Like, totally grody.

Mkay.  I have to share how gross my husband is.  I mean, like, really for real gross.

His favorite coffee drink of choice is a venti iced breve latte.  Do you know what breve means?  No?  REALLY?  Well, let me enlighten you.  Instead of putting milk in it, breve means "load me up with a big fat heart attack and put nasty freakin' half and half in my drink instead, because I'm sooper nasty".  THAT'S what that means.

*shudder*

The mister is one of those consumers who will buy something because it's name-brand, and pronounce it better.  Well, I'm one of those consumers who will buy the bare minimum of crap I have to buy, and you bettah believe that NONE of it is name brand crap, unless the name brand crap is on sale for cheaper than the generic crap.

So, half and half being as expensive as a WHOLE GALLON of milk, I usually don't give a rat's heiney what kind I come home with.  Plus, I don't really drink it, so what the hell do I care, anyway, right? 

Well, mister label-whore heart-attack-in-a-cup-thankyouverymuch informed me this evening that.......... *GASP*............ he actually likes the generic half and half better than Knudsen's half and half.  Okay, first of all, the generic crap is $1.77 for a quart, and the Knudsen's is $2.17 for a quart (yes, I'm sick and I know this off the top of my head, now hush).  I calmly told hubby, "Well, that's neat, because you're gonna get whatever I buy you, and I'm gonna buy you the cheaper stuff."

Then I started thinking.

"Hey, honey, how can you even tell the difference between them?"  Bad, bad question.  The answer, of course, is because he tastes the half and half BEFORE he puts coffee in his cup.  (*gag*)

I had no idea that he was a connoisseur of nastiness.  I mean, that's like, disgusting times 50.  Eeew.  Gross.  ICK!  Yechhh!  Blech!  (insert crazy pregnant woman doing the freaked-out chicken dance of disgust.... HERE.)

Feeling better.

Bryan picked up his last paycheck from his work, and it wasn't *too* bad.  I've sold a sling on eBay and some hairclips on an online board I visit, so that brought in a little change.  I'm actually not too stressed about the money or the bills.  Yet.  Bryan has an interview for a job here in town early next week, so I'll reserve my breakdown until then.

Ya wanna know something weird, though?  After all the stuff that has happened recently with the Mister and me... the online crap, the blog crap, the job crap.... we're doing really well together.  We're communicating, he's being receptive, we're getting along better.... and he just left the whole blog issue alone completely (which is unusual for him).  He's told me how proud he is of me, he compliments me.... it's kinda FREAKIN' ME OUT, but in a good way.

So, if you'll excuse me, I need to go pick a fight real quick and get things back to normal.

Please tell me this will end!

First of all, Bryan and I had a grand old fight the other night (*was it last night?... I can't remember*) about my "secret" blog.  He doesn't want me posting about our personal business on my site.  I guess you could say we don't see eye-to-eye on this issue.

I have maybe ONE friend that I can confide to about all this stuff that goes on, and you know what?  She has a life of her own.  She can't always drop what she's doing to take a 30-minute bitch-fest hysterical phone call from me.  That's ridiculous.  Not to mention that it helps me sort through my feelings when I blog about what's going on, and that's supposed to be, like, good for my mental health, 'n shit like that. 

Anyway, I ended up crying about the whole damn thing, and I told him that I wouldn't be sharing my blog location with him.

So.  Then.  My parents came over here the other night, and my dad informed me, basically, that he wants to sell the house.  In which I currently live.  With my 2 and 1/2 kids.  And all my shit.  The house that I'm renting from him because I can't effing afford to live anywhere else.  Yeah, that house.  Well, this house.  Right now, my credit is SHIT, and Bryan's is worse, and he doesn't make 3x the rent of a cardboard box, and I don't know how to grow a money tree to help us out with a security deposit.  *sigh*  The last place we rented was a 2 bedroom 2 bath in the next town over, and it was fairly big, and I liked it.  The rent was $725.  Guess how much that same exact apartment goes for now?  Over $900.  So we're making less than we did before, and we have to move into an apartment that costs more than it did before.  I mean, I'm not good at math, but even I know that the math doesn't add up.

I knew this would happen, but I figured I had awhile to get my shit together.  We're on the waiting list for subsidized housing, but that can take up to 18 months.  I guess we're going to have to move out to the boonies or something in order to find someplace that we can actually afford.  Or something.

And.  (oh, no, I'm NOT done yet...)  Bryan lost his job.  AGAIN.  *sigh*  I haven't even caught up on all our bills yet, not even close, and he lost this cake freakin' job.  I owe my mom and dad money, and they are hounding me like crazy to pay them back.  I totally hate owing people money, and I want to pay them back ASAP, but I don't want to tell them that Bryan's unemployed again.  Hell, I don't want to tell anyone that he's out of work again, because I'm soooooooooooo freakin' tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiired of being broooooooooooke and being the poor white trash that everyone feels sorry for.

Tomorrow I'm going to take a look at the roof of the house, because I swear to GOD there must be a big bulls-eye painted up there, somewhere, to help the gods/powers that be aim when they take a big, fat, hairy DUMP on us. 

Good gawd!

Okay, let's see.  I sew.  All kinds of things.  I can cut hair (men's and women's, although I prefer to cut women's).  I can also color hair and do highlights.

In the past couple of days I have cut Marissa's hair, cut my sister's hair, cut Bryan's hair, sewed two pairs of pants for my mom (in addition to my biz sewing) and today I'm scheduled to highlight my sister's hair.

I generally LOVE doing things for other people.  I usually get something out of it, either a feeling of satisfaction, gratitude on the recipient's part.  Ya know.

But my mom, OH.  GOOD.  LORD.  The woman thinks I'm her personal sweatshop, and that my fabric stash is subject to her whims.  After I made her two (yes, TWO) pair of silky capri pyjama pants, the ungrateful wretch turns to my sister and says, "Do you want her to make you a pair, too?"  Like I'm not standing right there, like I don't speak English, like I have NOTHING better to do than sit around all damn day and sew for you, evil demon woman.

I almost, *almost* knocked her down.  Again.  I mean, it's one thing to get down on your knees and grovel and beg and be at my mercy, but it's a whole different thing to pimp me out.