November 4th can’t come fast enough.  I am so tired of all the trash talk, the meanness, and the crap.  So tired.  This election has made so many people look like complete douchebags. 

I guess I should mention that Lukas….my little man, is walking.  He’s totally brilliant at it and every time he does that wobbly hobble over to the TV so he can slobber all over the screen, I am a proud momma. 

Thanks to Helen and Aschlie for submitting to Datester.  You guys will be receiving approval emails soon.  I’ll need you to approve my editing and then I’ll post them.  You guys are great, and thank you.

I’m 95% finished with my shopping for Lukas’ Christmas.  It’s very important to me that most of his presents come from us and not grandparents.  All I can say is, I succeeded there.  Yup.  Success.  Jessie went white as a sheet when he saw how much I spent.  I think he’s jealous if you want the truth.  I don’t care.  I want Lukas to never have to feel those pangs of jealousy like I felt when I was little when I would see someone walking around with a Toys ‘R Us bag.  I want him to be able to say, "Come over to my house.  I’ve got EVERYTHING."  At this point, he pretty much does have everything for his age. 

Last week my cat left a trail of puke that was at least 25 feet long.  That was a lot of effing fun to clean up before the baby had a chance to get into it.

I’m getting my last fix of hot dogs in before winter.  I love hot dogs, but they simply aren’t as impacting as a food when it is ass cold outside.  Burgers on the other hand……

Burgers are proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. 

Laundry is a never ending cycle in this home.  I’m always trying to force myself to forget the piles of laundry looming in the background.  I hate doing laundry more than I hate U2, and that’s a lot.  I really hate U2…and the Police…and Rush.  I guess the fact that my dryer is completely incapable of drying a load of laundry in ONE CYCLE adds to my ire.  It takes twice as long as it should to do my laundry lest I get a hankering for musty towels and blue jeans that weren’t dried completely in the dryer. 

Luckily, I don’t spend much time sorting my laundry.  I have three hampers in my house.  There is one in the nursery, and two in the master bath.  The two in the master bath are for organization.  One for whites, one for colors.  It helps a lot that I no longer have to sort the laundry.  I risk my calm demeanor every time I plunge my clean unsuspecting hand into one of those master bath hampers.  "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT YOU SCAG?!?!"  you might be asking.  I’ll tell you.  I get filled with a completely irrational rage every time I have to put my hand inside one of those hampers because for some odd reason, without fail, the first thing to touch my hand is a pair or Jessie’s dirty underwear.  This happens every time.  EVERY.  TIME.  I don’t want to touch those things where he’s been leaking gas and God knows what else all day!  I’d just as soon burn the used ones and have him wear new every day so I don’t have to put my poor hands through the skin-crawling torture of having to have his dirty underwear touch me.

I also hate putting away laundry, but I can’t depend on Jessie to do it.  I’m a bitch.  I’m a bitch who likes thing done a certain way.  Jessie folds the towels wrong.  He doesn’t roll the socks up correctly, nor does he put the white and colored socks into separate rows so that the drawer is color coded.  He folds underwear incorrectly.  He puts pants on the hangers wrong.  When I was recovered from having Lukas, I was HORRIFIED at the state of my laundry, since Jessie was good enough to help with that.  Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that I have a husband good enough to help when I need it, but HE DID IT WRONG!  And really, that’s almost as bad as it not getting done at all.  I let him help sometimes now.  I let him hang up the clothes that go into the closet and I let him fold his underwear, but I cringe when I watch him do these things.  He does it wrong.  All wrong.  My entire body is fighting against my mind.  My mind says to let it go, but my body wants to go slap his hands and hog-tie him so he can’t do it wrong anymore.  But, marriage is about compromises.  My compromise is that I try REALLY REALLY hard to overlook the fact that he puts away laundry in the most incorrect way imaginable, and his compromise is that he pretends I’m not batshit crazy…and look how happy we are!

Had my first Pumpkin Spice Latte of the season last night.  OH.  GOD.  YES.  Starbucks, your seasonal drinks make me a whore for your stupid prices.

I checked the voicemail messages on my cell phone last night (something I do about 4 times a year) and found one from Helen.  The funniest part was,

"I’m your stalker.  No it’s Helen, I guess I could still be your stalker, GET DOWN DOG."  I had to replay the message because I missed the rest from laughing so hard.  I love random things, they are always to effing funny.

BTW, get on the effing Datester boat people!  I know you’ve got some stories!  Don’t make me start calling you!  MOM, that includes you!  I’d like a point of view from MANY demographics.  If you like, you can email me the stories and I can help you structure it into a blog.  I wrote for a small newspaper when I was in college.  I’m schooled on how to do this, trust me.  Please don’t be intimidated.  We can even do pen names if giving your real name worries you.