An Evening In The Life

Just a quick look at one evening in the life of a single Mommy to a 3 1/2 year old and pets.......

5pm: Leave full-time job. Sit in insane traffic on freeway. Consider road rage.

5:25pm: Stop at store for milk I forgot at store yesterday. Buy 5 things. Forget milk.

5:35pm: Retrieve daughter from preschool. Check that we have blankie, stuffed dog, stuffed gorilla, and any recent art projects. Check daughter has been angel all day as expected.

6pm: Arrive home. Walk caged, hyperactive dog. Give dog chew bone to control extra energy not expended on walk.

6:10pm: Eat Cheetos at counter while making youngster "real" dinner. Answer phone. Make additional phone call.

6:25pm: Change laundry while youngster finishes eating. Argue about cookie count for dessert. Bend a bit on cookie count to circumvent pending meltdown.

6:45pm: Ask youngster where she put Popsicle stick from homemade Popsicle maker yesterday. Am told in the trash. Trash went out yesterday. No more stick. Can only make 3 Popsicles in maker instead of 4. Do not care.

7pm: Watch same Hannah Montana movie for the 9 millionth time. Must sing and dance. Field phone call while singing.

7:30pm: Flip on "Regular Hannah". Rewind opening song on DVR 3 times.

7:55pm: Attempt bedtime.....Denied.

8:05pm: Bedtime attempt #2......Denied.

8:10pm: Bedtime attempt #3....put foot down.

8:15pm: Brush teeth, get Band Aid, try to find requested Hannah nightgown. Cannot find. Much crying. Dig Hannah nightgown from laundry basket.

8:25pm: Read story x 3. Say goodnight 22 times.

8:35pm: Flee to kitchen. Crack beer. Return calls while folding laundry.

9:00pm: Feed starving cats I forgot to feed earlier. Give dog another chew bone to keep him off my back.

9:15pm: Put more laundry in. Trip over cat on way upstairs. Trip over dollhouse toys once upstairs. Clean up dollhouse toys.

9:30pm: Attempt to check computer. Field phone calls.

10:00pm: Switch laundry. Trip over cat.

10:30pm: Pack bag for next day, check schedule. Attempt TV program. Talk on phone instead.

11:00pm: Friend with crisis. Talk on phone.

11:30pm: Run laundry through dryer again to get out wrinkles. Forget about laundry.

12:00am: Get in bed to watch Law and Order. Fall asleep right after opening action. Miss entire program.

And you haven't even seen the Daytime parts yet.........

Haircuts Are Nice

I went and got all my hair chopped off today. I am talking a good 3 1/2 inches worth. Sweetness. This remedies last year's horrendous color f**kup that had me looking like Annie for 24 hours before I could get to the salon. Had to wear hat, sunglasses and big puffy coat just to zip to the beer store, in case I ran into someone. Anyhoo, I have gone to this gal, her name is Teeny, (yes, Teeny and she is too. Very cute) many times and I have never had a bad haircut by her EVER. Here's the thing. I dive into full panic mode every time I get a haircut. And since I have a moderate case of panic disorder as it is, one more place where I have an attack is a bit much for me to handle. I have no idea why this happens, it's like I don't trust her even though I so totally do! WTF? But it happens about halfway through the drying process, and my brain is going "It's not looking right, it's sucking, it's not straight enough" yadda yadda. And then, as usual, she finishes and it looks marvelous and I have no clue why I was sweating it for the last half hour. There has to be a solution to this but I haven't discovered it yet. If anyone has any ideas, please pass them along. Anything to keep from feeling like I just had a hot bath when leaving the salon.

Stylin'..........

OMFG!

Went to corner petrol station again today, (this time for Bud Select, not actual petrol. Everyone needs a break) and I SWEAR AS SURE AS TODAY IS WEDNESDAY some asswipe blocked the f**king drive AGAIN! What is wrong with people????!!!! I told you they do it every day! And I was not lying! Seriously? To make it even better, I have freaking PONYTAILS in, and I am honking and swearing at aforementioned asswipe as I usually do, and I look like I'm 12. Awesome. I need to get a concealed carry permit. I'm done. I mean, I work in the ghetto, so it is a good idea to have anyway, but now for sure. Idiots. I am turning into a serious hater. Nice.

Bite me, Gandhi, I am on a roll here.....