Thursday, 30 July 2009

My tooth is killing me!

Root canal on Tuesday. Fun!

Wednesday, 29 July 2009

I love my garbage men

Here on base we only have our garbage picked up every other week. You can imagine how much of a pain in the ass it is when you have brain-fade and miss a day...

We missed the last two.

All three cans were full, plus two cardboard boxes, plus a big oversized rubbermaid container, PLUS probably a dozen loose bags. The animals had been in it, it was overcome with flies, it was oozing, it was disgusting. (The Daddy has been re-bagging as necessary, and is on a first-name basis with one of the raccoons.)

They took it all, and I only heard them swear once.

So to all garbage men out there, I adore you. You are my heros. There may be a 24 of beer in your future, if you so happen to have my house on your route.

Tuesday, 28 July 2009


And to top it all off, I got a reply to one of the resume's I sent out eons ago. Because Opportunity always knocks when you're naked, on the phone, there's a crying baby, and you've just shut your hair in the door.

Not that that ever, you know, happened.

Little bits

It's hot as freaking Hades here, and it's after 10pm.

We passed all our checks with everybody, and are very cautiously optimistic about the minute possibility that The Daddy will, in fact, remain on tour. It probably won't happen, but it hasn't officially been killed yet either.

Our new kitten now has a name: Ysma (Ease-ma). Kronk is afraid of her. She does not like to have her picture taken, but I will try for you.

It's REALLY hot here. I'm sweaty, and I'm just sprawled out on the couch watchin' tv.

I discovered last night that we get free MovieCentral. I watched a lot of movies on demand. I plan to do the same tonight.

I'm so tired.

The Doc says my post-partum depression is probably gone, and all I'm suffering from now is anxiety. I haven't decided if I believe him or not.

I have an appointment with a psycologist on the 3rd re: the anxiety. It's going to cost approximately $475 for her to climb all up in my head, which we have to pay for upfront. How to solve problems, military style: To cure anxiety, go see someone who will charge you lots of money to solve your anxiety problems, so that you're a-ok except for your newfound anxiety about not being able to pay your bills this month. Winning.

I'm melting. Gah.

The Daddy is surprising me with his helpfulness. He cooks, he cleans, he reads bedtime stories. He even dries the dishes, and I only asked him once. Feel free to envy me.

The Baby and I were out shopping last week, and picked up one of those Little Golden Books about fire engines. We now have to read it about 16 times a day. We all have it memorized. We've already worn the "Golden" off it. Best $3.54 I've spent on that kid in a loooong time.

Our duvet exploded. There were feathers everywhere. It happened right before our last housing inspection. The Daddy tried to sweep it up. Shockingly, that didn't work. Kronk was afraid. Thankfully, everybody understood. Sewing up the tear was an interesting edeavour though. I'm pretty sure I've still got down up my nose.

My laundry is still not totally complete. Shameful, I know. Whatever.

Friday, 24 July 2009

uʍop ǝpısdn pǝuɹnʇ sʇǝƃ ǝɟıן ɹnoʎ sǝɯıʇǝɯos

Life went quite spectacularly to shit recently. I'm pretty sure I will never want to go on vacation ever again.

Our last day of vacation, we got a phone call that the military po-po's had been in our house. Apparently the person who was supposed to be taking care of our cat, well, wasn't, and he had been yowling obnoxiously and annoying all the neighbours. The cops went in on the grounds that "they didn't know if someone was inside who needed attention". They found the backdoor unlocked, which prompted a call to Housing, and found cat shit everywhere (due to the neglect of the litter box. The cat had plenty of food and water at least), which prompted a call to Child Services. The house, of course, looked like a bomb had gone off because of The Daddy arriving home three days prior and basically dumping his shit and playing WoW until we left and my totally unorganized and last minute vacation packing. Basically there we piles of (clean) dishes, piles of clean and dirty and shit on laundry, standard little-girl messy rooms, my dumping ground of a bedroom (I spend zero time in there awake, what do you want?) and clutter as far as the eye can see. They were kind enough to take pictures and forward them to The Daddy's chain of command. Sweet, no?

At some point that night, our car was broken into. The window was smashed, and our GPS - my very lifeline - was stolen. We don't have theft protection OR damage coverage on our car insurance.

We've met with police, housing, Social Workers (plural!) half the damn military, and I have to go see a shrink because this. shit. is. not. good. for. my. anxiety.

So The Daddy is quite probably not going on tour after all.

I must have been really, really bad in a past life.

At any rate, it took us all of one day to get the place - to quote the social worker - "spotless". You can imagine how terrible it was that it could be so drastically changed in one day. So now we're doing paranoid anal-retentive things like bleaching the walls and lining everything up at precise angles in an effort to show the constant stream of people coming through here that we are NOT neglectful lazy slobs and are in fact willing and able to maintain a healthy level of cleanliness. We have three kids, it ain't always gonna be magazine perfect! But it was actually suggested to me today that it's "unusual" to go to bed with dirty laundry in your house. I really, truly must be completely off my rocker, because I think that is utter bullshit. I mean, seriously? What about the clothes you just took off? Even if it's just the outfits my family wore that day, there's a full load of dirty laundry right there! Am I totally out to lunch? Do people actually wash clothes that are still warm from their bodies?!? Whatever. This is why God invented laundry baskets.

I have long maintained that people who have nothing to hide hide nothing. I have told them all to please drop by any time, I was opening closets and storage areas for inspection despite them telling me it was unnecessary. I made the Social Workers look in the fridge and cupboards so that I knew they knew we had an suitable amount of food for our family. I'm bending over backwards to make my life an open book so that this can be as simple and easy as possible, but for such an intensely private person such as I - it stings. I have appointments with different people all over town to tell them my life story and get a support network in place. Privacy is apparently a privilege, not a right, and definitely not in anyone's best interests. Oh well, you gotta do what you gotta do - and right now, I gotta do this and play by their rules. It doesn't really bother me so much as it exhausts me. I'm so tired of talking, of explaining, or refuting, of repeating myself... I think I'll just start issuing press releases and be done with the whole thing. There is something to be said for Gov't taping our lives and tapping our conversations. Pressing rewind+play would be soooo much easier and less emotionally trying.

I always said it would never happen to me, how stuck up was I? Karma is a bitch! Note to future self: Do not leave the house anything less than STERILE and IMMACULATE, because "clean" is subjective and sometimes that can mean "never, ever good enough", and there is always justification for someone being all up in your business whether you want them to or not, and second chances have to be paid for in blood, sweat, and tears. I'm pretty sure I'll end up medicated.

Is this week over yet?

If you need me, I'll be in the bubble bath with a glass of wine and a slutty romance novel. Calgon, Cowboy, and Cabernet take me away.