"Nothing Fits and Everything Feels Wrong"
More song lyrics that make me think the writer must have been pregnant at the time.
The fabulous jeans I bought at Old Navy a couple of weekends ago? The ones that fit perfectly? Yeah. Apparently they can go in the dryer. Because they didn't, and I've got a good inch and a half to grow. Which would be great if they didn't keep threatening to slide off my ass.
The shirt I'm wearing? About 2 sizes too small. But it's a button-up and stretchy. And I've covered the gaping buttons with a short-sleeve sweater. Which would all be fine and dandy except my clothes seem to be shrinking lengthwise as well as widthwise, so the shirt isn't quite long enough and combined with my escape-attempting jeans, I'm showing skin more often than I want to be.
I should have just worn the sweater I started with this morning. But it's one of those fuzzy chenille numbers, and it's supposed to be 76 degrees today.
I talked to the ad litem yesterday. She filed her motion, in spite of the fact the clerk advised her an order had been signed by the judge on Monday and was in the mail.
You know, when you're talking about a potentially life-altering document, you'd think they'd have the decency to fax the damn thing and mail the original.
So there's a judgment out there regarding custody and child support and holiday schedules and all that happy horseshit, the product of two years and $20,000 worth of bullshit, and I have no fucking idea what it says, and can't find out until My Fearless (and Useless) Lawyer gets his mail--which they don't until afternoon.
(Our motion for contempt, by the way, never got filed. Go figure.)
So what happens now? I wait. I wait to find out what the fuck is going to happen. Then I wait to find out how the judge decides to handle the ad litem's motion (grant, make her re-write it to acknowledge the judgment entry, or deny).
I'm sick of waiting.
Oh, and the turtle db sent home with Bob Monday evening? Yeah, it's got to go. That thing laid a turd this morning that rivals the size of the stuff I scoop out of the litterbox used by my overweight adult cats. I don't know how something that big came out of such a seemingly small reptile, but I don't care to find out. Tonight I have a discussion with Bob about how I've talked to the turtle, and it advised me it would be ever so much happier in the wild. (When your child is blond, you can pull stunts like this. It's great.)
The fabulous jeans I bought at Old Navy a couple of weekends ago? The ones that fit perfectly? Yeah. Apparently they can go in the dryer. Because they didn't, and I've got a good inch and a half to grow. Which would be great if they didn't keep threatening to slide off my ass.
The shirt I'm wearing? About 2 sizes too small. But it's a button-up and stretchy. And I've covered the gaping buttons with a short-sleeve sweater. Which would all be fine and dandy except my clothes seem to be shrinking lengthwise as well as widthwise, so the shirt isn't quite long enough and combined with my escape-attempting jeans, I'm showing skin more often than I want to be.
I should have just worn the sweater I started with this morning. But it's one of those fuzzy chenille numbers, and it's supposed to be 76 degrees today.
I talked to the ad litem yesterday. She filed her motion, in spite of the fact the clerk advised her an order had been signed by the judge on Monday and was in the mail.
You know, when you're talking about a potentially life-altering document, you'd think they'd have the decency to fax the damn thing and mail the original.
So there's a judgment out there regarding custody and child support and holiday schedules and all that happy horseshit, the product of two years and $20,000 worth of bullshit, and I have no fucking idea what it says, and can't find out until My Fearless (and Useless) Lawyer gets his mail--which they don't until afternoon.
(Our motion for contempt, by the way, never got filed. Go figure.)
So what happens now? I wait. I wait to find out what the fuck is going to happen. Then I wait to find out how the judge decides to handle the ad litem's motion (grant, make her re-write it to acknowledge the judgment entry, or deny).
I'm sick of waiting.
Oh, and the turtle db sent home with Bob Monday evening? Yeah, it's got to go. That thing laid a turd this morning that rivals the size of the stuff I scoop out of the litterbox used by my overweight adult cats. I don't know how something that big came out of such a seemingly small reptile, but I don't care to find out. Tonight I have a discussion with Bob about how I've talked to the turtle, and it advised me it would be ever so much happier in the wild. (When your child is blond, you can pull stunts like this. It's great.)
posted by Mitzi Green at 7:49 AM
2 Comments:
Can't you send the turtle back to DB's house and let it shit all over him?
Any word yet? Damn I hope you get what you want.
he probably wouldn't let him keep the damn thing at his house, and that's how it ended up in mine.
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