In Which I Ramble Incessantly, But You Know You Secretly Like It
It's been quite a week, let me tell you. To spare you the verbosity that usually comes with my complaints, I will break them down into bullet points. Because nobody likes to read complaints that are a full paragraph long. Well, if YOU do, let me know, and I'll write something up special for you and email it to you. Freak. Kidding. I love you, really. All three of you. See?! I already wrote a ton of crap that had nothing to do with my horrible week. That, my friends, is how I get into trouble. - Babygirl is having exploding diarrhea diapers at least twice a day. Poor baby. No, POOR MAMA who has to a) smell them b) clean poop off of whatever surfaces it runs onto, which are MORE THAN YOU WOULD THINK and c) all that extra laundry and showering that comes with exploding diaper territory. -I may be out of a job soon. Boo. -I have come to painfully realize that my mother sort of hates me. Not totally, but actively tries to fuck with me. Boo times two. -I hate Bank of America