1. It's snowing! Yeah yeah blah blah who cares. I know most of you have snow all the time and hate it, but we don't, it's a big deal...so yay!

2. Remember the other day when I "discussed" how basically Comcast is the bane of my existence? Well...lookie what appeared in my inbox last night:

Hello Whitehousemom,

I am sorry to learn that you are no longer a Comcast customer. If there is anything I can do to earn you back as a customer, please let me know. I will be happy to assist.

Best Regards,

(Name withheld to protect the innocent)
Comcast Corp.
National Customer Operations

Isn't that hysterical? So...this guy at Comcast has the awesome job of searching out blogs that slam his company and then tries to do damage control. In theory...great idea. In reality? Not so much. I mean- I give them points for trying, I really do. But where was this level of customer care for the 2+ years I had crappy cable?

So I'm drafting up my response...which I guess he'll just read here anyway so I don't even have to send it.

Dear ______,

Yes! As a matter of fact there is something you can do. You can pay me back for the years of horrible, non-functioning cable I had, give me free cable for a year or so, sign a contract stating that you refuse to suck in the future, and then I will happily be your customer again.

Hugs,
Whitehousemom

3. My dog



is a moron. Last night he went charging out the back door after what I assumed was just another cat on our deck...but no...last night it was most definitely not a cat. It was black and white and smelly all over,




and he did not like being chased by a big stupid dog. In fact, he let us all know how much he didn't like it by letting out the worst smell known to man all over my back deck. I thought Graham had taken a direct hit and I was trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do with him, but upon further inspection he seemed to have somehow missed the target and the dog is stench-free. Y'all...the smell when I opened up the door was ungodly. I nearly fell over. So I have to ask myself, why the hell would a skunk just be hanging out on my deck?

The block-fed toilet just had all the water nearly over-flow, then it burped like 15 times and now the bowl is empty.

Like, really...it's burping. What toilet burps?

I don't know if it's just where I live or what (because my address is embarrassingly close to the address on this commercial) but I am subjected to this horrible, horrible advertisement all.the.time.



I can't just change the channel or mute it. I have to watch it and get angry at it, and say snarky things to the tv. Are these people serious?

"With all the turmoil in the world today you will find comfort and strength in these all time favorites"

THIS is "every song you've always wanted"? and "her voice has captured the world" ??? Are you freaking serious??? and on what planet was this a "#1 Christmas Special" ?

And what is up with her hair? And that creepy doll? And I thought that kid from Poltergeist was dead...did they digitally revive her so she could appear in this tv commercial? Is Cristy Lane's voice so beautiful that it actually brings people back to life? I think Cristy Lane sounds like a porn name.

Since when does ABBA sing Christmas songs?

I was soooo excited about tonight. The house is clean. Hub is working. LG went to bed EARLY...by 7 pm I had already settled into a night to myself. Then 7:30 happened and it all went to shit.

I hear the frantic "MOMMYYYY" like when you just *know* something is wrong. I rush out to meet him halfway between where I was and his bedroom and he proceeds to blow chunks all over my feet.

Grrrrreat. But at this point, the Mommy Adrenaline kicks in and you really don't even have time to be disgusted...you just are rushing the puking child to the toilet as quickly as possible. Of course, by the time we got to the toilet, he had finished throwing up...gallons of it...all over my house.

Mommy Adrenaline is still working...I get him in the tub, he's happy as a clam now btw playing with his bath toys while I'm jetting around the house cleaning up a crime scene. Kitchen...bathroom floor...my feet and legs...his bedroom....you get the idea. I mopped and got the washing machine going, cleaned the bathroom floor and tried to clean the rug in the kitchen but it might have to be trashed.

LG is fine so I get him out of the bath, in clean jammies, back into bed (that he thankfully didn't puke on, at least I didn't have to change sheets)...we sing some songs and he's out like a light. 

I took a shower, relieved that I was once again clean and my house properly disinfected...turn off all the kitchen lights, head upstairs to watch some tv and as I climb up the dark staircase.... SPLAT. My foot squirts down on a cold, chunky, wet puddle.

It seems he came upstairs looking for me before I heard him....aaaaaaaaaaand I missed a spot. A big one.
 

%&*#*%&&*$((#*&%*%(#(*@!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

Ok. I have to leave in less than an hour for a party. I now have:

1 broken hair dryer that melted and then died about an hour ago in mid-use.
1 half a head of damp hair.
1 half a head of curly hair.
1 BROKEN CURLING IRON. It just exploded in my hand and broke into 4 pieces.

Ummmm wtf am I going to do now?

*************************************************************************************
Post Party Update: I was able to put the curling iron back together (barely) after it cooled off. I went to the party and channeled Shirley Temple with some adorable curls. BTW- I don't hate my hair nearly as much when it's curled. It looks like Christina Applegate's latest do:

Nashville is out of gas. What?! Everywhere in my town is completely out of gas, and Hub works in DOWNTOWN NASHVILLE and he can't find any. He had to call AAA to bring him gas, and they are out, too.

This is fantastic, you know, considering I'm GOING TO THE BEACH.

Sigh.

I *think* I have enough to get within an hour to my mom's house, so if I can't find any on I-40 she is just going to have to come pick us up.

First of all, I think I may have over did it a little at the gym today. Then, if that weren't enough, I was feeling the need to find my Happy Place this afternoon so I popped in my yoga DVD and I think maybe it was not a good idea to do both of those on the same day because now I am finding it hard to walk.

In the past hour:

Hub calls and asks me to start the grill before he gets home, so we can have BBQ chicken. He wants to use the charcoal grill, not the gas grill. So it's like freaking rocket science to get the charcoals finally going and finally on the 4th try I succeed.

While battling with the charcoal, I look over, and see Little Guy beating my poor Hydrangea to death with his baseball bat.

Remember, the once beautiful one, then it nearly died, and believe it or not it was really, really thriving. It even had lots of new little buds on it.

And now it's smashed to bits.

From my vantage point on the deck, I give out a commanding full name followed by a "oh you are SO going to get it!", which, naturally, made him throw his bat down and run screaming from me like a girl.

While chasing him, of course, I step in dog crap.

Was I wearing flip flops or old sneakers, you ask? Oh, no, I was wearing my cute brown flats. Always a girl of high fashion, that's me.

So Hub finally gets home and it's time to put the chicken on the grill. Since it's BBQ chicken, I don't marinate it, just baste it with sauce...anyway, I open the package and am nearly knocked down to the ground by the smell of rotting chicken. Nice.

Yeah, we had hot dogs.

I'm tired. I'm sore. I don't like hot dogs.

Oops. My list from before should have said:

2. What are 5 6 things you need to do today?


- Fold laundry
- Lose 25 pounds
- Hang up a bunch of clothes
- Write a book
- Write a column
- Kill my son's goldfish

Well, shit. I killed Drake & Josh. I am the world's worse aspiring novelist AND goldfish keeper, too. Sigh.

We will now pause for a moment of silence for the two aquanuts formerly known as Tommy Boy and Paulie Walnuts, later re-named Drake and Josh by my obsessed fanatic child.

In Memoriam: The Best of Drake & Josh slash Tommy Boy & Paulie Walnuts.

They aren't dead yet, but I can tell their passing is imminent. Should I put them out of their misery?  :-(

I suck.

(***EDIT***They are dead now.)

 

Why is writing so damn hard? It flows beautifully in my head and on paper it looks like crap. Smelly, ugly crap. CRAP! 

My stories are fantastic, I know they are. I love them and I know I would want to read them.  This is not conceited at all because I ruin it all when I try to type out what is in my head and what do I find staring back at me? CRAP! 

So yay, yay me. I'm a good "thinker" well a lot of good that does me. I want to be a good WRITER.

Thank you for reading my craptastically crapass post.