March, March, March. Stupid, irritating March where there’s snow on the ground & it’s 17 degrees. I hate this seasonal transition.

I am in a bad, bad mood. Funky, foul, irritable, grumpy, nasty, stanky, like your feet been sockless in leather shoes walking across Nairobi bad. I am depressed, menstrual, exhausted, weepy and generally pissy. I honestly feel like I couldn’t reasonably hit somebody in the head with a baseball bat for lookin’ at me funny & I’ll be completely exonerated due to “pissy mom syndrome” (y’know…PMS?). Doesn’t help that Steven has been a holy terror the past 2 days & Henry’s cutting teeth. Jiminy CHRISTMAS, if those teeth don’t come through soon, he’s going to gnaw off his ARM. His whole face is all rosied up like a clown – red cheeks, forehead, nose & chin – and he’s drooling like a wild hog. I think I’ll go to PetSmart & get him some pig ears or rawhide to chew on.

We went to Costco on Saturday & I was so excited to find this wicked cool bubble machine that I thought would be great for Henry’s therapy (and, of course, the other kids would whoop it up, too). So, I brought it home & got it all set up & turned it on. The living room filled with the roar of the inside of a jet engine and, after about 10 seconds, bubbles from the very bowels of hell filled the room. No…LITERALLY. FILLED. THE. ROOM. It was like Lawrence Welk on crystal meth. I’ve never seen anything like it. Henry was completely engulfed in bubbles and he began vibrating wildly as he sat there trying to see them all. Of course, the sound was deafening and I think it unnerved him. It’s the most hysterical piece of equipment I’ve bought in a long, long time. We ran it again today for the boys and Steven danced around it in his new underpants, like a demented changling child  or a crazy bubble worshipper.

We rented “The Grudge” from Netflix & we’re watching it right now. Sarah Michelle Gellar is just a bad actress. Right now she is Buffy the Demented Kitten Rescuer. We’ve decided that the thing in the attic that et the lady at first will try to eat her & spit her out saying, “White lady bad. Taste like cheese”. So far this is trying REALLY hard to be scary but it’s just Japanese. SMG does NOT belong in this film.
Y’know – stupid Western people with the special needs mom? TOTALLY buy the creepy house. The weird crap you hear in the attic that makes mom break her psychosis?? TOTALLY nothing at all. This house ROCKS. I just never buy this stuff. The very second I hear weird attic noises or see the realtor crouched fearfully in the corner with a wet arm doing the Great-Whimper-of-Asian-Ghost-Fear? I’m living in my CAR. How do people just ignore this stuff & go, “Yeah….y’know….we’ll totally take the rage-filled-ghost-house.” As my hubby just put it, “Right about now, there’d be a Steve-shaped hole in the wall.” But instead we have the requisite stupid-white-women-goes-to-check-out-the-unsettling-noise-and-demonic-cat-that-ran-upstairs. Who gets et. Oh, and, yeah, when your mom is demented (clinically, not spiritually) and mute – make sure you STAY in the evil house that just psychoed your wife through the ceiling. That’s messed up. Just laughing here.

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