I’m super tired. And it’s only Wednesday.
I blame NBC.
Seriously, why are the Olympics on so late? Ok, maybe NBC isn’t entirely at fault. But they are definitely mostly at fault.
I guess my stupid dog, Osita, is also partly to blame because, hmm...how to put this delicately... the bitch is in heat. I know, I know. I’m the worst dog pimp in the world! She should be fixed. I agree whole whole whole heartedly. But, I’ve never raised puppy’s before, and I thought I had, like, a year to get that done! So now her milkshake brings all the boys to the yard. And sometimes it brings the boys that can squeeze their mangy butts through the gate into the house and then I have to chase them away with a broom and they growl at me and it’s kinda scary. Needless to say, I’ve been up throughout the night because every time I hear a noise I’m simply positive that it’s my trashy dog bumpin’ uglies with one of the neighborhood tramps. And we do not want more puppies. That would be baaad. The obvious plus-side to this mess is that between various family members belting out the Milkshake song or Neil Diamonds, Girl, you’ll be a woman soon, and the never ending quips about “Ho-sita the floozy dog with loose morals.”, laughter and song reign once again in the home of the VWM.
Oh, and the other thing is that we’ve been under nightly attack by mosquitos the size of my thumb. They wait until the lights go out and then they buzz right past your ear to let you know that you are about to be feasted upon. We tried to sleep through it the first night, the buzzing and the biting, the itching and scratching. But the constant slapping at the air, and the twitching and flinging of arms and legs proved too much. At 2 am, El Chupacabra and I jumped out of bed and waged all out war until nothing remained but guts and wings and our pj’s were marked with blood. True. It was our blood. And I do have bites where no one should ever be bitten by anything. Ever. But as we were leaping and diving and jabbing at mosquitos like Samurai warriors, but in slow motion like in the Matrix, it was obvious to me that John Eldredge was right and that I was created for an adventure of epic proportions. (Um..Ok, maybe I was the only one doing that and maybe El Chupacabra was like, “What the hell are you doing?!” and maybe Eldredge thinks I’m supposed to be more princess than bad-ass mosquito killer. But, whatever. I’m pretty sure my “moves” looked super cool. *shakes head emphatically No, they did not*)
So that’s why I’m tired.
Oh, and then, yesterday, I was holding a little girl at the precario while the bigger kids played games, and she full-out peed on me. So that’s why I have Hepatitis. ...Or Dengue Fever. Or some other horrible communicable disease that is transmitted from urine through skinny jeans to flesh and then goes straight to the kidneys. My organs are probably failing as I write this.
*sniff, cough, sniffle, hupchoooo*
So, are you tired? (That’s a funny question, cause everyone I know is pretty much always tired. Have you ever said “I’m tired.” and had the response be “Not me! I feel GREAT!”? Huh. Me neither.) Here’s a better question: WHY are you tired?