March 31, 2007

To the person who Googled, ‘my poop came out grey’, seek medical attention immediately. I’m not a doctor, although I play one sometimes at home, I am pretty sure poo is supposed to be some version of brown tones. Not grey. Maybe you shit out your brains, which, if that’s the case, I think you could be in serious trouble. I’m just sayin’.

I’ve sprained my wrist I think and it hurts like hell. If I move it a certain way, it shoots this funky pain up my left arm and actually makes my jaws ache. Maybe that’s why I’ve had this lingering migraine for weeks. I’m not sure. Or maybe it’s the booze. Who knows right? Yes I said I sometimes play a doctor at home, but not all the time, so dammit, I don’t have all of the answers. Do I look like Super Woman to you? Oh. I do? Well spank my ass and call me a bisquit. No, wait. Butter my butt and call me Judy. Hmmm. Spank my butter and punch me in the face? I can’t remember the exact phrase right now, I’m running on empty and I’m tired. And cranky. And hungry. And a big ball of emotions. And I’m old. And I’m still hungry.

I should really go make supper but something’s stopping me. It’s called I DON’T FUCKING WANT TO. I was sure I hired a chef but he must have quit. Maybe because I paid him in used buttons and leftover chicken drippings. Talk about fussy. Hard to find good help these days.

Sigh, I’m leaving now. My kids are playing behind me and they’re very loud and kind of annoying and remember I mentioned I’m cranky? Ya. I will go see if I can get myself invited someplace for supper. I’m not sure how that will happen but I’m sometimes magic, so we’ll see.

March 30, 2007

I think I might have been in a coma and although my calendar does say Friday, I think it’s really Monday. Are you with me on this? Can someone clear this up for me?

Well, I can’t really get into details per say but I will say this: Buying a house and doing an “assumable mortgage” is HELL. There have been few situations in my life where I have felt this much stress and I’m going on auto pilot. I swear I don’t know if I’m coming or going. It’s a strange feeling and I don’t think I like it. But such is life. Hopefully I’ll be back to normal soon. Like I was ever normal. Ha.

My day started off shitty, no other way to put it. First, I woke with a migraine. Well, that’s not entirely true. I mean, I did wake with a migraine but it’s the same fucking one I’ve had for a month. I’ve eaten so many pills that my stomach feels like it’s going to fall out. Stomachs can’t just fall out right? Right? Come on, I’m looking for answers here people and expect them. I’m demanding like that.

Okay, take 2 pills, and get on with my day. I’m walking my daughter to school this morning and we have to cross the street in front of her school. There are signs up that say YIELD TO PEDESTRIANS. To me, that means FUCKING STOP WHEN YOU SEE PEOPLE WALKING IN FRONT OF YOUR CAR. Dontcha think? As we are crossing (and there’s also a STOP sign that hello, means STOP), this lady pulls up to the stop sign. She did stop. I will give her that. So my daughter and I are directly in front of her car. We have the right of way, and I look up at her except she’s not looking ahead. She’s staring out her window, looking to her left. Then she steps on the gas. Ah ya, hi, I’m WALKING IN FRONT OF YOUR CAR. As I’m yanking on my daughter’s arm to get her out of the way (and mind you this is all happening in miliseconds/seconds) the woman finally turns her head to see, Oh shoot, there are people almost touching my bumper. Oh because I’ve hit the gas and not been looking out my windshield as I should be doing if I’m going to DRIVE. I shot daggers out of my eyes at her as she slammed on her brakes and I’m pretty sure I stabbed her in the head with them. She refused to make eye contact with me then. Oh I see how it is, you get to just about run me and my daughter over and then you don’t have to make direct eye contact. Did you feel stupid? I hope so. You need to have your licence taken away or a ninya kick you in the ass. The latter would be nice.

I walked home without further incident and decided I had to get to the bank and then to the post office to mail a package. The bank was quick and painless, although I had to listen to the angry man beside me rip a strip off of the teller, which, although it may be heartless for me to think it was fun, but it was. Let’s just say because of this whole house stuff, I’m not keen on banks. Anyway, I leave the bank and head to the post office across the street. I get in there and yay, no lineup! Just one dude in front of me. The lady behind the counter comes over to assist me and as I’m standing there, I hear this weird noise behind me and hear, “oh look out!”. Now, listen, I’m not too swift these days and being in a stupour for the past month, my senses are dulled. Or maybe it’s the vodka. I don’t know. Anyway, I slowly turn around and then get sprayed on the side of the head/face with 7-UP. Yes, 7-UP. There’s a guy behind me, who had been loading cases of pop into the cooler and one of the 2 litre bottles became angry I guess and threw itself on the floor and split open and as it’s lying on the floor, spinning around, it’s shooting pop up about 5 feet in the air, thus spraying the walls, the products hanging on the racks and me. The postal lady was smart as was the dude standing beside me. They jumped out of the way. I didn’t. I just stood there like a moron, watching the pop spitting out of the crazy bottle spinning like a top on the floor. I think the postal lady told me to get out of the way. Too late. The other chick offered to wipe my jacket off with a paper towel. No, that’s okay because I’m going to go buy a giant bag of brownies and eat them until I vomit. And then I’m going to flush my head in the toilet. Then maybe I’ll pass out. Then maybe I’ll go fight crime. We’ll see. I’ll have to go dig out my super hero costume. Oh shit, it’s at the cleaners.

I hope your Friday is better than mine. Wanna come eat brownies with me?

March 25, 2007

Eleven. My favourite number and now the age of my youngest son. Where does the time go? I guess it flies when you’re like a super hero, smart and pretty awesome like I am. But I digress, this isn’t about me.

It’s hard to believe I was punching nurses in the face and screaming obsenities calmly pushing out a 7lb 12oz human 11 years ago. True story people,true story.

Ryan didn’t want to turn 11. He liked being 10 so much that he begged us not to let him turn eleven. Ah, well son, what would like us to do? Stop time for you? Honestly, I would if I could but I’m not authorized to do so. You’ll have to suck it up and get over it. But don’t worry, when you’re my age 39 25, time does stop and you’ll stay young and hot just like your mother. I kid you not. Would I lie? No.

We had a party for him yesterday (Friday was his actual birthday), and although my son is normally quiet, let me tell you, my ears bled from the noise. I’m now suffering from a migraine but that’s what moms do for their kids. Let them have friends over to help celebrate their special day, terrorize adults with the loudness of their play and destroy your home. That’s insanity love.

Happy Birthday Ryan and listen, if you fall in love with being 11, just like you did with being 10, I’ll give you a hundred bucks. Or maybe I’ll just give you a hug. I’m broke right now.

March 22, 2007

Knock, knock, anyone home? Remember I shared my ‘hopefully will happen soon’ good news? Ya? Well, I was thinking I’d be flooded with house warming gifts, such as huge wads of cash, jewels and socks, everything a new house needs and/or a big swanky party. So far, nothin’. Nada. Zip. Zero. I see something very wrong with this picture. You all say, ‘you’re a crazy bitch’, ‘we love you’ but I’m not feelin’ it or seein’ it people. Get your shit together, mmmkay?

It’s Thursday (although I’m going to tell you in a later paragraph that I’m confused on the days, you just wait and see…you didn’t know I was psychic) and besides feeling slighted that noone cares enough to host a big schwing ding for me, I’ve got nothing to bitch about. Well, almost nothing.

Does anyone watch American Idol? I pretend to and when I’m pretending to be into a show, it really pisses me off that they allow people who can’t sing on that show. Girlie haired boy really has to go. Sure he’s young, just a baby really, has pretty hair and nice teeth, but last time I checked this was a singing competetion. And he. can’t. sing. I guess Howard Stern’s mission is working. Do I care? Not as much as I care that noone has sent me any presents.

Oh, did I mention I’ve got the perma-headache from hell? It’s a migraine that never fully goes away, lingers, making one feel nausous and wanting to punch people in the neck. Maybe that’s why noone is sending gifts or having parties for me. I’ve been on a punching rampage, thus alienating potential gift givers and party throwers. Duh.

My daughter informed her father last night that she needs $12.50 for a diary she wants to buy. She told him that he only needs to worry about the 12 bucks as she can spare the 50 cents. She needs to write her ‘private crap’ down as she put it to me this morning. Oookaaaay. She’s six. Although she looks six, I’m thinking she’s 24. Gotta be some joke on me.

I’m all mixed up this week, thinking today was really Friday but no, it’s only Thursday (see, told ya I was psychic). Survivor was on last night and I think that’s what messed me up. Doesn’t take much does it? Or maybe it’s because I’ve been drunk for 8 days packing like a mad person, even though we still don’t know for 100% sure if we have a house to move into. I suppose it’s better to be prepared. I should save a few of the cardboard boxes I have incase we need them, you know, to live in. Cardboard is the new condo.

It’s spring now incase you missed it. I like to make sure my 7 fans 957 fans are up to date on the latest news and world events. I’m informative like that. Just a big bag of knowledge I am. Or maybe it’s just a big bag. I’ll get back to you on that one. Are you as bored as I am? *Yawn*

I should perhaps get off of my duff and do more, ah, cleaning. Ya, cleaning. Or is it sleeping I’m thinking of? I get the two confused sometimes. Maybe that’s why we have no clean clothes or dishes or floors, or bathrooms. Hmmm. Okay, gotta go scratch my head and wonder what happened to my brain.

March 17, 2007

So I’ve been yammering on and on and on about a big secret that I’ve not been able to talk about because I was afraid of jinxing it and ruining my life and then I’d have to ruin your lives because it just wouldn’t be fair for you to be all happy and me all sad. I like stuff even. Get it?

Having said all of that crap about jinxing, I’m going to tell you my big secret because a certain big mouth smartie pants guesser, who thinks she’s so rockin and well so what if she totally is, whatever someone totally fucking guessed kinda guessed and since she thought I was having some kind of contest and she was gonna win a prize or some such nonsense, which by the way, I’m not handing out prizes unless you want my old coffee maker that I NEVER use because I don’t drink coffee, then you can have it. I think maybe she guessed because she pays attention and I like people who pay attention. To me. Why? Ah, because I’m important. Duh.

My secret probably isn’t going to, like blow you away. So before you get your panties, tighty whities, girdle, thong, whatever, in a bunch, I don’t remember saying that it would, so keep that in mind when you read it. No, I wasn’t abducted by aliens and given the dreaded anal probe, I didn’t win any awards, I wasn’t a lucky lottery winner, I didn’t go to the moon and back, although some days it sure feels like I’ve been to another planet, I wasn’t planning some awesome vacation, even though I absolutely deserve one, I didn’t milk a cow, I haven’t gotten a new hair do, I am not running for president or prime minister or pope-age or turning to satan worshiping. Read on:

My news iiiissssss, we sort of bought a house! I talked about the disgustingly ugly pink house, which I was convinced should totally belong to me but which in reality totally belongs to someone other than me, so it’s not that house. It’s a house that is almost new, looks new, is ‘ready to move in’ quality and is only a 2 minute drive from my current house. We should know by next Friday which is my son’s 11th birthday and 11 is one of my favourite numbers, so that’s a sign. Right? There, geez, I said it and if because I talked about it before we actually have it and I lose it, I’m coming after you. All of you. So watch out. I’m all scary like that. Seriously though, I’m excited but I have to hide it incase we don’t get it. But I think we will. Right? Ah hello? Could someone please dig out their crystal balls, I’m desperate here? Thanks, that’d be great.

There you have it. Happy now? You should be dammit. I will give more details and pictures once we know for one hundred percent that we do indeed own it. Then I’ll expect you to throw me a wickedly fun party to congratulate me and send me oodles of cash (50’s and up, thanks) in pretty pink envelopes. That is hardly asking alot after I’ve given you much to dream about people. Much. *Smiles*

March 15, 2007

You’re most likely cursing me, wanting to strangle me or at least punch me in the face, and really who could blame you? I know I said I’d be telling my secret and you probably thought I’d be spilling the beans like 2 years ago but you have to keep waiting. Think of this like your favourite sitcom/drama/soap/movie and you’re hanging on the edge of your seat, breathless, waiting for the cliffhanger to be resolved so you can get the hell back to your lives, but at the same time, you’re intrigued and mesmerized (by my hotness/beauty, duh) and don’t exactly want it to end because then you’ll all be bored and shit. See how I give you such great ideas! You love me, I can tell.

I will tell you this, I’m not pregnant. I’m not dying (that I’m aware of), I’m not having surgery to remove some ugly, nasty bunion, I’m not having a boob job (although I’d consider it), I’m not getting an artificial leg because as of right now, I have 2 real ones, I’m not trading in my piece of shit van nor am I shaving my head. I want to be absolutely sure of the “thing that I’m talking about in code” before I talk about it, incase, you know, aliens come and eat me. Na, I’m just joshin’ you, I’m just paranoid I’ll jinx it. And you don’t want to be responsible for me jumping off of a cliff should you pester me to talk about “this” and then it gets jinxed and you’ve thus ruined my life. You really want that on your shoulders? I didn’t think so. Am I a bit dramatic? You betcha. But that’s what keeps you dreaming about me each and every night. You do dream about me each and every night? Right? Huh?

I promise I will entertain you until then. And if not, well, then you can sue me if you so choose. I can tell you I don’t really have alot of funds but you can have my bellybutton lint collection. That’s hot.

*Edit* I just sucked up my bellybutton lint collection with the vaccum cleaner (oops), so, ah, you’ll have to sue me for something else…..my old nail polish collection?

March 13, 2007

I still have a secret and I still have to keep quiet about it because I didn’t hear the thing that I thought I’d hear, therefore I don’t think I should mention it yet incase I jinx it. So once again, you’ll be dreaming about me and my secret. And that’s not so bad is it? Naw.

I can tell you this though….I suck…in the kitchen. I must admit I’ve had a few successes of late but usually my true self comes out while I’m in the kitchen. Not if I’m cleaning it so much, just if I’m cooking in it. I was cooking tonight and I managed to drop the raw hamburger on the floor, slice my finger, slop pasta sauce on my WHITE shirt and on the floor, down the WHITE stove and all down the cabinet doors and this was all before I even decided what I was going to actually make. In the end, I cooked some kind of pasta noodles, not sure what their name is, they’re sort of long, fat and hollow. Logs? I dunno. Anyway, please pray that my family doesn’t fall ill after eating it. At least let’s hope it’s not full fledged food poisoning. I mean, really, a little vomitting and diarreah never hurt anyone. Well the cramps might be a bit of a pain in the ass. Oh did you read that pun? A warrior with words I am! Gah. Hopefully there’s not much lint in the ground beef that I put in the sauce. I think I got most of it out. Fingers crossed.

I’m going to watch American Idol tonight. I’m not exactly sure why though. This has got to be one of the most boring seasons ever. There’s not even any eye candy for mama. Not unless you like 17 year old boys who kinda look like girls. And I don’t. However, it’s like I’m compelled to see it to the end, like I’m being disloyal if I stop watching it now. I could use a nice sleeping pill though and I’m betting Idol will come through for me.

Oh to the guy who sent me emails asking if I need a penis enlargement (actually he said, “hey no more short dick for you”…charming), thanks, but I’m good. And to the chick who said, “let’s meet on messYenger so we can ‘cat’,” I’m not sure what the hell that means, but I’m super busy tonight *see above paragraph*. To ‘Loverlacehodax’, your message to me, was appreciated, “of course I’d love to meet you, you’re a hot guy and I love hot guys and incase you forgot my info, I’m a femAIL“……..ah ya, but I’m not as hot a guy as you think, although I’m flattered that you think I’m a hot guy. Makes me feel confident and not be self conscience about the hair on my back. And ass. And pits. On that note, where’s my friggin’ razor?

Well time to stir the pasta and hope it’s still fit to eat. Maybe I should look for that take out menu…………..

March 12, 2007

I like have a secret but I can’t tell you yet. Probably tomorrow. Hopefully you can wait that long. And if not, well, ah, I, guess, err, too bad? Ha.

It’s Monday, albeit almost over. It was one of those rollercoaster ride days. My stomach was flip flopping all day for a variety of reasons. I’m sure none of them because I ate a giant bag of M&M’s 2 M&M’s.

I changed my voicemail message today on my home phone. Only one person has heard it so far, and she loved it. I think I’ll keep it for awhile. Wanna know what it says? I’m telling you anyway. Well, I’ll give you a tiny bit of background, so it will make sense and hopefully be funny for you. I’m considerate like that. We get alot of wrong numbers for Tim Hortons (coffee shop and it actually was their number in NINETEEN NINETY NINE. GET.A. NEW. PHONE. BOOK. PEOPLE.) and it’s also close to Economy Glass. So my angelic voice *cough* says this:

“Hi, this isn’t Tim Hortons and it”………shit, hang on, I have to call my house to listen to it, I forget the exact wording. Nothing like ruining the punch line. Give me a sec……………Okay, here it is:

“Hi, this ISN’T Tim Hortons, and it ISN’T Economy Glass but if you’re looking for the Smiths (not my real last name), then you know the drill. Bye.”

Isn’t that sweet? I thought it was genius really. And by genius, I mean, dumb, but what the hell? You only live once and I wanted to be a phone rebel. Boo.

Totally switching gears here, Have you seen that commerical for some dish cloth type product? I’m not being very specific but I can’t remember the product name, but what I think is really lame, is they show a woman holding up a dirty, smelly, ratty, disgusting dish cloth (which she sniffs in the commercial and then makes a gagging face….how ’bout this, THROW THAT FUCKER AWAY), that she supposedly washes her dishes with and how she should switch to this other kind of dish cloth that you apparently never have to wash, like ever. My question is, who would actually wash the dishes that THEY EAT OFF OF with a shit hole of a rag, that you can pretty much see the stink fumes rolling off of it? Why do some commercials have to make women seem like morons? Why? Sure, I’ve run into poles, made the crappiest meatloaf around and generally make an ass out of myself on a regular basis but at least I have clean, nice smelling dish cloths. One of my fine qualities dontcha think?

Oh, my freakazoid neighbours finally cleaned up the 8 bazillion piles of dog shit off of their DECK. I don’t have a dog. I have had dogs in the past when we lived in the country, so I do have some experience with being a pet owner and I’m pretty sure we didn’t let our dogs crap on our deck. We kinda preferred, oh, THE GROUND. They have 4 dogs, so they had 4 months worth of 4 dogs’ shit piles on their deck. And if you looked out my livingroom window, into their backyard, you got a super view of their toilet deck covered in poo. Very nice. Oh, and a side note…they still have their Christmas tree up. I’m not even kidding.

I have to go because I now have a headache because of speaking about my neighbours. Why do I even mention them? I dunno, it’s like they’re a trainwreck and I can’t look away or they’re like aliens from another planet and are trying to live normally amoung us real humans but are kinda fucking it up. Oh well, to each his own. Sweet dreams. And remember, I have a secret, which I might tell you tomorrow. Try to get a good night’s rest even though you’ll be totally dreaming about me and my secret. Don’t even try to deny it.

March 8, 2007

Happy Hump Day. And by Hump Day, I mean eat some chocolate and drink some alcohol. I totally would if, you know, I ate chocolate and drank alcohol. Oh wait, Hump Day was yesterday, today is just Thursday. Thursday gets a bum rap sometimes. Maybe because it was humped by Wednesday? Oh what a play on words. Dontcha love it?

Alot has been going on with me but I think I’ll spare you the unfortunate details. I’m kinda like a secret spy and if I tell you too much about my secret missions, then it wouldn’t be a secret and I’d have to punch you in the face if I spoke of it. And golly, we wouldn’t want that.

So tell me, what’s been happening with you? Yes, you. I’m serious, give me a run down of your activities and goings on and maybe your life experiences are more shitty than mine are right now and that will make me feel better about myself. I’m sweet like that. *Blink, blink, blink*

Oh, did I tell you?????????? Well I’m going to anyway, so brace yourself. Someone, other than my one other fan, recognized me! I’m not even kidding. I was in the mall, shoplifting shopping and I was looking at purses. There was a lady, about my age or so (25ish *cough*) and she was kinda staring at me. And by staring at me, she was booring holes in my back with her laser beam eyes. It was sort of creepy. I kept looking at the purses, all the while, continuing to watch her out of the corner of my eye. Finally after about 5 minutes of this, I looked her directly in the face at which time, I thought if she tries to attack me, I’ll throw my cell phone at her and then run away screaming for someone to arrest the crazy lady and then I’d call 911 for extra protection. Then I realized, I’d be without my cell phone because I had just thrown it at her and thus not able to call 911. Bad plan. I decided to smile at her and catch her off guard, because maybe she was a mall purse snatcher. I mean she didn’t really look like a purse snatcher nor particularly crazy for that matter either but you just never know. I then decided I’d walk over to the rack of necklaces and see if she was still eye laser beaming me. She was. Then I see her coming towards me. She opens her mouth and I’m thinking, oh, my God, she’s going to eat me. No, barf on me. No eat me. Anyway, I’m frightened at her open mouth. However, she wasn’t trying to eat me because I then heard words coming out of her mouth. Went something like this:

I love your blog!

OMG, you do?

Yes, it’s quite pretty. Where’d you get it?

Thanks! Where’d I get it? Ah, well, I guess the internet but I made it, kinda.

Wow, you make jewelry?

Jewelry?

Yes, like your watch.

My watch? Oh.

It’s at this point, I’ve just realized, she didn’t say, ‘I like your blog‘, she had said, ‘I like your watch‘. Geez. Talk about feeling like a, oh, I don’t know, a fucking MORON. So when I said up there, someone had recognized me again, ya, that was apparently only in my deluted, retarded head. Sigh.

My youngest son is sick today. He was up all night until 4am, ah, being sick. That about sums that up. Moving right along……

I have to do some more packing this weekend because I eventually have to move. Like in less than 2 months. Can you say, S.T.R.E.S.S. Moving is just not fun. I can’t think of one fun thing about it. Digging through all of your belongings, getting boxes, tape, wrapping breakables, finding that long lost donut hidden in the back of your closet (oh come on, we’ve all had gross donuts in our closets.), wondering, when in the name of fuck, did I buy that sweater? It’s puke green with shitty brown stripes, trimmed in orange diarreah fringe. Surely it must have been purchased while drugged? I dunno. Anyway, the whole process is just hard. And not hard like hard candy because hard candy can be quite enjoyable now and then, but hard, like, hard. Yaaaaaaaaaaahhhhaaaa.

As I sign off for now, I want to leave you with one thought. Ummm, hmmm, you know, honestly I can’t think of a frigging thing right now, so, ah, this is awkward. I swear if I think of something profound to say, I will come back and say it. Not even kidding you. Enjoy your Thursday, you know, the day that gets the bum rap.

March 1, 2007

…..My life feels like it’s in the toilet and because of that, I feel fugly. Kinda like the above picture. I don’t have any idea who that is and no offense, thankfully I don’t actually look like that but I wanted to show you how I feel. I’m not going to get into any details really because honestly, my 3 500 fans want funny, not whiney/sad crap. Well it will be crap but if we’re gonna talk crap, let’s at least make it funny right? I’ve got my hand on the pulse of everything. I’m super cool like that.

We have less than 3 months to be moved out and now no house. The fugly pink house has 100% been sold and although I was really upset about it, my 10 year old son said today that we’ll just keep watching and maybe the new owners will someday want to sell it. He’s got a point.

I’m a tad worried about clumps of hair falling out when I wash it. I mean I do have lots of hair and so far no bald spots, but damn it’s creepy seeing that much hair in the tub. I always freak a bit, thinking it’s a redhaired rodent and then realize, ah no, it’s not. I’m chalking it up to stress and I’m sure a little booze bag of cookies will fix that right up. If I start looking like baldy Britney, then I’ll worry.

I think I sprained my wrist but I’m not 100% sure. I do know that it hurts like hell when I type and when I tried to punch the retarded bank teller in the ass today, I could barely get a good swing so I’m thinking I did something to it. Next time that bizatch is gonna meet the high heel of my boot. No need for wrist action for that. Goooood thinkin’.

I’m wondering when spring is going to come around? I mean I know it officially arrives on March 21st according to my calendar but that’s 3 weeks from now. I want it now. Like 2 days ago. Is that asking too much? Like what the hell does Mother Nature have to do that she’s too damn busy to get spring going. Spring into action MN (that’s what I call Mother Nature, MN. We’re tight like that. Sorta.). Get it? Like my play on words? I’m so, wordy.?. Ah ya.

I got a new pair of pants a couple of weeks ago. Isn’t that exciting? Aren’t you thrilled for me? You’re probably slapping your leg right now, saying, ‘damn that girl is a rebel, buying new pants’. I know it and you know it.

Tonight is my favourite tv night. I watch ER and Survivor. Any ER and/or Survivor fans out there? Wanna talk about it? Don’t you just love Luca? And by love, I mean, don’t you want to rip off his clothes (probably not so much you Ozy, unless there’s something you want to tell me?) and smear chocolate on him and then……………………….oops, sorry, I fell off my chair. On that note, I should go help my kids with their homework because goodness knows the maid/chef/tutor didn’t bother showing up today. Damn lazy bitch. Peace out.