If you'd like to use this space to vent or rant or tell the stories/secrets/confessions of your dangerous maternal (or paternal!) mind, send me an e-mail and you too can enjoy the refuge of the Basement...
Apparently, this is what motherhood is: my life does a 180 and everyone else just does whatever they've always done with no consequences, restrictions, or additional responsibilities. Back the fuck up, bitches. Step off. If I want to go somewhere (movies? book club?) I have to ask permission, plan for days, and hurry my ass up and get home. But if somebody ELSE wants to go somewhere, they get their tickets, find their train and toodle-fucking-oo. See ya when I see ya.
And do I have a right to be as resentful as I am? Here's a news bulletin for you. I DON'T FUCKING CARE. Right or no right. I am bitter as hell. You get to go out and have a grand old fucking time while I'm stuck here with a vacuum, a barking dog, a colicky baby and your dirty, filthy dishes in the sink. Thanks!!! Oh, and by the way, don't even bother to call and offer to bring me something to eat from the shi-shi restaurant you go to. Nope. I'm good with the hot dogs and macaroni that are quickly going stale in the fridge. Seriously. Oh and don't forget you have a soccer game on Thursday. And next Sunday. Wouldn't want you to miss those. Because you're the one that needs the exercise. I'm the one that still has 30 pounds of baby fat to lose but you, you're the one that needs the exercise. Yup. Have fun! Don't worry about me. Again with the hot dogs and macaroni.
Why can't I be married to a woman? Oh, right. A) I'm not gay, unfortunately, and 2) George W.
Thanks for listening.