Immediately after a gushy, happy post, I rant like a banshee. Prepare yourselves to hear about the day from hell yesterday. The Fuck Up Fairy had her head firmly planted in my ass and she refused to leave all day.
The day began with the alarm going off followed by a discussion between EN and myself. I had decided the night before that I would work from home because I was feeling so sick. EN was going to meet Little Joe to pick up the new bathtub and surround, so we decided that I’d go back to sleep for a bit and he’d get up, get ready and drive Sugar to school. Shortly thereafter she comes screeching into our bedroom and insists on taking the bus to school. Instead of telling her we are the parents and we’ll decide what the plan is, I gave in and got up. Some things are just not worth fighting over.
EN takes off to get the bathtub and I’m working from home with Spice as my sidekick. I email a few from the office to let them know I’m logged in from home and my nemesis responds with, “You didn’t seem to be sick yesterday, what happened?” I guess he missed me not being able to hold my head up. I guess he didn’t hear me coughing up a lung. I guess he missed out on the fact that I left the office at 11:30 on Wednesday. Quite possibly, I shouldn’t take offense at everything he says to me, but knowing that he’s dying for me to quit, I’m annoyed by his commentary.
I take Spice to school and start to get concerned that EN and Joe aren’t back with the tub and surround yet. There must be drama. Of course there’s drama, because nothing ever goes smoothly in my world. When the boys went to pick up the tub and surround, the pieces were not in boxes but already assembled. As they were driving a pick up truck, they asked the guys working there if it was really safe to take a tub like that. They were assured that everything would be fine. Of course it wasn’t fine. It took them hours to drive home, which included stopping to disassemble the two pieces and a stop at Home Depot. The drive home caused a piece of surround to crack and also blew the layer of warehouse dust off the tub, which made the stress cracks in the tub shine through. Fabulous! I immediately talk to Tiny Mike and he tells me there’s nothing he can do. We are stuck with the piece of shit tub and surround because we drove it off the lot. Really? There are no words to adequately express my anger. The workers shouldn’t have let them leave with the tub like that. The boys should have refused to drive it home and asked for delivery. There are lots of should haves and would haves, but in the end, we are stuck with broken merchandise and nothing can be done about it. I told EN to take the fucking thing to the dump. I want no part of this. I will NEVER use that tub. Ever.
Now the girls are back home from school and there’s broken tub on my front lawn. Suddenly there’s a commotion at the door. As I’m congested, my bad hearing is even worse and I can’t hear a word EN is saying to me. I look more closely and see that he’s got a woman and two kids with him. I am sick, who the fuck are these people in my house?? It appears as though Sugar has invited a friend over for a play date. Not only did she not ask permission, but she gave no warning that this little girl would be coming over.
I am sick and look like ass, the house is trashed and there is a fucking bathtub on my front lawn… REALLY?! I played nice with the mother and she beat feet out of there, leaving her daughter behind. So there I sit, sick at my kitchen table, trying get some work things accomplished with the stupidest woman who has ever walked the planet. There are kids running everywhere, dogs barking, tools grinding and banging and dust flying. Ice Princess lives in style.
EN, at this point, is scared shitless of the Ice Princess, so he takes off for parts unknown. I drive the little friend home and feed the girls dinner. They argue and fight throughout, then go their separate ways. Around 6:30 Sugar finds some homework that she “forgot” about. At 7:00, here comes even more homework that we didn’t know we had at 3:30. I gather up my little cherubs and using extreme nice voice (ok my head was spinning and I was screaming) and tell them to get into the shower. They need to shower again because the broken bathtub is not yet installed, so I have another fun filled night of brushing through Spice’s hair. Stop the insanity.
I put the girls in bed early and tune in for my shows and peruse Facebook. What’s this I see?
Why yes, that is a tattoo. That tattoo is on the ring finger of my niece who is not in school and is unemployed. We can’t even sing “Beauty School Dropout” to her because she didn’t drop out of beauty school. No, she was asked to leave and get her life in order, then come back. I’m not exactly sure what it is that she needs to get in order. It’s not like she has a job, kids, husband, house… ANY responsibility whatsoever. I guess the stress of figuring out where one is going to get their next piercing or tattoo is simply too much to handle on top of learning how to put add highlights to someone’s hair. I hope that the idiot that gave her money for Christmas will be pleased to see where their hard-earned dollars went. At least we’ll all have a permanent reminder.
Obviously, a tattoo on the finger of my stupid niece does not impact my life one way or another. A broken bathtub is fixable, but will never again be perfect. My child that refuses to listen to her mother might someday. Meanwhile I’ll keep sucking down these super-cool Cepacol mouth-numbing lozenges in hopes that my mean tongue will be too numb to spew forth evil words to those who piss me off.