Tales from the Domestic Front

I am a slob.  Not just your average everyday slob, but a total lazy bitch.  I have been this way all of my life and it has been the bane of my mother's existence.  You see, my mom is THE with-it woman.  She manages her career, keeps a beautiful house and she still managed to shepherd my worthless ass with that of my brother, all as a single mom.  You would think that some of that would have rubbed off on me, but no...I AM A SLOB.

Don't get me wrong, my house isn't dirty or filthy.  It's just a mess.  I have shit everywhere!  I didn't know that a person could accumulate this much worthless shit.  It had gotten to the point where just looking at it all would tire me and I'd give up.  But, my mother gave me a call one day and said that she thought she might have figured out why I am such a lazy bitch.  (No, she didn't use those words...though she has been known to let loose with some awesome obscenities.)

My mother told me that she thought I had ADD.  Okay, I'll admit that I laughed at my mother, who was only trying to help her only daughter.  My mom ignored my laughter and kept pushing the issue and I finally started listening.  Now, I realize that ADD is one of the recent catch-alls of everything that ails society and that is probably why I was so incredulous.  I mean, I had never been a problem child in the stereotypical way of getting into trouble with the law or even at school.  I had good grades.  I was, however, a little smartass.  The only thing that has changed is that I am now a big smartass.

When I started researching Adult ADD, I was amazed at how many of the signs and symptoms applied to me:  impulsiveness, saying things without thinking them through, having so many thoughts buzzing through your head that you can't focus (something that causes my insomnia), and procrastination.  Wow!  I made a appointment and went to see my family doc to be evaluated.  She asked me some questions (interestingly enough, one of them was whether my house was a mess) and had me take a written test.  Afterwards, she said that there was no doubt that I was experiencing ADD.  She explained the treatment to me, which consists of medication or counseling or a combination of the two.  She wrote me a prescription and said that I would know right away whether it worked.

HOLY SHIT!!!  I feel like a new person.  I called my mother to tell her about it and while we were talking, I said, "Uh, Mom?  I can't really talk long.  This place is a freaking mess and I need to clean."

Yeah, I think this is gonna work.

Like any thirty-something woman, I am obsessive about kegels.  I want to keep things nice and tight, y'know?  But, I have found that no matter how many damn kegels I might do, there is something that will screw up the program.  Here's what happened:  Warning- talk of "women's issues" follows.  If you are the kind of person that gets uncomfortable when "those" kind of commercials come on, stop reading!

I went to the doctor for my yearly look under the hood.  The entire feet-in-the-stirrups thing is much worse in the winter.  I end up feeling more...naked.  Anyway, they poke and they prod.  They do the little thing with the mascara-wand looking thingie.  (Did you ever wonder if these people dreamed of doing this stuff when they were little?  Did they have a "My First Scientific Pap Smear Kit"?)

A few days later, I get a call that things up in there are kinda out of whack.  I'm instantly horrified... mean, they are telling me that something's wrong with my favorite toy!  No, they say, it's not one of those nasty yeast infections, it's more of the opposite and I just need some medicine.

Now, since my appointment, I've developed a rotten cold.  I'm suspicious that it might be from having everything out on display in the winter during my appointment.  Sneezing and snotting and congestion, oh MY!  I go to the pharmacy, slinking in and trying to slip my prescription request to the clerk like I'm making an underhanded deal.  I hover near the counter so I can avoid having the young clerk yell my name with the news that my coochie cream is ready.  I shove it quickly under my coat, throw money towards the clerk and rush out.  When I get home, I sneak into the bathroom with the door locked so I can find out what I am in for in the way of torture.

Bedtime arrives and it is time to undergo my treatment.  I squeeze the goo into the applicator and then rush to get the cap back on because the damn tube keeps spitting the shit out.  I insert the applicator and deposit the stuff where it's supposed to go.  Everything worked like it should and I was pleased that I did it correctly.  Then, I sneezed.

Yes, I sneezed and I sneezed hard.  You see, when I sneeze, I never can sneeze just once.  I have to sneeze at least three times.  There's NOTHING I can do to stop it.  It is a fact of life and I've just accepted it.  Actually, I've always loved it because when I sneeze, I actually have a tiny orgasm because of the muscles used.  Well...this time, I was not happy about sneezing.  With the first one, goo shot out of my fun area.  That's right...I had achieved projectile goo.  The second sneeze was even more spectacular.  The goo shot further and with more force.  Thankfully, I seemed to be out of ammunition by the third one.

The moral of this story?  Suppositories and sneezing do not mix!

 

...there was a woman and she was happy. However, this woman thought that she was foolishly missing out on something so she got married, screwed up her career and ended up stuck in the house, going quietly insane.
That woman is me and I'm not going to be quiet, anymore. I am not the "housewife" type. I never have been. If you googled your way here and are hoping to find wonderful household tips to keep your man happy...well, hang on (AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)it ain't happenin'. In fact, here's your official warning: Taking anything said on here as advice to use in your marriage may lead to divorce.

I can't promise to always be funny and entertaining, but I hope that I will at least be interesting. After all, I've noticed that life is never smooth sailing when I'm around.

Talk to you, soon.