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I had a lot of pent up anger that had no direction last night. Otherwise known as PMS. I was a power keg, just waiting to blow. My kids were smart enough to become engaged in a quiet game of “put on a helmet and hide from the mother“. They should have clued in poor Matt.

Matt had the misfortune to ask me about a charge on the credit card from that super expensive super chic hair salon. Hello! Haircuts, highlights and lowlights are not cheap around here. It was the first time that I’ve gone to have my hair done at the super expensive super chic salon since I got pregnant with Mase. I am long overdue a couple of hours of pampering. I realize that the three hours spent in the salon was expensive. It was also necessary. I will not look like one of those unfortunate trailer park moms with the 3 different colored stripes through her hair. It’s not a good look. Okay so perhaps the 2 White Chocolate Peppermint Mocha’s that they served were probably unnecessary. Details. Matt knew he made a rookie mistake an error in judgment when my eyebrows shot up so far that they were partially hidden by my hair. That, my dear friends, is a bad sign. That is akin to the Grim Reaper knocking on your door and pointing at you. Bad. It was too late to take it back. There was no getting out of it. Until…
The doorbell ding-donged. Our neighbor had come to borrow something from Matt. Of course, Matt took this opportunity to run like his pants were on fire accompany our neighbor back home to hide from me assist him. Which left me with even more pent up anger. What to do, what to do…. First, I sat on the couch and plotted waited. When Matt didn’t return after an hour, I got tired of waiting. It was time to put some of that passive aggressivity that my mama taught me into play. Now I’m a passive aggressivity virgin. If I’m mad, rest assured that it will apparent. There’s no tip-toeing around here trying to figure out if mama is mad. If mama is mad, you know. A brilliant but borderline evil thought blossomed. I headed for Matt’s side of the master closet. I should mention that Matt is anally organized and fanatical about his closet. It’s borderline insane. Think Sleeping with the Enemy organized minus all the wife beating. For Real. He’s also red/green colorblind….I think he’s totally colorblind, honestly. So it takes him a long time to pair up and coordinate his dress clothes for work. He has all his dress shirts lined up in the order in which he will wear them, complete with the tie already picked out and hung over the shirt. His suits are hung paired up and in the order to match the shirts and ties. He spends at least an hour doing this every Sunday night while I
watch Desperate Housewives prepare for the next day. I spent 30 minutes rearranging his closet for him. Shirts are now out of order, the matching ties were swapped for ties that most definitely do not match. I also un-paired his suits and hung the jackets up with different mis-matching pants. I’m such a bitch. This is Matt’s one Saturday a month that he works. I went to bed early, secretly giggling inside. I could feel Matt’s relief when he came home and saw that I was already asleep and the fight was not going to happen. Insert evil giggle here. This morning, I made sure that I was awake and downstairs when Matt left for work. I had to witness my passive aggressivity in action. He grabbed his coffee, kissed us good-bye and headed off….

Wearing a chocolate brown pinstripe jacket, a white and navy striped dress shirt with a red, black and gray striped tie and charcoal gray pinstripe suit pants.

I feel better now. This passive aggressivity shit is fun.


For quite some time now I have been preparing Matt for the fact that one day he would be going under the knife. That’s right friends, I’m talkin about THE BIG V. It’s only fair. After all, I birthed two of his demon spawn hell monkey’s complete with complications and stitches. I have done my time. I fulfilled my end of the marriage deal. As it stands right now, we’re undecided about whether to have another birth child. Four is fun, but five might send me right on over the edge of sanity forever. Especially since my hell monkey’s seem completely opposed to sleeping through the night before they enter Kindergarten. 

So we’ve been debating back and forth for awhile now about if we’re going for number 5 or not. My opinion changes daily, depending on how many times I had to get up with my almost one year old hell monkey. Now, I should mention that I’ve gotten pregnant 3 times on birth control- the pill, the patch and the condom. I’m a genetic freak. So if there will be no more little hell monkey’s running loose, there needs to be some form of permanent birth control solution. Hence, The Big V discussion. Matt is really not on board with The Big V. He likes his parts all intact thankyouverymuch. Well, I liked my parts all intact too but that ship has long since sailed my friends. Being the reasonable sort, I made mention of The Big V and then let Matt stew on it for awhile before bringing it up again. He tried so hard to not panic. He failed. It’s something special to see a grown man in such a panic that all you see are the white’s of his eyes rolling around in his head. Mr. Ed on crack, that’s what it reminded me of. After he breathed into a paper bag for a few minutes to quell the hyperventilation, he was issued an ultimatum.

Either he chooses to have The Big V done in the doctor’s office with anesthesia and proper instruments or I will do it in the middle of the night with the gardening shears and a Tylenol. The Tylenol would be for me, I’m pretty sure all the screaming would give me a headache. The choice is totally his, I’m trusting that he’ll make the right one.

I bet $100 that one day soon he decides that it wouldn’t be so bad having 5 kids….


Lately I’ve been thinking I should recruit a Sister-Wife. This brilliant idea popped into my brain while I was cleaning melted crayon out from inside the dryer for the third time so maybe it’s a coincident. I must admit that the whole share-a-husband Polygamy thing has never really appealed to me. I like to be the center of attention so sharing that with another woman would take some getting used to. Plus it’s a little skeevy to share a husband, but whatever. On the other hand, someone to share the cooking, cleaning, kid-raising and other mundane daily tasks- now that makes it worth a moment of consideration. What would I want in a sister-wife? I’ve made a list. You know how much I love my lists.

#1- She can’t be younger, prettier, funnier or have better hair than me. Period.
#2- She must be willing to be the number two wife. Cause I won’t be abdicating my throne.
#3- Dirty diapers- all hers. Nuff said.
#4- She must be willing to answer the phone, deal with solicitors and pretty much anything else I don’t want to deal with.
#5- She must understand and respect my love of the shopping. It’s an unhealthy romance, but it is what it is.
#6- She must not touch the Girl Scout cookies. They are mine. I will fight for them. Ask Matt. He’ll show you his scars.
#7- She must accept my anal-retentive, obsessive compulsive way of doing laundry. I realize it’s abnormal. Deal with it.
#8- She must never drink the last soda. I am Mrs. Dr. Pepper. Although lately I’ve been whoring around with the new Mountain Dew Voltage.
#9- She must find her own closet in which to hide from the children. I have my closet hidey-hole set up just the way I like it and I won’t share it. Ever.

Now, I had to think of something to sweeten the deal so I can entice some sister-wives. What can I offer?

#1- The use of my huge spa tub once a week for no more than an hour. And she must clean it when she’s done. Plus she must provide her own bubble bath cause she’s not using my expensive shit.
#2- One hour a week of free babysitting. And by babysitting, I mean that I will lock her children in the playroom with mine while I hide in the closet until that hour is over. Preferably with alcohol.
#3- The use of my mac-daddy mini van. Of course, this will mean she will also need to drive my kids to all their activities, do the grocery shopping and be in charge of cleaning the van out cause Matt hates it when the kid’s shit overflows and falls out when he opens the doors.
#4- An invitation to my ultimate summer fun hot tub parties. They include great music, kick ass Mojitos with those super chic umbrellas, and the best appetizers that The SuperTarget sells. Matt cooks the meat on his big man grill and we all get drunk on alcohol and Shrimp Kabobs.

I ran my list by Matt and suggested Jenna as a possible Sister-Wife, although I’m not sure what to do with Mr. Jenna. Matt claimed that one hardheaded woman was enough and immediately opened a beer so I’m not sure he’s on board with the whole Sister-Wife idea.  Maybe I can talk him into a houseboy named Pablo?