Let's talk about how the last couple of days have been.
On Tuesday, I had a ton of shit to get done, just like every other day. I had a list, everything was planned out: gym, grocery store, tidy house, cook dinner, get Sutt ready for scouts. All this was to come AFTER the cable guy came, which was scheduled to happen during a "Guaranteed" two hour window, falling between 10am and 12pm. Why was the cable guy coming in the first place? Because B's sanity had finally snapped over Verizon's shitty Internet service and he told them to take their Internet and shove it. Unfortunately, since Verizon bundled our Internet with our landline phone and our Direct TV, we were also losing the Direct TV, with whose service we had been perfectly happy. HENCE THE FUCKING CABLE GUY. Goodbye, Direct TV, hello, Charter.
I got everything done that I could around the house, and at noon, there was still no cable guy. At 12:09pm, I got a phone call from Charter telling me that the guy was running "way behind schedule" and wouldn't be there until "2 or 2:30." Okay. I was unhappy, it was an inconvenience, but you know what? SHIT HAPPENS. People run behind. Fine. I can deal with it.
So the cable guy shows up at 4pm. Yep, two hours LATER than the already TWO HOURS LATE delay. FINE. I'm still holding it together. B was home by then, so I left him with the cable guy and ran Bells up the street to the library. We were back in 10 minutes, and the cable guy was already gone. HE COULDN'T HOOK ANYTHING UP BECAUSE EVEN THOUGH OUR HOUSE WAS WIRED FOR CABLE, THE WIRES HAD BEEN CUT AT THE GROUND (likely when the Direct TV was installed). In order to install everything, he would have to run a wire from the box between our yard and the neighbor's yard, bury the line, BORE A HOLE UNDER OUR CONCRETE DRIVEWAY TO BURY THE LINE BENEATH IT, and come on around the house. This involved a lot of apparently much more advanced tool usage and brain power than the guy in the little white cable truck had. But we didn't need to worry, because everything with Verizon would just stay the same until a couple of weeks later when Charter was able to get the cable buried, hooked up, and have us good to go. Sweet.
At this point, I'm irritated, but I'm mostly okay. Sadly, not only had all the shit I needed to get done that day not all gotten done because of the Charter Time Schedule Clusterfuck, but Blaker's ginormous, hairy (and constantly shedding) hound, Earl, who normally lives with B's Mom had arrived for a "vacation" with us while B's Mom was in Maryland. Earl is 11 years old. He's a sweet boy. He's good and well-behaved and a gentle giant. But that damn dog loses more hair in an hour than most dogs grow in their whole lives. He walks through the house and it just floats off him in big Earl Hair Tumbleweeds and sticks to the furniture and your clothing, rolls through the house. It's an OCD girl like myself's WORST FUCKING NIGHTMARE. I can't STAND having animals that shed in the house, it's just disgusting to me. BUT HERE WAS EARL. I love B, so I also have to love Earl. (My rule, not his.)
By 6pm, I was already drinking (obviously) and trying to warm up leftovers for B and Sutt, while dodging all three dogs that were underfoot in the kitchen. We had to hurry to get Sutt to scouts, and I didn't have time to cook, but we had enough leftovers for both of them to eat and I would figure something else out for me and Belly. The boys had pork chops, macaroni and cheese, green beans, and polenta. Just as they finished, B decided THEY WEREN'T GOING TO SCOUTS. Sutt didn't care-- it was the Popcorn Kickoff, and he felt that he already knew everything he could ever need to know about selling popcorn (yeah, WTF?). All that rushing for nothing. I sighed, poured another glass of wine, and made eggs for Bells and I to eat.
The next morning I got up, and found a message from B saying that I needed to not only feed Earl (which was fine) but also give him two pain pills and a glucosamine, none of which he would take willingly (which was NOT SO FUCKING FINE). After wrapping the pills in cheese, chasing Earl around the house and headlocking him, I finally managed to get ONE pill in him. Fuck that shit. I just stuck the others in his food bowl, and got the kids ready for school while simultaneously trying to check my email and see if there were any available sub teaching jobs. Only, as it turns out, WE NO LONGER HAD THE INTERNET. Remember how those fuckers at Charter said everything would stay the same until the cable was in and all good to go? BIG FUCKING LIE. What made it even BETTER? WE ALSO HAD NO TELEPHONE SERVICE. Somehow, Direct TV had managed to screw up and NOT turn off the satellite, though, so we DID still have Bravo (The season finale of "Tamara's OC Wedding" made things a minuscule amount better.) Still, I couldn't get a sub job (no phone, no Internet), couldn't blog, couldn't get rid of the shedding dog who smelled like a barnyard because B's mom never bathes him, couldn't do a hell of a lot of ANYTHING I needed to get done.
I called B at work. He didn't seem to think there was anything he could do. I considered taking a shot of vodka and chasing it with rat poison, but instead went to the grocery store since it hadn't been done the day before. When I was out, I got a call from B that he was on his way to the Charter office to try to get a temporary cable run until one could be buried. High five for B!
ALL OF THIS BECAUSE VERIZON SUCKS DONKEY NUTS. And, I guess, because B's Mom was in Maryland.
Deciding that it was time to pull my shit together and find something I could do for a sense of accomplishment, I went into Belly's room to open the window and leave some laundry. However, upon entering Belly's room, I realized that HER ROOM SMELLED LIKE SWEATY KID, DIRTY HOUND, AND ASS. Times infinity. Sure, it was a little unkempt (she's messy as fuck) but it shouldn't be DIRTY. Confused, I peeked into the closet, only to find that the entire thing was waist high in a plethora of kid shit. I started digging around and found clean clothes, dirty clothes, outgrown shoes from two years ago, lots of toys, books, some suitcases, a thermos (that had been missing for months) STILL FUCKING FULL OF WHAT APPEARED TO HAVE AT ONE POINT BEEN APPLE JUICE, peanuts (yes, you read that right), broken crayons, a set of sheets, a half-drunk Powerade, two Carolina pom-pons, and a the empty box from the game Twister. AMONG OTHER SHIT.
This, friends, is WHERE I FINALLY LOST IT. I COULD TAKE NO MORE. Because now, not only did I have no Internet, no phone, dog stink and dog hair on every surface of my home, and a child's bedroom that could have qualified as a bio hazard, but I also seemed to be coming down with a cold AND (wait, it gets better) I also had been hit by the realization that day that my sweet 13-year-old BFF Yorkie Mimi had likely developed diabetes. (She had been overweight, super lethargic, and extremely thirsty for a while, but she had also reached the point where she thought she was starving so often that she spent her days--when not napping-- barking at the dog food tub and whimpering at any of the human family members who dared to eat in front of her. This had only come together in my head a couple of hours earlier.) All of this had led to me knowing that I really needed to wrestle her down that evening and try to check her blood sugar with my own meter (I had studied this carefully on YouTube in preparation). It was gonna suck. BUT HEY, EVERYTHING SUCKED. WHY NOT LEARN THAT MY BABY IS DIABETIC WHILE I'M DISCONNECTED FROM THE WORLD, CAN'T WORK, AND AM STUCK IN MY DOG-FUR COVERED HOME WITH THE STINKY DOG, AND HAD PROBABLY CAUGHT THE BLACK PLAGUE WHILE TRYING TO DELIVER CLEAN LAUNDRY TO MY DAUGHTER'S ROOM. WHY THE FUCK NOT?
Pouring a Haley-sized glass of wine, I went out onto the deck and started to cry. Just as yet ANOTHER cable guy showed up to run the temporary cable. B let him in and helped him get situated, although I'm pretty sure he was curious about the sobbing crazy woman talking to herself (that's me, for anybody who's too dumb to follow) outside the open living room windows. Then I wandered in, face smeared with mascara, and dragged Bells into her room to start intensive cleaning. I also cooked dinner, except for the chicken that B was supposed to grill (I'm not allowed to use the grill--or the lawnmower. Too many previous accidents.) At 8pm, the temporary stuff was hooked up, I had everything ready to go, but despite my having mentioned it twice, B had forgotten to cook the chicken. SO, while he went out to grill, I went into the bedroom to attempt to program the DVR on the cable box. EXCEPT I COULDN'T BECAUSE NOTHING WAS SHOWING UP ON THE GUIDE. EVERYTHING SAID "TO BE ANNOUNCED." FUCK YOU, CHARTER CABLE.
FUCK FUCK FUCK, MOTHERFUCK.
By 11pm, B and I were exhausted, frustrated, and lucky we had not killed one another. Earl kept repeatedly getting on the sofa and leaving a blanket of hair behind (he's not allowed on the furniture), B didn't understand why that drives me insane, and we both wanted to strangle the other because EVERY FUCKING THING THAT COULD GO POSSIBLY GO WRONG, HAD. Not to mention that I had spent over an hour with him trying TIME AND TIME AGAIN to check Mimi's blood sugar, pricking her little ears, and had never been able to get enough blood, so I was STILL worrying and worrying without knowing about her goddamn potential diabetes. FUCK ME. AND FUCK YOUTUBE.
We gave up and went to bed. After lying there for approximately three minutes, I remembered that the tooth fairy had neglected to come YET AGAIN (Sutt had awoken that morning in tears because his tooth was still in the box where he left it). I mentioned it to B and we both started scrambling for cash, change, whatever. But, since neither of us really carries cash, we had nada. So B ran out (naked) to his car, dug around and found some coins, and deposited them in exchange for the tooth.
Only it turns out the coins were (somehow) Canadian. WHAT THE FUCK? Seriously. How did the ONE FUCKING TIME WE HAVE NO OTHER OPTION BECOME THE ONE FUCKING TIME THAT WE'RE STUCK WITH A FUCKING CANADIAN PIECE-OF-SHIT COIN. (Side note: I fucking hate Canadians. This is a new thing-- it only started today with the Canadian debacle.) And, turns out, we didn't even REALIZE the coins were fucking Canadian until Sutt pointed it out at breakfast. Awesome. Which happened about thirty minutes before I put on a bikini and hoisted a 75-pound Earl into the bathtub with me for a decent bath, covering both myself and the bathroom with wet dog fur. (I posted photos for the non-believers.)
At least he smells better.
These past two days have been THE MOTHER LOAD OF ALL DISASTERS. I am so tired. I am also nauseous, have a cold, and want to stab out the eyeballs of everyone at Verizon and Charter except the guy who ran the temp cable. There is not enough wine in the world to fix this shit, and everybody who knows me knows that I am a firm believer that enough wine can fix anything. Thank God we leave for Italy in just a few weeks.