Posting is going to be light for the next few weeks during our packing/flying back to Japan and the slow demise of what was left of my sanity from the first flight to move here. I still thought that I should get a quick blurb out because right now I'm pretty sure I can feel my brain melting.
Not much to see here, except a five foot deep pile of just...stuff. How did we get so much stuff in the three months we've lived here? We came from Japan with nothing but one suitcase full of clothes each. Now I have Halloween, Christmas and Easter decorations. It's not even close to Easter yet. Why did I buy this crap? I guess the better question is when did I buy this crap? Because I sure as shit don't remember buying giant tinsel Easter egg wall decorations. Crap what if I'm one of those amnesia shoppers who block out the shopping experience? I guess that would explain all the shoes I buy, forget about and never wear! Anyways, the highlight of the day so far was during my excavation of the toy closet. I found a *ton* of torn Christmas wrapping paper. Apparently the boys decided to shove it all under the stairs instead of into the garbage bag on Christmas morning. Did the boys not know that "Santa" would find out about their laziness? Didn't they think that "Santa" might get irritated and briefly lock himself in the laundry room with the secret bottle of emergency Moscato and drink until he forgets the wrapping paper, garbage and big pile of shit he has to do, but he doesn't have the energy because he is sitting on a damn washer with fourteen piles of dirty clothes surrounding it drinking wine from the bottle? 'Cuz that totally worked. "Santa" came back feeling so much better and ready to keep delve back into the deep abyss of the closet of doom. Which brings me to the toys. Oh good Lord, the damn toys. I decided to start sifting through them to figure out what I can cram into the one carry on each boy can take, and then attempted to cram the rest into a shipping box. Right now my living room looks like the local Dollar Store got knocked up by the local Wal-Mart, but is trying to claim it's Toys R Us's baby. But Toys R Us is all "all hell no" and took off into hiding. So now Dollar Store has abandoned her toys at my house so she can go out and make new little toy babies with Amazon. Someone needs to call Maury, this shit is all sorts of not right. Also call my therapist because why the hell am I acting like stores can reproduce? Oh that's right...because they totally can. Everyone knows Dollar Stores are cheap, Wal-Mart will not accept responsibility, Toys R Us is nowhere to be found, and Amazon is *always* there for you.
I am probably going to regret making a Maury show out of big name stores one day. Not today though, because I'm still not famous yet. Yet.
So back onto the topic (or rather surprise! I'm finally getting to the point of this blurb), the reason I am ranting about my house looking like the love child of Bret Michaels and Dr. Rockso ( aka a hot damn mess) is because apparently I have someone coming out to view the house tomorrow. I learned about this oh, twenty minutes ago or so. I so don't count that as "24 hours notice" when they are showing up at 7:30 am and it was 8 pm when you called. That's cheating. Do you not understand how much crap a house that has children in residence has? See above paragraph if you've already forgotten. I thought I was at least covered in the kitchen since I had done the whole shebang yesterday (including mopping!). Then I stepped in (what looked like) jello on my way in to type this post. Only we don't have jello in the house because I think eating boiled animal bones is gross.
So what the hell did I step in?
At this point I think the safest course of action is to wake up in the morning, don my bad ass Batman robe, get a cup of coffee and let them try to wade into the disaster zone that is my house and the kids morning routines. Good luck Mr. Landlord. You're gonna need it if you want to rent this house at seven thirty in the damn morning. That man is off his rocker and I fully intend to let him know that this is *not* gonna fly. I want a full 24 hours notice and if he brings someone else over at 7:30 in the morning they are going to be the ones to get my screeching, cranky hellspawns dressed, fed, and on the bus to school. Then they are going to make me some damn waffles. 7:30 am my ass.