Honey, would you please take a picture of my Uvula?

The Uvula Monologues, Chapter Two

So I got R to take a pic of my swollen uvula. Strangely, it didn't take much convincing to get him to agree to it (almost made me wonder if he'd thought I'd said something other than uvula), but it was certainly not an easy task. I kept laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of having him point a camera down my throat so that total strangers all over the world can ogle my uvula via the Internet.

Ah, what my life has become.

Thanks to all of you for your concern and well-wishes for my uvula. It still hurts, but it's getting better, I think. I've been pretty much living on Adagio Peppermint Tea (BTW, if you'd like a $5 gift certificate to try it, let me know and I'll score ya one) and soup. I mean, other than gorging myself like a sow at the Easter Buffet. But we'll get to that in a minute.

Saturday was our town's Annual Egg Hunt. I sincerely hope there's a special part of heaven for the moms who, against their better judgment, take their kids to run through a field looking for plastic eggs (and body-checking other pre-schoolers in the process) when the wind chill makes it feel like it's 11 degrees outside. Tito's hands were so cold he cried and he didn't want to carry his basket. Between you and me, Tito's a p*ssy, but don't tell him I said that.

If you've known me longer than a year, you'll remember that I'm about due for my annual Maybe Next Year We'll Buy A House emotional breakdown. You KNOW how much I hate renting from these jaggoffs. But my disdain for Elite Property Management grew tenfold when I discovered the penalty for breaking your lease early.

Backing up a bit, last year we decided, as we do every year, that THIS would be our last year of renting. We got our final credit card under the limit and have been paying it on time. And back in about January we kinda started looking at houses. And we found one we liked, and we put a contract on it, and further inspection revealed that it was a piece of crap, so we rescinded our offer and figured we'd renew our lease and when something came up we'd just find out what we'd have to pay to get out of it early and we'd be fine. R said he thought he remembered that we'd just have to pay an additional month's rent. For the record, I told him I thought he was wrong.

I checked. For the record, I was right.

Here's the actual email I got from the Dingbat who begins every email she sends me with the word "OK":

Hi,

Ok. No, there is a lot more to it than just one months rent.

Penalties for breaking a lease under Elite Property Management:
The only was these penalties can be dissolved is if you are in the military and the military transfers you.

If you break your lease:

1. You have to give a written thirty-day notice no matter what.

2. You loose your security deposit (this clause has stipulations though.
For example - if the house is in immaculate condition and you have paid your penalties it is possible that if you send in a written request the owner might be sympathetic and give you your security deposit back OR let's say your original lease is up in July and you vacated and broke your lease in January and it didn't get rented and the day your original lease is up comes and the property is in good condition the owner would have to give you your security back because you fulfilled your penalties and the house is in good condition.)

3. You have to pay your rent each month on the day that it is due until the property gets released or until your original lease is up whichever comes first.

4. You have to be cooperative in showing the property that is to your benefit also (because you would like to see it get rented asap)

Let me know

Thank You

Basically, we're totally screwed. Seriously, why would I move out and continue to pay them, trusting that they're going to make an effort to rent it to someone else when it doesn't benefit them in any way to do so - they're getting paid regardless? I fucking hate these fucking people. I swear they fuck us any way they possibly can. And I understand that they're working for the homeowner, I get that. But shit, we're their customers too.

So here's what we've been thinking - and please tell me if you think I'm crazy.

I'm going to join the Marines.

Just kidding. We're considering moving back into the apartment complex we left when we moved into the house we're in now.

Why? Because for less than $100 more than we're paying now, we could go on a month-to-month lease which would really be better while we're looking for a house. Square-footage wise, we'd be about the same, BUT, there would only be two bedrooms instead of three. I'd even let the kids share the Master Suite so they could have their own bathroom and walk-in closet.

Other perks? A dishwasher! Kids wouldn't have to change schools! A dishwasher! No security deposit! Plus, A DISHWASHER!!

Yes, it would be a sacrifice - no garage, no backyard, no basement - but it's temporary, and we think that it might be worth it to gain some flexibility. And again, I'd appreciate your feedback.

I know you've been dying to hear about Easter With The Inlaws, haven't you?? Well, keep yer drawers on, I'm gettin' to it.

Sunday morning we got up early and fulfilled 50% of our church obligation for the year. Hey, if it weren't always so freakin crowded every time we come, maybe we'd show up more often.

As we were getting ready, all right, kids, there's no way to sugar coat this - we have a porn collection. It's by no means extensive, and it's certainly not displayed prominently in our home. In fact, I had actually forgotten about its existence. I keep them on top of my jewelry box, which is covered in dust atop my dresser, out of the reach of Ape hands. I wasn't thinking when I got my jewelry box down and set it on the bed as I looked for something festive to adorn my cleavage. Tito came in five minutes before we had to leave for Easter Mass and asked if he could watch a DVD called Dinner Party, and R and I just gasped in horror.

Yeah, if you're thinking of tiptoeing into the world of porn, I would highly recommend Dinner Party, Outlaw Ladies, and anything with Marilyn Chambers. As porn goes, I'm Old School in the sense that I require a minimal sense of plot in any porn movie I watch. I'd also recommend Blue Door for your discreet online porn rental needs. Not that I'm a connoisseur or anything.
But enough porn talk - I'm getting ready for church.

I had planned to wear sandals, but since it was 34 degrees outside, I opted to go closed-toe. I found my one pair of non-black heels, and the one pair of non-black pantyhose in my drawer, and right away saw that these hose had some serious gravity issues. I couldn't get them pulled up over my gut. Then as I was defiantly pulling them up, I poked my thumb right through the thigh, allowing my pasty white skin to peek through. It was thoroughly depressing.

I had visions of my hose rolling down to my knees right before I had to walk up for Communion. I already knew I was probably going to trip in the heels I was forced to wear instead of the sandals I was planning on wearing, and with my luck I'd go arse over tit and wind up spread eagle in the aisle with my skirt over my head and the entire congregation getting an eyeful of my Wonder Woman panties.

But, in what can only be seen as an Easter Sunday Miracle, we made it to church with time to find both a parking space and a seat, the kids were good and I managed to keep my choice of undergarments a closely-guarded secret. At least, from anyone who doesn't read my blog.

R and I tried not to crack up at the priest's voice. It totally reminded me of the priest in Princess Bride who says Mahwagge... Mahwagge... is what brings us togevvuuuuuh... tooodaaaaaaaay. Perhaps if we'd gone every Sunday like we're supposed to we wouldn't have been totally caught off guard by it. I always get fits of the silent giggles at the most inappropriate times. We had to avoid making eye contact with each other.

We went home and gathered everything and headed out to Chez Inlaw. I was wearing my Power Panties and my Kickass New Tina Fey glasses.

Seriously, how cute am I?



And, if you look carefully, you can see that I am wearing a pair of fingerless mittens I whipped up using a pattern called Cheats. I started making them after damn near freezing my huevos off at the Arctic Egg Hunt the day before. Aren't they cute?

And no, I still haven't finished that damn sock. Or the sweater either. Shut up.

Moving on to Easter Brunch, there's this couple that I really don't like who we always see at Inlaw events because the guy's parents live out there too. Maddie and I used to work with them. They're just a couple of people who believe that because they themselves are idiots, the world just needs to cut them a break and hand them everything they want. They take advantage of people's kindness and then act like they're entitled to it.

I totally remember overhearing the guy complaining to someone on the phone that he couldn't go out that night because he had to "babysit". Dude, when it's YOUR kid, it's not BABYSITTING. Regardless of whether you're married to your baby mama or not. Y'know how there are some people who just don't get it? It's them.

Takers. That pretty much sums it up. I can't call them Mr. And Mrs. Taker, though, because they weren't married. I'll call them He-Taker and She-Taker.

Oh, boo hoo hoo, can't you just let us (fill in request)? We're just poor unmarried parents of a really cute toddler and we really don't want to get married because we're only 28 years old and, well, then, we'd have to be grown-ups n' be responsible n'... well, eeeeeeewww!!

I'm a nice person, and once I allowed R and myself to be conned into watching their unfortunate spawn (who was around the same age as Beebie) while they went to a hockey game. We watched the game on TV so I could know what time to expect them. And, ok, the game went into overtime, but it still should not have taken them a full two hours to get to my apartment afterwards.

They had cell phones. They could have called. Instead, they rang our doorbell after midnight and announced that they were late because the game went into overtime. I calmly replied that I had watched the game on TV, hoping to alert them to the fact that I knew damn well what time the game let out, and I also know damn well how long it takes to get from the Arena to my apartment. They were so busted. But they didn't flinch.

And they didn't pay us either. And what's worse - they acted like we shouldn't have expected them to. Shouldn't we have known they never pay anybody for anything? Oh, but they were notorious for spending money they didn't have on stuff they didn't need, and making a big show about it at the office.

For example, once they told the whole office that they couldn't afford to go to happy hour because they'd just spent a couple hundred bucks on Ralph Lauren paint for a house that they were RENTING, so could somebody "loan them a couple of bucks for drinks?" Instead of just forgoing the event, hello!!

But this babysitting thing took place before that. And after I heard about the stupid paint (who DOES that??) I, along with most of the other people in our office, decided that we weren't going to help them out anymore.

After they picked up their daughter, they made a half-assed offer to get us a case of our favorite beer as payment. I told them not to worry about it, since I knew damn well they weren't gonna worry about it.

Now remember, I have been in the position that they were in. R and I weren't married when we had Beebie. But I never asked the people that I worked with (who were basically total strangers) if they'd watch my kid while R and I went out to bars. No. You make some sacrifices when you become a parent.

The other girls in the office observed that She-Taker had an unusually large Upper Pubic Area, also known in the Urban Dictionary as a FUPA.

Have we ever talked about how much I love it when people I hate are fatter than me? R snuck this pic of her FUPA. And suddenly I felt waifish and petite.




Cuz, as you can see, I look exactly like Eva Longoria.



Isn't R the best husband in the world?

I know you'll all be deeply disappointed, but FIL was supernice this year. He even pointed out how well the kids were behaving. I'm wondering if senility isn't kickin' in.

I was kinda bummed, myself, that I didn't need to call upon my Power Panties for strength. Just kidding, I was really relieved that it was a nice day for everyone. But the downside, of course, was that I had hardly any effed-up drama to bring to my Therapenny session yesterday.

The brunch was great - particularly the Fritata and the Apple Cinnamon Crepes.

My kids were awesome. And what's better than just my own kids being awesome? Aldiboy acting like a typical two-year-old boy and watching FIL give the Aldis an amount of shit equivalent to the shit we endured with both of our sons when they were two years old. And keep in mind that for six weeks, my sons were BOTH two years old.



My favorite part of the entire day (apart from the FUPA sighting) was when Aldiboy started screaming his face off while we were waiting to be seated for brunch. When FIL asked what his deal was, the Aldis replied, "Oh, he's just really tiiiiiiired... it's his nap time..." And then they placed him on the floor, and he took off like a bat outta hell.

He's Tired is always their excuse. Always. No matter what time of day it is, if Aldiboy's not being an angel, it's because he's missing his regularly-scheduled nap at that moment. I swear, the kid must sleep 22 hours a day.

FIL quite rightly pointed out the irony - he certainly didn't look tired. Then, Mrs. Aldi gave him a piece of Easter Candy to pacify him and he was fine. FIL called her on that too. Tee hee. How many times have my toddler parenting choices been scrutinized? At least I know I'm not the only one he does it to.

So back to my favorite part of the day. Mr. Aldi cornered Aldiboy in an area of the hallway and I overheard the really humorous lecture he gave his just-turned-two-year-old son about how his behavior was inappropriate and that he needed to use his words instead of screaming. The only words the kid says are NO, MORE, and SISSY. Yeah. Good luck with that.

So I'm sorry I don't have more drama to write about. You know I hate letting you guys down. Next year I'll see if I can't sneak a flask of Wild Turkey in my purse so I can get drunk and beligerent, just for you. That's the level of devotion you get from THIS blogger.

Who loves ya??