Counting it down..

West-Coast trip top 10
(This will be a 2 parter folks, sorry)

Top 5 things I'm afraid of:

1. That my hair will look greasy and nasty by the time I land in San Jose because I won't be able to shower that morning.

2. That I won't know what is/isn't ok to pack in my carry on, be deemed a terrorist and forced to a strip search by a burly security guard named Wanda.

3. That I'll have a window seat, become horribly claustrophobic, freak out, be deemed a terrorist
and stun-gunned in the aisle.

4. That I'll forget to pack something important, like underwear.

5. That Husband will watch our favorite shows while I'm gone and "accidentally" erase them.

Best, Quote. Ever.

The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Economic Stimulus Debate

Colbert Report Full Episodes
Funny Political News

Christian Bale Parody
Joke of the Day

“The end is near! Jesus, I’ll meet you at the Arby’s where I assume we’ll both be working.”

From the basement files...

I’m not good at “keeping house”. This realization more often than not leaves me feeling completely inadequate as both a wife and partner. I just can’t seem to make myself tackle things like dishes or dusting because they are never ending. I’ve gotten better about staying on top of laundry but that is a steep uphill battle for me. I honestly believe there’s some key element missing from my DNA.

Today I tried to be better, for both myself and Husband. Expired food was chunked from cabinets. Appliances were somewhat cleaned. Countertops wiped down. Dishes were done and put away. Cabinets and drawers were cleaned out and reorganized. Eventually though I ran out of steam. I always run out of steam. I want to be proud of myself but I look around at all that still needs to be done and pride is a hard thing to find.

I keep thinking that if I minimize the amount of “stuff” then keeping it maintained will be easier. So I box/bag up piles of things to give away to charity and family members. I feel relieved to see them go and think to myself, “Ok this should be easier now…” but it never is. The “stuff” I gave away seems to be replaced by other “stuff” faster than I can become aware of it happening.

I’ve really been trying the last few months to clear out the “stuff” in our house. I’ve tried very hard to be cognizant of what we’re buying and how it will fit into the grand scheme of “stuff” already owned by us. It’s just not easy. I’m prone to deep emotional attachment to our “stuff” and Husband is prone to packrat-ness. I envy people who can pack their most valuable possessions into their car; I envy people who aren’t owned by their “stuff”.

I keep waiting for that epiphany. Waiting for that moment when things will just make sense. I’m not sure where I belong in this universe, what my purpose in this life is. I wish I could clear away all the unnecessary “stuff” from my proverbial basement and get to the heart of the matter. Where’s that catalyst when you need one?

Monopoly...

Dear Monopoly:
I hate you.
Please eradicate yourself from existence.
Thanks,
One angry wife

Goddammit.

(a blog in which Karen is pissed and drops the f-bomb... a lot)

Fuck you asshole dog who got into my yard and thought my goat looked like a good snack.
Fuck you piece of shit owner who doesn't show up until the second round of my screaming, "somebody help me, it's killing my goat."
Fuck you for not saying you're sorry.
Fuck you for not asking if my goat and I are ok.
Fuck you for trying to take the extension cord I had wrapped around your psychotic dog's neck so it wouldn't kill my goat.
Just fuck you.

I was home alone. I hear a noise in my backyard. It sounds like a baby screaming. I peek out the sliding glass door. I see some white pitbull in my back yard trying to kill my goat. I rip off my socks (I had no shoes on to begin with) and begin running full speed into my backyard. I pick up a branch, I break it over the dogs back and it won't let go. I kick the dog repeatedly while screaming at the top of my lungs. I finally grab the dog by the collar and yank the bastard off. I drag it back up the house, attempt to tie it up with an extension cord, call Husband sobbing telling him to get home because some half crazed pit bull is trying to kill the goat. Dog gets loose. I chase after it screaming for someone to help me. I get my hands on the dog again, practically strangling it with its collar. Owner shows up with 2 small children. Says his dog jumped from his truck. I throw the dog over the fence. I'm halfway back up the yard when the fucking dog gets back in the yard and the owner is just standing there yelling at him. I yank the dog off again, throw it over the fence again. 2 seconds later it's trying to get in my yard. Eventually I guess the guy gets the clue because I hear a truck roar off in the distance. By the time Husband got home I was in the bathtub sobbing.

Worst. Fucking. Day. Ever.

(p.s. my goat is ok for the time being. His ear is more or less ripped in half and he has some other injuries. We called a vet who does livestock and he said we could try to treat it with peroxide. Hopefully he's ok. I might try to get some antibiotics from work tomorrow. I don't know. Fingers crossed regardless)