La suite: A bullet point presentation of all the ways I suck.

-I strive to be a good cook, I really do. I really want to make a GOOD meal, I swear. It doesn’t have to look good; it would just have to taste good. Is that too much to ask? I make great desserts I know that. But honestly, can my butt endure to see me eat that other slice of chocolate cake? And I can’t actually feed the family dessert only. So, I keep trying. And I keep humiliating myself over and over. Day-in, day-out. Whatever. Thank goodness for Mac-and-Cheese and my J’s patience.

-Since I can’t cook, I keep the house tidy and neat right? Wrong! I have the organizational skills of a 2 year old. My roaches and dust balls are tidier than I am. I can’t throw things away; I can’t put things back where they belong. I suck. I remember seeing an episode of Oprah once, where she said something along those lines: “If I buy this, will it have a home in my home?” or “ Does this object have a home?” Well my problem is simple. Nothing has a home in my home. I don’t have a home in my home. Things are just stored, left and right, quietly waiting for their judgment day (AKA: the day I will look at’em, pic’em up, dust’em up and …put’em in the back in a drawer somewhere… yeah, I know, I’m badass!)

-At least, my nails are always looking good, no? Well, yes and no. Considering that my J has a thing for toes, I really try to keep’em looking good. But sometimes, I really can’t be bothered, you know? Besides, who has the time to sit in a chair for 2 hours straight while some stranger fondles my hands and feet and soaks them in soapy water? Well, I do, but damn it, I don’t have the patience. I like having pretty colored nails, mind you. I just hate putting in the effort. I get bored too quick and I never know what to say to aforementioned stranger. I don’t like strangers. Well, it’s not that I don’t like them; I just have nothing to say to them. So it’s just an awkward experience. So if my nails look bad, the polish is cracked and ugly, just figure I’m in one of those moods… it never lasts longer then 3 weeks…

-My J is the best indeed. I can’t deny that. Of course he’s human, so he does and says things that get on my nerves sometimes. But mostly, he always right. And that gets on my nerves, because for someone other then me to always be right is a crime. It’s not normal, he should not be allowed and if he ever reads this, he should know that I only wrote this for his eyes, to make him think he’s actually always right you know, to stroke his ego? The other version of these ramblings (the one not for my J’s eyes) says much, much different things. Anyhow… he always says the things that make sense, he’s reasonable, giving and forgiving. I, on the other hand, am none of those things. He is smart, too smart actually, and he has enough balls to call me on my bullshit. And that takes balls-o’steal, and he has’em. And I respect and love him for that. But now that I’m thinking about it, he’s not perfect, he snores! Like a lawnmower… Take that, my perfect J…

-My daughter. The she-devil-from-hell. The one-who-was-spawned-from-the-fiery-depths-of-hell… don’t get me wrong, she is so sweet, endearing, nice, polite, well-mannered, gentle, patient, quiet, calm…with STRANGERS! All I get is compliments for her great behavior. That’s not half bad, right? It means I’m at least half-assing the whole child rearing thing, if she can behave in public, right? *sigh* Well, it would also be kind of cool if she was half as nice to me as she is to others… But hey, no matter what I do, whether I’m the perfect mom or not, whether I do it all well or not, she will always end blaming me for all that is wrong twenty-some years from now. No matter what I do, I’ll be a subject of conversation on a sofa somewhere. So, what’s a mommy to do if she’s gonna mess it up anyways? I say take a nap… But I adore her more then anything in the universe. Isn’t nature great? You create monsters that you’re in love with, because you’d otherwise destroy them…wonderful!

So yeah, Im a mess...I’m full of good intentions I promise I never mean any harm but I feel like I always end up fucking up, you know what I mean? All my best efforts always end up looking like I farted all over the ones I love.