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Real Estate, Real Stress

We are getting ready to put our house on the market and an unpleasant side effect is that I now hate everyone. The realtor is coming this week to take photos to put on the website so I’ve been busting balls to get the place looking less like a flop house and more like something someone would want to buy instead of shoot up in. You don’t realize how filthy your family is until your home is about to be judged by everyone on the internet. I now realize that my kids all have fingerprints and my husband wears shoes and the dogs have hair and I wear clothes. These are the reasons I hate. And I am almost ready to punch the dog… because he is licking his pecker like he doesn’t have a care in the world and I can SEE the hair being magnetically pulled from his body and statically clung to the couch behind him . Everyone must contribute to making this house look its best… even the dogs.

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Ghosts Be Scary, Yo

We are getting ready to put our house on the market so we can purchase our “forever home” so I’ve been doing a lot of online searches for houses. I really love the old brick farmhouses. I watch Rehab Addict on HGTV like it’s porn. I fantasize about my family living in a great big old house in the country and I have a garden and my goat, Goaty O. So I have been spending a lot of time on Realtor.com looking for this fantasy house. 4 bedrooms, 2+ baths on at least an acre. Oh, and, of course, no ghosts.

Here’s the conundrum: I LOVE old houses and antiques but I hate thinking about the people who used to own them. I know that if I even think about those people, their spirits will immediately arrive at my house to tell me their problems, the greatest of which is being dead. My feelings on ghosts are pretty close to my feelings on kids– if they’re not mine, keep them the fuck away from me.

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#wokeuplikethis

  

It’s okay to be jealous. 

I think he was itching his scaly forehead on my face (yeah, guess Clarisonic doesn’t cure cradle cap). Felt good. Felt right. Felt… Kinda abrasive (and oddly damp).

  

This.

Envy me.

I also have a husband who documents the precious moments…

My life, you guys… My life…

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Murder Was the Case that They Gave Me

I killed it. I loved it and I killed it.

Exhibit A.

Exhibit A.

I don’t even know what happened so I’m going to re-trace my steps in an attempt to figure out how it all went wrong for poor Basil here.

It was a beautiful sunny day. I became convinced spring was upon us so I swaddled up the baby and went out on an adventure… to Wal-mart. This is a reoccurring trope in my life. It seems that all things that happen to me begin, end or somehow involve a trip to Wal-mart. This is a scary realization.

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