tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83157521261054193312023-11-15T08:09:46.476-08:00Almost Domesticspitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-27700586518972706892010-01-29T10:07:00.000-08:002010-01-29T10:56:54.381-08:00PUKE-A-PALOOZAMy stomach violently cramps. I figure it's the coffee. I keep drinking it. Another cramp. Whoa... wait a minute, I wasn't supposed to start my period for another two weeks. Coffee should cure this. I drink more. Another cramp, and then another and then another... Uh-oh... this can't be good.<br /><br />I run to the bathroom (of which I have mentioned before there is only one of in our apartment) and it is occupied. My sister is behind the door violently throwing up. I'm getting suspicious that maybe I have the flu... She comes out, pale and shaky and says, "Dude. I have the fucking flu." My suspicions were correct, as usual, I am always right. I run into the bathroom and vomit. <br /><br />*Skip to about twelve hours later*<br /><br />"Well, that was a short flu," I say stupidly out loud to my sister.<br />"Yeah, thank god the kids didn't get it," my sister stupidly says out loud to me without knocking on wood.<br /><br />*Skip to about three hours later*<br /><br />"MOM! My stomach isn't feeling so good...," yells my oldest daughter from bed.<br /><br />"Well, hurry and get into the bathroom if you think you're going to puke!" Although I love my steam cleaner I really would like to avoid using it at 2am if at all possible.<br /><br />"UUUhhhhh..." My oldest daughter pukes. A lot.<br /><br />While I'm pulling her hair back into a ponytail I hear my middle daughter scream from bed. <br /><br />"MOM! My tummy hurts!"<br /><br />*Shit.*<br /><br />"Ok, well, if you have to puke, line up behind your sister." <br /><br />My oldest finishes puking, washes up and goes and lays down.<br /><br />My youngest jumps into the bathroom and violently empties her stomach, not into, but on top of the toilet.<br /><br />I pull her hair back and bust out the Lysol. I spend the next hour or so spraying down light switches, door knobs, the toilet and all of the brownest walls where the kids slide their hands across the white paint with grubby hands. Lysol is the greatest. Lysol would make millions off of me if they came out with their own ladies perfume. I would spray myself with Lysol all day, every day if I could. It would be even better if Lysol came out with those little cardboard car deodorizers to hang from your rear view mirror and if they came out with children sized suits made of plastic and a Lysol lining so that I could quarantine and de-germ all of these small creatures that infect me weekly with a new virus/not-so-common disease... like the time my kids gave me Hand, Foot and Mouth disease. That was fun. <br /><br />So, I finish Lysoling and get the two girls into makeshift beds on the floor near the bathroom in case of another need to run into the bathroom in the middle of the night. I put a trash can between their heads and go and lay down... finally... I can get some damn sleep. It is about 3:30am. As soon as my head hits my pillow I hear the newborn squirm. And then I hear a splash. And then I hear a cry. And then I hear a squirt. <br /><br />*Crap.*<br /><br />I get back up and strip her crib. I wash her up and change her explosive diaper and her digested formula sprayed outfit. I Lysol her crib. I Lysol myself. I lay her back down and wait until she drifts off to sleep. I resume my position on my pillow. It is 4:20am.<br /><br />"Mom...," my oldest daughter whines quietly. "I think I have to puke again..."<br /><br />"Me too...," my middle daughter cries.<br /><br />The baby squirms.<br /><br />*Splash*<br /><br />*Squirt*<br /><br />UUUHHHHHGGG....spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-36171627147101657922010-01-26T19:25:00.001-08:002010-01-26T20:11:51.882-08:00Why Asking For Patience Is A Dumb Idea.I am an impatient person. I know, I know... You're saying to yourself, "But Shawna, you seem so 'put together' and 'calm' in your other posts." Well, thank you few readers that actually read my blog, but I am sad to say you are delusional. <br /><br />Where to start... I suppose I'll start with a list of things that brought me to the point that I felt I needed some outside help in the patience department. And then I will give one example of why asking for patience only provides the universe with an excuse to try the little patience I currently possess.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">WHY I NEED TO LEARN THE ART OF PATIENCE</span><br /><br />1. Going through pretty rough divorce.<br />2. I live next door to a redneck with a LOUD truck. He leaves for work at 5:45 a.m.<br />3. I live with my sister, and although she rocks, she also sucks.<br />4. There are 5 kids in my small two bedroom, one bath apartment.<br />5. I have been practically throwing myself at someone who lives very far away and seems to selectively like me back.<br />6. There are 5 kids in my small two bedroom, one bath apartment.<br />7. And, a chihuahua.<br /><br />So... Today I walk into my kids' bedroom and the overwhelming smell of chihuahua urine smacked me in the face. Time to steam clean! I LOVE steam cleaning. It is unhealthy how much I LOVE this chore. I am not being sarcastic. I have a very strange relationship with my steam cleaner. It is one of fascination and morbid curiosity. I like to see how much dirt comes out of my carpet. And I clean the carpet many, many times until there is no dirt left to examine. This is an all day process. Back to the story... I get out my beloved steam cleaner and take the bucket off of the machine to go and fill it in the bathtub with hot water when I see that one of the kids this morning left their bath water sitting in the tub. I flick the switch to drain the tub... and nothin'. The water stays there, freezing and stagnant mocking me. <span style="font-style:italic;">Why do you mock me water?</span><br />I notice there is a ball of hair stuck to the drain. The ball of hair is suspiciously the same color as my sister's hair. Every morning she leaves a glob of hair sitting on top of the drain and every morning I scoop it out and throw the wet mass into her makeup bag. Here's an actual conversation we literally just had about a week ago:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"Can you stop throwing hair balls into my makeup bag?"</span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">"Can you stop leaving hair balls in the bathtub drain?"</span><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">"I try to get it out of there as best I can."</span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">"Well, try harder."</span><br /><br />I realize I'm going to have to fix this problem and there are no men around to con into doing it for me. I grab a screwdriver out of the junk drawer and pry the drain cover off and when I pull it up there is a fist full of hair stuck to it. Ick. I rip all of that out and notice... the water is still sitting there. Shit. What now? I grab the only other logical tool to use in a situation like this. My crochet hook. I pull out another massive wad with that. Still, the water stays. I grab the next best tool, and it was also recommended by Wikipedia. A plunger. It works on the toilet, so why not the tub? I start furiously plunging and while I am cursing the day my sister was born and pulling more and more dyed and damaged hair out of the drain, my phone slips out of my pocket and plops into the tub, which is filled with hair, dirt and now (because I used a plunger) poop water. I reach into the filthy water and pull my phone out hoping I can salvage it. Nope. It's dead. It utters one last guttural sound- The Office theme song plays one last time, slowly in a definite moment of passing. FUCK! My only love in life is texting. I text ALL day long. I only text three people so I am sure they are happy about my loss. But, I am distraught.<br />I hear the neighbour men outside. I run out there and ask them to help. One neighbour suggests a plunger. The other neighbour says that is the dumbest idea he's ever heard, that only an idiot would use a plunger. Apparently it pushes the clog the opposite way back into the drain. Good to know AFTER THE FACT. <span style="font-style:italic;">Thank you Wikipedia. </span> He tells me to get a wire coat hanger and unravel it and make a hook at the bottom. I ask him if he can just do it. I bat my eyes. He does it. He pulls out a wad of my sister's hair from the drain and throws it on my bathroom counter instead of in the trash can in plain sight. I stop batting my eyes and tell him to leave. He leaves. <br />I then bat my eyes one last time (because I don't have the complex manager's number) and ask him to make a phone call for me since my phone is dead. He calls him. I resume NOT batting my eyes. <br />The manager came with a snake. No use. He then had to call a plumber.<br />The plumber arrives after three hours of me trying to fix the problem on my own. He chuckles and ays, "You wudda never got this fixed all on your own!"<br />Thank you plumber. You summed things up nicely. I think that comment applies to every issue with patience I have with every item on the aforementioned list.spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-50548265601517707282010-01-26T08:26:00.000-08:002010-01-26T08:49:56.149-08:00Morning Time"Do you want Fruit Loops?," I ask my oldest daughter.<br />"What did you just say?," my oldest daughter replies.<br />"I asked if you want Fruit Loops or not," I reply a little irritated that I have to repeat EVERYTHING around here.<br />"I heard what you said. OF COURSE I want Fruit Loops," she snaps back at me.<br /><br />My sarcasm should not be one of the traits that I pass along to my children, but too late.<br /><br />"Mom, can I take a bath?," my middle child asks.<br />"Yes. Go jump in," I tell her.<br />"You said not to jump in the bathtub," my middle child says puzzled.<br />"Not literally. Geesh," I reply.<br />"What does LIT-AR-ULLY mean?," my middle child asks, getting on my very last nerve for the morning.<br />"It means GET-IN-THE-BATH-NOW," I say as I'm making a bottle for the baby and a bowl of cereal for my nephew and cleaning the table after my oldest daughter simultaneously.<br />"Oh," she says, and heads off for the bathroom.<br /><br />"Are you making me breakfast Auntie Na-na?," my nephew asks.<br />"Does it LOOK like I'm making you breakfast?," I ask in my sweetest morning voice.<br />"Is that cereal for me?," he asks.<br />"Well it's not for the babies," I reply.<br />"So...are you making me breakfast Auntie Na-na?"<br /><br />"I NEED A TOWEL!!!," my middle child screams from the other room.<br /><br />"WAHHHHHH," the baby in the back room cries.<br /><br />"WAHHHHHH," the baby in the front room cries.<br /><br />"I forgot to do my homework," my oldest daughter tells me.<br /><br />"I want my breakfast," my nephew whines while stomping in small circles around my legs in the kitchen.<br /><br />"MOM! TOWEL!!," my middle child screams again.<br /><br />"I'm going to get detention," my oldest child says.<br /><br />"I'M SOOOO HUNGRY...," my nephew says, thinking that will make me move faster.<br /><br />*SLURP* The baby in the back room is now taken care of.<br /><br />*SLURP* The baby in the front room is now taken care of.<br /><br />*SPOON CLANKING ON SIDE OF CEREAL BOWL* My nephew is taken care of.<br /><br />*SPLASH* My middle daughter is handed a towel and taken care of.<br /><br />*FURIOUS SCRIBBLES* My oldest daughter finishes the last bit of homework.<br /><br />sssiiilllleeennnccceee....<br /><br />"Mom, I'm still hungry," my oldest daughter says.<br /><br />"Me too!," my middle one chimes in.<br /><br />"Auntie Na-na, when I am done with my cereal can I have more?," my nephew asks feeling left out of the conversation.<br /><br />"WAHHHHHH!," the baby in the back room screams for a diaper change.<br /><br />"WAHHHHH!," the baby in the front room screams for a diaper change. <br /><br />"EEEE!! EEEE!! EEEE!!," says the voice in my head as I eyeball a sharp knife and my empty coffee pot.spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-68593992883031370152010-01-25T11:16:00.001-08:002010-01-25T11:16:46.283-08:00Yup. Still got it.It was a male judge. Fine was cut in half. Yessss...spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-8103172453521235692010-01-25T06:29:00.000-08:002010-01-25T06:40:46.586-08:00YAY COURT!I am up early today and ready to make my big appearance! My 15 minutes of fame have come a'knockin' and I'm prepared to put on the best show of my life. <br />Because I was left three months behind on pretty much all of my bills (and that includes auto insurance and my car registration) while I was visibly pregnant by a total douche nozzle (who's full name will remain anonymous only because we haven't gone to court yet *it's not that I don't care about my readers enough to warn them of this man roaming the streets looking for single ladies to impregnate and then abandon*) I got pulled over by the fuzz and now am facing a hefty fine in court this morning. I owe the court about 1,200 dollars in which I am supposed to pay today.<br />I am going to get up when called upon in court and unleash the 'cute girl tears' with such a fury that my parents may actually be proud of me for once. I'm going to turn on those water works by any means possible. I'll think of everyone I love dying off in a scenario similar to the story line of The Stand by Stephen King, I'm going to pinch my self in that spot right under your arm where it's the fattest and most sensitive until I bruise, I'm even prepared to go as far as wearing a maxi pad backward inside of my underwear *because nothing can make a woman tear up faster than getting a pube stuck to the backing of one of those damn things*.<br />I hope it's a male judge.spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-33379133598919375582010-01-24T13:41:00.000-08:002010-01-24T13:55:40.858-08:00Hilarity in Hell.After about a half of a year of dealing with divorce and the miserable circumstances that normally follow a split, I have decided not to let any of the bullshit that I've been dealing with make me angry any more. Although I am prone to anger *like vein popping, heart exploding in chest, froth at the mouth anger* I do not like the emotion in the least. So, I will stop feeling it. Instead, I am going to share with all of humanity (or 18 followers) some of the absolutely pathetic, but hilarious moments in my divorce thus far. Here goes nothin'.<br /><br />Ex: I miss you. I have a surprise for you.<br />Me: You know I fucking hate surprises. What is it?<br />Ex: Can't tell you. But it's GREAT!<br />Me: Well, when do I get this great surprise? Can you just tell me already I seriously hate this crap.<br />Ex: I'll give it to you after work tonight.<br />Me: Fine.<br />*several hours pass*<br />Ex: Hey- do you want to know what it is?<br />Me: I thought I was getting it after you got off work or something. Of course I want to know what it is but if it's jewellery just take it back. I don't want it.<br />Ex: Not jewellery.<br />Me: Pez?<br />Ex: Not Pez.<br />Me: I'm tired of guessing. What in the hell is it?<br />Ex: Are you sure you want me to ruin the surprise?<br />Me: Will you knock it off already. I can't stand this. I don't even want it any more. Fuck it, whatever it is.<br />Ex: Alright I'll tell you.<br />*about an hour goes by*<br />Ex: You don't seem excited.<br />Me: I'm not.<br />Ex: Well you will be when I give it to you. I'll give you a hint- I've been wanting to get it for you for a while now.<br />Me: Is it child support? Because if it's child support I'm starting to get excited.<br />Ex: Well, no, but I'm working on that too.<br />Me: Great.<br />*another hour goes by*<br />Ex: OK. I'm ready to tell you now.<br />Me: huh.<br />Ex: Ready??<br />Me: shoot.<br />Ex: It's Viagra.<br />*several minutes go by*<br />Ex: So?<br />Me: Did you actually file the divorce papers or am I going to have to wait another six months to get this shit over with?<br />Ex: What? I thought you'd be excited.<br />Me: We haven't slept together in six months. Why in the hell would I be excited about a Viagra? Are you giving it to me to take because I don't think I can get an erection after this conversation.<br />Ex: No, it was for me to take and for you to enjoy.<br />Me: Huh. So... it ws actually a surprise for YOU then.<br />Ex: No, I got it for you.<br />Me: I think you got it for you.<br />Ex: You don't seem happy.<br />Me: Ya think?<br /><br />The end.spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-66027861272653180552010-01-22T09:20:00.000-08:002010-01-22T09:36:58.684-08:00Occupational HazardI sat in front of cat lady's apartment last night for a good half hour inside of my warm car watching the freezing rain fall all around me. I was safe inside the dark car, listening to one of my favourite songs on full blast. I was safe from the rain, but also from the cats who wanted warmth and shelter from the pouring rain. The man singing was gaining momentum with his lyrics and they sunk all the way into my head. <br />"I feel more like a stranger every time I come home..."<br />I felt more at ease in my beat up silver Matrix than in my own apartment last night. Just sitting there, white knuckling the steering wheel, although the car was not in motion, made me feel at home. The violins enveloped me and the man's voice is a raw one, with purpose and a real message to give to people.<br />"You'll be free child once you have died. From the shackles of language and measurable time..."<br />I feel like I am a prisoner of both language and time. Language either grants me a momentary window in which in I can see the words I want to form in a tangible way on paper or it fails me miserably. Time is the endless but ever fleeting enemy right now. My oldest daughter is going to be eight this year. I keep thinking of all of the things she has seen so far in her short life and of all the things she will see as an adult. I try to filter the things but she's going to have to see the negatives at some point. I just want so badly to prolong the good. It's an uphill battle to try and filter anything away from that kid. She's smart and insightful and she can feel my heavy heart through walls even. She knows just from the tone in my voice or a small glint in my eyes if I am unhappy and she wants to fix it. I try and explain to her that it isn't her job as a kid to fix anything, that she needs to focus on Play-doh and childrens' books and stomping in puddles. Her occupation is recreation. My occupation is making sure her occupation is in ever high demand.spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-44403903778545542312010-01-21T09:50:00.000-08:002010-01-21T10:14:18.140-08:00OK! *Full body shake* I am ready to interact with strangers again! <br />Although I took a long vacation from blogging, I have still been compulsively checking my facebook and that hasn't helped me at all. I post new status updates about every two hours and am constantly wondering, "Why don't people 'like' this?" Not healthy. I am, on top of writing a book, scribbling in my journal and typing my every thought and emotion out onto my facebook page, going to blog again. Yay for you guys.<br />So... We all know I am in the middle of a divorce... yadda yadda yadda... The man I dated and then married turned. He is rotten and miserable and I need to toss him as far away from me as possible, just like the hotdog buns that I picked up off the counter this morning that seemed just fine, but when I actually picked them up and turned the package over, they were a solid green mass and I realized I had bought them three to four weeks ago. Shit. How long was the man I married rotting in this apartment next to me without offering a hint as to what a pile he was? There was no distinct smell coming from him. Wait, I'm lying. There was a VERY distinct smell coming from him, but I was desensitized to it I guess. He wasn't green, so I guess that's why I kept him around. He still isn't quite green and the only reason I know this is because he has decided to play a fun little game with me called, "Let's Send Shawna Pics Of Me And My New Greasy Girlfriend In Bed Together." I am losing I think. Unless you take his gf's outgrown roots into consideration, and then I believe he's losing. Well, now I'm just being mean I guess. I'm glad he's happy trying to make me miserable, but it's not really working because I don't care who he's sleeping with as long as it's not me. Go ahead and screw my friend. *ppssst* I know something you don't know! OK, I'll tell you, but you have to promise to never tell a SOUL! She also slept with your best friend and didn't use a rubber and was exposed to genital warts. So, FACE.<br />Now, I am "finding myself." What a waste of fucking time this has been. I don't know what I like or dislike any more and I'm getting really worn out trying to figure out all of my interests. I like food. There's a start. So, I cook a lot. And eat that cooked food. ALONE. Or with my kids, but they don't really count as company much because I'm just trying to prevent them from murdering each other and I feel more like a warden than a mom.<br />I like this one guy. So, there's another start. But not really. He doesn't talk to me much, so I send him these incredibly needy texts all day long, everyday, and probably bug the living shit out of him, but he's too nice to text me and tell me to "STOP." So, his silence is my green light to text him 83 times a day, everyday, and build a very one sided relationship with him, of which I have created in my head, and it all makes sense to me and I ask him for his input on the matter, but he must be "busy" or "sleeping" or "working" because he hasn't got back to me on it. I'll text him in a little bit and ask him again, maybe his phone fell in the toilet again. <br />So besides eating stuff and texting a guy, I have found very little happiness in the last five months. Oh, I had a kid. That was alright. She's pretty cute and doesn't cry much.spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-29697318558388710482009-11-11T18:35:00.000-08:002009-11-11T18:42:35.909-08:00In need of a get away...This I the absolute loneliest I have ever felt in my life. The last few months I have tried to put a positive, humorous spin on my situation with my ex and my life in general and it just isn't working any more. I wish there were something laughable about my life. Something I could find humor in to bring me out of this rut I am in as far as writing and smiling go. The only thing I can find humorous at this moment is that I am working on a sequel to a book that hasn't even been published. It hasn't been published because I haven't even tried to send it off to a publisher out of sheer terror that I will be rejected. I am supposed to be over this. I am supposed to know that I will be rejected and be ok with it, but I can't accept the fact that someone may not love it. I play safe and give it to friends to read, which is stupid and self gratifying, but it is the only thing in my comfort zone that I am willing to do with my words. I need someone to slap me real hard across the face and bring me out of my funk. I need a motivational speaker to come to my house and tell me that what I am going through is better than living in a van down by the river. I need a babysitter to relieve me of my kid duties for five minutes so I can pee without someone cracking the door and asking me for more honeydew. I need a maid. I need to breathe. I need to focus. Everything seems blurry and hours are turning into self-pitying days. I need a time machine and a better mechanism in my brain for logical thinking instead of getting wrapped up in thinking that my life will magically apply it's very own band-aid and everything will work out like it always does in all of my favorite movies and books. I need to stop compulsively texting people because I am driving them insane with my neediness. I need to stop checking on my Facebook every five seconds to feel like I am connecting with humans because all of them on there are just farming anyways. I need a mental vacation and the nap I took today to simulate one was cut short by a screaming baby and the sound of my chihuahua eating a diaper out of the trash.spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-60730452563464921002009-09-08T10:34:00.000-07:002009-09-08T10:35:08.679-07:00Men Are Ass Hats.The title says it all.spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-59830013510649272362009-08-27T17:56:00.001-07:002009-08-27T18:00:01.595-07:00You have some good qualities... your diet needs improvement...So, after weighing the option of either giving my marriage another go, dying sad and lonely or asking for pointers on what the dating scene is like nowadays, I finally decided to ask a platonic guy friend what my chances would be out in the world among the male species. <br /><br />"So what do you think? Am I hot or a leper?"<br />"You've got some good qualities...your diet needs improvement."<br />"I have to go now. Thanks for the 'fat chat.'"<br />"Well, you have a pretty face and great skin. You just need to trim up your stomach, ass and those thighs."<br /><br />I have stopped wondering why he will be a perpetual bachelor.spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-26238798642423761972009-08-25T08:41:00.000-07:002009-08-25T08:47:03.493-07:00Sweet RemindersSo yesterday marked my fifth wedding anniversary and to celebrate I dropped one of our daughters off at my husband's new place since the split. He is without a car right now so he asked if I could drive him to the place where we spent our honeymoon five short years ago... Taco Bell.<br />After that he went and bought me a gas station rose and got me a card, in which he scrawled, "You're my best friend. Like it or not."<br />I got that it was supposed to be a sweet gesture- isn't the traditional fifth wedding anniversary present the Bonsai plant or something??spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-8909362799471580872009-08-19T22:31:00.000-07:002009-08-19T22:39:44.684-07:00The Last Six Days<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">I have tried for the last ten years of my life to avoid being stereotyped as "White Trash." The last six days have, however, have made me contemplate fighting it anymore.<br />Here's a country song that doesn't rhyme-<br /><br />My husband left me<br />With two kids<br />And one on the way.<br />Stole my phone<br />No money<br />No gas<br />Past due electricity bill<br />And unemployed.<br />Also, he left the chihuahua.<br /><br /><br />If I don't make it in Nashville I don't know who will. Or this could be a new form of Haiku, except I'll call it something different like "ofcoursethisshitwouldhappenrightnow."<br /></span></span></span></span></div>spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-91722900585005577112009-07-15T13:50:00.000-07:002009-07-15T14:26:19.118-07:00Cry Me A Crick<span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">This pregnancy is sooo not fun anymore. The baby finally made some sort of movement yesterday which was pretty exciting and today I found out that it is a girl. Another damned girl! I already have two of those. I guess it is good because I pretty much know what to expect in terms of moodiness but I started thinking about it and, between my three girls, I am going to have NINE consecutive years of dealing with teenagers. Teenage <span style="font-style: italic;">girls</span>. On the upside, the ultrasound today confirmed my idea to buy stock in Tampax so hopefully we'll be able to break even every month.<br />Of course, after I was told it was a girl, I had to do the whole <span style="font-style: italic;">call the family</span> and text the other people I didn't want to hear me crying. The following texts are to and from my cousin Curt:<br /><br />Me: It's a girl! Again!<br /><br />Curt: Good God. Well, I guess some parents are more equipped than others to deal with the wrath of an all girl family. Good luck with that.<br /><br />Me: Yah, thanks so much. Do you have a good heroin hook-up?<br /><br />Curt: Not right now but I'm pretty sure I can find one.<br /><br />Me: Keep your eyes peeled.<br /></span></span></span></span>spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-28553573171441311182009-07-15T00:17:00.001-07:002009-07-15T00:54:45.554-07:00To All My Millions Of Loyal Followers....<span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">I'm totally allowed to be delusional about my popularity.<br /><br />Check out this site: http://fishfrog2.blogspot.com/<br /><br />Also, I am sorry I am stupid and could not make that into a proper link... copy and paste lazies.<br /></span></span></span></span>spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-27328598003990498152009-07-13T23:13:00.000-07:002009-07-13T23:16:50.897-07:00Mopping Up Malaria<span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My husband informed me today that the reason why our kids have been getting the flu is because I don't clean the house good enough. Fine, fucker. You just bought yourself a front row ticket to the Shawna's <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Vacuuming</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Extravaganza</span> each and every time you feel like relaxing and watching a movie. Now if you will excuse me, I have dishes to wash so that my children can avoid <span style="font-style: italic;">the plague</span>.<br /></span></span></span></span>spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-47286958360667080002009-07-10T13:16:00.000-07:002009-07-10T13:30:40.590-07:00Cough, Sneeze, Piss, Puke and Piss some more.<span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">OK. I might lose a few readers because of the contents of this blog, but then again, I might gain some too. Here goes...<br /><br />This morning I started a pot of coffee as soon as my eyes popped open and I downed a cup as quickly as possible, which in turn made me choke a little bit. I started coughing and sneezing at the same time and because I am on my third kid, my bladder isn't what it used to be. The sudden respiratory attack allowed my bladder to let lose it's contents all over the front of my pants. I jumped in the shower and thought the worst was over, until I finished bathing and felt that hot lump of an oncoming vomit fill up the length of my throat. I barely had enough time to wrap myself up in a towel before a violent bout of vomiting started taking place. I didn't even have time to kneel in front of the toilet before the chunks started flying out of my mouth. Thankfully, I made every last bit of it into the toilet. What I didn't make into the toilet was the last bit of urine left in my body and my hurried hurl left me pissing uncontrollably all over the floor... or at least I thought I was peeing on the floor. I didn't realize in my vomit induced stupor that I was actually standing over a bucket of Barbies that the kids like to drag in and out of the bathtub for playtime. Barbie has never been so blond in her entire life. After I flushed away the vomit and bleached the floor around the toy tub I sat debating whether or not to boil the toys or toss them. I decided to boil them and give the pee trinkets back to the kids because Barbies are fucking expensive.<br /><br />Anyway, I hope I made you laugh and not puke.<br /></span></span></span></span>spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-19210035908917620762009-07-09T20:21:00.000-07:002009-07-09T20:25:18.495-07:00Easy Cheese<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">I just laughed harder than I have laughed in about three weeks. I was talking to my sister on the phone, as I do every 15 minutes or so, and she informed me that because she just got done spending all of her money on sanitary pads and Lunchables she is now forced to wait until Saturday, when her disability check is expected to arrive in the mail, to purchase the Easy Cheese she's been looking forward to eating.<br /></span></span></span></span></div>spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-55860528330597889452009-07-09T15:50:00.000-07:002009-07-09T16:04:46.885-07:00Waiting for my Twinkie<span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: courier new;">My sister and I were arch nemesisisisis for years. Twenty one years to be exact. I'm not quite sure what started the sibling feud, but I have a feeling it had something to do with my sister wanting to follow me around like a puppy, and the fact that I was pure evil as a child. I was so adorable and unassuming. Only Krista knew the real Shawna behind the big brown eyes that captivated any audience. Only Krista knew the damage my beautiful batting eyelashes were capable of. I would volunteer to babysit her to get brownie points from our parents and as soon as the latch on the door would catch on their way out I would find any reason and any means to torture my poor sister. I have tied her to our mailbox and left her out there to be discovered by our mother hours later, I hid hot chilis in her churros and once, and I am not proud of this in any way, I went as far as dropping a radio on her face to stop her from tattling on me. It didn't work too well.<br />Anyway, all this evil aside, we have managed to become really close over the last seven years and have talked via phone or text every minute on the minute since we made nice. She's planning on moving to Fresno with me next month and the suspense is killing me! I can't wait until she makes it here so I can hang out with my best friend, my <span style="font-style: italic;">bestie</span> if you will. My twinkie.<br /></span></span></span></span>spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-51850745418587503552009-07-08T21:28:00.000-07:002009-07-08T21:37:11.837-07:00Stealing the Internet back and Hating Hormones.<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">FINALLY... I have the internet again. I have been going a little crazy without cable, internet and for a very brief period, electricity.<br />I stole a wi-fi card from a friend today, who, although I steal from this person, he is a very good friend. So I guess that's just a word of warning to all yall's. No access to the outside world makes a person do crazy things.<br />And, speaking of crazy, I am a hormonal nightmare. This new kid is totally jacking my mind up. I screamed at my husband for creating a new email address today because, in the short amount of time he was in the shower, I had convinced my brain that he was definitely using it for accessing porn sites because I am fat and ugly.<br />Arg. Give me your craziest pregnancy hormone story.<br /><br /></span></span></span></span></div>spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-9464751198468224822009-04-26T17:48:00.000-07:002009-04-26T17:56:36.767-07:00It's all the little things...<span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I am soooo annoyed today. Everything is just irking me and I think I'm either hormonal or maybe I didn't have enough coffee today. My doctor is on my ass about not drinking too much caffeine and I don't think she understands that caffeine is the only thing holding me back from being a serial killer at this point.<br />The kids are blowing bubbles and having a contest of who can get their bubble the closest to my butt and it's bonus points if it lands there and pops. My husband keeps trying to be *supportive* of my hormones raging by hugging me or kissing me and every time he does it I want to jab him in the eye with one of the kids' bubble wands. The dog keeps crapping in the hallway and the neighbors invited me over for the zillionth BBQ this week and were offended because I declined. <span style="font-style: italic;">Oh, excuse me. I did not realize that your 12th, and least significant ever, wedding anniversary was reason enough to have a BBQ and invite people over to bask in your constant P.D.A. sessions.<br /></span>I know I am just being bitchy and all of these things, with the exception of the butt bubbles, are supposed to be gestures made with all the right intentions but I just feel like downing a pot of coffee, laying in bed watching the entire 5th season of The Office and ignoring EVERYONE. Now, I'm getting on my own nerves... I gotta go to sleep or something. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span></span></span></span><br /></span></span></span></span></span>spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-1423100864001896082009-04-23T19:45:00.000-07:002009-04-23T21:04:47.057-07:00Mutant Mouse<span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">This afternoon I had an urge to go out back and see <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">exactly</span> how tall the weeds that have been growing unattended for the last seven months are, and I wish I would have had a camera on my person, as I normally do.<br />At first, I thought it was my dog that was playing hide and go seek with me from behind the stainless steel BBQ in the side yard and I called out to her. What I saw next is still making me want to burn down my apartment complex, change my name and move to Bali where the only thing I'll have to worry about is a couple of Kimodo dragons and being the whitest, most obese person in the tiny disease ridden country.<br />It had short brown hair and a long wiry tail. This creature had the body of a large mouse and the head of a small dog. I have never seen a goiter up close and personal before, but I imagine that whatever this mass of skin and hair was that was hanging from this poor animal's face, was a goiter. The head was at least a full ten inches in diameter, swollen and tight, like a ready-to-pop zit on a thirty year old man's back. It had a slow, steady and purposeful stride. It paused gracefully and turned it's engorged face toward mine. The creature's eyes gazed right to the core of everything that I fear. Small, fury animals, rat-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">esque</span> creatures, goiters...<br />He, well, I'm guessing it was a male, looked at me with such intensity that I forgot how to move. At this point my chihuahua realized there was an intruder walking through her territory and sniffed at him furiously. It didn't phase him a bit. I was in awe. How could a creature of such tiny stature not be affected by a humongous predator such as a chihuahua? I tried in vain to flip open my phone and get to the camera option to take a quick picture so my husband would not think I was some crazed lunatic making up a story about a mutant mouse in our side yard. The mutant gained his composure and started toward the wooden fence that separates our back yard to the neighbors and in a flash, he was gone from my life, my eyesight and shooting range.<br /></span></span></span></span>spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-729831457673899132009-04-21T09:57:00.000-07:002009-04-21T10:04:20.476-07:00Placenta Purse<span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My sister calls this morning, as she does every morning, and starts talking my ear off about placentas. I'm only one cup of coffee in and I feel queasy. She is telling me about how angry she was that nobody *including Hollywood* had warned her about the actual birthing process. She was completely freaked out when the doctor asked her to first, push her child out, and second, push out the pulsating, brain-sized matter that followed the kid. I didn't even want to see my own placenta when I had my kids but now I am being subjected to someone <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">else's</span> account of this vomit inducing procedure.<br />I asked her why we were talking about placentas and she said she was just thinking about how people make them into purses after birth.<br />Um, yuk. I guess people also eat these things and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bury</span> them in their yards and do all sorts of other <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">unimaginable</span> things with this *obvious to me* bit of refuse. I didn't even know what it was really because, although I made my husband stand there and look at it, I had no idea what it was and I never cared to know. Thanks sis.<br /></span></span></span></span>spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-43115474548167445682009-04-21T08:12:00.000-07:002009-04-21T09:49:26.532-07:00Clean your room!<span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">OK, so is it just me that has a major problem getting small children to listen to me when I speak or is that pretty much universal? I have said, "Clean your room," about four hundred and seventy-six times in the last five days and I am at a breaking point here people.<br />I'm either going to bag up all of the toys and toss them into a bon fire or "mistakenly" throw in one of my kids. I have never known a three year old to suddenly be inflicted with so many headaches, tummy aches and mystery illnesses in my life and my six year old has never needed so many naps in her life. I'm going insane. I feel like a deranged parrot.<br />"Awwk. Clean you room. Awwk. Do it now. Awwk. I'm going to beat you. Awwk. I don't care if you realize that is an idle threat. Awwk. I'll do it I swear. Awwk. I'll drop you off at the fire department!"<br /><br />Ug.<br /></span></span></span></span>spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8315752126105419331.post-67049962301263936232009-04-18T13:14:00.000-07:002009-04-21T09:56:11.146-07:00March Of DImes<span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">It was hot, sticky and the kids are exhausted but it was worth it! The March Of Dimes was today in Fresno and there was a huge turn out! We went with the Josiah's Joggers group and since we have never been before we weren't sure of where to go exactly so we parked all the way at the front of Woodward and had to walk about three miles to get to the actual starting point of the six mile walk. The kids were stoked! *sarcasm, sarcasm* Why I would want to take a four year old and a six year old on a twelve mile walk is beyond me, but we toughed it out and the kids konked out in the car on the way home.... ahhh... silence.<br />The girls and I raised about fifty bucks and I'm sure we'll be returning next year to participate.<br /></span></span></span></span>spitandvinegarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09706457348517900450noreply@blogger.com6