The Toxic Housewife

Look, I'm trying not to be whiny.  After last week's Bitchfest and a good night's sleep, I got out of my funk and felt better (and thank you, Anonymous Reader #1!).  And, when Drumstick started laying her eggs , I thought my paroxysms of delight were enough to keep any bad occurrences at bay.  But then I got this:

Drumstick, the chicken pictured above, has been acting particularly stupid these last few days: she's been standing on my feet when I try to herd the group in, she's been ducking under tiny gaps in the chicken wire to get into areas we're trying to keep her out of, and the bitch has pecked at us so many times that Mr. C is now afraid of the chickens.  Not to mention how many times the pushy broad has tried to come into the house.  And not to mention last Tuesday morning, when she squeezed under our gate and was calmly walking down the sidewalk five houses away before we realized she was gone. Then, yesterday morning, she started to 'BWAWK!' loudly.  And repeatedly.  At seven a.m.  Bee and I blearily looked at each other and said, "Crap.  We have a rooster."  Which means we'd have to get rid of him.  And, since we've invested so much time and money into these babies, that means turning him into dinner.  Which is fine, and all: we just got s...

I’ve been in kind of a funk lately. This afternoon I snapped at Bee so many times that he had to give me a firm talking-to, as if I were a five-year-old. I hate to blame my moods on PMS, but maybe that’s it. Or maybe it’s that lingering suspicion that I’m not nearly as awesome as I think I am.

This is a picture of the new sundress I bought.  As I was buying it, I was full of self-congratulations for getting it on sale, and proud of my will-power for not buying six more sundresses because they were all -- apparently -- 'on sale'.  However, then I made a big mistake:

Bee was out of town this weekend.  Naturally, the main water line at our rental house chose that time to show evidence that it was broken.  The renters called me less than an hour after Bee left, then had to deal with me hemming and haahing while I tried to figure out what to do.  At seven o'clock.  On a Friday night. How is it that houses only have problems requiring professional assistance when it's after hours or on the weekend?

My mom was kind enough, several years ago, to record about four video tape-fuls of the cable show "What Not To Wear".  Since I love 'transformation' shows and movies, I was in heaven going through these tapes. Bee and S.B. got sucked into the show along with me, even though it is mostly geared towards women.  It is, I believe, as a direct result of "What Not To Wear" that S.B. turned into the style icon he is,

Dirt Cake Today was the first time I hosted a child's birthday party.  You know, the type that includes games and goody-bags.  I decided to do a 'bug' theme because I've always been fascinated by the 'dirt cakes' I've seen online.  BUT, in my true Toxic Housewife way, I couldn't possibly have a Bug Party without following the theme all the way through.  AAAALLLL the way through.  And so the decor, the games, and the goody bags had to be Bug Themed Or Nothing Else.  Because, gosh darn it, I'm going for Mother Of The Year. Yes, I want all the other mothers to enjoy my party.  But I also want them to fear me.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm suddenly in love with Martha Stewart. Let me start by drawing your attention to

This ad came with the bundle of crap that is weekly thrown on our doorstep, despite the fact that we've repeatedly asked the newspaper company not to deliver the awesome 'your essential shopper!' bundle to us . . . particularly since we don't even get the regular paper. I was filled with equal parts admiration and derision