Things I don't understand but I'm going to blog about anyway. Part 2.

Neighbor tailgaters.

And I don't mean the kind that show up before a Chief's game either.

So we were on our way to school and this ass-hat comes flying out of the subdivision and plants herself right on my back bumper.  She's all waving her hands, "I've got places to go, don't you know who I am," kind of deal, screaming at me, the whole nine yards.  Call it a physiological reaction, I don't know, but I slip right on down to 35 mph.  Every Single Time.  This woman does this same song and dance every morning and we're both going to the same place---school.  Knock it off and start acting like an appropriate role model for your kids.  You're embarrassing yourself.


People who jog in the road.  Against traffic.

There should be a law against that.  I mean seriously, you're running around in the subdivision where none of us driving are actually watching the road.  We're all yelling at the kids in the back seat, trying to see who has their jacket, who forgot lunch and for fucks sake, "STOP HITTING YOUR SISTER."  So, NO, I'm not exactly looking for you when you're running against traffic and I damn near kill you.  I wouldn't be so upset about it but then I just know you went ahead and procreated so now I'm responsible for killing you although technically you died by your own stupidity.  And what really pisses me off is that you passed your genes on to someone else.  Your line is not dead and they are probably equally as stupid.  Matter of fact, it's probably your shitty little kid that's poking fun of mine right now.


Old mean nurses.

I swear they all wind up at my OB's office or General Practitioner's office.  It's like they're put out to pasture and let loose on the general public.  Wrong.  Wrong.  Wrong.  This old bat had the nerve to chastise me for being ten minutes early, not the requisite twenty, and then had the stones to tell me the doctor was running thirty minutes late.  To which I said, "Well, then I'm really right on time.  See how nicely that all worked out?"  To which she gave me the bitter lemon face.  You know, that face you make after you stick your mouth on a lemon, if you're stupid enough to do so.  Bitter lemon face.  She had it.  Bad.


The fact our crabs are still alive.

Can I just tell you, I'm totally over these disgusting little tarantulas in a shell?  Two actually had the nerve to molt and I found spare limbs and body parts all over the crabitat.  Yes, that's actually a word.  And you thought I was weird?  There pages and pages out there on crab love.  Check it out.  You'll have your hand over your mouth in horror, I guarantee it.

I checked in on them the other morning and one of them was eating all the other crab-molted body bits.  Disgusting.  Now one refuses to crawl back into its shell.  I thought for sure it was going to die and four days later it's still hanging on.  I've had to separate it from the other two and buy more shells than it deserves and the damn thing refuses all my offerings.  It won't die or get better.  It's just lingering.


These signs that are on all of our electric utility boxes outside:

See, this just makes me want to go put a stick in there and see what happens.  Aside from his frown it looks like fun.  At least that's what I think and it scares me more than a little.  My kids are just like me and I know it's a matter of time before I see one of them with a stick going for a green box.  Because how cool would it be to see your skeleton with all your clothes still on?  Pretty darn cool.


My mom still stalking me and all of you.

You are out of bounds.  You've still come back here and have gone to other blogs from the comment section and it's beyond frustrating.  STOP IT.  Other bloggers think I am stalking them since YOU are out on their blogs.  I'll explain it to you: since we both live in the same house, we use the same network.  So it looks like ME visiting other blogs when it is really you.  It looks like I'm the weirdo not you.

STOP IT.  Get your own friends and leave mine alone.

To my other blogger friends, please accept my apologies for my mother stalking you and hanging out on your blog and not leaving any comments.

Mom, if you want to find anything out about me walk your ass upstairs and ASK.  This is an invasion of privacy, its weird and I'm over it.



Epitaph: On the fifth, yes fifth, day the crab finally bit it.  Lizzy sobbed like she was up for an academy award and then promptly asked for a replacement.  

Now we have two new crabs, a ton of extra shells for them to do whatever they do in them and purple sand.  See Alex's great job of lining up the empty shells???  The middle-right one was really annoying him as the aperture is on the opposite side and it wasn't going the "right way."  And yes, he had a meltdown over that but it didn't phase him that the sand was PURPLE and they have a PUMPKIN.  Go figure.