I Shall Call it... Marina

My upstairs bathroom is so close to being done, that the throne which has been sitting in my room for two months, is now back in the bathroom where it belongs.  It is glorious and wonderful.  Better still, the shower is finished.  I took a pic to prove it:

My mom threatened to come dance naked in it, but as usual, she didn't have the guts.  I would have let her since she worked on it almost as much as we did, but alas, she kept her wrinkly body home.

Along with some finish work I did in the loo today, I also painted some of my basement.  Since I am leaving my domicile, I am totally unmotivated to pay full price for the nasty neutrals that I've been covering my walls with.  Hence, I've been using discounted mistints from Sherwin Williams.  Today, I descended to the depths of frugality, and mixed four different shades of paint I already owned to create the basement hue.

In honor of the occasion, I texted the only person who would appreciate my artistry:

It's actually a pleasant shade.  Way better than the hideous gray that has gone up everywhere else.  Even my lunatic friend Alyssa appreciated it.  She saw it when she stopped by to give me some U of U donuts she picked up at the Dunkin Donuts in Salt Lake City today.  In case you were wondering, they were delicious:

When I remembered that I have a furnished place to move to in five weeks, and that Dunkin Donuts ain't half bad and are everywhere in RI, and that "Marina" was essentially free and looked fairly decent spread around the basement, I decided I had a lot of reasons to feel blessed for a few moments.  That reminds me, Alyssa's coming to Rhode Island this summer.  Anyone want to tag along?  Dunkin is on me!

No More Worries...

I now have a place to live in Rhode Island!  I get to occupy a furnished two bedroom apartment on the second floor of this bad boy:

I mailed the deposit check yesterday to a lady named Gail who signs her emails "God bless."  I took that as a good sign that she probably has good intentions towards me, though I have considered she's faking a love of God to make me feel comfy so that she can more easily perpetrate evil against me.  Because I found this place on Craigslist, I figured my new living situation had three possible scenarios that could play out:

1.  Things will be fine

2.  It's a scam and I can kiss my deposit goodbye and I'll have no place to live when I arrive in Rhode Island

3.  It's an elaborate hoax to lure unsuspecting women like me to the second floor apartment so that Gail's "son" who lives downstairs can rape and/or murder me

I'm just so relieved to have a place to stay that I almost don't care if the last 2 scenarios play out because at least I can stop worrying about accommodations for a while.  Besides, I already have a plan for dealing with number three; I'm going to drag a heavy piece of furniture in front of the front door every night so that any would be assassin will make loads of noise, giving me time to call 911.  Given that I'm on the second floor, I'm thinking I only have to worry about one point of entrance since I'm hoping the "son" downstairs will be too lazy to grab a ladder out of the shed in order to climb through my windows to violate my body.

Given that I'm a thorough worrier, I have also considered that number three might not even come up for the following reasons:

1.  I am not a young woman with a tight booty and big titties

2.  I am not a college kid

3.  I am not a runner (trust me on this.  I watch a lot of forensic files and loads of runners get snatched off of nature trails)

4.  I am not a waitress or a bartender

Do not even try to convince me that anyone can be a victim of a violent crime.  Again, I have logged too many hours watching Forensic Files and I know this list is scientific, exhaustive, and infallible.  Plus, you're more likely to be raped or murdered by someone you know and everyone I know will be 2,500 miles away from me.

Yep.  It feels good to know your place in this world and to have a plan.  If you're in the Providence area, come visit me, I have a bedroom for you.  However, as a guest you get to drag the furniture in front of the door before we go to sleep...

Chin Up

I've been feeling sad most of today because apparantly folks in Rhode Island hate short leasing agreements.  In the last two days, I've called or emailed probably 20 places asking for a 6 month lease or less, and basically been told to suck it.  I would have been a little more offended if I hadn't thoroughly enjoyed listening to the thick New England accent everyone had.  

Even though I wasn't necessarily feeling offended, all that rejection was still bringing me down.  I don't want to rent a place for 12 months!  I'm hoping my family follows me soon and I want to be free to buy a house whenever it feels right!  Breaking a lease over there can get expensive since housing is already pricier than here.  The money I could lose on a broken lease would sure help increase the down payment I hope to place on my next dream home.  My mom and hubby tried to reassure me, but I was still feeling poopy when I got home from work.  Then, a buddy I used to work with helped me out.  Here she is being sexy for me but she's wasting her time.  She's not my type because she has no pecker and is totally not fat enough for my taste:

She just texted to check up on me and to let me know she thinks I'm great (well duh!).  Then she sent me this:

Yep.  I could relate.  It made me giggle on my way to buy more hideous neutral paint in order to extinguish the remaining character the walls of my home have.  Just as I finished giggling what did I spy? Why, the Dollar Store, which happens to reside next to Home Depot.  And what did they have at the Dollar Store?  Why, the LAST box of specialty Sugar Babies!  Joy, hallelujah, and amen!

Just when I thought I had reached the pinnacle of exultation, I noticed my brother was working at Home Depot tonight - training a new employee in fact.  Just to be an idiot, I had her price check wood hardener for me.  When I found out it was 10 bucks, I yelled, "never mind!  I'll just buy my lover Viagra!"  She giggled because as Laken pointed out earlier today, I'm pretty great!  I still don't have an apartment, but at least my belly is full of Sugar Babies and my life is full of good people... that I'm going to leave soon for Rhode Island...  where I still don't have a place to live...  DAMNIT!

Dear Bubba

Dear Bubba,

The hideous gray made yet another appearance in your room today.  When you saw me begin, you said, "hey!  I'm gonna miss that purple!"  I myself was sad to see it go along with the bright yellow that glowed so bright during the day that I often mistakenly thought someone had left on your lights.  Fortunately for me, you came back about an hour into my painting and said, "hey!  It looks pretty good in here!"

I tried to remember your enthusiasm when I took a break to feel sorry for myself and all the painting I've been doing.  I chilled and pondered my upcoming changes in the old tub I inherited from my grandpa.  Here's the view:

I packed the pic I have of my gramps sitting in his tub yesterday.  As I took it off the wall, I said, "come on Opa, you're going to Rhode Island with me."  He kept right on smiling while I packed him in a box.  He's just as excited as you for the change I guess.  Maybe he wants to go to the beach as badly as you do, but too bad!  He's a pic and he can't go swimming or he'd disintegrate!

As I sat in the tub, I decided I could use a snuggle from your dad to help me get over the nasty gray paint everywhere.  I invited him to crawl into the tub for a selfie with me but he informed me he was a large boy and wouldn't fit.  Here's the view from the tub he wouldn't get into:

Don't worry Bub.  I'm just having a down day because of all the color leaving my house and because I haven't found an apartment in Rhode Island yet.  I'm gonna be a okay... If your dad would just climb into my stupid tub with me!

Love,

Mommy

Dollar Store Adventures

I love our local Dollar Store.  I don't buy anything important there like actual food or pregnancy tests, but for toothbrushes, school supplies, hair bands, etc. it's a great place to pick up a steal.  

My daughters love the Dollar Store for lip balm, which is in endless supply there.  It's also only a buck, so I'm willing to spring for a tube anytime we're inside looking for other bargains.  Bubba picked out a particularly appealing shade yesterday which I thought was lip balm, but instead turned out to be lipstick.  She's been applying every 10 minutes or so, and for the first time in her life, she hasn't been nibbling it as well.  Ahh, maturity!  This morning she wanted to share with me.  I acquiesced:

She didn't do too bad on my application, but she unfortunately looks like a five dollar hooker.  I went to the gym today and didn't even wash her face before I dropped her at the gym daycare.  Wear your hooker with pride Bub!  I also didn't comb her hair or mine because of my personal gym rules.  It probably dropped her value to two dollars...

Know what else I love about the Dollar Store?  Limited edition candies that never seem to pop up anywhere else in town.  Check these out:

I bought them on a whim and I can't get enough!  They are not Lindt chocolate by any means, but for cheap, American candy - why they work beautifully.  Since discovering them there about a week ago, I have managed to find an excuse to go back to the Dollar Store about four times... maybe even five...  I'm disgusting!  Last night, when Lily needed diorama supplies, I nearly knocked over a chair and peed my pants trying to get into the car for the Dollar Store!  Jared found three boxes and all five female animals agreed they were delightful.  That trip was how Bub found her prostitute makeup, and I managed to find a sale at Fred Meyers since I went there after discovering the Dollar Store didn't have clay.  I purchased the clay Lily needed, bought school clothes for the three youngest babies, and saved myself 984 bucks buying said clothes on clearance!

My life is truly blessed.  Only problem is, I'm having withdrawals this morning.  I can't just go back to the Dollar Store for Limited Edition Sugar Babies, but I've been unable to think of a different, legitimate excuse for going back inside.  Maybe Bub will help.  If I can convince her to eat the rest of her whore lipstick, she'll need another tube...  This just might work...

Mr. Leaky

I'm lucky to be married to a tremendously sexy guy.  For copyright reasons, I can't go into detail about his sexiest traits.  However, enfringement laws don't preclude me from discussing one of his lesser, yet still desirable traits:  his bedtime routine.  But first, the backstory...

Jared was diagnosed with sleep apnea about 10 years ago.  Prior to the diagnosis, he had an epic snoring problem which was loud and often unsettling.  I had my suspicions for several years, but I was grateful to finally have the diagnosis which provided the explanation for his terrible problem as well as a way to fix it.  We also began our sexy nightly ritual which I mentioned previously, and which proceeds thusly:

1.  We climb into bed and exactly 20 seconds later, our legs are entwined, I begin watching zit popping vids on YouTube, and Jared begins snoring

2.  I continue watching vids, listening to a Podcast, or reading (because I have horrible insomnia), and Jared continues snoring...LOUDLY

3.  I spend the next hour trying to get Jared to put his sleep apnea mask on so I can adequately hear zits popping, while he spends the hour telling me in between snores that he can't snuggle properly with his mask in place

4.  Another hour passes with Jared's snoring becoming more loud and consistent, while I become more loud and persistent with my begging, pleading, and elbowing, so he'll put on that damn mask 

5.  The mask finally goes on, the snoring stops, and Jared rolls over with his back facing me

6.  I spend the remainder of my night listening to Jared leak farts while trying to keep his gas off my legs.  As a side note, they are soft little "pop" noises that are WAY better than listening to his snoring

I have no proof, but I secretly think the air forced into his nose by the apnea machine must make him slowly leak out the other end.  Regardless of the physiology, he is sexy, he is all mine, and I'm sure every lady (and some men) reading this is jealous of my racy life.  If you need further proof of how great he is, check it:  

Lay Off That Show!

When I'm stuck at the hospital overnight, I like to watch Forensic Files.  From 1 to 4 AM, they play an episode every thirty minutes - sheer heaven!  Only problem is, I get scared from watching all that murder.  The bed I sleep in is behind a door I lock, and that door is behind a second door with an electronic lock to which only a few people have access.  Not even the house supervisor can open the outer door!  I know this because I locked my shoes and other belongings inside one night and had to wander around in my stocking feet until we found another provider in the hospital with the proper badge!

Despite knowing that only a few people could come in and murder me while I'm watching other people get murdered on Forensic Files, and despite knowing that those few people would NEVER murder me because my life ain't worth the jail time, I still insist on spending 1 to 4 AM at the hospital being completely freaked out by that stupid show!

Even though I get plenty spooked in Rexburg on a regular basis, guess who just put Season Two of their show on Netflix:

Yep.  And because I never like to leave a season hanging, I've spent the last 2 weeks spooking myself every night in my own home.  Know what else I've done every night for 2 weeks?  Driven my lover nearly to drink!  How?  Observe:

                         Day one

Me, speaking to Jared:  "please don't murder me for my 1 million dollar life insurance policy.  If you want money, I'll get it for you.  Just don't murder me."

Jared:  "Do you have a million dollar life insurance policy?"

Me:  "No, but don't murder me."

Jared (somewhat amused):  "I'll try to control my urges."

                         Day 5

Me, speaking to Jared:  "please don't murder me so you can run off with your girlfriend.  If you want out, just tell me.  I'll give you a divorce so you can live your new life.  Just don't murder me!"

Jared:  "I don't have a girlfriend.  I'm in love with you."  

Me:  "just don't murder me!"

Jared (exasperated) "ok."

                         Day 12

Me, to Jared:  "please don't murder me when I find your gay porn stash and for my 2 million dollar life insurance policy to pay for your kids from another marriage!"

Jared:  "do you have a 2 million dollar life insurance policy?"

Me:  "no, but if you like gay porn just tell me!  I'll let you out of our marriage!  it's not worth murdering me for!"

Jared (voice slightly raised cause the guy won't yell at me):  "will you please stop watching that show?!"

Before you take Jared's side on this, notice that he didn't deny that he had a gay porn stash or kids from another marriage.  DO YOU THINK HE'S GOING TO MURDER ME?!

Pass Me That Cookie Percy

I'm no slouch when it comes to baking cookies.  In fact, aside from my supreme gift of annoying others, cookie baking might just be my only other talent.  Because of my gut, which some Spanish speakers lovingly call a "panza," I rarely bake for my family.  I just can't have that kind of temptation hanging around my pad.  I only bake for others... Lots of others.  I have purchased loyalty, kindness, and offers to murder someone if the need should arise... all with my cookies.

Since my children take cold lunch to school, I spend more money than my own baking would cost me so they can have a treat in their lunches.  What do I pack?  Why crap.  Crap I would never eat:  cheap snack cakes, unfrosted animal cookies, even plain crackers, but never my sublime cookies.

Today in Sam's Club, they were having a sale on their knockoff of Chips Ahoy cookies - 56 of them to be exact.  Chips Ahoy are quite possibly the WORST store bought dessert in my opinion, but I purchased them anyway:

They were disgusting but cheap and I knew they wouldn't tempt me as they sat in my cupboard waiting to be packed in lunches.  There was something so disturbing about buying these.  Mostly I think it bugs me because I feel so sorry for folks who don't know what a delicious homemade cookie tastes like, let alone how to bake one.  

I brought them home and felt just a bit disappointed when my kids thought a box of pure gold was now nestled on the shelf.  Are they just used to the disgusting fare I buy them?  Have they accepted their sad fate since they realize begging for a fresh cookie is futile?  Do they actually like cheap trash?  I almost threw a fit about their palates until I recalled what happens when cookies start to bake in my oven; my kids appear out of thin air, begging for both dough and the perfect pieces of heaven once they finish baking... Yep, they've probably just accepted their fate. Poor babies...

Dear Kayley

Dear Kayley,

I pulled the hideous gray back out for your room tonight:

This was not a surprise to you because we talked this morning and I left specific instructions about cleaning the rat piles in your corners.  You seem to be quite accepting of the fact that we are moving. For this I am grateful, because I have heard the phrase, "YOU'RE RUINING MY LIFE!!!" enough in the last month to last me a lifetime.

Although you were not surprised that I would be painting tonight, I was surprised to find that the rat piles remained untouched when I got home.  Unfortunately for me, I did not notice until you and Hannah had already left for IF High's basketball game tonight.  Combine the rat piles with an invisible, strange, speckled substance on every one of your walls that would not accept paint, and I quickly became livid.  I began to imagine what type of teenage orgy could have possibly covered your walls in such a fashion, but had to give it up because I worried it might be teenage semen!

I told your dad about five times I was going to murder you when you got home and he just murmured something incoherent to distract me.  The only thing that finally assuaged my anger, was hearing "Human" by The Human League on Pandora.  I had an unnatural love of that song in high school despite it being all about cheating on your partner which of course, I don't condone.  I still like that song, probably because of sentiment, and singing along to it made me happy.  Playing "Human" made me forgive Pandora as well as you, since five minutes earlier, Pandora selected a Neil Diamond song which got your dad hot and bothered while he accused me of being a closet Neil fan. For the record:  You wish, you ridiculous freak!  Find some other lady to help you act out whatever disgusting Neil fantasy you have!... I digress.

With a little patience, and some scraping, the splotches finally took the hideous gray, and now I'm in bed waiting for you to get home from the game.  Please don't get murdered on the way home, Kayley, because I'm worried dad will turn me in for the reward money I will post for the capture of your assailant.

Love,

Mommy

It's JT

I love Justin Timberlake.  I've enjoyed his talents on many levels for countless years, but felt like a grown woman should not admit that fact out loud.  I would whisper along to his songs so Jared wouldn't know I liked him.  I would feign apathy when one of his singles came on the radio, but do inward leaps of joy when my teens didn't want to change him out for another station.  This charade  worked for me and my ego until Kayley found out I love the JT song, "Sexy Back" a couple of years ago.  She was at first surprised, then appalled, then slowly moved to acceptance (I call this the JT stages of grief) when I could sing all the lyrics if that particular work of art came on the radio.  She once tried to point out how nasty the song was and that I shouldn't like it.  I told her I didn't give a shit and to turn it up!

Once the ice was broken with Kayley, it became easier to admit my problem to others.  First, it was the other girls.  Then, their friends, and somewhere along the way, my sweet lover found out.  For Christmas, Santa gave us ITunes gift cards, so I finally came out of the closet completely and bought some JT:

I told Jared out loud a few weeks ago that I liked Justin Timberlake.  He said, "I know," without an ounce of judgement in his voice.  I asked him tonight what he thought about my addiction and as usual he said, "I don't care."  He then decided to let me know what he had downloaded today:  Four Non Blondes's "What's Up."  I got irate because I detest that song.  A week ago he downloaded "Cotton Eye Joe."  I not so politely informed him that those songs suck nuts.  I do not care that I'm being a total music hypocrite!  My love affair with JT, as well as my indignant behavior, is justified by my dorky spouse's taste in jams!