First of all, when it's just Hubby, Munchkin and myself, I'm neurotic about keeping the house clean. In part because I'm simply neurotic and in part because when one lives in 540 square feet, a single dish in the sink can make the kitchen look like you've neglected it for weeks. One unmade bed turns into a pig-sty of a bedroom and God-forbid the neatly placed coverings come off the falling-apart couch, cause then you have not only a tangled, wrinkly mass of blue fabric hanging to the floor, you also see quite clearly, from every room in the house, the many rips in the upholstery of the second-hand couch that were once small tears, but thanks to an inquisitive two-year-old who shall remain nameless *eyeroll* they are great big flapping cushion-innards-showing rips so the living room looks as if it were destroyed by college-student-rock-stars.
In other words; I have a system that, when utilized, keeps this place from looking like a ghetto shack.
I also have a budget. One that has to be adhered to strictly to keep the lights and the phone and the internet on while still providing enough sustenance to feed two adults and a child for two weeks at a time, which isn't as easy as it sounds when your two-year-old is a total might-as-well-be-crack Milk Junkie of the highest order. As in two gallons every 3.6 days.
Don't judge me, Mamas. I hear your tongues clicking. I don't do juice. It's milk or water; so the kid wants milk, he gets milk.
Anyway, as stated last time, the step-son is here. He was supposedly sent with money for food. Because in all honesty, this kid eats like... well, I don't even know what. Nothing I can think of eats as much as he does. He's a bottomless pit. Like, for realz, yo. Like, if I spend $200 on groceries every two weeks to get our normal household occupants through, I need to double it to add the step-son for one week and not be stuck with nothing but top ramen and water for the second week until the check comes in. Seriously. Not even exaggerating.
Locusts. I guess the closest thing would be a swarm of Locusts.
So here we are on Tuesday evening. New roommate is at work ~ at a bar, so he comes home semi-sloshed between 4 & 5 am which I totally hear, because the door is right by our bedroom and I have 'Mama hearing' in case the Munchkin needs me. Dude is always very considerate about being super quiet and he only comes in and goes straight to bed on the couch, but still. The bar closes at 2 and I could totally be on the computer until he comes home, but we never know when that's going to be, except that the pattern, as I've already stated, seems to be between 4 & 5 am. Driving. Me. Nuts.
And then there's the food-Hoover-step-son who is still just as mopey as I stated in my other last post mentioning him, except now he's more so because he rolled his truck and is just a big ass ball of mopiness now. And he's still a huge 6'7" along with the munchkin and the roommate and the 6'4" Hubby and my non-smoking weight gain of fat ass trying to fit into a trailer built for two anorexic midgets, or one shortish normal-weight person.
Anyway, the Hubby called the ex-wife (aka step-son's mother) who knows about the four months of unemployment, and says that if step-son is coming she needs to send him with some money for food, cause we just can't do it any other way right now. So she does. A credit card. With $20 on it. (which they totally told me was like $60 so I wouldn't go stupid on them) And what do these two geniuses do with the card? They go to fast food twice and now the card is empty. *deep cleansing breaths* And to top it off, the drought that we've experienced for nearly the entire summer has picked the last couple of days to break. So, today, we have rain, and Hubby can't work on the ex-wife's car in the rain so he and Munchkin and step-son are sitting around watching movies and eating up food we can't spare if we want to continue to eat anything with a nutritional value above dirt for the rest of the time till payday, and the aforementioned weather means that step-son will be here now through Thursday at the minimum.
Dear Lord God Almighty, please, please, help me because Jail Sucks. And I don't want to have to suck anything while I'm in a jail in Texas because I'm sure the woman's facility contains people of questionable gender that could bench-press bulls and tractors and shit, and I don't want to be some Bertha's pudgy-love slave.
So, please God, please keep me from killing these men with the intelligence and foresight of 12 year olds and just for fun taking out the other guy who keeps telling me the exact number of motorcycles that are going by on the highway outside as if I give a good God damn, and where to get the best hamburger as if I'm two seconds into my Texas residency. Oh, and btw, now my two year old has started to tell me to "Shu-Hup" the second I take a breath and look as if I'm going to speak and won't give me hugs or kisses cause he only wants to spend time with 'the guys'.
Whatever I have done to deserve this God, I choose the quick painless death of tripping over too many feet in the living room and going head-first into the wall and crushing my cranium along with being electrocuted by the wires in the wall when my head passes through to the next room, instead of starving to death with a bunch of locust-like, authority-on-nothing-important, think-they're-grown, non-planning slobs who take up so much room that I have to go outside to change my fucking mind. Amen.
PS. Is this because I became part of The Bloggess' Army on twitter and have been writing unkind things about William Shatner because of 'his feud' with The Bloggess that she totally made up kind-of.
Therefore, you didn't think it was funny when I said that William Shatner chose the ending for the Sopranos finale, or that William Shatner wouldn't hand Julia Roberts the phone in Steel Magnolias, or that William Shatner told W & Cheney about WMD, or that William Shatner drinks out of the milk carton, or that William Shatner is the leader of the underwear gnomes...
It is, isn't it, God. You're a Shat-fan, God. A Kirk-loving-trekkie.
And I, am totally screwed and going to hell.
*UPDATE* PPS. Oh, just fucking beautiful. Shatner and the Bloggess made up, and I'm still over here going to hell. Besides, who the hell else am I going to vent at in a completely passive-aggressive manner to release my fire-hazard-cause-it's-over-capacity (among other reasons) home situation? Now I have to find some other iconic twitterer to take out my misplaced-anger upon. Damn it. Cause, lets face it, Shat was perfect in this capacity, aside from the obvious going to hell part. If anyone has any ideas on who to target next, let me know. Thanks