Sweety gave me blogger’s block this weekend.

I was telling him about something and I had blogged about it and said something like, “You didn’t read it?”. Because I had been under the impression that he kept up with things here. (because I know he reads the Twitters in the sidebar because he mentions them.) His reply? “No. Why do I want to read that boring shit? Your dogs, job and the coaew. That’s it. Over and over and over.”

There was utter silence in the car for about 10 minutes.

You know, that was kind of a mean thing to say.

What?

That my posts are boring. Even if they are. That wasn’t nice. You could have just said you didn’t read it.

What I meant was the things you write about are repetitive because that’s all you do.

You know what?! Sometimes people send me emails letting me know they like my boring! (imagine a nice, shrill voice here. maybe I was feeling sensitive and my eyes were moist too)

*blink* *blink* Maybe I should start getting out and doing things. So I am less repetitive, asshole. (okay, the asshole part was only in my head.)

I think Sweety sensed that the Homeland Security alert had just went up to Orange.

You make your things sound interesting though! You’re like ramen!

Ramen? Fifteen cents a package ramen? WTF?

No, wait! Your life is like plain ramen noodles but you are like the ramen seasoning packet. Once you sprinkle on there it’s all interesting!

So I’ve been trying to think of something new to blog about and have come up empty handed.

I did take out some frustration on Sweety’s ass on Saturday night though. I love my little riding crop. And tequila. He still has a criss-cross pattern back there.

There! That didn’t pertain to work or dogs or coaew!

23 Comments | In: daily blah, grouching | | #

**ELAINE? ARE YOU READING THIS? YOU CAN GO ON AND SKIP THIS ONE.**

LB hunts at his mother’s house. Birds. With a bb gun. Sweety said something to the coaew about it and she said that LB enjoys it. She says he eats what he kills. I say he can’t be so fucking hungry that he needs to shoot tiny birds out of trees. I saw a photo of him online, smiling from ear to ear, gun across his body and a bird the size of a tiny rat with feathers in his hand. She said he ate it. I don’t believe her and I don’t care if he did eat it. I think it’s one thing to hunt for food. He’s not hunting “for food”. He’s killing birds. I threw up when I saw the photo.

He told me a few weeks ago that he built 3 bird feeders for the trees in the yard over there. I wonder if they’re like salt licks for deers? Get them in the habit of coming by for some grub so you can blow them out of the sky?

It makes me sad.

I’m just totally freaked out by the whole thing. I can’t even look at him right now. I want to ask him if the bird was tasty. I have told Sweety that I’ll never hear another word out of LB’s mouth at dinnertime if he doesn’t want to eat something. If you can pick a bb out of a feathered rat’s ass and eat it then you can damn well eat anything I cook.

My sweet Mom happened to call today when I was in the middle of freaking out over the bird killing thing. Somehow, the conversation turned to religion. I’ve come out of the closet with my Mom. She’s knows I’m an atheist now. I told her I have morals because they are the right thing to have. Not because I want to go to heaven. She said that she would still pray for me and I told her that was fine.

In other news, here’s where baby chihuahuas REALLY come from.

24 Comments | In: coaew, grouching, sprogs | | #

I’ll just bitch some more, okay? It’s PMS season. Cut me some slack.

Sweety got a message on his cell phone the other day from coaew before he picked the boys up from school – “I just wanted to let you know that LB grabbed a wire that had been in the fire and burned his fingertips. He didn’t actually burn them IN the fire.” Oh. Okay. Thanks for the clarification. I’m pretty sure that they boys lose all common sense when they go to their mother’s. I’m just glad to see them come back from there alive and not missing any digits or eyeballs. Sweety had a talk with LB about staying away from fire no matter where he is. You know what we do when we have fires? We tell the kids to stay far enough away from it so that they don’t get burned. Novel concept, no?

Let me tell you something else that is pinging around in my mean little mind.

(Sheesh. I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this. It really highlights my cunty goodness.)

LB has baseball practice this Saturday from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. This is coaew’s weekend. Sweety is helping coach the team. So help me Pete, if Sweety tells her that he’ll get LB and take him to practice and then take him back to her, I will croak. Why? Because dammit, if my Saturday night is going to be shot to shit due to baseball practice and it’s not our weekend, then I want her to sit her ass on those bleachers for two hours experience the joy as well.

I can’t help it. Admitting that you’re a bitch makes it not so bad, right? Or not. Who cares. It’s not in my nature at all to be a nice person to coaew. It’s really all I can do to keep my yap shut in real life when she does something that makes me spasm.

Guess who is going to be nearby Saturday night? Gallagher. When I heard today on the radio – I came thisclose to buying tickets. I got busy doing other shit stuff, like getting all of the supplies together for a project that LB has, (It’s due on Monday and they go to their mom’s tonight til Monday morning. I mean, we can’t break an 8 year habit and do a project over there instead of here, can we?) and thought I’d get them tonight. (I knew I was going to be home alone tonight. Sweety & company are at baseball practice.) In the meantime, I found out about Saturday’s baseball practice. He’s going to have a show on Friday night too. I could possibly zoom to it after I got off of work but Sweety wasn’t enthused when I mentioned it to him.

Hey! Do you know who Gallagher is? Watermelon guy?

*eyeroll* He is so eighties.

Sweety is complaining that someone is “eighties”? I swear, he has t-shirts from 1988 in his closet.

12 Comments | In: coaew, grouching | | #

This is my town’s mayor. I ask you – does this guy look like a douche or what? I think it’s the smarmy smile and the highlighted hair. Nine times out of ten, men with highlighted hair are assholes. That’s what my scientific survey says. I put his photo up and didn’t actually type his name because I don’t want him to sue me for slander.

I know that a lot of you have those evil little trackers on your website stat counter things on your sidebars so you know where I’m at. (So don’t freak out, Sweety.) When we had cable, we could watch the city council meetings on the local station. Can you say “clusterfuck”?

It’s great to flip open the Orlando Sentinel and know that if I see his name or my town’s name in a headline that the article is going to make me groan out loud. This is my favorite recent story. I guess they don’t make people that work for the city take any sort of sensitivity training or test them to make sure they aren’t complete dumbasses.

I hope someone’s dog takes a giant shit in his yard and he steps in it on the way to work. No, wait. I take that back. I hope he steps barefoot in it on his way out to get the newspaper in the morning.

Phwew. I feel better now.

4 Comments | In: grouching | | #