...I'll be watching you

The NISSANITY I have suffered from has come to an end. Purchasing another car last week (NOT A NISSAN) was just the right medication to cure this evil disease. Mama is happy. My new lover is an Aucra MDX and I love it. As I pulled up to the Nissan dealership to remove my items, yes I was blasting rap music..."U.E.O.N.O" was my song of choice for my entrance. To some this may seem a little over the top, but I don't give a shit. I stepped out of my new vehicle and approached my former lover and my sandal broke. WTF really...my sandal broke. It was a sign, but not some sort of bad karma sign. It was the laws of the universe confirming that I was indeed dealing with "shit" and would continue to experience "shit" until I relinquished myself of all associations with this company.  As the service lady cautiously approached me, I made sure to tell her that every time I step on this lot...my shit breaks..."look at my sandal". 

She was not amused with the comment and again I didn't give a shit. I was there to get my personal items and cause no harm. She offered a box to put my things in and I felt like I had just gone to an ex lover's house to get my shit. "Hell no, I don't want a box. I will carry my items like a lady." I refused to be the wounded ex girlfriend picking up her items with tears running down her face. Been there...done that. I think I literally skipped back and forth as I went back and forth.

They bought the car back in full and I don't feel a need to be appreciative of their actions. They only did what was required by law and that's all they did. Never once did they attempt to go above and beyond.  When I approached the Twerk Tank, I experienced flashbacks of what I thought would be a happy life for us. I would be lying if I did not say that a sadness did come over me. I very well know this is just a piece of metal...an item in my life used to get me from point A to point B. This sack of shit did a detour though and took me to hell and back. So, I had two choices: get my items and "keep it classy" or be me. Why hide the frustrations and pain I had felt over the last month? I did not do shit angels. I did not sing Ceelo's song "Fuck You". I decided to just be me...giggle.

I kept my car blasting my theme music the entire time as I switched back and forth with my items. Yes, I slammed car doors. Yes, I  had a full on commentary out loud. Nobody wanted to make eye contact. Nobody wanted to acknowledge me really. They wanted me gone. I admit I wanted to leave something for them to remember me by. Tons of scenarios of the worst kinds of behavior that I could exhibit were going through my mind. I looked for "Sam I am" because I wanted to tell him that I didn't give a damn. His rules were for fools. Yet, I could not find his gray headed ass. So, I said farewell to the service men. Yes, I sang in my best opera voice as I stood like Rocky Balboa did when he won a fight..."This bitch has left the building. May God have mercy on your souls". The service lady interrupted me and told me I could not be in the service area for insurance purposes. I kindly replied.."Now, you want to follow rules. Fuck you." and I walked off with my broken sandal flopping still holding my arms in the air because I was "winning".

The SBF was frightened to hear of my behavior and reminded me that "God does not make cars. Man does." I know that and agree. God made man. And if anyone in that dealership or corporation had showed me any compassion and understanding, I am pretty sure my NISSANITY would have never
developed. I never asked for anything unreasonable, just a car that I could transport my Divas in. Our history will soon be a very distant memory. My new lover is taking care of me now and he's "the shit" if I may say so. I left the dealership with my new boy fraaand blowing my horn while waving my hand out the window and "woohooing" to the top of my lungs...

Best break up ever

But I end this chapter in my life with a song playing on repeat....
                           
                            "Every move you make
  Every vow you break
  Every smile you fake
  Every claim you stake
  I'll be watching you....."

  And my friends will be watching you.....

 Giggle
 

...NISSANITY

Where have I been??? Well for the past month I helped raise money for an organization that is dear to my heart. Though the process almost resulted in a straight jacket, everything went well and I have peace with my service.

On a serious note, I am currently suffering from a severe case of NISSANITY!! Yes, I am still dealing with the shitty purchase of a new 2013 Nissan Pathfinder SL. I am currently on my fourth loaner since August 30th and probably on my 7th plan to do snow angels in my own shit in the floor of the dealership. Yep...I said it. This may sound insane, but there is nothing left in me that is "rational" when it comes to Nissan. I swear I saw a Nissan commercial for the new Pathfinder and I blacked out last night. The rage that is inside me is dangerous to say the least. I have tried to break up with Nissan because our relationship is no longer healthy, but they won't let me. They keep pulling me into that damn dealership where I get to see my new car sitting in their garage and I have to listen to the bullshit they vomit all over me. When I began having trouble with the Nissan

Armada they gave to me as my 3rd loaner, I prayed to God to spare them. It took six attempts before the piece of shit would crank. So, I was forced to return to the Hell hole. As I was driving, I promised myself that I would remain calm and not lose my shit. I prayed for their safety as I turned into the dealership on two wheels.

I got out all poised and looking cute and I ran into "Sam I am". Big mistake...because all "Sam I am" knows how to say is "no". Everyone knows my face at the dealership. Most run when they see me coming. "Sam I am" thinks he's a bad ass. My presence does not scare him. He asks me what I am doing here and I kindly reply "The Armada is not working." He shakes his head and says "You are having the worst luck" and the son of a bitch walks off. Nissan has provided me all of my loaners through the Hertz company conveniently located in their facility...fuck-cility...same difference. Poor Daniel at Hertz asked me what was wrong with the vehicle and before I knew it I replied.."The hell if I know. Get your ass up and go check it out". The guys around him giggled and I scolded myself because I was determined to be a lady today. Shit!!! I followed him out and of course the car starts immediately. I reassure him that I would rather be ripped have my asshole and vagina ripped openf from childbirth than come to this dealership. Finally after I watch him crank the damn car twelve times, it starts to show signs of battery trouble.

At this point, word has gotten out that Mrs. Davis is on the property. The service men come from the back to sit and watch. I calmly ask for another vehicle that would accommodate my family. Voila..they have a Tahoe and Surburban. The owner and service manager were both out at the time. So, I had to go talk to "Sam I am". This bastard tells me that they will only pay for me to drive a Nissan and they would not pay for the Tahoe that I decided to rent. I was not shocked because from the beginning he has told me "No". No..we will not give you a new car. No..you can't file arbitration. No. No. No. Well, we have started this cute little way of communicating...When he says "No", I say "fuck". This goes on for quite sometime and I have to give him props for the amount of "fucks" that don't seem to bother him. He suggested I make Hertz put in a new battery. I suggested
he put a new transmission in my new car. He stated the "rules" and how he didn't make the "rules" and it was out of his control. I told him it would be out of my control if I piss in his office. Then I proceeded to share my own rules....

1) Don't let Nissan fuck me over anymore
2) Don't listen to shit "Sam I am" says anymore
3) Don't give 0 fucks about the ruckus I am causing in this dealership.

"Sam I am a fucking asshole" proceeds to tell me what he was not going to do. WRONG MOVE!! At that point, I informed him of all the things he was going to do.

1)He was going to kiss my ass.
2)He was going to go fuck himself.
3)He was going to give me a vehicle off this property or I would bust the windshields out of every car on this lot.

We have a stare down at this point. I have decided that he will fear me. I will pull his "bad ass" card. I'm not a regular bitch. I have had a 24 week 2 day old
baby, cancer, ectopic pregnacy, lightning strike, Spinal headaches, and the death of a mother. I have a will inside of me that does not believe in giving up or taking shit. I was also beat up half of my childhood from numerous bullies. So, I dare an asshole to bully me now. I fight ugly and I don't fight fair. I recall the nurse that tried to deny my surgery to remove my melanoma at a certain hospital. I calmly told her that I was going to take a knife and cut the toe off myself in the the lobby of the hospital that I wanted to have my surgery at. She approved the hospital and I bid her a warm farewell. "Sam I am an asshole" begins to shuffle his paperwork and stops making eye contact with me. Yes.. I screamed "Look at me God Damnit" like a mother scolding her child. I asked him what he would do if this happened to his daughter and he had the nerve to say he would be mad as hell. I respond "I hope this dealership burns in eternal hell fire!!" I know the last statement didn't make much sense, but again my ability to produce logical statements have expired.  All hopes of remaining civil have gone out the window and I just walked the hell out of his office. I do my usual pacing back and forth like a tiger in a cage at the zoo and to make it even crazier...I am having a full blown conversation with myself.  I again approach a random stranger and tell her "Don't buy shit from this dealership". I then go to Hertz and tell them if they know what's good for them..they would move their business out of this dealership. I also informed them that if "Sam I am an asshole" said one more word to me I was going to knock all of the gray hair off his wrinkly ass head. The Hertz dealer got a real giggle off of that one.

Minutes later, I find myself sitting Indian style at the entrance smoking a cigarette and leaving frantic 911 messages to the corporate lady that is handling my "case". "Emily this is Timeka Davis...the owner of the pathfinder. This is an emergency. Repeat...this is an emergency. Could you call me because I am currently refusing to leave the dealership because they won't give me a replacement for the broken car they rented to me because it costs more?" I left Miss Emily Peacock 3 voice mails and of course she never responded. The SBF was out of town and had no knowledge of what was transpiring. I didn't even let my good friends know what was occurring because the last time they made me leave to avoid an arrest. I was ready to go all "balls in" up in that bitch. I was free to say and do whatever and prepared to suffer whatever consequences. After, 30 minutes the Hertz guy stated he felt sorry for me and gave me the keys to the Tahoe. He stated he would accept any payment from Nissan. FINALLY...there is still hope in the world. I rushed into "Sam I am"s glass office that would be perfect for throwing bricks through and informed him that I was leaving in the Tahoe. He stated I would be responsible for the charges and I told him he would be responsible for somebody's medical bill if they even attempted to charge me. So, I left with a Tahoe. All day I waited for the cops to show up at my job. I didn't care. I was glad I at least looked cute for my mug shot.

Never have I wanted to choke someone so much. I contemplated shitting in the dealership floor and doing snow angels. I contemplated letting the air out of one tire of each car for everyday I have been without my vehicle. This is where I am in my life....doing shit angels. Never have I wanted to badly to cause bodily harm to individuals. Nothing serious...just punching them in throat or choking them.  Yesterday, I again warned a random stranger very loudly not to buy shit from this dealership. I have had to stop myself from writing on the back of each loaner that I have had. "Nissans ain't shit" seems so logical.

Any self control that I have diminishes when I step foot on that property. I pray so hard to not show my bat shit crazy side, but I hear "No" and I have an outer body experience. I have even shocked myself with my ability to sing in an opera voice..."Fuck y'all. I hate Nissan. Fuck y'all. I hate Nissan"! This was my first new car purchase and they robbed me of any delight or happiness I dreamed of experiencing while driving the Divas around town. Instead I have developed some sort of PTSD that causes me to scream obscenities at the dealership, TV commercials, and any one driving a Nissan Pathfinder. I feel like a homeless person...carrying around my shit all the time because I have no real car to keep my stuff in. Every day, I wake up and wonder if I will get yet another call that will require me to bring the loaner vehicle in to swap out. Fuckers!! I hate them and I know hate is so bad and so below me. So, I start the cycle of praying for patience, peace, and forgiveness and then my mind wanders and next thing I know I am praying for gasoline and bail money. I have even attempted to write several letters to Nissan. Each one starts out..."Words cannot describe" then BOOM!! I have actually typed out how many times they can kiss my ass, lick my ass, and if I had nuts they could lick those too. I even type words like "sons of fuckers" and "your mama can even kiss my ass" and if I had one wish it would be the ability to have lightning strike each one of the mother fuckers in the facility that refuse to work with me. I have experienced a lightning strike...shit hurts like hell. I know...so classy. I can't help it. I have a bad case of NISSANITY!!

During all of this, I can't help but be reminded of my last car ordeal. I was 23 weeks along with my first child and the interior car light refused to turn off. I went to the repair shop for a week because they could not seem to fix it. One week and 2 days later, I gave birth to a 1 lb 8 oz baby girl. Want to talk about putting things into perspective!! I never went back to have my car repaired. I didn't want a working interior light. I wanted my baby to live. So, I just ripped the fuse box out and tossed it in the back seat. I drove for five years without an interior light in my car. It was a reminder to me to keep shit in perspective. Things could always be worse. So, I am trying to hold on to this fact. I am trying to chain it to my soul. I have seen worse. This is just an object used to transport me back and forth. Then I walk by my garage and glance out at another strange car sitting in my garage and I am all.."fuck your mother". The arbitration process has begun for me to get a full refund. I was notified by another corporate person yesterday afternoon. I guess walking off the lot with the Tahoe was the straw. It's going to be a long process..2-4 weeks and Lord help them and keep them safe.

Last night, the SBF and I decided to not purchase a NISSAN. We will cut our ties and take our business elsewhere. I live for the day I can walk off that lot with a check in my hand and scream..."All you mother fuckers can eat my shit!!" I wonder how long this NISSANITY will last. Even knowing I am going to get my money back still does not bring much peace. I want to tell the world..."DON'T BUY A NISSAN!!". I want to start a NISSAN campaign. I want my story to be told and not via the local news station because I have slashed the tires of random Nissan vehicles. I want justice.

So, now we wait for the refund amount to be determined and I pray for their souls if they come back with a number that is not satisfactory. Nashville is only 4 or 5 hours from here. I would be glad to visit corporate face to face. I know they are using all of my recorded phone calls for training purposes. So, they might as well meet the woman in person who would like to shit fire bombs in one of their dealerships.

Speaking of shit...things are getting pretty serious if I didn't even mind the fact that Brooklyn needed to go take 2 shits while eating out for dinner last night. Due to her age, I have to step away from my meal and accompany here to the bathroom. Then listen to her commentary on how many "boo boos" she has left to push out while she grunts and moans and rubs her hand on the toilet seat. The occurrence did not phase me the least bit. I am the shit whisperer.........

....liar, liar...mama's on fire.

It was bound to happen. We all have our skeletons, our demons, our secrets. For 14 years off and on (so, I guess actually 9), I have been able to remain in the closet about a nasty little habit of mine that I picked up in college. 

I knew the lying about having to spray the garage every night with bug spray would get old. I knew the hiding in the woods would only take me so far. I knew the littering roof guy could only visit our house everyday before the Divas got suspicious. 

Last week, I was "spraying for bugs in the garage when Miss B opened the door and yelled out "mom are you smoking again?" Holy hell almighty. I think I crushed the cigarette butt in my hand and yelped no. Wtf??? How did she know???

A friend sent some pictures to my middle child for her birthday along with a present  and there stood my oldest holding a picture of me smoking. Shit!! I politely removed it quickly from her hand and walked away. I did not acknowledge the photo at all. I said nothing. Twice in one week!! Wtf???

Well, Ward 5 had pushed me to the edge by Sunday. The SBF was having a mood swing. Three Divas were bored. So, I ran outside for refuge. The SBF came outside to inform me that Miss B wanted to know why she couldn't just play outside while I smoked. F____!!!

Well, the SBF asked her how she knew I smoked and she blamed it on the middle Diva who then denied it. The SBF had decided months ago to stop covering for me. So, everyday was a risk. My closest friends know I smoke and maybe 5 family members. So I know this little confession is going to lead to some phone calls. 

Shit!!!!!! I threw my butt on the ground (no reason to hide it) because I was busted. I walked in the house to 3 little Divas scared and shocked. Muck me!! Muck me!!! I confessed and apologized for lying and doing something unhealthy. I told them I would quit. I have been able to quit cold turkey before...pregnancy/breastfeeding. So, I quit. I felt short of going before the Church and confessing all the sins I had committed after a Friday night football game as a teenager. 

The PBS after school special that was taking place in my house made me want to faint. The questions got harder. My heart broke into pieces. I knew better. I have always known better. A cancer survivor with a family history of various cancers including lung cancer makes me a candidate. They were supportive of their mom's fall from grace. They were forgiving and loving. The middle Diva even said she may try smoking as an adult. Wtf....maybe she was trying to make me feel better. "Try your best not to ever try it" is all the advice I could give at that moment. What had I done??? 

I am aware of the risks of smoking. I have dealt with the guilt for many years. I have seen the effects of smoking with family members. In a sick way, I have always been intrigued by it. It brought a sense of freedom and rebellion. Honestly, I like it, but I love those Divas and I need to do a better job at loving myself. It has been a habit that has brought such peace and comfort. A habit that took away the loneliness. A habit that allowed me to get away from the noise, the kids, and the constant movement. For a couple minutes, I was free and alone. 

So, I am on my second day and I have cheated a little. Last night, I drove the Divas sixty miles to Best Buy to get the middle Diva's Kindle Fire HD fixed. After driving in heavy rain, we arrive at the store. I walk in with all three kids beside me exhausted from working all day and I go find my geek. The geek plugged the damn thing up and it worked. He gave me a look like "take your meds lady". I whispered while staring at him "I should not have quit smoking today."  I was getting ready to call him something when the middle Diva loudly declared she was hungry...bitch!!!!

I calmly left with a now working Kindle Fire and three hungry whiny kids. While in the Wendy's drive thru, I started blaming the three Divas and the SBF for bothering the shit out of me to the point that I almost hide under my car in the garage to smoke a cigarette. These assholes were driving me insane with their constant needs, wants, wishes, desires, and expectations. I had played super woman for too long. F___ this shit!!

We arrived home to find the SBF smiling. I had written him off. He had gone out and bought a candle for my "bravery". All I could think of was..."kiss ass". I know...awful me and bless his heart. I kept myself busy doing community service stuff. Then a wave hit me.....

I approached the SBF and said I was going to kick his laptop out of his lap. Plain and simple....that is what I felt like doing at that moment. He nervously giggled from what I recall and the shit fit I had began. The conversation ended with the SBF asking if I wanted to watch True Blood and me saying I would rather put shit in between my hands and clap. I saw that little phrase on Pinterest and had been saving it. 

I am glad to report the SBF is still alive. Apologies have surfaced and washed the "shit" from last night away. I vow to stop for my family and myself. I know the mood swings and cravings will subside. I had chest pains while trying to figure out the oldest Diva's school schedule earlier, but the pains subsided. The days will get better. I know this. 

Disclaimer: please do not offer up any judgments or bad vibes or mean words...unless you are Jesus. He's the only one I am answering to right now. 

...Twerk Tank

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..."deuces Destin"

We are packed up and heading home. And I think the damn rain is following us. I have not seen the sun since Tuesday. I think my mood is affected by the weather because I am trying to not have a shit fit in the car. 

Miss B and I just woke up from a 2 hr nap. We spent the first 10 mins of the ride home trying to convince the SBF that we could indeed feel the damn raindrops coming through the opened sunroof. He claimed he needed fresh air...uhm open your f____g window. Now, he has Nina Simone blasting and driving my SUV like he's at NASCAR. I love some Nina, but I don't think it's helping the depression I am feeling over my break up with Destin. 

Yep...lost another love in my life. Destin and I are on a "break". He's moody, turbulent, and selfish. I know it will take just a few days and he will make his way back into my heart. He was such a shitty companion this week....what happened to my laid back, go with the flow Destin? I just did not recognize him.

Miss B informed us that we did not go to Destin. Destin is the beach. She only saw the beach on Mon & Tues. I don't know where she thinks we have been all week, but definitely not Destin. Overall, the kids took it better than I did. I tried to hide my frustration. The beach is a sacred place. I have never seen it like this...so dark and unwelcoming. Hell, it made me question myself. Am I a troubled soul? Am I having an internal conflict...hell yes, always!  But what was it this time? I don't have much time or medication left to be too reflective. Josh is singing to the top of his lungs..."my name is Peaches" (f____g weirdo). 

I am sporting my "twerk" tank top. Miss B is talking about she just saw a goat (hallucinating just like her damn daddy???). The other two are unconscious. I look at my car full of unicorn pillow pets, puppy dog blankets, unbathed stinky children, and garbage and it reminds me of Destin. Shockingly beautiful most of the time, but has a nasty side. 

The SBF just said "I took the wrong turn." He let the atlas go and is using the GPS. Well the GPS is on, but our destination is not entered. Dumb ass just made a U turn in the road. Just like the ocean...this SUV full of crazy people may have some shitty ways, but they have my heart and soul. I'm drawn to their beauty and their darkness. 

And I am like the GPS....trying to lead these assholes the right way, but instead they don't listen. They take their own route and force me to come up with an alternative for them.....bastards. 

...beach take 3

2 families plus 5 girls under the age of 10 equals exhausted and delusional parents. Two tents, 100 sand toys, boogie boards, and a cooler equals parents refusing to leave the beach. 

Gone are the days of relaxing in chairs, drink in hand and book in your lap. Now, it's a constant "Where the hell are they?", "Yes, you are going to go piss in the ocean.", "If, you throw sand one more time, we are leaving Destin.", "Close your mouth and you will not taste the salt water", "Of course your eyes are on fire when you rub sand in your face.", "How did you get so much sand in the crack of your ass?" and "The ocean water is so much better than the pool!!" We bring them to the beach and they would rather swim at the pool. 

But we survived with no injuries or amber alerts. So all went well. Even avoided a trip to the ER after one of the parents had an allergic reaction and broke out in hives. He's allergic to shell fish, but has not consumed any. After calculating how much children's Benadryl he could consume, he is resting comfortably. Let's hope he wakes up. It has been recommended that he swim in a wet suit tomorrow. Giggle 

Rain is in the forecast....Xanax also. 

...road trip take 2

We're 4 hrs into our trip...I think. I currently have lost my ability to add. After Miss B and I started feeling nauseous and passing sulfur bombs, I realized that maybe we all are car sick. My middle one and I usually get car sick. So, I made sure to treat her with meds before we got on the road. She's feeling great right now. Guess who else feels great...the SBF aka SOB. So I have come to the conclusion that we are all car sick because he is swerving trying to read an atlas, look at the GPS, and drive. 

At this point, I suggest he pull over to the gas station. I take all three of the girls to the bathroom while he goes off by himself. Funny...one thing I hate about road trips is the fact that he still gets to piss by himself. Bastard. 

Well, I make friends with the lady behind us while waiting in the bathroom line. Old lady: "them yours." Me: yes ma'am. Old lady: "all of them". Me: yes (I wish she would stop talking to me) ma'am. 

I get everybody to the bathroom and hands washed in record time. Yes!! Feeling good and walking to the car. Shit!!!!!!!!

I left my wallet in the bathroom. I race back and explain to a younger woman why I need to cut her in line...my wallet is in there with the old lady. And I begin to pray "Jesus, please let her be a really sweet old lady in real life. Please don't let her steal my credit cards and cash. Please let her be honest and return my wallet to me if she comes out with it in her hand. Dear lord, please let me show some restraint and not jump her ass for my wallet. Amen". 

I decide to get so close to the damn door that she is startled and jumps back when she opens the door. "I'm sorry. I left my wallet." I explain while I look and block her at the same time. Luckily it was there and I felt bad for thinking such things about a sweet lady. As we walk out together, she says "better be glad it was me in that bathroom". Me: yes (better be glad I didn't have to beat ur ass over my wallet. Holy hell. Wtf is wrong with me?Did I miss my meds this morning?) ma'am. Bye

I get back into the car and divide out Nutella and pretzels and demand they watch something on Netflix. I settle into shotgun aka "the bitch that does everything for everybody in the damn car" seat and pop in my earbuds....

Silence...wtf??? Yep. The water damage to my phone killed my external speaker and now I can't listen to my music with my earbuds. After 15 mins of shaking the phone and blowing into it like an old Nintendo cartridge, I give up. I look out the window and let a tear run down my face. I refuse to take the earbuds out. They were my only barrier from the chaos. As I contemplate jumping out the car, I start to feel sick again. 

I look over there and that SOB is at it again. Wtf is he doing? is he just reading the atlas for fun? Me: "I think I'm getting car sick. Please put the atlas away". SOB: "I need it." Me: "use the GPS". SOB: "I need both". Me: I'm going to vomit and then I'm going to snatch that atlas and throw it out the window. SOB: "well, then we won't get there". Me: **silence** and I look out the window. 

My oldest: When will we get there?

SOB: In three and a half hours

10 mins later 

My oldest: how much longer?

(You're as dumb as your daddy. I'm going to ask this asshole to pull over so that I can buy a 40)

 

I'm going to try to sleep with my earbuds in and no music playing...just to tune out Josh and his music selection, and his singing, and swerving, and the kids whining and "did he just turn the GPS all the way up???"

Son of a f____r!!!!!

To be continued

...road trip

We are on the road to the beach!! Yay and Jesus be my shield because being in the car with the 3 Divas and the sexy bald fella can take me to my dark place. 

We have been on the road 2 hours and the oldest child has farted (maybe even sharted) herself into a coma. But that's one less child that will whine and complain. The other two keep coming in and out of their drug induced naps asking for for food and if we are there yet. The SBF just informed me I was talking to him to loud while listening to music on my iPhone. So, I whispered I would just stop f___g talking to him. I am ignoring the fact that he's driving like a damn lunatic. I'm going to go to sleep. 

2.5/7 hours: He finally has agreed to stop because of course naps are short lived and they are starving. He pulls into McDonald's and decides it would be much easier for him to go in and get the food for everybody. (Wtf...what's wrong with drive thru). He jumps out the car and takes the keys with him. (Hello...it's 80 damn degrees and your family has decided to stay in the vehicle!!) I find my keys and crank up the car. The oldest has just blessed us again by expelling fumes from her body. (Wth did she eat? Is she rotting inside. Holy hell is she sick? The SBF returns with our food and coffee for himself. No beverages for everyone else in his family. He goes back and returns with 4 apple juice boxes. (I don't want any damn apple juice and why is there a straw missing from one of them? Isn't that a coincidence...my juice box is missing a straw). I know I may sound like a spoiled bitch, but an apple juice box??? I make sure to tell him thank you and distribute the food to the savages.

As we pull out of the gas station, guess what comes on the radio......

 

The edited version of course. II can't help but do a "cheers" up to the sunny sky to my mom with my apple juice box. She has my back. 

Instead of using our GPS, he has an atlas out. Really??? Do they even make those anymore? But wait...he can't use the GPS because the girls are playing with it. They have barely touched their kindle Fire HDs that are connected to a portable wifi device so they can watch Netflix. 

We are now stuck in traffic and he has chosen to play car checkers and literally jump from lane to lane attempting to get ahead and not lose any time. 

I glance out my window to eacape reality and I notice an AL new station vehicle beside us. Hope we don't end up on their local news. 

Breaking news: mommy loses her shit....

To be continued

....Beach Body Mama Still Got It

I know we are all guilty of this. Please click on the picture!!

Getting ready for a vacation to Destin tomorrow, I began the process of pulling out my bikinis, tankinis, one pieces and cover ups. I could not help but to think about an article a close friend shared about the messages mothers send to their daughters. Basically, the article discussed a daughter who was raised by a mother with body image issues. In the daughter's eyes, she thought her mother to be the definition of beauty. Unfortunately, the mother did not agree. The mom found herself to be fat. Her mother's insecurities were fed to the daughter and absorbed. Shit, I thought. We can really mess these broads up for LIFE!!! Seriously though, my mind wandered..."Did I hug them enough today? Did I tell them I loved them? Did I tell them they were beautiful? I swear I will punch the first SOB that tells them differently square in the throat? I watch my girls frolic around in their swimsuits all day without a care in the world. How can I protect that spirit?

So many ideas and concerns surfaced about what am I saying to my children about their body when I speak of my body. I have discussed with many moms about how they wished they had just lost those last 15 lbs before the summer. I am guilty. Hell, just the other day I contemplated going on a thirty mile bike ride to "tone up" for my upcoming vacation. I have been squatting and I am pleased with the results so far. Anyway...back to swimwear. For years, I rocked tankini's and one pieces. Please note that I see nothing wrong with them. I just felt like I did not have the body for a bikini. I am comfortable with saying I don't have a Pamela Anderson body. It would be physically impossible being that she has 10 toes and all...giggle. But when did thin become so sexy? Marilyn Monroe was the epitome of sexiness and she was not a size 0.

Well,it took some great friends to tell me "Bitch, rock a two piece because you look hot". So, I went out in search for a couple of bikini's. I grabbed them and ran nervously to the dressing room at which time I am sure I entertained other customers while trying them on with my commentary.."wtf...look at my ass? Is that my ass? Damn breastfeeding! Holy hell, what am I doing with my life?" Then the picture taking started with my iphone. I sent images of myself to my Bikini Support Group...luckily not the ones with me bent over while looking at the cellulite dimples on the back of my ass. Their responses warmed my heart. This group is not the type to sugar coat shit. They were all "Bitch, we told you!" and I loved them even more at that point. All this time, I was thinking "mama still got it" with a disclosure on the end. I bought the damn things and asked the sales girl if I could return them if I should go home and my husband burst into laughter. She gave me a blank stare and said yes.

On the way home, I thought I was going to vomit. Was I stepping out of my comfort zone?  Was I ready to show the world my "lovely lady lumps"? Was I trying to be someone I am not? I ran into the house with what felt like an illegal substance. I put one on and walked my ass into our front yard while the SBF was cutting the grass. Let's just say this was the first time ever that he did not mind me bothering him while he was doing yard work. His "Damnnnnnn" response was comforting. As, I came back into the house feeling a little better about  my decision. I ran into the three divas and they squealed. "Mama, you look awesome! Mama you are hot!" Instead of saying "Are you sure?" I responded..."Thanks, I really like them too."

Okay, I was lying to them. I didn't feel it just yet. I retreated back to my safe house and examined myself thoroughly. We can be our harshest critics. I have come to terms with the breastfeeding boobs, dimpled thighs, my lymph node removal scar in my groin area, my nine toes, and my kangaroo pouch. They are my war wounds and who the hell does not want to be seen as a warrior.

So, I wore them on a girls trip and even posted pics  on FB. And guess what.....I started to like the damn things and realized all of this time I was hiding my imperfections because I did not look like those Victoria Secret models or post baby celebrities with trainers. I had secretly drank the kool aid and didn't even know it. My body has imperfections, but "MAMA STILL GOT IT". I was hiding behind one pieces and cover ups because I didn't look like the bikini models. Shit!!! Those bikini models can go to hell. They have not lived my life despite the fact that they may have children, they may have breastfed, and may even be my age.

Last night as I began to fill up my bikini bag for a trip to the beach, I felt a little discomfort creep up. Do I really want to go to the beach with a two piece and three children? There's going to be a lot of bending over. So, I tried on a recently purchased bikini and followed in the footsteps of "Miss B". I wore that damn thing all night long while folding clothes, loading the dishwasher, and cleaning our house. The Divas followed me around showering me with wonderful statements of how beautiful I looked. This time, I responded differently. I told them..."Thanks, I know!! I really love some bikini's". And to be a little melodramatic I swear I could hear "Born free....as free as the wind blows....." playing in the background.

Hopefully, this will start the foundation of my girls feeling comfortable with the bodies they have. I was comfortable in the bikini. I just was not comfortable with not looking like the images in the magazines.

Never do I want these Divas to not love their forever changing bodies. I will be their biggest fan and their biggest cheerleader because I am their mom. I will also be my biggest fan and my biggest cheerleader. If I am willing to do it for them, I can do it for myself.

 

So ladies...the summer is going by fast. Life is going by fast. Don't waste your time hiding your body because it does not add up to the expectations of society. My advice: "Do you boo! Cause if you like it. I love it" You rock whatever the hell you want whether it's a bikini, tankini, or one piece because you love your body. So, let's show our girls pride, confidence, and self love.

Say it with me and say it like you mean it...."MAMA STILL GOT IT"

...Dear French 75

Dear French 75 (aka as French 57 according to my FB post or Heinz 57 according to my FB friends),

I am writing a letter to thank you for a wonderful evening, but it's over. After a long week of work and kids, I was hoping to unwind after a successful committee meeting. You were my poison of choice. Obviously, I was feeling classy and on top of life. Your citrusy taste was refreshing to my soul. The hint of gin reminded me of my college years. My last encounter with gin lead to me taking
my tights off during a football game and shouting "Gin will make you sin!" The champagne was my savior. As I sipped your sweet nectar, I could feel my mouth finally relaxing. No longer was I the mother walking around with her teeth clenched and her hands in tight balls. I was a woman. I was not a "light weight". I was feeling strong.

I thank you for making me believe it would be a great idea to mix you with a delicious but rather spicy plate of shrimp and grits. I was able to ignore the runny nose and sweating. I could feel no pain. I would like to thank you for convincing me to have another round. By this time, I was the least bit phased by the thunderstorm that caused the lights to go out in the restaurant. I was more concerned with a phone call home at which time I discovered that my husband had gone to Target with our children. HOW DARE HE DO THIS TO ME? I LOVE TARGET.

I would like to thank you for making me feel so great about life that I gave you a FB shout out at which time I discovered Kathy Lee Gifford was at the same location. Without thinking twice, I grabbed the first waiter I could find in the dark and asked "Where is she?" Luckily, she was gone. I was not at my best. Thank you for convincing me it would be a great idea to go get something out of my car during a monsoon and then return to the restaurant to finish chatting up with my friends. Never mind that I was soaking wet and weaving between tables in the dark.

Thanks for bringing out my alter ego "Lohan" short for Lindsey Lohan on the way home. My circle of friends were quite entertained with phone calls and texts because I am sure they have missed her. Lohan is often the life of the party and is notorious for surfacing at Snoop Dog concerts and football events. She does not mind puking all over the steps of a building in front of everyone nor does she mind passing out in her yard.

The SBF and kids came home to find Lohan soaking wet and passed out across our bed. A shining moment that will go down in the books. Thanks for the massive headache that woke me up at 6 am. Thanks for knocking off those last 5 lbs I wanted to lose before our vacation on Monday. I never knew my body could produce something that resembled that of Heinz 57 sauce. Thank you for allowing my husband to sleep through my screams "I am on fire!" He needed his rest.

Most of all thank you for allowing me to forget that I have responsibilities called CHILDREN. Children that could give two shits about a hangover. They have to eat. Children that don't care how much my head hurts. They want to give me a play by play about how they stayed up till midnight watching a scary movie because daddy said it was okay. Thanks for allowing my youngest to practice her "beauty shop" skills on my head. An idea I came up with, so I could sleep on the couch in the playroom. My hair had dried into an "old school Al Sharpton hair do". Now it's a shiny from a massive amount of leave in conditioner and grease that I allowed her to put in my hair just to sleep. I look like f------g James Brown.

Thank you for giving me the strength to venture out to Wal-Mart without a shower, without brushing my teeth, and sporting dirty clothes to get the damn beach toys and towels that I promised to buy the girls today. Dehydrated and delusional, I spent an obscene amount of money on noodles, pails, shovels, kites, glow sticks, glow necklaces, glow bracelets, goggles, sand molds, sand shakers and Fourth of July light up things. My disguise of choice...sunglasses and a hat fooled no one. I thoroughly enjoyed running into coworkers and friends. I appreciate them listening to me when I warmed them "don't come to close. I am hung over."

So, f--- you French 75!! It was good while it lasted, but I must move on. I just have no room for you in my life. Thanks for the one night stand and the unexpected bitch slap at the end. You may have won this slap off contest, but you hit like a bitch. That Mother's Cure has done far more damage and has been with me through the good times and the bad times for a couple of years now. She has my heart. I will never stray away...unless Prosecco comes to visit.

Sincerely,

My two middle fingers

...Mother's Cure

I looked at our calendar on the fridge last night and was floored with the date. Is it really almost July? Where has the summer gone? Holy hell the madness of back to school will be here before we know it. I was shocked by the anxiety that I felt. Am I anxious because I will miss them or is it homework? Is it the fact that the youngest is entering preK and the bitch barely knows her numbers? Is it the fact that everyone that resides in this house thinks that I am a walking Wikipedia?

With summer comes the welcoming of pool parties, porch parties, beach parties, splash parties, slip n slide parties, and any gathering that involves enjoying the weather, the sunsets, and the fireflies with family and friends. With it also comes hours spent at a hot ass park or pool while you watch your child do the same stupid ass flips over and over again. The profanity increases and exhaustion starts to eat away at all of your hopes, dreams, aspirations, and desires.

So, let's celebrate this last week in June with a cocktail!! Let's take our cups and fill them and toast to not running away just yet. Let's toast to the fact that our cups truly runneth over. What should our poison of choice be? Try one of my fave drinks to serve called Mother's Cure.

The recipe is listed below and I swear it will cure the shitty summer blues, the tired as hell blues, and the what the hell am I doing with my life blues. Let today be a mother's cure movement. It's time. I see us moms in the grocery stores, the department stores, gas stations, toy stores, book stores, and you name it. I see the illness eating away at our souls in all of us. You have to have the summer blues. It's very easy to diagnose being that I am currently a victim. The kids are winning and we must fight back.

Today, I will cure myself from the sheer rage I  felt when I was talking to the SBF this morning....

SBF: I really need to get on my lesson plans for the girls this summer. They will have all of July to
work on the assignments.

Bubble over my head: WTF did he just say? Lesson plan...HELL NAW!! He can kiss my ass. HE IS
NOT A TEACHER. HE HAS NO TEACHING EXPERIENCE. Jesus be my shield

ME: Really? I think the girls are fine. Miss B will eventually learn that the last letter of her name
does not start with the number 14. Also, the teaching methods have changed so much that we may
teach them the wrong method.

SBF: Well, it's not the method I am worried about. I'm going to focus on common core.

Bubble over my head: I have had less than five hours of sleep. I really don't give a shit if these kids
can read right about now. AND you travel mister. So, who the f______ is going to implement this
lesson plan/common core shit? NOT IT!!!!! Why does he say stupid shit in the morning? Is this real
life?

ME: Great idea. I'm going to go back to sleep for a couple of minutes. I suddenly have a headache. I
guess the sleep deprivation is catching up with me. (POSITIVE THINKING)

As I rolled over to stare off into the abyss, I said a little prayer...

Dear Lord, please let there be enough Tito's in the cabinet for my Mother's Cure. And watch over my children and husband today. Put your arm around my shoulder, your hand over my mouth, and your foot upon my foot...so that I will not kick the SBF in his throat this morning. AMEN 


So get cured now because the madness will not get better...it will just change in a couple of months. I command you to call up your frands, invite their kids if you have too, get some buckets and a water hose (no this will not lead to waterboarding), and put them outside to play. Don't bother with something fancy!! Just do it. Cheers!!!

 Mother’s Cure

•    12 oz frozen pink lemonade concentrate                              

•    1 lemonade container full of vodka

•    3-12 oz beers

•    2-12 oz sprites

 Stir together, chill and enjoy!



A comment from a friend's mother after having just one cup of Mother's Cure:

 "I don't know what's in Mother's Cure, but I been cured." 

 

Let me know what you think!!

 



 

A while back, Southern Living, did a write up on how people party for games in Oxford, MS. They came by our tent and took a picture and wrote down the recipe for Mother's Cure. Let's hope we see this recipe in Southern Living one day. 

Public Service Announcement: Please drink responsibly. Many of my friends both female and male have been found ass up and face down in the grass or finding themselves toying with how much fun streaking would be!!

 

.......B.D.K.M.V

I was having a pretty good day at work today. I got my paperwork turned in, tested some ears, returned emails....basically a productive day. To top that off, a young coworker had just finished complementing me on my outfit. So, my happy ass decided to take a short cut via nature trail through the woods to another building. I was feeling good...looking good...and dammit...

My ankle sort of gives out and I rip my damn shoe...in the middle of the woods. Shit! So, I hobbled back to my office and passed the coworker who was now looking at me like wth??

Never have I let having my big toe amputated stop me. I refuse to let it slow me down. I'm not ashamed. It is what it is. So....

Today was no different from any other day. Yep, I taped my shoe together. Technically, my foot is taped to my shoe. Giggle (it's okay to giggle). And as I walk to my car, I will hold my head high so the world may see that "Mama still got it" ...tape and all. Ha!!

Really, the sad part is I could give two shits what it looks like. I actually think it's hilarious to say the least and the best way to get a new pair of shoes out of the SBF. So, if you are having a bad day look at whatever is bringing you down and tell it.......

                         B.D.K.M.V

At least, that's what I chose to do today. This positive thinking may be working after all. 

...first day of summer

Cheers to the first day of summer. So far our summer has been a blur filled with pool parties, play dates, hair shaving, period talks, and Miss B experiencing sundowning every afternoon.

 I will first address the hair shaving. My oldest and sweetest and most judgmental child, Reagan, was twirling around with her arms in the air the other day and I noticed hair under her arms. Holy hell. This can't be so. She is only 10. I am a very hairy person and I have flashbacks of my childhood full of little shits tormenting me because I had a unibrow that fanned out on the ends. Yep, I was an Eddie Monster look a like. It didn't help that my arms and legs resembled that of Teen Wolf. I remember one boy telling me in the 7th grade that you could French braid the hair on my legs. I would come home crying. My mother would comfort me by telling me a dark family secret that she knew about his family and I would go to school and repeat it word for word. So, I have a "thing" about eyebrows, hairy arm pits, hairy legs...basically hair in general. I don't have any hair on my body...see how the teen years can mess you up. I am trying not to pass this hair phobia on to my daughters, but honestly they have my genes. My middle child, Farryn, has developed the "fan eyebrows". The same damn ones I had in most of my school pictures. They look like the penguin from Happy Feet.
I confess I have trimmed her eyebrows before after I have watched her try to slick them down with tons of spit. Don't judge me.

I inform the SBF about the hair under Reagan's arms and we look together without trying to scar her for life and decide it's time to shave. I am interrupted by the other two fighting and go check on them. When I return to the bathroom, I find Josh holding a pair of his hair clippers and Reagan looking at me like "oh, shit." I swear I moved like something off of the Matrix and yanked the clippers out of his hand while screaming "What the hell are you doing to her?"  Needless to say, her armpits get appropriately shaved by her mother and I am pretty sure we scarred her for life.

The period talk...times have changed. Girls are getting their periods earlier. We have noticed that Reagan can be moody sometimes and decided it's time to talk to her and her sister Farryn. Yes, we wanted to kill two birds with one stone. The two oldest are close and don't hide much from each other. So, we figured it was best to tell them both. We kept it short and simple. I pray everyday to give me at least three more years before I have to deal with this. Miss B already knows about periods because she is literally up my ass 24/7. I recall having to take her into a public bathroom with me and I know everyone was entertained by hearing her yell..."You be-leeving? You stick it up your butt?" This may be TMI for some, but it's the damn truth. I wanted to push her through the stall door, but I remember my mom telling me how I used to go through the store yelling "Did you get some Koin-tex?" Karma's a bitch.

There are no schedules in our house right now. There are no nap times. So every day from 5:30-7:30 pm this lovely child of mine loses her freaking mine until the sun goes down. Her eyes start to glaze over and the fear I experience is something I will consult my psychiatrist about. Nothing can make this child happy at this point. She has gone to her dark place and those around her will suffer her wrath. She used to stand and scratch the walls while maintaining full eye contact with me. I would sit on the couch and look right back at her thinking to myself this bitch is "loco".

But, she is much more sophisticated now. She's four. She prefers stripping butt ass naked because the clothes she has worn all day just don't work for her anymore. After the third wardrobe change, she moves on to phantom pains. Her legs hurt. The mosquito bite that she has had for three days is killing her. She feels like something is growing out of her arm. As I watch her fling her body up against walls and off couches, I begin googling syndromes. This is my third child. You would think I would know what to do to comfort this monster, but she is so different from my other children. She plays hard, loves fiercely, and is stubborn as hell. Her two older sisters eventually go off to their rooms snickering because her screams have turned into growls. They no longer want to watch her sit in the kitchen floor with tears and snot pouring down her face while she spins in freaking circle. I have tried comforting her. I have tried holding her. Lately, I have had low points where I am screaming back "What do you want from me?" or "Why don't you take a nap". She screams back like some shit off the exorcist "Don't scream at me mommy!" By 7:30 pm, I am sick with exhaustion. I am stuck on a damn couch in the playroom watching her throw shit around and out of nowhere the heavens open up. She looks over at me and I think "Bitch, I am going to have you tested for real this time" And you know what she does......she comes over with her snotty ass clothes and climbs up in my lap and says "Mommy, I love you too much." Aweee...right?? Well, "aweee" my ass at that point. But, I love her too much as well and I hold her tight and all is forgiven. I sit there holding her amidst scattered Leggos, naked dolls, broken crayons and scattered flash cards and I ask myself..."How did I become her bitch?" In reality, I am everybody's "bitch" in this house including the SBF. Oh well, I take a sip of Prosecco and hope that maybe in acceptance there is peace.

I work just two days a week and I have never been so thankful that I do. I admit that on my work days I run out the door like a fugitive. For at least 8 hours, two days a week, I can get the hell out of dodge. Sadly, I sit at my desk the first 30 minutes like I have come off a cocaine binge. I am free of their demands and senseless conversations. Their needs and desires can be met by someone else and I  am okay with that. I confess that some days I take the longest route home possible or I go to a local bar just to sit. The days I do come straight home I find myself digging into my purse like a junkie for that green bottle of happy pills. Yes, I take Xanax. I have a prescription and I have read all of the bad press about mommies and pills. All, I can say to those that care to judge...I could give two shits what you think of me. If you can maintain without the use of medication, yeah for you! You get mad props and a cookie. For those of us that can't, yeah and we get a cookie too. The last time I watched a news special on moms and meds, I was hoping I could call into the show and let them listen to the banshee in the background. But, I knew the entire interview would be full of "bleeps" and screams. Instead, I flip off the news reporter and send my girl Karma after him.

So, cheers to the first day of summer. May your glasses stay full and your prescriptions refilled!!! 

...dirty laundry

Last night, I entered a very dark place in my life. I try not to visit this place often because it drives me to searching for airline flights and hotel packages. I actually contemplate abandonment. This dark hole that I sometimes enter is triggered by a couple of things. The culprit last night was laundry. For some, you may think how a common household chore could cause me to contemplate skipping town, but I hate it.

Confession of a mother: I hate laundry.

I actually remember being kind of excited in college when I had to do my own laundry. I felt free, independent, and so grown up. I would go down three flights of stairs to our dorm basement and happily throw my ONE basket in the washing machine. It was so much fun chatting over the humming of the machines with other friends over how wasted I got the previous night. "Damn," I thought "this is the life." I was a successful student.

After I got married, I admit that I was so giddy with the newness of having a mate that I loved folding our laundry. I was up to doing two baskets. Yep, I was a woman now. We were broke as shit the first year of marriage and had to use the laundry mat in our one bedroom apartment complex. The SBF and I would even go together and talk and laugh and toss socks at each other. I was in paradise. I was a good wife.

With my first pregnancy, I would spend countless hours before her birth washing and folding and refolding and being engulfed in the smell of Dreft. My life was coming full circle and I felt complete. Everything was color coordinated and categorized. My motherly instinct had kicked in and I was winning.

Fast forward to 2013 and at this moment I am surrounded by 12 loads of laundry and I am angry. A family of five can produce a shit load of clothes...an amount that is slowing eating away at my emotional stability. With summer, comes bathing suits, beach towels, swim trunks, cover ups and sand. Also, my children make sure to waste at least two damn beverages a day that I just throw a towel over to hide the mess until I am ready to deal with it. They also feel the need to have two wardrobe changes a day. Needless to say, the fun I associate with laundry is gone. Now, I find myself plotting how to approach the enemy. Should I start with a glass of champagne or three to take the edge off.  Maybe watching some crappy Bravo TV will allow me to fold productively?

 Confession of a mother: Laundry makes me think of doing illegal drugs.

 

After 10 years, you would think I would have a handle on this mass production, but I don't. I try to do a load a day, but instead I do 10 in a week. I have asked the girls recently to help me which only leads to me wondering if that second glass of wine did something to them because their folding is shitty and they fail to see the importance in hanging clothes in color groups. I immediately send them off to do a chore and I ignore Miss B who has rummaged through my baskets only to start walking around in my bra or "brawer" as she calls it.  AND it never fails that somehow an American Girl outfit finds its way into my load of shit. By the end of this reoccurring nightmare, I enter into my black hole filled with many questions. "Is this real life?" "Is this it?" "What am I doing with my life?'  and after my meds...it's all "Where am I?" "Who am I?" "Wonder if he would notice me withdrawing cash to have someone secretly wash and fold my clothes?" "Damn, a cleaning lady would be nice. Could I hide her from him?"

Actually, sometimes I feel like setting fire to the dirty laundry hampers or better yet "airing my dirty laundry" by throwing all the shit in the front yard and calling it a day. I often wonder if I had a new washer/dryer and a nicely decorated laundry room would cause me to ignore the panties with shit streaks, the socks that smell like pickles, the musty shirts, and items that smell like just plain ass. I even wonder if a new red washer and dryer would cause me to sing and dance while I am on my 8th load at one o'clock in the morning. Right now our washer often jumps over six inches in the spin cycle which the frugal SBF thinks is perfectly normal. Our current washer and dryer was our first purchase as a married couple and for some sick reason it has sentimental value. When they do finally stop working, I wonder if that will be symbolic of my sanity. One day, I even wrote a note saying "It will all come out in the wash" on my cute little framed chalkboard on my laundry room door in hopes that my frustrations and anger would magically disappear upon entering the room from hell. I think I may just change it to "Closed for business due to health department regulations".

I know there are far more serious things in life to fret over, but I grew up watching Leave It To Beaver. June Cleaver was always so happy, patient, and her house was clean. She seemed so happy to serve her family. Well, now I think the she was baked half of the time. Honestly, I hate that bitch. So, what do I do about this ever growing dilemma of laundry psychosis? I have tried expressing to the SBF that I have contemplated participating in illegal laundry service trafficking.

 Me to the SBF: You think I am a maid. The SBF to me: You think I am your sugar daddy.

 

Damn, I wish I could cut him sometimes. He has often tried to help me by separating the clean clothes into baskets by family member and leaving them in the middle of the living room floor. He also takes the time to put 1000 single socks in a basket and to him his work is done.

 

I know the laundry will get done. Bullshit, the laundry will never stop. As I sit in the floor trying to pair up 1000 single socks, I find myself thinking about Scarlett O'Hara in Gone with the Wind. And I hear myself whispering...

 

"As God is my witness, as God is my witness they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it's all over, I'll never do laundry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill. As God is my witness, I'll never do laundry again."