So, after the boy’s football game Friday night, I’m tired and I feel just nasty. I was full of Italian Ice, as I had engulfed like 5 during the game trying to cool of. I’d had sweat running from my neck, down my back, directly down my butt crack.
That, my friends, is not a nice feeling.
Even with feeling grody and tired, I still hoped to go home and get a little lovin’ after a nice cold shower. Know what I mean? I think ya do.
But, no.
Why is it that I can never seem to get rid of both of teen-aged-mutants at the same time?
Amanda, my girl, was spending the weekend at Jessie’s (the child that claims me as her other mother). But, the boy couldn’t stand it; he had to stay home. Worse yet, he had to stay awake. So, we get home, I go take a shower and I go to bed…. to sleep.
Hell if I didn’t wake up early, before the boy. So, I poke Anthony and told him wake up and GET ‘R DUN!!!
Door was closed and I was under the blanket. I got too hot, so I go and throw/kick/pitch/toss the blanket in the floor.
Well, Anthony’s cell phone was in the livingroom. His phone rang. Matthew decided to answer it. Matthew decided that he would just bust into MY bedroom to tell his dad that Mario was on the phone.
BUSTED!
Sweet Jesus. Now up until that point in life, I don’t believe anything has ever both made me absolutely furious and at the same time nearly given me a heart attack.
This non-knocking problem we are having is getting a little bit on my nerves.
Admittedly, I am most likely the most sexually natured person I know. I dig it. I want it. I just can’t help it.
But even my horns are nipped in the bud, knowing that kid is in the house lurking. There have been numerous times I’ve just decided to forego play time just because I’d hate to think about anybody else in the house knowing.
GRRR!!!! Can we say frustrated???
I mean, I swear, I think he has a sixth sense when it comes to knowing if and when we may be even considering having sex. It’s like he goes that extra mile to keep trying to drive a wedge of any kind between me and Anthony.
Makes me nervous to have anything in my room, let alone my happy drawer.
Then this happened:
So, I get started to get over getting busted by the boy. And I go outside to start working on the cleaning out of the shed. This shed is barely a shanty. It is missing the bottom boards on the walls, so it’s wide open to anything and everything that wants in.
Ok, now there is a reason that shed was in the shape it was in. I don’t dig going in it and flat refused to go in it for three years. Not to mention the fact that I’d seen various critters and rodents zipping in and out of there. *shiver*.
But, the time had come. We have a week to be getting all of my crap up and out of the house, which means the shed had to be cleaned too. I get the broom, the hair spray and my lighter and head out back where the shed stands.
I stand outside, looking to see what sort of arachnid may be lurking up above my head or down below my feet. Ewwww! Dark, scary and spider infested.
So, I finally take the broom, poke it inside the shed and start swingin like a wild woman at whatever might be in my path. When I didn’t feel that was enough, I took the hairspray and lighter and started blow torching anything that appeared to be an insect of any sort. The smell of sizzling spiderwebs is a lovely one.
My spider problem apparently taken care of, I forged ahead. Looking at the piles of shit that were tossed into this shed nearly three years ago when I moved into the house, I decided that if it had been there for damn near three years and not missed, that it wasn’t ever going to be missed. Rahter than digging through the boxes, I hauled them right out to the bed of the truck. Locked and loaded for the Knox County dump.
I had gotten most of the crap out, when I thought I heard something. It was a rustling around sound. I stopped and assessed what it might be. I didn’t see anything. So, I turned around to get another box and IT ran over my foot.
Well, I’ll swear I thought it was a two-foot rat. After nearly having the second heart attack of the day and hearing IT run into a window thinking it was a way out of the shed, I saw it. A baby rabbit.
Still when I’m confined in an icky space where I’m already paranoid, I don’t even want the cutest of furry woodland creatures hippity-hopping over my foot.
Apparently, Ashwin Khanna, the illustrious “
Ashwin, henceforth known as “Asswin,” is nothing more than an 18-year-old, aspiring scam artist from London who seems to think it’s 
