Tuesday, January 06, 2009

Wouldn't You Like to Get Away?

Yesterday was just like that bad. I had my woman doctor appointment and I got that whole "I'm mad that I'm female thing " going on, which rarely happens, except when I'm the one who has to deal with the whole birth control issue and my craptastic insurance won't cover what is probably the "best" option for me and I decide fuck it, I don't care. I'm getting the fucking IUD and I'll just make payments on my uterus or what have you. Thanks Mirena! Does my uterus owe you interest each month too? Anyways... then I head to my gym determined to be in a better mood because HUZZAH! it's time to sign up Dash Two for the gym daycare. Only there's this big ol' note on the front door and while it's after 9 a.m. the gym is really dark. Huh. Oh right- because they are closed. For. Ever. WTF?! And then I drag the heavy ass baby carrier with Dash Two in it back to the car in the freezing rain and cry.

My gym was like my 'Cheers', people. Enter dark thunder clouds of all out pissiness and overwhelming sadness over the loss of my freedom in one hour increments for the handy payment of $29.95 per month. Oh right, yeah, ahem... working out. Loss of working out. Right.

Fast forward through the rest of the whatever day and it's the dinner hour a.k.a the Witching Hour, which must be named only because it's when I turn into a royal Giant Capital W of a Witch due to the mass frenzy of toddler crankiness and newborn devil spawn like behavior that happens in my house. It is at this time that I find out H will be home late and while I try to persevere with the night. The days pursuit of finding a new child-friendly, budget-friendly gym has yielded a big fat zero and I'm feeling defeated and on the edge. On the edge of wanting to down fistfuls of potato chips, double stuffed oreos, while puffing six cigarettes at once (no one said I don't know how to stay classy), dreaming of running at night without being accosted by a mugger or rapist because I'm a girl, and wanting a box 'o' wine to be pumped into my system. Wait, make that a shot of vodka every fifteen minutes. Just like the epidural. Mmm... yeah. That's the good stuff. Hit me again. Huh? What?! Right. I'm pissed. I'm pissed that I'm a woman who has to deal with the whole birth control issue and that I have to be the one to deal with child care at the gym. I'm sick of my nipples being used as chew toys and I swear if Dash Two with her razor blade digits doesn't stop trying to pull the Five Finger Exploding Heart Technique on me while nursing her jowly-self will be nicknamed Milhouse or Tricky Dick (Ooh another TD!) on this here blog instead of the bland Dash Two.

So, I sit down with TD about to eat dinner and Dash Two starts in with her non-stop crying jag number 15 for the night. It's a classic. It should be on her Greatest Hits CD if she ever gets around to putting one out. There isn't much demand for that one though. It's not like she's Tom Jones or Tupac or anything. H comes home and it's at that moment that I dissolve into tears about my shittyass day and I'm all blubbery. Cut to ten minutes later when I all out lose it because TD has crawled under my chair at the dinner table. I'm already backed into the corner. The dog is encroaching on my territory with saucer eyes of want and neglect and Dash Two is (drumroll please!) screaming again. I just book it. That's right. I just walk out the door and onto the deck shutting them all out behind me. The darkness is my friend. The cold air. The icy rain. I just don't care. I imagine that I'm smoking out there and not caring a wick about lung cancer. Like a record going off course the door opens and H asks, "Where's Dash Two?!" Seriously, dude? She's in the house. What? You thought I put her out on the curb with a box of puppies saying, "Free to good home"? I head back inside and it's at that moment that I see TD doing her millionth rendition of 'I like to Move It' of the day (kids got killer jazz hands is all I can say) and I realize this-

Two black turtlenecks.

Two pairs of dark jeans.

Two heads of crazy, insane blond hair and two sets of big brown eyes.

TD and I are have become this-

Holy crap! It's come full circle. I am JC. I spiral into darkness and .... scene.


  1. Well it sounds like you had a FABULOUS DAY yesterday!

  2. It's amazing how much of this I can relate to. THANK YOU for being a witch with a capital W at dinner time, now I can take solace in the fact I am not alone in the witching hour (good one---but you already knew that). Chin up, girlfriend...hope today is a better day. At least it can't get MUCH worse, right?


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