I just turned 27, which for some, seems like I’m a mere babe in the woods, but unluckily for me, I am not “some” people and have wondered often why I am not getting the AARP magazine like I should be, and why those damn kids won’t get off my lawn, consarnit!
Things that I have done most recently that I cannot believe that I ever would admit to in public, but am now telling the Internet at large:
*Subscribe to Martha Stewart Living. I fucking love me some Martha, and in some sick way, am hoping to one day emulate her. Without the cooking of meals, of course, but with lots of baking. I guess I’m hoping that I become more of a decorator by osmosis because I can’t make a paper craft out of a coffee filter if my life depended on it (but thankfully I can use it to make coffee, however badly I may do so).
*Bought, in no particular order: Basic Home Maintence for Dummies, How To Clean Practically Anything, and Gardening for Dummies. Because, you know, I need to plan out my garden for next year and start planning. Who am I and what have I done with myself? Seriously now, this is just sick and wrong.
*Researched how to AND THEN ACTUALLY SUCCESSFULLY cleaned out the pee stains from the carpet. Which I had been trying unsucessfully to clean for 9 months. And no, thankfully the stains are not mine. I am (mostly) housebroken.
*Purchased my big son’s birthday gifts ONE month in advance. AND have bought an actual real live Christmas present. I am so incredibly last minute that I usually begin (and complete) my Christmas shopping at about 10 pm on Christmas Eve at Walgreens. You’re welcome for all of the enema kits and crappy glass tchotchkies.
*Have researched endlessly ways to organize the vast multitude of crap that we have (despite my best measures to eliminate it) and am now totally pining for both a wrapping paper organizer AND clear shoe boxes. My obsession with home organization is nearly rivaling my obsession with bleach.
*Coupons used to be something I scoffed at, miffed on and off by people in line ahead of me (usually when a child/ren are screaming like banshees and all that I want to do is GET OUTTA THERE), and now, now hell may be freezing slowly over as I admit that I use them. Not only do I use them, but I have bought a little coupon organizer thingie (again with the organization!) and carry it around with me. I feel gay, lets just leave it at that, mmmmkay?
I barely recognize myself these days.
Unfreakingbelievably, the bathroom is now completely painted, which ends my current foray into home improvements.
One half of the bathroom is a light blue and the other is chocolate brown, which Dave (btw–go visit that duder, he’s feeling lonesome) is too tactful to actually come out and admit that he hates. I reminded him that no matter WHAT we did to that room, it couldn’t be worse than it already was. The bathroom looked like a runaway from some stuffy old lady’s house who had died in approximately 1974. To give an example, we pulled down the light fixture from there and threw it into the garage where it is currently sitting. I may never part with it, because I imagine that anytime I am feeling sad or mad or whatever, all I will have to do is have a look at it, and I will burst into gales of laughter. Like blogging, it’s cheaper than therapy.
Ashley called it Testicleeeez (say it out loud, for once I intended to mispell something) whereas I happen to think that it looks more like boobs. Sweet Jesus, these people had no taste.
So YAY! bathroom is done. Well, I should clarify that: MY part of the bathroom is completed, and the ball is in Dave’s proverbial court (because we don’t ACTUALLY have a court here, dumbass), where I am sure it will remain for the next several months until I learn how to install a toliet tank and bathroom sink. I don’t know what is scarier, the thought of me installing a toliet by myself or the thought of having to sit on the couch, phone in hand while I dial 9-1 and wait for the screams before I hit the next 1. I’m thinking about having a Housewarming Party in my bathroom, providing I can clean up the blood in time.
To celebrate the possible demise of my husband by toliet, I give you a video:
(I SOOOO want to learn to do the robot.)
My relationship with Ben’s father has improved significantly over the years, which makes my life easier in many ways. No longer do I have to (constantly) bite my tongue while he insults me and my life, and aside from the occasional jab (comment today: “Wow, you still don’t dress to match, do you?”) life has become quite peaceful.
There are some things you just don’t think about when you find yourself unmarried and pregnant. Deep down in there, I think that I always knew that Nat and I would never, ever get married, mainly because he does happen to be a douche bag, but even after the whole “we didn’t get much SLEEPING done, Becky” fiasco, I wanted to give things a chance, if not for me then for my unborn babe. It was a battle royale, for sure, but I gave in and Ben’s last name matched his father’s (but his middle name is my maiden name). So on time marched. I got used to (but always hated) the accidental Mrs. Ben’s Last Name that I would get now and then, but things were all right.
Then school began. Suddenly birthday party invites would arrive at my house bearing Ben’s name with the postmasters scrawl next to it: ‘Here?’ they read. And then I got mad. Stark raving mad. Why is it fair that Ben get HIS last name when *we* were the parents scheduling doctors appointments, dentist appointments, and taking him there? (As an aside, each and every time that Ben has attempted to call Daver “Daddy Dave” Nat has become livid. He wants the glory without the responsibility which infuriates me).
The straw that broke the camel’s back arrived when I informed Nat of when Back to School night is, to which he replied “I’m not going. It was boring last time.” This on the heels of him not showing up to ANY of Ben’s school functions like Open House or Kindergarten Graduation, even after he promised to do so.
Boiling point reached. I called the school and informed them that Ben’s new last name would be a hypenation of His Last Name-My Last Name. As far as the Social Security office would be concerned, nothing had changed, but now, the postmaster will have no more doubts.
Ah, the things I wish I could inform those who get pregnant out of wedlock…see, as a baby none of this matters. It’s only as the years pass that it becomes a “God, I wish I’d not given in.”
And as for me, I am completely aware of the Battle Extrodinaire that will ensue from this, providing Nat ever notices, and for once, I feel perfectly justified.