It started out with an epic medication fail, the sleeping pills didn't work for some reason and I didn't fall asleep until 3:00 am and promptly woke back up at 6:00 am. After laying there for at least 20 minutes bitching out the doctor, the medication and just about anything or anyone else I could think of (my Chupacabra Chihuahua is a very good listener, he even rolls his eyes at the right time) I looked over and discovered the reason for the medication's failure to do it's job. There it sat smiling at me on my nightstand. Probably wondering why they don't just lock me away somewhere since I am obviously not capable of caring for myself if I forget to take my medication.
I roll over to get out of bed with full intentions of taking the little bastard and going back to bed. Immediately both feet are attacked by something cold, squishy and wet. Dog vomit. I remember wondering last night when I gave the Chupacabra a bite of my sandwich if it would upset his stomach, now I know. It does. But for God's sake it's a big room, he could have vomited anyplace in that damn room and he chooses the one place I will step in the minute I wake up. By the time I wiped my feet off on my wonderful snowflake robe so as to not track it across the carpet, take a shower and throw the robe in the washer I am no longer in the mood to take the smiling pill.
I decide instead to just fix me a coffee candy bar, that's what my friend calls my coffee. You see I don't like the taste of coffee but love the taste of Coffee Mate so this is what my cup looks like before the coffee is put in:
Not enough Coffee Mate. Another round of bitching but I decide to make the evil brew anyway. I thought I would go sit on the porch with my witches's brew, smoke a cigarette and calm down. It worked fairly well in the 98 degree temp until I got too hot and decided to come back inside.
The door won't open. I have locked my idiot self out of the house. I have no hidden outside key because my FBI brother goes into hysterics every time I even mention it. It's quite possible that I can recite every case in the United States where someone was murdered or raped by the perp finding the hidden outside key, believe me, I have heard them all. Still this shouldn't be much of a problem since there are two teenage boys and two dogs in the house. I know the boys aren't going to wake up by hearing the doorbell but I know those two howler monkey dogs will. They will raise a ruckus that could wake the entire neighborhood. I ring the bell. Nothing. I ring the bell over and over again. Still nothing, not one single little peep from those traitor dogs! They always bark at the doorbell so then I convince myself that something horrible has happened to them while I was outside and then I realize I can hear the pug sniffing at the bottom of the door. So I go through my whole very high pitched voice "games" that will usually get her to barking. Nothing. No reaction except from a few neighbors who wonder why the hell I am outside in my pajamas talking to the bottom of my door in a high pitched voice. I think maybe if I get down to her level (cause she can see through doors, right?) she might respond. As I put my coffee cup down on the patio table I also realize that I have my cell phone in my hand. That is my saving ticket, while these boys might sleep through anything else you just let one of their cell phones even start to ring and they are wide awake and on it. Finally, I get in the house and give both dogs a proper snubbing and head for the Klonopin bottle. By now I need more than a little sunshine and a cup of coffee to calm me down. I am really worse off because I actually had to put some coffee in my Coffee Mate this morning.
Then my mother calls to express her "opinion" on mine and Rebecca's decision to share a house and expenses, giving us both extra money and getting her at least an hour away from her leeching children who now all live within 5 minutes of her and on a daily basis drop of one child or another, sometimes more than one for her to babysit while they run and pay the water/gas/power, etc. and it always takes them at the very least 10 hours to pay that one bill. They drop in to borrow $10 here, $20 there always going to pay it back on payday. She never sees the money again and living on a fixed income it leaves her broke because she doesn't know the meaning of the word "No". All of this is exactly why I have chosen to live an hour from my children, it isn't convenient to just "pop in" and leech when you have to drive an hour in traffic to do it and then another hour to get back home. Anyway, my mother isn't happy with this decision, but she is never happy with any decision I make so that is no big surprise. Everything I do has always been "not enough" or "too much", but never "right". Which is why I just don't listen to her and do what I want anyway. But she can try my patience in the meantime with her "opinions" on it all. So she is bitching, I am half listening while reading the paper and then I hear her ask "Just how well do you know this person anyway?" As soon as I could close my mouth I answered that she knew very well that I had known Rebecca for 30 yrs, that she herself has known Rebecca for 30 yrs having met her many, many times over the years. Then she asks "How do you know you can live with her?", I am almost at a loss for words when it hits me just what to say to shut her up "I know I can live with her because she has to powder her wuss after she showers, you can't know that about someone and not know them well enough to share a house with them." Then she throws out the best one she has come up with to date: "What if it makes you a Lesbanese?" WTF is a Lesbanese? Then it hits me what she is trying to say, in her world a Lesbanese is a Lesbian. Because we want to live in the same house to share expenses might make us lesbians or Lesbanese's, whichever way you want to look at it? I am by now laughing hysterically and thinking of all the ways I could torture her with that one single comment she made. I assured her we were both straight but had not ruled out being Sister Wives or Hookers to make extra money. She then hung up. By now my head is pounding so not only am I in need of Klonopin I need to find the Tylenol too.
I can't find the Klonopin bottle. I search for 30 minutes, in every little nook and cranny in this place. No bottle. I check the freezer because I have a habit of sitting things down while I get something out of the freezer and then leaving it there so that is usually where I find missing things and it isn't there either. This calls for an everybody out of bed, full blown swat team type house search. I know in my heart that I will not make it through this wretched day and no one I come into contact with will be left standing if I don't find that bottle. The day has barely started and I already want to kill or maim everyone who looks in my direction, imagine what it will be like by afternoon? It takes approximately 20 seconds for The Devil's Advocate to find it under the bed skirt of my bed where it had fallen off the nightstand and rolled under the bed skirt. With a parting shot of "Mom, start with the obvious places first, the flower bed outside was not an obvious place to start, start from the closest place to the scene where you last remember or saw the object and work your way outward, when you don't know what perimeter your working with you only waste time doing it any other way." Scene? What scene? This isn't a fucking murder it's just a missing bottle of pills! Mouthy brat, I have got to keep him away from all the FBI agents in my family, they are corrupting him. I quickly down the Klonopin, an extra dose since I have already missed one this morning.
I'm starting to feel calm, very calm for the first time all day and then my phone rings. It's Rebecca to ask me if I have the cupcakes finished yet. Cupcakes? What cupcakes? Now she becomes hysterical, "The cupcakes you were suppose to make and decorate for the baby shower this afternoon!" Please tell me you didn't forget them?" I can't lie to her, she would know in a heart beat, she knows me to well. No problem I got this, I have to bake and decorate four dozen cupcakes for a baby shower for a pregnant 14 yr old. Now this is Rebecca's granddaughter and we both have had issues with this baby shower since the m o t h e r (that's the only way I know of typing mother when I mean it loosely) planned it, it almost feels like we are saying "Yes, let's go out and have a party because you got yourself knocked up at 14 yrs old and guess what? We are giving you all kinds of gifts for it too! How cool is that?" The fact that no one is going to show up in the first place because neither the girl or her parents(Rebecca's son and daughter-in-law) have any friends because as Rebecca says "Being assholes runs deep in that family and not a one of them is smart enough to realize that the way they act is why no one likes them" makes it even harder. All that money the parents are putting out for this big baby shower they have planned for 50 people when only about 4 are going to show up, two of which are the girls parents the other two being myself and Rebecca is ridiculous. Why not keep that money you are spending on the shower and just buy what the baby is going to need on your way back from the Health Department to pick up a bag of condoms for her? Now that is the gift she really needs. Oh and a quick stop by Home Depot for some screws to screw her window shut wouldn't hurt either since she is so fond of climbing out said window to meet "baby daddy".
Dear God the cupcakes! I made them, I decorated them. They all look like they have a small light tan baby turd on top of the blue icing, it was suppose to be a pacifier. DO NOT ever decorate cupcakes while under the influence. It just isn't going to work out well for you. Upon looking at the cupcakes and laughing like fools we decide to go to the bakery and get some bakery boxes to put them in, that way we can apologize and say we bought them at the bakery and they are the ones that screwed them up.
So I'm off now to this waste of time and money baby shower so the five of us can sit and stare at each other and talk about how bad the bakery messed up the cupcakes. They can wonder why no one showed up and Rebecca can give me the evil eye so I won't tell them why no one showed up, she knows how much I dislike her son's wife, mostly because she dislikes her more than I do, and how I live for moments to let her know how much I dislike her. Rebecca just has better control of her mouth than I do, plus she might rat me out on the cupcakes.