You know you’ve been married for too long when you sneeze and immediately proclaim that “I just pissed my pants!” and your husband reaches into your underwear drawer without even blinking an eye and hands you a clean pair of underwear.
But then again, I don’t blink an eye when he bursts through front door after a hard day at work and declares that he will be in the bathroom for a while because “I NEED TO GO CLEAR THE POOP SHOOT CHUTE!”
And to think we still very much love to “Do It” with each other.

I’m sitting here calling various utilities to have them shut off/transferred to my mom’s house.
Apparently, some of these mother fuckers are using “voice recognition” symptoms instead of the old fashioned “entering of a number” to get to the right agent to help you with all of your needs, which, by the way, is VERY IMPORTANT TO THEM because they love you and value you as a customer.
But, if that’s true, if they really value me then can someone please explain to me why these asshole voice recognition systems do not recognize simple answers like “ONE” and “NO.”
Why, God, WHYYYYYY?
I just about had a mental breakdown just now while trying to schedule the disconnection of my broadband.
Asshole Automated Computer Dude: If you are calling your high speed internet account, say “one”.
Me: one
AACD: I’m sorry, I did not understand your request. If you’re calling about your high speed internet account, say “one.”
Me: (a little louder and also slower.) o-n-e.
AACD: I’m sorry, I did not understand your request. If you’re calling about your high speed internet account, say “one.”
Me: (very loudly) ONE!
AACD: I’m sorry, I did not understand your request. If you’re calling about your high speed internet account, say “one.”
Me: (screaming like a crazy bitch from hell. No Seriously. I lost all control on this one.) OOOOOOOONNNNNNNEEEEEEE OHHHH MYYYYYYY GOODDDDDDDDD OOOOONEEEEEEEE.
And then I threw my phone through the window and cut someone.
Not really. But I wanted to because why must it be so damn complicated? AHHHHHHHHH.
Had this happened on a day when my stress level wasn’t THIS HIGH, I don’t think that I would have wanted to cut people over such a thing.
We have 2 days to be out of this house, so PigHunter took these two days off so that we can get out of here on time and um, well, we don’t work well together when it comes to these sort of things.
Anytime we attempt to do any sort of work that involves anything to do with a “house” (Painting, rearranging furniture, loading the dishwasher, moving.) you can bet yer ass that The Fingah will be used frequently and with great passion.
Now, when you combine the fact that we don’t work well together with the fact that he has gas and has to figure out EXACTLY WHAT CAUSED THE GAS, things are a leeeeeettle “tense” around here.
And things are going to to continue to be tense until we find our own place and are not living with my parents. (But, thank God for my parents, because without their generosity, we’d be making reservations at a Motel 6 right about now.)
Despite all of the craziness that is going on here, there are some good things happening for me, for us. And I’m trying to focus on those things and not on the fact that we’re technically “homeless” or that my husband is STILL carrying on about what could have possibly caused his gas.
So, um, how you doin’?

It was exactly SIX months ago that my husband bravely and voluntarily offered up his nut sack to a doctor he barely even knew to do a little procedure called The Vasectomy.
I’d like to think that he did it out of love for me, out of respect for my tired uterus and my thrice stitched vagina, but deep down I know he did it so that he could “Tap That Ass” as frequently as his little, er, extremely large heart desires, without threats of bodily harm and/or death. (Example: “FINE! But I swear, if you get me pregnant, I WILL KEEL YOU!”)
And what a better way to celebrate the six month anniversary of The Day He Got His Shit Snipped then to get a voice mail from the doctor’s office that said the following words:

Dear Mr.PigHunter, we got the results from your sample and they were negative. You don’t need to bring any more samples, you’ll all done.”

(Yes, it took him SIX months to take a flippin’ sample in. Someone was Proscratinatin’ with the ejaculatin’.)
I had mixed emotions when I heard that message. I felt a bit of sadness because, Wow…I can never make babies with this man ever again and also, WOW…I can never use the term The Weapon of Mass Fertilization&trade ever again.
But mostly? I was happy and excited because OH MY GOD! PIGHUNTER’S STERILE, Y’ALL! Let the spermless humping begin!

When PigHunter and I were first married, I would get up with him every morning to make him a wonderfully nutritious lunch and a big, fat egg burrito.
I didn’t mind getting up at 3 in the morning, because I could go straight back to bed after he was gone. Ah, the joys of not having to go into work until 1:30 in the afternoon.
Some of my friends thought that I was crazy for getting up that early, but I really didn’t mind. In fact, I enjoyed it. I was young, happy, crazy in love and having The Legal and Jesus Approved Sex at least 3 times a day. I was happier than I had ever been in my 19 years of life on this planet and I woke up excited every morning to express my happiness by making a big, cheesy burrito and a lunch box filled with good food for my man.
A few months into the marriage, the Joy of Scrambling Eggs at 3 in the morning started to wear off and I would dread the sound of the alarm. But still, I’d get up, make him a burrito and a lunch, kiss him goodbye and go right back to sleep.
Then, one morning, I didn’t feel like getting up.
“I’m so tired, babe.”
“It’s ok, you stay in bed my love, I can make my own lunch.”
I can make my own lunch.
Those 5 little words changed everything.
I did get up to make him lunch still, but only a few days a week instead of every single day.
And then a few days turned into one or two days.
Then I just stopped completely.
Every once in a while, I’ll wake up early and surprise him by packing him a lunch and making him breakfast while he’s in the shower, but 16 years and 3 kids later, I really value my sleep, so when I say “every once in a while” I mean, like, 2 times every year.
There are some mornings when Tony will come in here to kiss me goodbye while I’m sleeping, (and sometimes, he’ll left my shirt up and play with My Bobs, and then next thing I know, he’s on top of me and we’re having a 5 am quickie.) but most mornings, he rushes out the door without saying goodbye.
Ever since we received the news that we had to vacate this house, Tony has been coming into the bedroom every morning and kissing me gently while telling me how much he loves me, how much he’s going to miss me and how he can’t wait to come home from work and see me again.
You see, since we were faced with this “life crisis”, we’ve been doing a lot of talking. We’ve been talking about things we normally don’t talk about, like our feelings.
PigHunter has feelings! Who knew!
We’ve had some pretty intense conversations. Some of them have been positive and uplifting and ended up in some Pretty Sweet Boinking. Some of them have been painful and brutal (“I’m SO done with you!” “Oh yeah? I’ve BEEN done with YOU!”). But with each conversation we have, one thing is always evident.
We love each other deeply and we want to keep our family together.
I love my husband more today that I ever have and apparently, he feels the exact same way.
That is why he doesn’t want to leave the house without kissing me and telling me how much he loves me. (He told me this while we were waiting for our burgers and fries in the Wendy’s drive-thru!)
That he has decided he needs to take a few minutes out of his morning to say goodbye to me and tell me how much he’ll miss me while lavishing my sleepy head with kisses is the most precious thing in my life right now.
(I will wait while you go rinse the vomit from your mouth because I know that made you sick.)
It makes me so happy that I almost want to get up early, scramble him some eggs, pack him a lunch and maybe give him a little loving in the form of a, what do the kids call it? A BJ?
Almost.

Today the gravity of it all hit me like a Mack Truck and I had my first panic attack in 4 years.
We shouldn’t be in this position.
Sure, our landlords were cold hearted jerks for doing what they did in the way that they did it, but ultimately, this is our fault.
Entirely our fault.
That’s not to say I’m not angry with them for the lies that they told us.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going to kick you out, we’re going to give you plenty of time to find a new place.”
Two days later: Hi, you have 30 days to get the hell out of here.
As I take the pictures of my children down off of the walls, I break down into tears and sob.
I love them more than I could ever express in words, and yet, I’ve failed them in so many ways.
Andrew just wants to graduate from 8th grade with his friends, I can’t promise him he’s going to be able to do that.
That hurts me to the core of my being.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry”.
That’s all I can say to them, but it doesn’t make any of this easier.
I don’t want this to turn into the “we got kicked out of our rental house and OMG! What are we going to do?!?” blog, and yet, “we got kicked out of our rental house! OMG! What are we going to do?!?”
Sadly, my AMAZING AND TOTALLY AWESOME plan to get picked to be on Deal or No Deal bombed in the biggest way, so all of my plans to win a sick amount of money by picking the lucky case got flushed down the toilet, along with all of the money we’ve wasted on rent over all of these years.
What? I didn’t tell you that I was going to go to an open casting call for Deal or No Deal? Whoops, must have slipped my mind! Because I totally didn’t keep it from you on purpose because I was worried about being mocked and called a loser! (Or about someone driving there just to stalk me!)
Not quite in the mood to write about it just yet, but because I am a giver and because this makes me laugh when all I want to do is cry, I’ll leave you with the email that Lena sent me the day after we spent 6 damn hours standing in line.
Things You Shouldn’t Think About Today
Vi pop-locking in line.
Lena going toe-to-toe with ladies with strollers.
Y’s kidneys failure.
The old man going after the big black booty in his crotch.
The cows from the group home.
What the guy in front of us looked like when he took his shirt off.
Y worrying about The Farting Worm.
Y convinced that the Staff Member with the Bullhorn was “just trying to get us to leave”.
What the bathroom smelled like.
My big ass blisters.
The big band version of “Hollaback Girl”.
Lena shouting out “Deal or No Deal” before hours later deeming them “users”.
Vi crying that “I’m not interesting!”.
Y getting pissy that “they want us to sell ourselves” and then writing 8 paragraphs.
Lena yelling at people to “go home” and getting all angry when they wouldn’t.
And the #1 thing you shouldn’t think about:
That we all got up in the middle of the night.
(Seriously, if I ever email you and say “Hey! Let’s go audition for a game show because, like, we are totally what they’re looking for and it will be so much fun because OMIGOD! We’ll get to spend time together being our wild and cerraaazy selves!!! Tell me to go SCREW MYSELF! I bet you Lena wishes she would have.)