November 6, 2012
I might have PMS
Yeah, because I killed some cute baby squirrels and I hate election wavers.
That’s right. The heinous and grotesque hairy creature that was scratching and rummaging through my attic was not a rat after all. Unfortunately it wasn’t a baby giraffe either. It was a poor squirrel. We watched him go in this afternoon. I should have known because when I drew a picture of his poo for one of the muthas yesterday, her eyes got wide and she said, “That’s big.” Not much I can do to save him now because I got into a bit of a frenzy and threw the rat poison everywhere. You know why? Because baiting disease-y, scurrying things is not my job. I shouldn’t even be doing this, Dave! It’s creepy up there, with all these rules about where to walk, constantly hitting my head, being distracted by old things everywhere. Why, why, why do we even put stuff in our attic? I’m balancing on a small board with poison in my hand and the hair standing up on the back of my neck. I’m certain rats are staring at me, but I’m still pondering whether I should muscle this wooden table downstairs and paint it and use it somewhere. Facking hoarders! Now I’m going to have dead squirrels in my attic too. I should be approved for the hoarding show soon.
Now, I feel I must rant about ridiculous election wavers. Look, I hate mornings, and I hate people. I definitely hate people in the morning. But you….you outlandish election wavers…just get away from the corners I frequent. Seriously. I have PMS. This is not a parade, yet some of these jittery people are dressed like Uncle Sam. I just want to bring my kids to school in peace. Don’t wave at us. I’m busy in the car trying not to be Mrs. Asshole again. Little people are giving me papers to sign. I’m not even finished checking my important messages that I might have received in the middle of the night. My teeth are fuzzy. I still have another kid to come home and dress and bring to another school. I know it looks like I’m a functionally dressed member of society, but I AM NOT, so don’t mess with me. I have pajama pants on. Sunglasses. No makeup. A little tinted lip gloss so I can fool people. I haven’t finished my coffee. When I get home I’m not even going to be able to find it. So don’t smile and shake your sign at me, and definitely don’t wave at me. I don’t even know where to look. I get the same feeling when I see homeless people on the curb and I don’t have any money. A whole red light is such a long time for this awkwardness. I don’t want to be mean, but I sure as hell don’t want to look at all you extra people in the morning. It’s a safe bet that I’m not one of those cars honking back at you in support. If you hear my horn, it’s because I’m angrily honking at the slow moving car of supporters in front of me and yelling, “Go Jackass!”
I’m voting for the person who sends the whole lot of you to pick up trash by the interstate when you’re done. Stupid wavers!
PS: The Diary is being featured on NolaBaby.com magazine. Give them a click!
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