Friday, September 6, 2013

Nightmare On My Street

So I've been trying to get the house ready for Fifi's sleepover party tonight to celebrate her birthday and I may have to toss back some opiate based pills to make it through the evening, if I can get my hands on any. Wiener had a hydrocodone prescription earlier this year for his kidney stones that he gobbled down within a week (the pills not the kidney stones were gobbled, weirdo), because he and his prissy male urologist decided kidney stones hurt worse than child birth. What. The. Fuck. Ever. Idiots. Call me after you squeeze a watermelon through a cheese cloth and have an undisclosed amount of stitches threaded between your bits, then we'll talk pain. Amateurs.

Already the grocery store called to inform me that they can't make the top tier of the cake I ordered marble flavor because they can't do marble in a round pan. Really? Um, ok I really don't give a shit what dry ass cake flavor you want to give me, but I'm pretty sure you just throw some motherfucking marble batter in a round pan, then bake, and voila! The god damn frosting better be butter cream, though, or there will be a rumble.

I just can't wait to have four screeching pre-teen banshees frolicking around the house talking about their distaste for Justin Bieber and singing at the top of their lungs to whatever mind numbing pop tunes they decide to blast on the radio. Yes, I am the fun police. Let's all pray to the vodka gods that they just want to have a quiet evening and settle down to watch a movie then drift softly off to dreamland.  

And in classic Wiener form, instead of helping me around the inside of the house to prepare by like, oh I don't know, vacuuming or putting away Devil Baby's toys or picking up his underwear off the living room floor, he decided he will help by pulling weeds on the back patio. We are having no part of the party outside since it is still one billion degrees in Texas. Thanks, but maybe you can move the dirty dishes from one side of the sink to the other and "consolidate" or bitch about me not taking out the trash as you leave various wrappers strewn about the counter tops. That would be much more helpful and it also gives me material for my posts.

Wish me luck, peeps of the Interwebs. I will need it. Mama's all out of opiates, and I can't drink the vodka yet since I still have to drive and pick up the cake with a mysterious flavor.

Concur

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