Home ownership is highly over-rated

There is a lot of shit I hate about owning a home.  At the top of the list is MAINTENANCE.  Yards need to be cut, pools need to be cleaned, roofs need to be repaired, plumbing issues need to be fixed, fucking siding needs to be replaced, weeds need to be pulled, ant mounds need to be killed, trees need to be pruned, A/C units need to be replaced... and the list goes on, and on, and ON.  My head hurts like the dickens just thinking about it.

And, when you belong to a Home Owner's Association with Nazi volunteer inspectors, you get regular "courtesy" notices asking that you kindly replace your leaning mailbox (leaning gives it character!), or paint the tarnished copper awning over your front door (copper is supposed to look like that, assholes!), or repave your cracked driveway (we LIKE crack!), or to power wash the north side of the house to remove traces of mold (mold, schmold... we live in fucking Houston, the humidity capital of the world!), or to remove the "truck with camper" from the driveway (it's a fucking RV, assholes... the Minnie Winnie was highly offended when that notice came).  They're adult bullies.  And, I hate them.

My point here is that our house has become a fucking money pit.  And, when you're poor like us, you just can't afford to keep up with that shit.  One step forward leads to five steps back.  It's always SOMETHING... something broken, something old, something dirty, etc.   Plus, it's annoying as fuck to spend money on things outside of vacations, booze, food and clothes.

So, we're finally giving up on the "American Dream" and moving back into the world of renting.  That's right... when shit goes wrong, we're calling the property managers to fix that shit!  I'ma sit on my fat ass sipping on a pina colada while someone else replaces the A/C filter or fixes the garage door opener.  Life is too damn short to spend every waking minute fixing broken shit and throwing perfectly good booze money away on maintenance repairs.  Screw that crap!  Momma needs a REAL vacation!

I'm going to the grave kicking and screaming

Today is my birthday and unlike SOME of my friends (mainly THIS one), I'm loving every minute of it.  As most of you know, I've been celebrating all month... because you only live once, bitches! Sure, I'm one more year closer to death, my hair is graying, my skin is aging and my bank account is dwindling... but I'M ALIVE and I have access to fruity, alcoholic beverages, beef jerky and air conditioning.  What more could a girl ask for?!

Honestly, it's the only time I can make my peeps feel guilty enough to do shit for me:  "Hand me the remote, it's my birthday month!".... "Get me a glass of water, it's my birthday week!".... "Rub my feet, it's my birthday eve, eve!"... "Scratch my back, it's my birthday eve!"  "Throw some coconut ice cubes in my rum, it's my birthday!"

That shit works like a charm for me all month.  The rest of the year, they spend most of the time avoiding me, so I have to milk it for all it's worth.

As I type, my girls are cleaning my kitchen and baking their momma a cake.  Hubber is tidying up the living room and ordering the children around (which is equivalent to porn in my book).  I'm sipping on a beverage at my desk, listening to the Beastie Boys and rubbing my feet on my dog's back.  It's like God is actually smiling down on me and saying, "sure you're a bitch, but I still like you."

While I celebrate the anniversary of the day I was born, I can't help but thank my lucky stars that I survived another year without killing myself or someone else (and that shit ain't easy to do when you're me).  I'm happy, I'm healthy and I have the best group of family and friends anyone could ever hope for.  I'm beginning to think they love me, snark and all.

Ok, time for cake... 

I understand the concept of COOKING and CLEANING - just not as it applies to me...

Contrary to popular belief, I did not pull a bait-and-switch on Hubber.  Before I became his ball-and-chain, I made extra sure that mofo understood that I do not like to cook or clean.  I also don't like a messy house.  And, I love to eat.  So, basically, he was hitting the jackpot! 

No problemo, he said, "we're two gainfully employed adults - we can hire help and eat out!"  Back in those days, I had a housekeeper to do the dirty work; and I had all the take-out restaurants on speed dial.

Three moves, a few new jobs, two kids and 6 pets later we're eating Ramen noodles and covered in dog hair. Also, our pool needs to be completely drained of funk, our toilets need a good scrubbing and every inch of carpeting needs to be set on fire.

My house looks like shit, y'all. It seems that at some point after reducing my salary considerably, firing my housekeeper, and letting the youngest spawn take over the house, this shit just got away from me.  My peeps are lucky to have clean dishes and clothes. 

Well, usually. 

We all know I hate doing laundry.  It is a never ending fucking menace.

Me:  Hubber, please tell me you have clean panties for work tomorrow.

Hubber: Are you EVER going to do the laundry?

Me:  Yes or no, Hubber?

Hubber:  If I say no, will you do the laundry?

Me: Probably not. But, I MAY go to Target, in which case, I'll buy you a few new pairs.

Hubber: (rolling eyes) I keep a few spares for times like these. 

Me: Damnit.

I think he's on to me.  He can outlast me and the spawns when it comes to clean clothes!  I wonder if he has a mistress somewhere scrubbing away at his dirty panties in secret?  Anything to keep me from making an extra trip to Target.  Jackass.  I bet he has secret burritos stashed away for days when I don't cook, too!

Top 5 List of Stupid Things I've Done That I'm Not Even Remotely Sorry For....

5. Spawn two children. Although my fat rolls and stretch marks would probably beg to differ, I am not sorry in the least.  It was a stupid and crazy thing to do, I know, but deep down, I really love these little heifers.  Plus, who else can I boss around when I'm too lazy to fetch my own glass of water (yes, WATER) or wash my dishes... or paint my toenails?

4. Get married.  Who else would take out the trash, do my yard, clean my pool, eat my taco, stomp on bugs and change the oil in my car?  Not to mention that I have someone who actually signed on to listen to my rants and raves till death do us part.  Hubber does all these things with no hesitation.  Well.  Maybe he hesitates a little.  Nah... he loves being my beck-and-call-boy.

3. Perm my hair. Yes, I know it's not 1985 and that perm chemicals will dry my shit out, so STFU.  Momma loves her some curls.  They're loose and bouncy... just like Hubber likes his women.

2. Adopt a really large dog.  Part mastiff, part boxer?  SURE, I'll take her!  Her poop piles are the size of cow patties; but I don't care!  I call it fertilizer. Also, she eats 60lbs of food every month?  So?  No problemo, I say!  I can buy that shit at Sam's for $30.

1. Exchanged my full-time, good-paying job for a part-time gig with crappy pay.  Who cares if I have to pimp people out on the side for money?  Not me!  I get to stay home and "work", bitches!  Also, I get to spy on the neighbors and make up stories about their comings and goings.  I've already pegged the pedophiles, swingers and drug dealers.  Which reminds me, I need a new pair of binoculars. And, a bb-gun.

I've got my eye on all you beeeyotches!