So, I'm a terrible person, I know. I haven't posted ANYTHING with real content in a while. I'm working on that.

Really. I am.

I promise.

In the mean time, I'm having a blast in the Gunblogger Conspiracy chat. It's AWESOMESAUCE, ya'll. Srsly.

I've had some really interesting conversations about watching Ren & Stimpy on LSD, problems with my piece o' shit laptop, the even bigger pile o' shit van, Scarlet, guns (of course, duh!), sex (always a fun topic), boobs specifically (a constant topic), movies (Monday Movie Night FTW!), and I've gotten to add some new blogs to my blogroll.

Which I haven't updated in forever, so I guess it's time to do it now, huh? Check out my sidebar to see more people who generally rock my fucking socks off and offer a great read.

In news RELATED to guns and the bloggers I read, I have some good news to offer (for me anyway)...

I GET TO GO TO A BLOGMEET! SQUEEEE!!!

Yes. It's true. I get to be one of the cool kids now. I get to meet with some of my favorite bloggers to let my inner carnivore out and (hopefully) shoot some stuff. I say hopefully because I don't have a weapon of my own, I'm really not all that educated on the handling of guns aside from the Four Rules, but maybe someone will take pity on me and let me shoot their boomstick. Who knows, maybe I'll come home further educated and have an idea of what I want for my own shooty goodness.

But yes, FarmGirl is hosting a blogmeet the first weekend in November, opening weekend of pheasant season. Pheasant and prairie dog shoot, general fun shoot, and good food with good company. When she told me on the IRC channel, I opined that I probably wouldn't be able to attend, due to transportation. She suggested I try to hitch a ride with somebody heading out there. Of course, I inquired as to which of my favorite blog celebrities would be in attendance, and I just about fangirl'd myself into the next century when she told me the list:

*Ambulance Driver
*LawDog
*PhlegmFatale
*Stingray and LabRat
*AEPilotJim
*OldNFO
*Matt G of Better and Better (possibly)

And a few others I can't recall right off the top of my head.

Plus yours truly. Why? Because I managed to snag a ride!

OldNFO will be picking AEPilotJim up in Tulsa to carry him along to this fun little shindig, and he informed me that he would be more than happy to stop here in BFE, Missouri to grab my sorry ass as well.

Yay! I'm so happy! I can hardly wait for November to get here now! Agh! ZOMG! Squee! Various other noises that might adequately express my elation!

Now, onto something that seems to chafe my ass here as of late.

Redhead's Sister.

Yeah. Her. Again.

She's well-meaning, she really is, but damn she ain't too bright.

She's a total hippie. Hey, if you want to live your life that way, more power to you. She's very in-touch with her Mexican heritage, to the point she married an illegal immigrant and made him a legal citizen. Again, more power to you.

As far as her being a hippie... Well... She's all about eating only organic foods. She spends a shit-ton on groceries because of it, I know this for a fact. She's all about recycling EVERYTHING she buys, she uses cloth diapers on her two kids. Hell, like I said before, her business is selling hemp-cloth diapers. She loves hemp fabrics. And I will admit, they're soft and feel nice. But it's hella expensive.

She's such a hippie, I'm amazed she doesn't drive a friggin' Prius. But her husband drives a massive Dodge Ram that makes other hippies quake with fear. I know, I've driven it past them. I think I remember one fainting. It was AWESOME, I tell you.

She's vegetarian. She wants to forgo eating meat, good for her. Here's where problems start to arise, though...

She has two kids, two little girls. Xochitl is 7, and Dulce is 2. They're good kids. Xochitl is bratty like nobody's business, but kids will be kids, I suppose.

And they're unintentionally suffering because of Sister. She's raising her kids vegetarian as well. With no vitamins to make up for the fact that they're not getting it from eating meat. Certain vitamins are needed, and animal fats help with brain development in young children.

Oh yeah, and she's not getting the kids vaccinated either.

And she expects me to let my month-old son to spend time with these children? She wants me to expose my son to potential illnesses because she feels vaccinations are unnecessary? Um, no. Not gonna fly.

Her husband doesn't want Redhead and I coming to the house. He fights with Redhead constantly (and I can see why on occasion, Redhead isn't the easiest to get along with), and he thinks all American women are sluts. Wait, didn't you marry an American woman? You did? Didn't her marrying you give you legal citizenship here? It did? So you won't get shipped back to Mexico, right? Oh yeah. Insult your wife, good job.

For a while, we would go down and wash clothes at Sister's house, and it was all cool. Then Jackass Husband said nope, that wasn't allowed either. And then problems start.

Me: "Um, Sister? You remember those diapers you gave us, to get us started with Daniel?"
Her: "Yeah, how are they working out?"
Me: "Well, we haven't been using them because they're still a little too big for Daniel, they just kinda fall off. But I have to ask you... You remember how many you gave us? About 14 or 15, right?"
Her: "Yeah, I figured that would get you started out alright."
Me: "Yeah, about that. It's only like a day or so's worth of diapers. And I can't afford to go to the laundromat every day or every other day."
Her: "So? What's the problem?"
Me: "If I can't come sit at your place almost every day to wash diapers, I can't use them. I can't afford to spend thirty bucks a week just to wash DIAPERS."
Her: "So what are you saying?"
Me: "I'm saying I'm bringing them back to you because your husband doesn't like me or your little brother. Redhead has already said he won't even come to your house anymore. You are letting your husband cause a rift between you and your little brother, your little brother and his nieces, and a rift will be caused between Daniel and his two cousins. His ONLY two cousins. Because you are letting your husband control every aspect of your life, including everything that happens in your house. Hell, you can't even listen to music you like without him throwing a bitch fit. Does that seem right?"


Yeah. Fun times, ain't it? Jackass Husband knew that van was a piece of shit, so he gave the okay to give it to us. I should have sold it the second she gave it to me, could have gotten more money out of it then than I can now. Hell, I'm looking at only about $300 as it stands now. When I got it, it still ran well enough to get a grand out of. Not so much anymore.

Oh well. Hindsight is 20/20. Jackass Husband is still a little stumpy wetback prick in my book, though.

Kiss my ass, pendejo.

Parenting Strikes Me

So, I guess this does officially make me a mother, albeit a new one.

I woke up crying this morning from a bad dream. All centered around Daniel.

I don't know how or why or whatever, but in this dream, for some reason, the state mandated that I give my son up to a couple who couldn't have kids. The woman said to me in a snide voice, "Don't worry, we'll take care of him," as if implying I didn't, and I came unglued. I threw things, I sobbed, I screamed, and I tried to claw the bitch's eyes out when she reached out to pick MY baby up.

When I woke up in tears, I immediately busted my ass to his crib to see him peacefully sleeping, and I just had to pick him up and hold him for an hour.

Thank god neither him nor the Redhead woke up to see me like that.

So. Fucking. Scared.

The Conspiracy

So, thanks to a handful of the bloggers I read, I have let myself into the Gunblogger Conspiracy chat. It's an interesting little corner of the internet.

Filled with fucking NUTCASES.

But it's great. Good way to waste... going on four hours now.


I've struck up a tentative friendship with Unix-Jedi.

I fainted when Breda logged in the first time.

Jay identified me and posted a link to my little blog. How sweet.

I want to cuddle with FarmGirl.

And...

AHAB! SHUT THE FUCK UP! Seriously dude. Just. Stop. Talking.

And quit buying bad meth. Srsly.

Scarlet Whore'Hara, Pt. Deux

I'm gonna blow this piece of shit up, I swear to god.

Replaced the battery cables. Still stalls occasionally, still lurches. Took it to Autozone and they plugged a computer into it... Both the O2 sensors are bad in it. Those need to be replaced, because if you let them go too long, it'll start to fuck with your gas mileage and clog up your catalytic converter.

Well the gas mileage started to go to shit... Then we tried to drive to Harrisonville this past Saturday. Got halfway there, it stalled out and then... It didn't want to get above twenty miles an hour.

WTF OVER??!

It struggled to get up to 65 as far as we went, so I didn't push it. I just tried to maintain that steady 65.

We got to a gas station that's pretty much the halfway point between our place and Redhead's Mom. Called her, and her and her slightly mechanically-inclined boyfriend came out and had a look. While Mom cooed over Daniel, her boyfriend Rich popped the hood and started the van to have a look and a listen.

There was a very serious knocking noise. We're good on oil, but it's knocking like a motherfucker all the damned time.

"Your lifters are knocking. That could cost up to about $1,300 to fix."

I don't have that kind of money! Not to mention the damned thing isn't worth that much.

Well, for sale signs went up on it the next day, complete with an ad on Craigslist. There's a guy just outside of town that buys cars, fixes them up, and sells them out again. Took it out there today, he looked at it and took it for a spin, came back... The catalytic converter is already clogged up, that's why it can't get any speed.

Those damned O2 sensors started it all. Oh yeah, and I have metal in my oil. It's getting an oil change tomorrow, and also Marcus is gonna come over and we're gonna see what we can do about the catalytic converter.

It probably won't be bought for a while, and my financial aid won't come in til the middle of August...

What are we gonna do til then, though?

Scarlet Whore'Hara

So. I made a post some time ago, shamelessly whoring out promoting Redhead's sister's business. The hemp cloth diapers. Yeah, you guys remember it right? Anybody remember what else I said?

Yeah, I was getting a van in trade for working for her. Well, we got the van about four days before I popped and had the baby. Got it inspected, got some temp tags, got the title, yada yada...

Well, the van, she needs some work. Nothing major, really. Already got the tie rod replaced on it, that was number one on the list of things to get fixed. If you know absolutely ANYTHING about cars, you know that if the tie rod busts, you're pretty much fucked sideways. It's a sitting duck, no matter WHERE you are. When I got it inspected, it passed the inspection, but just barely with that tie rod. My mom came up for a week and while she was here, she paid to have that fixed. She's helping me a lot with the cost of getting it all fixed up, mainly because that's what's going to be carrying her grandson around, and once it's all fixed, I'll be bringing her precious little Punkin Doodle to Texas for a visit this summer. So, yeah, repairs are a major priority for her.

Well, one of the issues the van's been having... We couldn't figure it out. It could have been any number of small issues, and we didn't have the spare cash to pay a mechanic to plug it into a computer and find out what's doing it. Pretty much, it'll start up and drive okay, but when you stop at a light or whatever, the RPMs rev up and down, and it tries to lurch out from under you if you aren't careful. And, you know, it randomly dies. That REALLY sucks, but it always started right back up.

Yeah. That's a problem. And it could be any number of things, like I said. But we did notice that the battery cables were in pretty bad shape, so I went up to AutoZone to buy some. They went out as a precaution (to keep me from spending some 30-odd dollars on cables if it was actually unnecessary) and tested the battery and alternator. Then they noticed that the Check Engine light was on. Plug it into a computer for FREE! Sweet shit on toast.

Only trouble codes that popped up were for the two O2 sensors. Nothing TOO serious, just a couple of $50 parts that I could put in myself. And if it goes without replacing, all it'll really do is affect my gas mileage. Okay then. Call Mom and tell her, she'll send money Tuesday for the parts. Cool.

Well, I went to Walgreens earlier for something or another, and Walgreens didn't have it. Of course. Go figure. Alrighty, get in the van and head to Walmart instead. They usually have everything I need. Put the key in the ignition, turn it, watch the dashboard light up. Go to start it...

Click. No lights.

"Don't you do this to me you fucking whore, it's 90 degrees outside and I can't afford to get you towed home."

Try again. Turn, click. Nothing.

"You piece of shit cock sucking whore of a van..."

Pop the hood, check the cables' connections, try again. Stood there for twenty minutes waiting for Sister to show up and jump me and leave the portable jumper with me, just in case it tried this shit again.

She gets there, hook up the jumper cables, try to start it... still nothing.

"Whore ass cock sucker... You better fucking start, or I swear to the gods I'll fill your gas tank with moth balls and destroy everything you love..."

We ended up getting her started, after much swearing in English and Spanish both, and much fiddling with battery cables in the hot afternoon sun.

I was so glad that I didn't have Daniel with me. I would have most likely had a melt down of the nuclear variety with him out in that heat while trying to get that van started.

A random stranger gave the cables a good yank and power was restored to the vehicle. So I bought battery cables, and now I'm trying to rustle up a friend with some tools to help me get the damned things put in. I don't like it stalling on me in the middle of traffic, nor do I like the lurching.

Which brings me to the title of this post.

Everybody names their vehicles. Well, anybody who has a sense of humor and likes to personalize their car. You get to know the vehicle, you give it an appropriate name.

Redhead and I were calling her Lurch, for the obvious reason. Well, after my mild rage at her behavior in the Walgreens parking lot, I came home to complain to Redhead about it.

Me: "Fucking whore ass bitch of a van... What a whore. And she's red, too. Like a scarlet woman, only a van."

Redhead: "...Scarlet Whore'Hara. Hahahaha..."

And it stuck. So, now she's Scarlet Whore'Hara.

...fucking whore van...

Holy crap

So, I am well aware of the fact that it's been almost two months since I gave you kids a post. I know. I'm sorry. It's been a busy time.

Since Redhead and I didn't have wheels, and with us not having internet at home, the only way I could post would be to haul the laptop to Country Kitchen and use their internet. Problem with that is being a couple of weeks away from my due date and having to walk while carrying that big ass laptop almost two miles. Yeah. Not fun.

But... Friday morning, at 5:19 AM...





So, now I actually have an excuse for the abysmal lack of posts.

He's so precious...

So anyways...

I don't have internet at my place right now. Sorry kids. I can't afford to get it turned on quite yet, so for the time being, you'll just have to get your fix of Snarky just once a week or so.

I did something very weird the other day. I had a Girl Day.

O NOEZ!!

I went out and got my nails done with a friend of mine, then we went to the store next door and she got some jeans that make her ass look fantabulous. I'm jealous. I haven't been able to wear that size pants since I was like 16. So yeah, vanity is my motivation to diet and exercise after the baby is born. Screw better health, I want to be pretty. Then we got some lunch and hung out at her place for a bit, giggling and being dumb and talking about sex with our respective boyfriends, because sometimes the urge to gossip about such things is just OVERWHELMING. Yes. It is.

And then came the real fun. First Mate (who I was being girly with that day) agreed to teach me how to drive a stick shift, because I've been wanting to learn for a while. Every woman has to know how to handle a stick, right? Right.

*snerk*

I know the theory behind it, just never had a chance to practice it. So, off to a subdivision that's currently about halfway-built to practice. She put the truck in park, we switched places, and she told me this:

"Okay. Clutch all the way down. Got it? Okay. Brake all the way down. Release the e-brake. Okay. You're sitting in neutral right now. I want you to do something, just to get you used to it. I want you to kill it."

"Kill it? Isn't the aim of this exercise for me to learn to drive without killing it?"

"Yes, but you need to know what it feels like so you won't be quite so freaked out by it. Get used to that so you won't have a panic attack or whatever in the eventuality that you DO kill it. Trust me. Just pop the clutch."

"Okay..." *pops the clutch*

We lurched forward two fucking feet. Good god. And then did it about four more times. Then we started moving. Or trying to.

Heh. That shit's harder to do than people make it out to be.

The thing is... we were driving her truck, like I mentioned. Her truck, affectionately named Achilles. And with good reason.

It's a 1989 Ford F250 XLT. Big ol' bitch. And... I found out AFTER THE FACT... he's got a bitch of a clutch, too. As in most people would rather blow the thing up than attempt driving it. Very stiff.

This is the first time in my life I have NOT wanted to drive a vehicle. Usually it doesn't matter what kind of car it is, you give me the chance to drive it and I'm all over you for the keys. This thing... eek.

Next time, she says we're gonna screw around and try to find that happy middle ground with the clutch, half-on and half-off. And maybe that will make it easier.

Egads. >_>;;

But enough about that. Now for something I just saw on TV that made me giggle to no end.



*gigglesnort*

Wow. That's great.

"It means you're gonna have to put on some pants, POPS!"

Heehee. I LOL'd.

Pregnancy Is Destroying The Homestead

Okay, so some women in this world are cows.

And no, I don't mean that as an insult. I mean they are cows in the fact that they LOVE being pregnant, and they LOVE having babies, and they LOVE raising kids.

I do not see how they do it. Srsly. I don't.

I've made it to the home stretch, folks. I got two months left to go before I pop. I feel as big as a god damned house, I'm bloated, and I must say, jeans are the bane of my fucking existence. I'm cranky and I'm sore and I'm sleep deprived, and when you combine all that with the general hormonal ZOMGWTFDIE-ness of the situation, it's... It's not pretty. Here in the past few weeks I've turned into one of those women I despise, going from zero to screeching harpy in the blink of an eye.

Dishes are a big issue with me right now. I don't have a microwave (which makes me sad in the pants, trust me), so if I want something to eat, it either needs to be a bowl of cereal, a sandwich, or I need clean fucking dishes and cookware to be able to make myself something to eat.

Redhead used to bitch and bitch about not having food to COOK, all we had was microwavable junk food and it was soooo unhealthy and wah, wah, waaaaaah! Yeah, well, now we don't buy any of that crap, LIKE HE WANTED. We don't have a microwave, and we don't have any baking sheets so I can't just toss some pizza rolls in the oven anyway... yeah. I've gotten pretty good with putting together a meal on the stove top. I'm actually kinda proud of myself.

My bitch right now, though, is when I spend an hour in the kitchen making spaghetti like my father taught me how, and it gets SWELTERING in there, because for some reason the heat will NOT flow down the hallway to the rest of the apartment... anyway. The agreement is if I cook a full meal, he'll do dishes. He agreed to this when I suggested it. Now, if I just make something quick, that's no big deal. But like I said, I spent an hour on the meat sauce for this stuff, and it turned out fantastically, and yada yada yada... That was last Monday.

Still ain't done the fucking dishes, though. And if I say anything to him about it, the reaction I get is... quite stereotypical, I think.

"Chill the fuck out, I know, I'll do the damned dishes, you don't have to remind me every five minutes."

Apparently, I'm turning into my Granny in this sense. I've been riding his ass about the dishes all week. Why? BECAUSE I'M FUCKING HUNGRY AND WOULD LIKE TO COOK! Every damned day, I remind him that he's still yet to do the dishes. And every damned day, he gets a snippy little attitude about it. I don't need to remind him, he says. I think I do, cuz... he still ain't done them.

Whoo. Okay. Breathe. It'll be okay, Snarky, it'll be okay. Just... take a deep breath. Relax.

Yeah, I know. I'm prone to ranting (read: screaming my fucking head off about stupid shit that used to not bother me... before I moved in with Redhead and/or got pregnant). I also didn't think that this blog would turn into one long bitch-fest about the domestic side of my life. But, alas, it has, and I'm sorry.

But I sure as hell ain't done yet. So, I apologize, for this, and for the blog posts to come (because I know they're lurking there in the back of my brain, scratching to get free). My loyal readers... The handful of you out there (and how I love you!)... It will get better. I promise.

Also, on the pregnancy thing... I miss sleep. Our bed isn't exactly the most comfortable thing in the world, and I will be the first to admit it. But there just isn't the cash to get a new one (or even a better used one) at this time. So we deal with it.

I would deal with it a whole lot better if I could get some sleep at some point in the night. As it is now, I get to sleep whenever Redhead isn't in the bed with me. This gives me a couple of hours at night, because I turn in earlier than he does. He stays up listening to music and watching MASH, and whatever movie strikes his fancy that night on my hard drive. I'm cool with that, just so long as he's quiet.

Once he comes to bed, though... Ugh. He passes out instantly, and he sleeps like an unholy zombie. He smacks his lips in his sleep and clicks his teeth together. What the hell is that all about? But that's not what bothers me. What bothers me is when he rolls over into the middle of the bed and sprawls out, sending elbows into my spine and knees into my hip, smashing me up against the wall and chasing my poor cat out of the bed.

Yes. The poor kitty no longer crawls into bed to sleep next to me, which is what he's been doing for years. He either sleeps NEXT to the bed, or on my pillow, because otherwise, he ends up getting crushed under my bulk. Poor Ping!

Due to the massive size I've achieved with this unborn spawnling of mine, and the joys inherent with being pregnant, sleeping positions are... limited. I'm not supposed to sleep on my back, apparently. Even if I can get comfortable on my back, it doesn't last long, and I end up shifting again. I can't sleep on my stomach for the obvious reason, which makes me cry because before I got pregnant... Yup. You guessed it. I slept on my stomach all the damned time. Arms shoved up under the pillows, face buried in the fabric of pillow cases, legs sprawled out and tangled up in blanket, snoring and drooling. Pure bliss. Can't do that either.

So, the only options I have left are sleeping on my sides, with my legs curled halfway. And if I sleep facing Redhead, I usually try to snuggle up against him and lay an arm over his side, and slide the other one under his pillow. THAT is comfortable for me.

Too bad that he tosses and turns like nobody's business. It results in him rolling over ONTO MY STOMACH AND BOOBS, which wakes me up in pain. OWOWOWOWOWOW GET THE FUCK OFF ME YOU ANDROGYNOUS HOBBIT BASTARD! (Thanks, AD, for coining that nickname. You've created a monster, and I'm amazed that I haven't actually CALLED him that in a fit of rage.)

So I lay with my back to him. Which means I don't get flattened under him when he rolls over, but it DOES mean that I get pointy elbows to the back. A lot. I spend most of the night now dozing when he decides to lay still, and staring at the ceiling or wall when he's shifting around. And I can't just fall instantly back to sleep.

Whine, bitch, moan.

I'm just ready for it to be over already.


On a completely unrelated subject, fuck global warming. It ain't working. We're nearing the end of March, and I spent all day yesterday watching it fucking SNOW, instead of hitting up the pawn shops to look at all the pretties that go BANG and scary liberals into heart attacks.

Hey, I turn 21 next month, and if I can't drink, I gotta have something to look forward to, right? Right!

So, in keeping with tradition and bitching about Missouri's fucked up weather, I leave you with just this little tidbit.

Fuck Missouri's tarded ass weather. Fuck it in the ear. Wearing a shark skin condom.

TAKE THAT, BITCH!

Holy shit, where have you been?

This is how I feel right now. Just... bleh. I'm so damned worn out, half the time I don't even have the energy to get out of bed, choosing instead to sleep for most of the day and through the night.

How sad is that? Ugh. I'll be glad when this kid comes out. So very glad. I miss moving around and being able to sit comfortably.

Sadly, that is not the only reason I have been absent this past week. I have started working again.

*Cue cries of outrage*

Not seriously working, though, so don't panic. But this is where I need my regular readers to pay attention. ESPECIALLY those of you with children in diapers. This may interest you.

The Redhead's older sister, who he has literally just called "Sister" all his life, is operating a business out of her home. She started it up several months ago, and actually got a website up online last fall, just before Thanksgiving, a month or two after I discovered I was pregnant. Sister has two daughters, one of which is still in diapers. And Sister is green-minded, always on the look out for an option that will be both more natural for her children, and earth-friendly overall.

DING DING! IDEA!

Sister has started her own business, making... diapers. Cloth diapers, washable and reusable for as long as your child is in diapers. You can look at her website, check out the prices, maybe set up a package that suits you, or get contact information and call her, talk to her to really get some insight. Her site is full of useful information, as well as breaking down the argument of Disposable vs. Cloth Diapers.

Diapers aren't the only thing she makes and sells, though. She also sells wraps, for wearing your baby against your torso (which has shown to help raise a much calmer baby. Her youngest is... frighteningly calm. Very laid back, never crying for attention, because she's always THERE!), nursing pads, waterproof diaper bags that won't get soggy from used diapers while you're away from home... The works. Everything you need, made by hand in her home, from 100% natural hemp materials, providing a diapering system that you can use for years to come without damaging the planet by throwing plastic disposable diapers into the trash, and into a landfill, where it will take decades to break down.

Make with the clicky and check it out!

The reason I've started working for Sister is actually... really simple. It's something easy that I can do, without a lot of up-and-downing to wear me out and make me wish for death after just a couple of hours. It's close to home, and... instead of an actual paycheck, I'm getting a car out of it.

Oh yeah, I'm all over this. She just got a new one, and she knows that Redhead and I are really going to be needing a vehicle, so she's offering to sell us her minivan. Or, if I want to, I can work for her, help her with the making of diapers and everything else, and every week when I would usually get a paycheck, she'll deduct that amount from the price on the minivan (which is, in all honesty, ridiculously low, a real steal for us. We're so damned lucky). And it also means that we could apply the same process to paying for the order of diapers, bag, wipes, and sling that I've made.

Now, for those of you who are interested in the diapering system... Go to the website. Check out the information. She's got pictures, too. She can make the diapers in a wide variety of colors, something for everybody. So far, most of her business has been here locally, stretching no farther than the couple-hour drive up to Kansas City. But I know for a FACT that if somebody that she can't just pack up and drive to, or have drive to her, places an order... she would have no problem in shipping out to you guys. I'm trying to help her out by bringing new business in for her, since she's helping me out with the diapers themselves and the van. More business means she's definitely be able to expand. She's hoping to rent out a store and actually operate out of a more business-like atmosphere if business continues to go well like it has.

So, yeah. GO! CLICKY!

Help us girls out, yeah?

Brain-splody goodness!

First off: Sleep deprived like a motherfucker. Oh god, I'm so damned tired it ain't funny. I can't get comfortable and I can't stay asleep, and every time I roll over in bed, I have to lay there for a few minutes just trying to steady my breathing.

I hate being pregnant. Whine, bitch, moan. Okay, let's get on with it.

Secondly: Earworms.



DEAR GOD WHY ME?!?!

Thirdly: Redhead.

Yeah, admit it, you were waiting for this.

I have a couple of points that have irritated me this weekend. What else is new, huh? Yeah. He doesn't seem to realize that he no longer lives by himself, and he has to clean up after himself. Especially considering we've reached the home stretch, and I'm approximately ten weeks away from my due date.

The pressure's on, biatch!

For instance, I cooked Saturday night. Whoo. Snarky's being domestic. Be very afraid. Nothing fancy, but I made up a meal. When I first started cooking, I asked him if he would do the dishes, since I was cooking, and I had been doing all the cleaning here as of late. Which is ridiculous, considering all of the mess is his. Overflowing ashtrays, candy wrappers, soda cans everywhere. Ugh.

He said he would do the dishes. I was happy with this. So, I cooked, we ate, we watched House, MD (who is still the biggest bad ass out there, no liez). He got up after a while and walked down the hall to the kitchen, and I asked if he was gonna do dishes.

"I'll get to them, don't worry."

I'm glad he at least remembered to put the leftovers in the fridge. That's a small perk.

As usual, I crawled off to bed before he did, of course reminding him to do the dishes before they got funky.

Woke up Sunday. No dishes. Not surprised. Washed a bowl and had some cereal and a bagel. Yumz. Sat down and watched some more House.

He crawled out of bed around 1 in the afternoon, and did precisely jack shit all day. I reminded him, again, later in the afternoon: Dishes. They needz washing. "I'll get to them, don't worry."

I'm starting to sense a pattern.

Dishes still ain't done this morning when I woke up. He's already gone off to work. I told him last night before I went to bed: "If those dishes aren't done by the time I go to bed tomorrow, we are going to have some serious issues." He just kind of giggled at me. He doesn't think I'll go off on something as silly as DISHES. Maybe I should remind him of why we had to buy a new set of dishes. Because when I first moved in with him, his dishes had been sitting in his sink at his old place so long they were caked with something slimy and black, and I wasn't going to touch them.

Anyway. And his "cleaning" essentially is cleaning off the coffee table. Dump the ashtrays, throw trash away, then sit down and watch some MASH. Grrr.

Yesterday at some point, we were just listening to music and talking random nonsense as usual, joking about something. I don't even remember what it was, but all of a sudden, he commented, "If you don't like the way I do it, there's the door."

Woah. Halt. Back up. Excuse me?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't my name on this lease? Aren't the utilities in my name? Didn't my mother sign a guarantee saying that if we didn't pay rent, she'd pick up the slack? Didn't I find this place, at the very least?

Don't even joke with a threat like that. Because if I leave, for ANY reason, I'll take the utilities with me. And he can't turn them on in his name, because he owes the light company close to $800. Um. No.

"I've lived without lights and hot water and gas before. If all else fails, I'm sure my sister will let me go down to her place to shower."

Yes. Because that's TOTALLY the way to live.

If anybody leaves this place, it won't be me.

I don't know why his little comment pissed me off so much, but I ended up spending the afternoon holed up in the bedroom with the laptop and giving him a cold shoulder. I was NOT happy, even with a jokingly-made threat like that.

It's time to straighten up and fly right, boy. Life is about to make a BIG god damned change, and I don't care WHAT you want to do, whether it be get stoned or go drinking with your buddies. Baby is gonna come first, and I will be god DAMNED if you continue to act like this.

And I don't want to hear a word of "She's trying to change me like a typical woman does!" No. I'm trying to make sure my child is properly taken care of, and if you can't do it, or you have a problem with GROWING UP, well... There's the door. Don't let it hit you on the ass on your way out.

I'm not taking the bullshit anymore. I've been taking it too long and waited long enough. Some changes are going to be made.