Wa-wa-waaaaaaaaa

Alright readers, I didn't think this day would come so soon, and yet it has.

I have failed you. 

 

I'm not saying this wasn't going to happen eventually. I'm a lazy mo-fo, and sometimes I just don't have enough fucks to give about you nice people to get off my ass and accomplish something to show you like some sort of sparkly self-esteem trophy or something.

See more Allie Brosh awesomeness here

If you're on my Facebook, then you probably already know this has been a week of clumsy, disappointing failure. There was, of course, the almost routine assault on my very exposed homestead by the local riff-raff. As you view these, notice how my own mother "likes" and savors my suffering. So much love. (Just kidding ma, don't Gibbs slap me, please.)

 That's right, my furniture is riff-raff now.

 Props to Dino's Mommy #2 for comforting my PTSD self

I really did not sleep for the next 72 hours. I finally captured the little rent-free fuck last night. By capture, of course I mean grab the nearest cup and ensnare it until morning when Husband could dispose of it properly with photo evidence of it's horrific death at his hands.

He's a good husband. 

I thought that squatting fucker was the worst of it, but then no, it got 

so

much 

worse.

Again, note my mother approving my father's judgemental ways.

Just kidding on that last part. That was actually a hilarious turn of events. My dad is incredibly picky when it comes to teeth being "good." We often bond over soap operas, watching them on mute and screaming at the actresses' terrible chompers.

  As far as my inability to deliver on glorious DIY project completion, I blame in majority my fucked the fuck up knee, as it is currently the end-all-be-all bane of my sorry existence. I have about four ongoing renovation-type projects, all of which came to an aggravating stop this week. At first it was for lack of supplies, but then once I had cleverly obtained some necessary items, my tendon decided to bitch out on me. I am finally kind of not bitch-raving mad after about three ice pack sessions, some tylenol, and empathy snuggles from Delmira. 

My bitches

Delmira is my favorite fur-baby. I know as a parent, you're not supposed to have favorites, but she just knows me so well. Not to mention, her compatriot, Blitz, is about as stubborn as a mule, with the devious intelligence of an incredibly smart toddler. I think we can all understand why I have picked teams here. Notate how smart-ass isn't even looking at the camera for pictures, while my beloved fir-spawn is questioning what's even happening. Shortly after this photo, Delmira rolled over and petitioned for belly-rubs. More on that another day...

Hopefully this visual-laden post is enough to satisfy you blood-thirsty entertainment seekers until next week when I might have something to show for my efforts. If not, then fuck off, cause I probably didn't like you all that much anyway.

Unless you're Erin. 

If you're Erin, we can hug it out all super tight with both arms all wrapped around each other and our boobs all lego'd together and whatnot, cause that's what friends do.

I like Erin.