If ever I thought that having three small children in the house made enough noise to drive me over the deep end, I’m over it. Having my house (and our other house and my in-laws’ house) full of people has been enough to cure me of that. Oh my God it’s quiet today.

It’s almost quiet enough to make me forget about all the dirty laundry, dishes and floors I am left with. Almost. But almost on counts in horseshoes, hand grenades and nuclear weapons. Never in housework.

That sucks….

That’s how many of us will be sitting down to dinner Saturday night, including the little critters. There’s not enough space for 17 in the cesspool in the valley so we’ll be packing it up to the shitheap on the hill again.

I was just up there cleaning, getting the place quasi-presentable because it does have that musty air of abandon to it. An the dead flies…. Ugh! I think they clogged up my Hoover.

So I’m sitting here in a funk, realizing I’ll probably cry myself to sleep again over this fucking house and the nightmare that it has been. Tomorrow, the 15^th(and yeah, that’s probably today already), marks the one year anniversary of the court-set date that we were supposed to have the report from the expert. We still don’t have it, and still have no idea when we’ll have it. Hell, we’re not even sure IF we’ll have it. And until we have it we can do nothing but sit and wait. And wait. And wait some more.

Have I ever mentioned this has been a five year ordeal now? FIVE FUCKING YEARS!

And no end in sight.

Ugh, I’m off on a tangent, which is actually what inspired me to sit down and share my misery tonight. See, there’s these dead flies, or at least there were these dead flies. And that got me thinking about my mother, of all people, and some of the jokes she used to bring home from the nuclear plant where she worked. One of these jokes was an evaluation form for one’s colleagues and included in the questionnaire was a section on personal hygiene. It was a multiple choice type thing and the answers were: 1. Extremely fucking neat—even combs his pubic hair to 5. Filthy Disgusting bastard—flies leave fresh dog shit to follow him. And it made me think that our shitheap on the hill rates around a 6—this is where the fecally-filled.buggery bastards come to die.

But at least there’s no need for extension cords. We got the here-an-outlet-there-an-outlet-everywhere-an-electrical-outlet thing right—that’s something, right?

Romantic Getaway: In short, we survived. Marc (who oddly enough is the only one NOT drunk in the picture), probably credits the two chicks (what were their names again?) in this picture with that. Can you believe I actually got him out to a bar!!?? In Paris??!! I'm in awe.
By the way, don't be deceived. Rum-rums are dangerous things. They can cause you to miss the last train and have to walk through the Boulevard of Hookers at three in the morning.

Of course, once I got rid of him, the real fun began! Gay Pride was the schnizzle! Lots and lots of freaks running wild in the streets!! It felt almost like home. This guy gets all my respect. I will not go into detail about just HOW he holds that little thing between his legs on. Just trust me when I say it looked rather uncomfy.

I followed this rather long, rather extremely hot afternoon up with a visit to the ever-lovely Aimee who fed me cookies and PLENTY of water and a lovely, fun reading by the now-famous Ian at The Abbey. There were just as many freaks at that show, but I was too busy nibbling on the nibblies and trying (in vain) to get Kylie Mac married off to Jack the Aussie.

Ever since then, I've been trying to keep a hold on the domestic life. The harvest is finally over (amen praise the lord and all that jazz), but Marc is still overwhelmed with farming activities. He's trying to get the ground prepared for planting, and the weather is not cooperating. If it's not the weather, it's the machinery. I live with an evil grumpy bear. And three screaming demons...

..Who are actually doing quite well. Monkey-1 can now ride his bike sans training wheels. He's a bit overly proud of this fact and screams it at anyone who mentions the subject. Surprisingly he's had no cuts, scrapes or even bruises from this new adventure. I hope his luck continues.

Monkey-2, who you can also see in that video--she'd be the ham, the camera hog, the kid with the look of dogged determination, that 'you will look at me and love it, damn you' charm is far from giving up her tricycle. I hate that damn thing BTW--we've got one that makes hardly any noise and she refuses to ride it, choosing instead the LOUD OBNOXIOUS tricycle purchased especially for her by the Godfather Who Refuses To Have Children Beacuse He's Afraid Of Payback. BUT! She's given up her diaper addiction! Woohoo for the potty-trained monkey. School is not far off, and babygirl, you are so going on the bus! (edit: Oops, that is the good tricycle...)

And Monkey-3 is continuing her food strike. She won't eat. Will Not! Were it not for this wee flaw she'd be perfect. Even without eating, she's managed to creep her way back up to a somewhat normal weight--finally. She's now 14 months old and still hasn't doubled her birth weight. She's far from skinny, though, as you can tell in the 'Look at what those horrible vaccines do to me' picture here. 14-months already! Wow. And no, she's not walking. She doesn't even crawl-- she scoots around on her butt though, and it's the funniest thing we've ever seen. That almost makes up for the screaming. Yes, like her sister she's practicing to be a glass-shattering opera singer. Our ears will never be the same again...

So that's about it for now. I'm not sure when regular blogging will resume. Between the house and the kids, the farm and the ever-so-absent husband, and the Fun Exciting Activities I've been tossed lately, there's not too much time left for anything other than a smoke and a sleep, two activities I'll shortly indulge in. Thanks for worrying about me, thanks for still reading (har) and see ya soon...