I was just scrubbing the pee off of my bathroom floor (seriously, boys, just because you CAN stand up to pee, doesn’t mean that you SHOULD or that you are GOOD AT IT) and I started thinking about my favorite things that I don’t want to want. Like Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs. Those damn eggs will be the death of me, but dang it, I just can’t stop them.

I have a lot of favorites that I love to hate and it got me thinking, what are some of your biggest weaknesses?

As far as food goes, I have quite a few. Reese’s Eggs, obviously. A new chocolate chip cookie recipe that I wish I would lose because really, you shouldn’t eat cookies every day of your life, not when you are trying to lose weight. Hot corn dip. Taco Bell. Sonic coke. Sweet tea. The list goes on and on, but those are at the top.

I have a definite weakness for camera lenses, but I’m too poor to do much about it. I own four lenses and have a list of others I would love to have. I’d also like a new camera. Serious weakness for all things photography related.

My biggest weakness though? The one that I just can’t say no to? Clorox Disinfecting Wipes. I know! They are so expensive, full of harsh chemicals, and not at all environmentally friendly, but damn it, they make me happy. I always tell myself that I won’t buy anymore, but then I break. Those things are so convenient! And they smell nice! And did I mention they make cleaning up boy pee really easy?

What do you find impossible to say no to?

(Clorox didn’t send me any free wipes or pay me to write about their product. I just felt the need to confess my addiction to the internet. Acknowledging that you have a problem is the first step, after all.)

• It has recently come to my attention that I’m, well, stupid. I don’t know how to pump gas. I mean, I do it once every two weeks, but I don’t do it RIGHT. I’m not sure what happened, because I swear on all the leftover Easter candy that I’m still eating oh-god-someone-stop-me that I used to be a very good gas pumper. In fact, when I first got my license, I used to pump gas DAILY. I’d steal a handful of quarters from my parent’s change jar every day and get a couple dollars worth of gas. I had a lot of practice with the gas pumping and I was darn good at it. Then I grew up and had enough money to fill my gas tank up and I only had to pump gas once every week or two and it’s like I forgot how to do it properly. I thought for sure that something was wrong with my old car, because every time I’d try to pump gas the pump would keep clicking off like the tank was full even though it was still practically empty. Then I bought the van and I had the same problem. I was happy to believe that I just had bad luck and my vehicles had faulty gas tanks, but the other day I took Cleatus’s car somewhere and stopped for gas along the way. Either the gas tank in his car is broken or I’m a total idiot.
• I had a garage sale on Saturday. Remind me to not do that again, mkay? By the time I priced everything, hauled everything out, set it all up, put it all away so it wouldn’t get rained on, put it back out, put it back in, cursed the rain clouds and prayed that people would still show up, I had pretty much decided that life was no longer worth living.
• I completely forgot that I don’t have a crafty bone in my body and I went out and bought a dress pattern and some fabric and I’m going SEW MY DAUGHTER A DRESS. If Jennifer can do it, so can I. Never mind the fact that I have never even been in the same room as a sewing machine before, I’m quite certain I can sew my child a dress. You push some fabric under a needle that goes up and down and then you, what, cut it into the shape you want? It’ll be fine. I’ll be good at this. Besides, it’s not like I can’t just use superglue if I don’t get the hang of the sewing machine.
• Who ate all my damn cookies*? (Me.)

Do you all remember back in October when I got a speeding ticket on Cleatus’s birthday? (Of course not. I barely remember that far back and IT’S MY LIFE.) Well, I got a speeding ticket back in October on Cleatus’s birthday. It was the best birthday present he received, obviously.

Fast forward to January and guess what I did. I got ANOTHER speeding ticket. Seriously, y’all, I have speeding issues. That, and I think the city is broke and they are trying to make up for it by ticketing every little person they see that goes even a teensy little bit over the speed limit (19 miles over for the first one and 14 miles over for the second! Totally should have gotten off with a warning! Heh.) to make them spend all their hard earned money on tickets and court costs and insurance increases! It’s total crap, man.

All in all, I spent $325 on the two tickets. My court supervision just ended last week, but if I get another ticket between now and October? I lose my license for 3 months. That would suck, yo.

I was smart when I broke the news about the second ticket to Cleatus. I waited for witnesses (his family) and for him to ask me for something (if I minded if he spent the next day hanging out with his brothers instead of catering to my every whim and desire). But, Cleatus was still all YOU DID WHAT? YOU GOT ANOTHER TICKET? WHEN WILL YOU LEARN? WHY DID I MARRY YOU? WHAT THE FUCK? and I was all BUT BABY, I LOOOOOOVE YOU AND PLEASE DON’T BE MAD AT MEEEEEEE! and he forgave me and we went back to our normal lives.

And by “normal lives” I mean that every time we went anywhere together I would watch the speedometer while Cleatus was driving and wait very patiently for him to FINALLY get a damn speeding ticket so that I could get over the guilt I had.

Last week? He got a ticket! His first ticket in something like five years! I was in the car with him when he got pulled over and, honestly, I’m surprised the officer didn’t make me take a drug test. I laughed and snorted and giggled and cackled the entire time Cleatus was being written up.  Cleatus didn’t find it nearly as funny as I did.

Sure, we could have spent that $75 on something fun and exciting, but I’m happy just knowing that he can no longer roll his eyes about my driving or remind me to drive slowly in that mean little voice he uses when he’s acting all smug and better than me.

If he gets another ticket I’ll have to kill him though. We can only afford for one of us to run up hundreds of dollars worth of court costs. We have bills to pay, you know.

I’ve always lived in a house with a good old fashioned basement. I like basements. Growing up, the family room was in the basement. The computer room was in the basement. My dad’s weight room was in the basement. The closet where the devil lived was in the basement. And, when I finally tricked my parents into believing that I wouldn’t be too afraid to sleep in the basement, my bedroom was down there. I, of course, immediately started sleeping on the couch in the living room, because did I mention the closet in the basement? Where the devil lived?

Anyway, basements have always been a part of my life. Basements are GOOD.

Then I moved into this crap-hole of a house and it has a crawl space. Do you know what a crawl space is? It is basically just a big hole in the floor. You want cable tv in the bedroom? Climb in the hole and crawl around in the dirt that lives under your house. Having plumbing issues? Climb in the hole and go for a swim in the mud. Your children are acting up? Put them in the hole and go find the vodka.

I’ve obviously never done more than peer over the edge of the hole and shudder violently, because MY GOD who knows what is down there. Cleatus gets to crawl around down there a bit more often than he’d like due to the craptastic plumbing job they did when they built this house 8,000 years ago. Also, he replaced the water heater, and HAHA, the pipe going to it keeps breaking apart and then the water just sprays directly under our house instead of into our faucets and LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, when we sell this piece of shit we can call it lake front property. Or, maybe lake under property? I dunno. I’m sure my realtor will figure out the proper wording.

Anyway, I bored you with the above paragraphs as a way to say I DO NOT LIKE THE CRAWL SPACE. It freaks me the fuck out.

Yesterday we had a bug guy come out to the house to spray for the teeny tiny little ants that are invading our dining room and he mentioned that the colony probably lived under the house in the crawl space and woo boy those ant colonies sure can get big. Hundreds of thousands of ants! Under my house! Isn’t that just fanfuckingtastic? He talked, I shuddered and moaned and scratched all the skin off of my body because THE BUGS, CAN YOU SEE THEM, THEY ARE ALL OVER ME.

The bug guy, named Bob, ran out to his truck to change into his blue suit, which is basically just a big blue plastic zip-up suit. He grabbed his little sprayer and headed for the hole in the floor. Cleatus and I told him to lock up when he was done and got the hell out of there before he started spraying toxic chemicals all over us.

All I could think of when we drove away was how we were going to come back home to find Bob’s truck still in our driveway. I knew that if that happened Cleatus would want to go in the house and look for Bob, because Cleatus doesn’t read books or watch scary movies like I do and he wouldn’t realize that Bob was DEAD and the only thing left of him was bones, and now that the bugs had eaten Bob they would be in the midst of some sort of  human feeding frenzy and as soon as Cleatus walked in the door they would EAT HIS FACE OFF so obviously I would beg Cleatus not to go in the house but he wouldn’t listen so I’d just have to let him go be eaten while I drove the fuck away as fast as I could with the kids because OMG HUMAN EATING BUGS.

I’m also pretty sure that homeless people live in my attic, but that’s a story for another day.

I know you are all wondering just where the hell I’ve been, and I’m happy to explain myself. You see, I’ve been on this endless loop of buying Easter candy for the kids, eating it all myself, and then buying more candy for the kids. It’s hard to type when your fists are full of chocolate and your brain is suffering from a serious sugar high. It was a vicious cycle, but I think I’m cured now.

My lowest moment came when I asked Cleatus to help stuff plastic eggs with candy at about 11pm the night before Easter. I stood up and dumped the big bag of Reese’s Eggs on the floor in front of him and only two fell out. It appears as though I had eaten all the others. The humilation was just too much and I’ve since sworn off all candy. Thankfully I had other (less desirable) candy stashed away so the children didn’t end up hunting for eggs filled with rocks and empty candy wrappers. It was a close call though.

I’m ashamed to admit that I resumed my candy-eating frenzy less than twelve hours later.

On another note, my daughter collected twenty dollars in her Easter Eggs and purchased herself some roller skates. She is currently skating around my living room wearing nothing but skates, knee pads and elbow pads. Her bare butt is looking awfully vulnerable.

I really don’t have anything else to share. I’m in some sort of sugar coma and I keep misspelling words and typing the entirely wrong word. In the sentence about my daughter “wearing” skates, I actually typed “whereing” and it took me a minute to figure out why the red squiggles were popping up. I should probably just quit trying to speak intelligently and go lay down.

However, if you haven’t had enough of me yet today, go check out my guest post at A Reservation for Six. It’s about the time I ran away from home to visit Bob Dole and, honestly, who wouldn’t want to hear that story? I mean, it’s about BOB DOLE. C’mon, people. That is quality blogging right there.

And, uh, I know Easter is over and all, but if you’re still feeling all Easter-ish, go check out my silk tie-dyed eggs at Buns In My Oven.

My daughter, my dear sweet daughter, is trying her hardest to kill me.

Her moods are all over the place. This morning I told her to go pee while I poured her a bowl of cereal and do you know what she did? She threw herself to the floor and screamed for as long and as loud as she could. She kicked, she hit, she thrashed, she LOST HER SHIT.

She didn’t want cereal. She wanted oatmeal. God knows why she couldn’t just say “Mother, dear, I would really prefer oatmeal this morning.” No, instead she went from sleepy little girl to demonic asshole in .3 seconds.

I have no idea how she is going to act from one minute to the next. Will she laugh, will she cry, will she try to stab me with a pointy object? No one knows. I don’t think even she knows.

I’ve ended everyday for the past two or three weeks by sobbing into my pillow and wondering what the hell I was thinking when I decided to have children. I have SERIOUSLY wanted to just leave. It takes an ENORMOUS amount of self control to not just get in my car and go away. I don’t know where I would go, I don’t know how I would make it happen, I just want to do it. And, honestly, I don’t want to come back. Imagine what life could be like without a whiny little jerk hanging off my legs all day. It would be HEAVENLY.

This child, this beautiful little four year old girl, is making me lose the will to live.

This is just a phase, right? She’s going to outgrow this soon. She has to.

I’ve got a couple of questions bouncing around inside my brain and, considering how helpful you all were with the vagina questions, I thought I’d bring them to you. Help a girl out?

Isn’t it true that men generally don’t like to be punched in the dick? I mean, they find that annoying, right? Because I was always under the impression that dick punching is something they want to avoid, but it turns out that maybe I’m wrong. Cleatus has this slight problem with our garbage. As in, he never fucking takes it out. When we were married it was written in our vows that I would clean the toilets and he would take out the garbage. (True story.) (Not really.) (But we SHOULD have written that into our vows.) (Will remember that for my NEXT marriage to the BETTER husband.) I don’t want to brag or anything, but I’m pretty good at cleaning toilets. Cleatus is on the not so good side of taking out the garbage. Obviously, my response to a full garbage can is to punch Cleatus in the dick, but IT’S NOT FIXING THE PROBLEM. Suggestions?

My next question has nothing to do with private body parts, so you can all breathe a big sigh of relief now.

How often do you upgrade to a new computer? It’s come to my attention that I have a wee little computer upgrading problem. As in, I believe that a new computer should be purchased yearly to replace your old computer. Many other people that I won’t name (Cleatus. My mom. My dad. Al Gore. You.) think that this is excessive. I can understand how MAYBE one would think that, considering that we have THREE computers in our home, but really, shouldn’t we just add another computer to the mix and have them all on a yearly upgrade schedule that works out to us purchasing one new computer each quarter? I’m pretty sure my financial planner would be impressed with my obviously high quality budgeting skills here. (If I HAD a financial planner that is.)

Alright, so honestly, I don’t think that all three of our computers need upgraded every year, just my laptop. I’m sorry, but one year in laptop life is like ten years in desktop life and seriously, how many of you are using a ten year old computer?

What I’m saying is, the Easter Bunny brought me a laptop last year and this year all I’m going to get is NOTHING AT ALL and really, if the economy is so bad that the Easter Bunny is scaling back the gifts, then maybe we should all just get it over with and go DIE, because life without a shiny new laptop is really no life at all, now is it?

In other news, my dirty, dull year old laptop is currently being repaired (it keeps overheating and just SHUTTING OFF. Very irritating.) and I won’t have it back for a few days. I did like eighty-three back-ups before I took it to the fixer people, but god damn it, if I have to actually USE those back-ups I will stab someone. Also, if this post looks all wonky or there are misspelled words it’s totally because I’m using the Mac and for some reason it doesn’t give me little red squiggly lines when I misspell words and HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GO ON LIVING IN THESE CONDITIONS?