Fork, Boobs, and Ice

First of all. I try to maime myself with envelopes yesterday. ugggghhhh. I went and got the kiddo from school, just to find out that the allergy attack he was having has moved into a cold. I sent him to school today anyway, because they were having parties today. OOoOOOo I am so proud of him too. He started, last week, to swallow pills. No more chewables, or liquid here. He is a "big boy" now.

Last night Gigantor had to work late. He didn't get home untill 7. That is 14 hours, outside, in the rain, in a steel yard. My poor poor tired giant. I think his boss is secretly trying to kill him. So, since he came home so late we just had leftovers last night. (I love leftover night, just pop it in the microwave, and waaa laaa instant dinner) Well...while we are eating. I very ingeniously poked myself in the eye with my fork. Now I ask you, How in the hell can someone poke themselves in the eye with their fork on accident?? I had my fork in my hand, and I guess reached up to itch myself, and POKE. Thank got it wasn't a hard or deep poke. When I jerked back there was no great POP and my eyeball on the fork, so I guess that's a good thing. Also, I was not bleeding. But...it's hell rinsing bbq sauce out of your fricken eye.

So then it's bedtime. And ladies?? Have you ever had your boobs just seem to get in the way??? I mean, sometimes they stick out there, and just seem to be in the way. As I am discarding the "vortex" bra, I have no idea how I do it, but I try to scrape my entire nipple off with my thumb nail. I want instant replay to figure out how that happened. As I slap my hand on my chest, and start whimpering and rolling around on the bed. My husband (being the gentleman he is) starts doing the "Oooo let me kiss it better, let me kiss it better" So, I do what any else of you would do, I punt him in the groin. Then tell him to leave me the hell alone and call and ambulance, cuz I'm dying. So after we both writh around in pain for a while, he gets up all serious, and forces me to remove my hand. Making me see that blood is, in fact, NOT spurting across the room. Since I was convinced I had tried to kill myself, cuz death would only hurt that bad. hehehehe I mean my boobs seem to always get in the way. In the wrong place at the wrong time. Why can't they just be happy and stay down around my waist where they are supposed to be?? Somebody please tell me you have the same problem, cuz I just re read over this, and OMG I need to be commited in a home (YEAH VACATION).

After raining here for 2 days and 3 nights straight, we woke up to the world being covered in ice. Not the nice white and frosty kind of ice. But, the clear as glass, slick as snot on the kitchen floor kind of ice. My son goes charging out the door this morning, and I hear "thump-a-dump" and him going "whoa, sorta slick" So... as I'm walking out, herding the dogs out, I say "icey bud" and watch the dog slip right the hell off the side of the porch. I start laughing, then realize, FUCK, I have to go down the porch next. I had two options, baby steps which I did, and looked dorky. Or sit down and tabogon down the porch. We then do the shuffle slide thing all the way to the suburban. You all know when you open the doors of a car when they are icey, you hear that crunching breaking noise?? Well apparantly, if they ice has formed when the water is dripping, you have little ice bullets when you finally force the car door open. And ice bullets hurt when hurled at you. They pelted my face, and one got trapped in the vortex bra. So we get in, and drive to school. When I got home, I noticed that gigantor had forgotten to take the big ass blue trash can out to the street. So, I am hauling it out, slidding along. The ice on the handles of the can melt, and now my hands are all wet. Not even thinking I then grabbed the metal gate. The metal, cold, icy gate with wet hands. hmmmmm after taking a couple layers of skin off, I decide to go inside and sulk. So I pull my green fuzzy shirt down over my hands, because they are sore. From having the skin from my palms left on the fricken gate. And I grab onto the porch railing, which is still wet, and get my fricken shirt stuck to it. I have spots of green fuzzies (from my shirt) in patches on the arm rail all the way up the porch. Ah well. It's gotta get better right?? RIGHT???

Happy Tuesday everyone. I may post later after my coffee, and I have a better outlook, and all the fricken ice melts.