or without accompanying backup from the man himself pouring out of the speakers. I was Garthian (which will absolutely be a word in the dictionary one day very soon).

So a while back, we were browsing during another of hubby's marathon music section perusals, and I found Garth Brooks ~ The Ultimate Collection three disc set. I've listened to it a few times since we got it, but hubby isn't big into country, so there's only so much he'll stand for coming out of his beloved sound system. I think he was afraid that if I listened too much to Garth, I'd revert to my country-lovin' self in our hard-rocking home.

Well, with the announcement this past week that Garth is coming out of retirement to do a show in Vegas, I decided, on this sleepless night to put some Garth on the computer so I can listen with some earphones to those long ago faves.

Dammit all if I didn't realize all over again WHY this man has sold more albums than any other solo artist in the history of... keeping track of that kind of thing. Hubby was right to be afraid. I've been sucked back in.

I love that I know all the words. The energy is electric in these songs! And the slow ones say all the sappy shit that as a woman, I'm dying to hear. I've been boppin' my head with the headphones on, bustin' out a line or two when I couldn't help myself and I'm enjoying finding some songs that must have come out after I lost my twang and buried my cowboy boots in the back of the closet.

Add some fresh brewed French roast and this is turning into a fantastic Sunday morning! Of course, hubby has already popped out to the living room to see where I disappeared to. I told him I was listening to Garth. He thought it was harmless and went back to bed. It's day one. By day three he may start to catch on. I'm finding myself re-hooked like a fish that was too stupid to pass by the second worm.

Hubby may realize he's been usurped when I get caught hitchhiking to Vegas. It could happen. Don't say I didn't warn y'all.


Dear Garth,

I wanna be your groupie. Do you take almost 40 year old fat women?

I'm not trying to wreck your marriage. Keep Tricia, y'all are cute together and your family man tendencies are one of your most appealing features. I just want to sit front and center while you sing with all the magnetic showmanship you're capable of... night after night, show after show.

I could totally write songs with you btw. I used to do that in my past life, when I listened to you daily and learned all your songs the first time around. I could also write reviews in my blog and around the web, and I can throw down a pretty mean rendition of 'Papa Loved Mama' or 'Rodeo' or 'Shameless' if you want to bring a regular type fan onstage for any filming. I feel that this would make me one of your more useful groupies and would be worth the price of a wink from onstage, as well as maybe the price of a place to sleep, cause I'll be broke since my Garth addiction will make me unable to hold down a job.

I'm also pretty sure I'll be single when I confess my adoration of your talent to my Korn loving husband. So coming to every show would not be a problem. I also promise to Not Go(in') Down Till The Sun Comes Up because I'm an insomniac. See, best groupie EVER. Right here.

Let me know.

Thanks.

Addicted Aria

Hubby's Ex-Boss Needs A Kick In The Crotch and I Predict Best Buy Will Be Going Out Of Business If They Don't Change Their Ways

For those of you that love my rants, Merry Friggin' Christmas. For those of you that don't, you're in the wrong place, leave while you can because I have more than one 'rantee' today... "Leave Stanley. Run, run, go, go, run".

Alright, now first of all let me start by saying that I'm thoroughly pissed off from the moment my eyes are subjected to the harsh glare of mid-day these days. You'd think (at least I would) that a personal, breakthrough with the magnitude of the one I had a few weeks ago, followed by another one a couple of weeks ago, would have calmed me down some. You know, helped me quell the inner fires that I'm so longing to burn everyone at the stake upon. But, no. No, these breakthroughs have left me ready to stab random people on the street for the major infractions of breathing and blinking. I'm aware of it, although unsure of how to quell it, so for now, I simply have stopped carrying mace to use on people just for the fun of hearing them scream.

OK, that said, I still have two big ass rants to share with y'all today. You're welcome.

What The Fuck, Hubby's ex-boss from before I met him? Two months ago, you called Hubby up and offered him a little side job and asked him to bring his code-reader to diagnose a vehicle. So Hubby does. All nice and neat, he shows up on your doorstep at oh-early-thirty with his code-reader and some tools in hand ready to do your bidding some 50 miles round trip from our home. He gets there, is shown to a complete and total piece of shit that a blind ghetto rat would push into any body of water to simply be rid of it, and does, as you asked him to, get codes on and diagnose this craptastic hunk of recycled beer can that's trying desperately to pass for a vehicle that your dumb ass took in on trade. Hubby does the diagnosis, tells you that it's such a piece of shit that it would take more than it's worth to fix it, You still want Hubby to fix it, and after two hours of your southern-drawl-salesman-speak, you send Hubby on his way with nothing more than a 'we'll see' attitude and your fake ass smile. Not so much as a nickle for his time or gas or any other damn thing after you told him on the phone that you'd pay him for the diagnostic no matter what.

Obviously, with being handed that sack of ass-reaming-lies, Hubby never went back, nor did he ever see a dime from you. Then Saturday, you have the nerve to show up here in your brand spankin' new pick-up truck with your perfectly groomed wife and make all polite-conversation-and-fake-friendship-like so you can ask Hubby to come to your shop Monday (today) and work on some vehicles for you. Again with the I'm-helping-you-out attitude even though you can plainly see with your own two eyeballs that Hubby is already working on his ex-wife's piece of shit that has already had an entire engine replacement that he was only told about when he finished replacing the radiator and various other small items and found that the head gasket is leaking so now, for the sin of trying to help someone out, he's up to his ass in alligators. And so, Mr. Cheap-Ass-Ex-Boss-Salesman-Think-My-Shit-Doesn't-Stink-Cause-I'm-A-Fucking-Millionaire you want Hubby to drop what he's doing so he can drive 50 miles to work on your garbage for less money than the gas it takes to get there. AND you've got the brass balls the size of coconuts to call my house at 8 something in the am to find out where Hubby is, like he's your employee, when Hubby never, for one solitary second, agreed to do the job. What the fuck is wrong with you, you cheap ass bastard?

Not to mention that I know all about how you asked Hubby if I was a lesbian the first time you met me, so you're lucky that I don't drive the 50 miles roundtrip my damn self simply to slash your mother fucking tires. Fuck you, have a nice day.

And then, there's our old buddy Best Buy...

Dear Best Buy, what the fuck are y'all thinking? I guarantee you that by placing full length and huge wall sized mirrors in your ladies room that you will loose sales. No woman who has, say recently quit smoking, or who has never lost the massive tonnage that was gained during a non-Hollywood pregnancy does NOT want to wash her hands staring at an actual-life-sized-holy-shit-when-did-I-turn-into-Jabba-the-Hut fucking reflection of herself.

When she's at home with her little over-the-sink-medicine-cabinet sized mirror, she can delude herself into the belief that she's not quite so big. Because she doesn't feel like she could out-weigh an 18-wheeler. She still has a mental image of herself from high school when she did aerobics during P.E. and wore stretch jeans and cropped-mock-turtle-neck-sweaters and hung around with the football players drinking beer after games and giggling cutely.

So she is not ready to be smacked in the face with the reality that she is now almost 40 with a child-fingernail-induced scratch on her upper lip, her hair looks all slack and sweaty and pulled back into a pony tail and that she didn't put on make-up because her Hubby said that they were just going to pick up a VW part from the parts store to finish up the ex-wife's headache-car and then he changed his mind and after getting said part, he went to His Nirvana in Blue and Yellow 'to get out of the heat', whereby his wife, in an attempt to not look quite so bad, went to the bathroom only to be hit with each and every single self-esteem demon that she has ever had in her life, and in fact, it looks as if she has eaten them, because she seems to be almost half as wide as that wide-ass mirror and holy-fucking-hell I am NOT staying in this store for one more second because I was not prepared for this mirror since Best Buy doesn't sell clothes and I didn't realize that I look so bad that I could blind Medusa. So now, I want to have both a nervous-breakdown-crying-jag and a full-out-postal-homicidal-killing-spree-targeting-all-the-skinny-girls-in-the-store-*fuckingBarbies*.

So that she comes out of the bathroom at holy-shit-it's-a-charging-bull speed, laser-targets her husband, grabs his arm and her child and says as calmly as possible, "We are leaving THIS SECOND." In an 'if you have a brain in your skull you will not argue, but will simply follow me' tone of voice that also implies that if they don't follow, they will have to do their own laundry and cooking and will be single for the rest of their lives because it's not easy to get a new wife when you've been castrated and you have to sleep sometime. Then again, it will be easier to get the replacement wife when you're filthy stinkin' rich, which you will be when you sue Best Buy for the loss of your family jewels, because any male judge will rule in your favor with his legs uncomfortably crossed from behind the bench. And then Best Buy will be the punchline to every junior high school boys' joke for the next 10 years and Circuit City will come back and you'll be the ones with all the sad, empty, unlit buildings all over town. All because of your fucked up mirrors in the ladies room.

I suggest you change them now.

Bureaucracy

This is an actual letter that I wrote, have copies of, and am putting into the mail this afternoon. Luuuuuuuuuuuuucyyyyy, you got some 'splainin to do! Can y'all tell I was beside myself, or did I not make that clear?


Wednesday, June 3, 2009

RE: Case # 4258481

To Whom It May Concern:

You people are a joke! I am absolutely furious that y'all are playing fast and loose with my child's medical coverage.

First of all, if you hadn't lost the RENEWAL paperwork I sent off in FEBRUARY to the address on the pre-printed envelope to Austin, my son would never have stopped being covered in the first place. Sure glad my husband was laid off so that I had to go down and file for food stamps, otherwise I’d never have known that my two year old was no longer insured, nor would I know that you’d relocated this department to Midland. Way to keep people informed.

Secondly, my name is Aria P DOUTHAT, not Dauthat, get it right and maybe you'll find a record of us in your system. I write my name in block handwriting when I do government forms, so this lets me know right away that y’all can’t be bothered taking the time to do your job properly. As a former employee of the State of California, I know for dead certain, that y’all are supposed to check over your work before you move on to the next case. You’re not, and my child is suffering for it.

Thirdly, I only received this letter from you on Monday, June 1, 2009, and yet this stinking thing says that if it's not returned by 10 days from the date of this letter... which, by the way, would have been Monday, June 1, 2009 my claim will be denied. You guys are combining the worst of government bureaucracy and private insurance 'don't give a damn'. I am already expecting now to be denied, and I will have to drive the 30 miles, back to the welfare office in Wharton in order to pick up another form so that I can REAPPLY AGAIN. I will be sending a copy of this letter with my NEW APPLICATION along with all the other forms you need, just like I did when I sent in the renewal to Austin, and the original (second set for me) paperwork to your Midland office. I’m also sending this back to YOU, Mister or Miss Caseworker for Case # 4258481, because you ticked me off to no end and I’m telling you to quit wasting government money sitting on your dead ass denying claims in between your ten-cup-a-day coffee habit and your twenty-day-behind caseload. We are people, not just forms and you are getting paid to do a job. Do It.

And lastly, I’ve been dealing with you jokers long enough to know what to send with my paperwork, so you obviously LOST the income verification, and are putting it back on me since you are incompetent. And let me say a little bit about the income verification; what the hell else am I supposed to send you? My husband has been laid off. Unemployment now issues credit cards, not checks, so I DO NOT HAVE A CHECK STUB TO SEND. I sent the only thing we have with any amounts on it, and that is a Texas Workforce Commission Statement of Wages and Potential Benefits Amounts. This form shows what the payout per week will be. However, unemployment being a government agency, pays out every TWO weeks, just to confuse people such as yourself who are trying to calculate the amounts awarded. Obviously, math is not your strong suit, so I will do it for you. $392 per week actually pays out at a rate of $784.00 every two weeks. We have taxes coming out of that, but for your purposes, you don’t care. That gives us a grand total of $1568.00 per month (less taxes) for a family of three. I have enclosed a copy of the above mentioned Texas Workforce Commission Wages form for your verification needs. If this does not suit your needs, then I suggest that someone in the Texas Health and Human Services Commission makes a stinking phone call to the Texas Workforce Commission and they call a truce so that people in our situation (I’m positive these numbers are growing as lay-off’s continue to climb in Texas) can get the medical help they need for their children. I won’t even go into what total crap it is that an adult needs to have a household income of no more than $251 PER MONTH to qualify. That’s why I don’t even try for myself, even though I do have medical problems, as does my husband. I guess you’ll finally shell out some money when we both die off from lack of medical care, and then y’all will be forced to make him a ward of the state. I bet you pay foster families more than $251 per child per month. Would’ve been cheaper to just give the natural parents medical so they could stay alive and raise their own child, wouldn’t it? I won't even go into what a slap in the face it is to only qualify for $26.00 per month in food stamps. When you're down and out and doing the best you can for your family despite the state not wanting to help you, you'll take whatever you can get.

So, DO WE QUALIFY NOW, OR ARE YOU GOING TO FIND SOME REASON TO DENY THIS SO YOU CAN GET BACK TO YOUR COFFEE BREAK? (this was originally in the letter, but I took it out.)

Sincerely, Fed-up Texas Citizen,
ARIA P DOUTHAT (in all caps just in case you still have my name misspelled)
Case # 4258481

PS. I’m blogging this letter, emailing it to some news outlets, as well as sending a copy to my senator and the Governor’s office. I also just found out that Barack Obama actually reads and responds to 10 citizen letters per day, I think I’ll send him a copy too.


... and yes, I did print out copies to send off to all those people and I'm emailing it to the news outlets when I get back from the post office. Pretty sure I'm still getting denied though... *totallyinnocentlook*

But hey, in all seriousness, if anyone knows about Digg or Yahoo's Buzz, would y'all do something with this. This kind of government disregard for it's people has to stop. I know I sound angry, but at this point, I believe it's called for. What do you think?

The Weekend and My Darling Boo *UPDATED*

Happy Monday, y'all! So far so good. My breathing alarm clock is starting to fall into the same schedule as his parents, and is doing his job effectively, albeit 4 hours later... so I apologize for the lateness of this post, but this is our morning now, people...

On the plus side, I was quoted on blogtations today, which always makes me happy cause I'm a quote fiend. This one is from the post More is Better. But you can also find my quotes about Love and Resentment and my ex's real estate holdings on blogtations as well.

Unusually for me, I had a couple of posts over the weekend. In case you missed them; A Strike At Bullying is fairly controversial in the world of parenting viewpoints, although, thank you to The Retired One and Insanity Kim for weighing in and having the guts to actually agree with me! If I knew how to make up awards buttons, I'd totally give you two the "Brass Balls the Size of Coconuts" award. Also, Sunday Silliness showcased the latest Jack in the Box commercials, but I promise, they're hilarious... OK, one's hilarious and the other is something you can't get out of your head, but hey, gotta give the kudos to Jack's marketing firm. Whoever they are, I want them on my team as a blog owner... I'd make Oprah in less than a year with them doing Aria'z Ink commercials!

But now enough of my ham-handed attempts at self promotion... What I really wanted to say today was this...

Dear Boo,

My adorable little boy. I understand that you are two and that you are smart and strong and inquisitive and you want to do everything just like Daddy. I get it. I understand it, despite being 'only a girl' and therefore not all in-the-know on boy things.

Just because I don't understand why you feel the need to aim the Makita flashlight at the TV when the bad Transformers are doing something you don't like, as if you can Makita shoot them and make them stop their bad behavior, this doesn't mean that I don't accept your right to do it and appreciate your attempt at protecting the good guys from the bad robots.

Just because I don't do motorcycles, doesn't mean that I can't appreciate your addiction to them and any other object cool enough to be equipped with a motor and wheels or your desire to run around the living room with matchbox cars in your hands going, "vroom vroom" in two-year-old-speak and being caught up in Motocross racing the second it came on TV and you saw those bikes flying through the air.

However, my precious, adorable son, I don't understand your desire to die. You know that if Daddy had come home 5 minutes earlier and had seen the cover off the speaker and the playstation on the floor with it's little wires all detached and the cordless controller sending unit removed from it's sensitive plug-in place, and the nerf football wedged between the blue ray player and the shelf above it, and the sound system turned to AUX and turned up to maximum levels; Your. Father. Would. Have. Killed. You.

No joke. I'd be trying to find something black to wear at this very moment. So, Sweetie, please, you know better. You've been told so many times that I've lost count about the sound system and the playstation and the speakers and all that crap. I don't want you to die, but I will be powerless to stop your demise if you insist on continuing this course of action... so please, for the love of God, STOP.

Love,
Mommy

ps. I'd totally put some pictures with this so you can't deny it later, but mommy needs to recharge the camera battery (she just found out) so you're off the hook until it charges, when I'll *UPDATE this post.

Why Do People Insist Upon Irking Me on Mondays?

OK, OK, so the last one was on a Wednesday, which only makes me think I'm right a little more, cause it's not just Monday Morning Bitchy, of which I own a controlling interest in stock. Even if I did have a quasi-snapperish weekend, which somehow turned out beautifully despite the fact that I called Jesus a zombie on Friday... guess I'll have to wait for my smiting from that. Then again, maybe I was totally right about that, and so I'm just getting a little irksomness (yeah, another one of my made up words, and I say, "Kiss my everlovin' ass, Spellcheck!") cause all in all I had a pretty great weekend.

But now here we are on Monday, and again, I'm wanting to kick some cyber-butt. Go figure... I think the letter I wrote is pretty self-explanatory about the situation. And yes, this is the real email and the real company I sent it to, any modifications to this letter are in my normal blue-type. I'm starting to see the true value of bitchiness and it's place in society... honestly.


To Whom It May Concern at Jerry Baker:

I have ordered one book from you, and in reading the fine print on the bill, I've discovered that you've automatically enrolled me to continue receiving books that I didn't order so I can "try them out".

Please know that by Automatically Enrolling Me ~ you have lost my business forever. This is an incredibly shady, underhanded business practice that your customers don't know about until they have made the mistake of being interested in one of your products. Compounding the bad taste in my mouth from this unwanted enrollment, was my visit to your website to cancel the UNWANTED series. When I visited the supposed web address in order to waste my valuable time making sure I do NOT RECEIVE these future book mailings, I had to figure out how the hell to cancel, because of course, it's not clearly marked. It's just another sales pitch for the books that I never wanted in the first place. And when I did figure out which of the 'not clearly marked' links it may be to cancel, I got a "sorry this page is down for routine maintenance, please check back Monday" message... Except that this IS Monday.

Somehow, I'm sure that if I go back to your site to pay my balance due for the one book that I did actually order, things would go very, very smoothly. I'm sure all of those pages are marked so clearly that Stevie Wonder would know where to go, and heck, they may even be secure. I don't know that for sure, but I have a pretty good idea I would find myself to be correct. I, however, will not be returning to www.jerrybaker.com to confirm this suspicion, as one dose of scam artist before I've finished my second cup of coffee is quite enough.

Sadly for you though, I WILL be reporting this site to BBB internet division detailing my dissatisfaction with your business practices, because, let's face it, I have too much time on my hands, and you pissed me off on a Monday morning. Which, does not bode well for you. Pity, because I liked the one and only book that I actually did order.

In closing, I suggest that you make sure that I don't receive another book from you people...EVER.

My Customer Number is bibitybobityboocausenoteveryoneneedsthatnumber. Handle it immediately.

SpongeAria BitchyPants (OK, that's not how I signed off, but, it totally fits, doesn't it?)


With that said, I just want to know; WhenWhenWhen will these people learn to not pluck my last decent nerve like it's a harp-string in the morning? Cause be it never-ending comment emails or shady business practices and just-as-shady websites, y'all know I'm going to have to pop-off... my life simply isn't interesting enough to let this stuff slide past the blog... Puh-Leese people!

...and Your Little Dog of a Don't Follow Link Too! *updated*

The Bloggess, whom I love to read, cause she's a twisted-nut on her own site... and a toned down twisted nut on the Houston Chronicle blog channel, Good Mom/Bad Mom, has a new blog ~ on PNN ~ called Ask the Bloggess. As always I loved her post, so I left a comment.

At the bottom of the comment section there is a box that you either check (or uncheck, I can't remember now, as it's been a couple of days) to follow the comments. I made sure I did the opposite. If I feel the need to follow comments on any blog, I simply go back to the post comments later and check them. I never, ever "follow comments" cause I detest checking my email, seeing 78 new messages and having 75 of them be the 'hey new comment on such and such a post' crap-mails. I learned that lesson many moons ago when I first started blogging.

Ever since leaving my brilliant comment, I have been on the receiving end of so many 'following Ask the Bloggess' emails from my new nemesis PNN that I finally went round the friggin bend this morning. Here's why... When you click the link that offers to Unsubscribe if you listened the first time you mofo's I wouldn't have to click this friggin link in one of my 789876 following comments emails you from these gnats of the cyberworld; you are redirected, NOT to anywhere that you can modify the obvious glitch on their end... No... You are sent to their homepage where there is no place whatsoever to unsubscribe anything ~ at least that I could find, and yes, I've had my coffee this am.

They do however have an in-site search, so I try that. To which PNN mocked me openly when it gave me pages of options, none of which had anything at all to do with unsubscribing to comments.

After way too much valuable time wasted on this annoying bullshit getting nothing but runaround from the site, I finally located a contact link. I sent off this exact email:


Hey Editor,

If I didn't love the Bloggess, I would never ever return to your site! I added one comment to her debut post on your site, checked (or unchecked I can't remember now) the box to make sure I was NOT FOLLOWING COMMENTS and I've been flooded with comment emails ever since... AND I can not find where to make them stop! I clicked the link in the email to unsubscribe and it takes me to your homepage which is SUPER UNHELPFUL cause there's nowhere to unsubscribe listed. AND when I type in unsubscribe in the search bar, I get a bunch of unrelated posts listed.

So far, my experience with your site sucks big fat donkey rocks. And I'll be sure to let MY blog readers know that if they ever visit this place to NOT COMMENT cause they will be flooded with CRAP-MAILS.

Now that I've made my point Perfectly Clear, UNSUBSCRIBE ME TO COMMENTS!!!

Pissed off and going to be vocal about it~
Aria


So my dear friends and readers, if you would like to read Jenny the Bloggess on her new blog Ask the Bloggess which is BloggessTypical in it's hilarity, despite PNN I refuse to give those annoying SOBs one more linkback, at this point, I'd rather have dental work totally sucking big fat donkey rocks in this capacity you totally have to read the Bloggess wherever you can find her. Obviously though, I caution you, for the sake of your inboxes, don't comment on that particular post. You're better off going back to her personal blog, The Bloggess and leaving your comment there... At least that's my pissy-completely-flooded-email-inbox-opinion.

Updated:

I just got this email reply:


Hey Aria,

I hear you, you're right and I'm really, really sorry.

Shortly after Jenny's debut, we changed the default to unchecked, for Following Comments, preventing what is happening to you.

Again, I'm really sorry -- and I hope you will consider leaving comments again without fear of being pelted.

And I will make sure you are unsubscribed to Jenny's comment stream.

I hope you're a little less pissed?

Leigh at pnn.com


If nothing else, I gotta give em points for prompt attention to email bitchiness. This came in 26 minutes after I sent off the complaint... Well played, Leigh. Well played indeed.

Lord, Help Me, It's Monday

Dear Lord God Almighty,

I humbly beseech you for help, it's Monday and I can't drag my sorry butt into this week. I don't have time to be tired or lazy or sick, I have a blog to post and a turbo-tot to chase and a house to reconstruct after a family weekend.

You know, God, the weekend where hubby and I ran around like lunatics all day Saturday getting things done and making the home-front all sparkly-shiny. Then, on Sunday, my body said, "Screw you Aria, I'm sick and I'm sleeping and there's nothing you can do about it!" which, it turns out, is man-code for: eat like you're never going to get salsa again, and make as big a mess as you can without making too much noise, cause that'll set off the mama-alarms and you'll have to deal with sick-mama (who is as far from happy-mama as it gets) and it will completely ruin your day. But then be a total dumb-ass and turn up the TV so loud that it wakes the snarling-sick-mama-beast and she ruins your day anyway... just when you were about to coast through moderately unscathed. Fucking-Duh.

So God, I ask you for your help because every inch of my body hurts. My hair hurts. My eyelashes need Tylenol. I have aches in places that should not hurt without strenuous exercise, and by strenuous, I don't mean walking to the kitchen upright. I am also full-body tired. My left arm wants a nap. My right butt-cheek is already asleep. And my brain is obviously turned off, cause this post is making very little sense whatsoever.

And God, I also have housework to do. I have to clean the toilet and bathroom sink and fold the laundry that never made it's way out of the dryer Saturday evening. I have to wash the dishes because what started yesterday morning as two cups from the night before, has turned into several plates, bowls and a couple more cups. If I don't do it today, I'll have too much to fit into the drain board. And you know I hate that. The living room is a total cluster-fuck and it's making me claustrophobic. I'm having trouble making it to the couch so I can die in front of the only TV with antenna reception (now, that hubby completed his 'must do this weekend without any planning at all' project. Thanks so very much, hubby.) Also the garbage is overflowing again cause by Texas state law, only women are allowed to take out garbage. I didn't realize it was official, but apparently that law was passed right after Ann Richards left office.

And then, God, there's my munchkin. My adorable gift, from You. The gift you gave me with unfailing batteries and an unquenchable desire for knowledge. The gift that has no off button and only two speeds; sleeping and running. My gift that is all boy, and loves to throw and headbutt ~ EVERYTHING. That's the only way I can put it cause to list everything that he's thrown and headbutted, would take so long, I'd need a lunch break... as it is, I need body armor.

So, in short, Lord, please help me, because it's Monday... or please help me to not give a damn enough to crawl back into bed and play dead really well for several hours. Thank you.

In Jesus' name,
Amen