Okay, people. I hate this year already.

So far, in 2015:

The Drama Queen lost a filling. That was a $180 fix.

I broke out in hives IN A VERY DELICATE AREA for no reason whatsoever. That was a $35 copay plus some for a medicated cream.

I broke my mother fucking toe. No, seriously. I get up every morning and buddy tape it to the on next to it. I’m starting to get some movement back in it.

What? How did I break my toe? Tripping over my kids’ shit in the living room, OF COURSE.

I smacked my head into an open cabinet door and thought I was going to die. But I didn’t. Clearly. I’m typing.

Mr. Sasha developed a staph infection. No, really. A staph infection. Out of nowhere.

A friend’s husband died of a heart attack at the ripe old age of thirty fucking nine. Thirty nine. You’re not supposed to die at thirty nine. You’re supposed to spend the entire year dreading entering your forties. But not to the point that you don’t actually make it to your forties.

My mother-in-law’s sister died of natural causes.

Mr. Sasha fell off a ladder yesterday and split his head open. Ah, whatever, he’s tough. Didn’t even need stitches. I forgot to ask if he’s going to get paid for the time he spent at the hospital getting CT scanned and such.

In addition to that, Miss Poopie Pants and I are looking for a play therapist to help us both stop feeling like we’re going to kill each other at any moment. We’re also looking for a good karate school, so, you know, if she DOES decide to kill me, she totally can. But also, you know, burning off energy, gaining discipline, etc. etc. yadda, yadda.

Oh, AND! My car died! And then Mr. Sasha’s truck died! Like, within a week of each other. So, yay! We have two new car payments!

In addition to all this, I’m in the middle of redoing the attic to be a play room for the Sashlettes, and my house is otherwise in a shambles. In fact, it’s never actually been this messy, I don’t think. And my house is very rarely clean.

Well, I go on tears, where I work myself to exhaustion and get every single thing put away, and keep up with everything, often for weeks at a time. But the very first time anything throws my very carefully laid schedule off, the whole house gets shot to shit.

So, I’ve got plenty of things to choose from to bitch about. But I’ve done enough of that. This is mostly a post to set up some future posts. For example, the scintillating discussion about why chewy cough drops should be banned from existence.

HINT: that one has to do with the Drama Queen’s filling.

Or, how about the official pros versus cons list of minivans.

There will, no doubt, be the scintillating series reviewing every single karate school in New Jersey. If you’re not looking for a karate school in New Jersey, oh well. Read it anyway.

And another riveting group of articles about play therapy. Or perhaps a few about the best way to use duct tape to fasten children to a wall.

It was a joke. Don’t call CPS.

So, stay tuned, minions. Writing shall commence forthwith. WTF does “forthwith” mean?

Advertisements