It's unreal, truly.
Knowing you may or may not close on a new house sometime around April 30th.
That this "tentative" date hinges on a single document that can only be provided TO one particular person BY the United States Army who does what it wants whenever it wants, including answering their own goddamned phone.
That even if the United States Army gives ME this document, it will not count because they have to give it directly to our loan processor. Kind of like college transcripts.
Speaking of which.
It's unreal, truly.
How fucking difficult it is to get 2 kids registered for summer semester at a school they've never gone to while living 100 miles away from said school.
That such late registration was certainly not by my choice, but because I am completely helpless and at the mercy of the mortgage company and..... (you guessed it).... The United States Fucking Army.
Half our shit has been packed since last June. We've last-minute-scoured our home at the behest of window-shoppers so many times over the past months I can't even count them all.
After hearing teenagers from all corners of our house sniffling, sneezing, and coughing all morning, we finally declined a showing today. Fuck them. If they want to see our house, look at the pictures on the MLS or wait until we're out of it. Or. They can ring out doorbell and I'll be happy to let them in. But I'm not cleaning up for their time-wasting ass anymore.
I've come to hate Mondays. Especially right around 9 o'clock. That is when I start getting emails from the mortgage company and the school. For paperwork I've already sent them 100 times. Or, for pointless emails I've gotten 100 times saying our "tentative" closing date is still April 30th barring one single GODDAMNED PIECE OF PAPER THE FUCKING ARMY IS FUCKING HOLDING HOSTAGE FOR NO OTHER GODDAMNED REASON BUT BECAUSE THEY ARE LAZY PIECES OF FUCKING SHIT WHO DON'T EVEN WANT TO ANSWER THEIR GODDAMNED FUCKING PHONES.
It's unreal, truly.
So we sit. And wait. Nothing we can do. Either the school gets the transcripts or not. Either they review the financial aid income verification worksheet or not. Either the Army sends the loan processor the paperwork they need or not. Because I can do absolutely nothing.
But wait. Will we close on our house on April 30th? Probably won't find out until April 29th. Will our "fuck off" attitude toward these incessantly retarded buyer-wannabes let the real buyer go? Don't know. Don't care. If someone wants our house bad enough, they can hurry up and wait. Just like me.
One thing that is not tentative is April 30th. Which will be Sarge and my 20th anniversary. We might, could, may, tentatively get a house at the beach for our anniversary. Or we might eat ice cream, drink something stiff straight from the bottle, and continue to pass out Dayquil to our poor, suffering teenagers who will have probably passed the same sneeze disease around to each other a trillion times by then.
Another thing that is not tentative is that I will have probably bought 3 more skateboards by then.
More non-tentative things. Me, Chris, and Andrew will be doing the Warrior Dash on May 17, which will be 2 days before the first day of summer semester, only because I already paid for the registration and the hotel room months ago. My boy. Who was shot through his kidney and liver back in November by some piece of shit thug who has never been caught will be doing the Warrior Dash with me. That. Is not tentative.
And. I spent a ridiculous amount of money to take my Mommy to see FLEETWOOD FUCKING MAC!!!!!!! in Atlanta in December, to stay in a fancy hotel, and have the lowest level seats I could possibly afford without being able to see up Stevie Nick's dress.
Now I have to go bang my head against a wall.
March 21, 2014
I saw this on facebook the other day
Good for you. I think that's fantastic. No really. That you can somehow emerge from childhood having been taught that hitting a child instills anything other than fear, utter disgust, and absolutely nonexistent respect for any human being who uses physical violence as a means of controlling their children. That "respect for others" you speak of? It's not respect. It is a few things, but not respect, at least not by the definition you are implying.
It is fear.
It is hatred of confrontation.
It is an inability to stand up for one's self out of disdain for drama and outbursts.
It is respect alright. It's respect for your own personal space and the rabid desire to keep it free from those who would do you harm.
I was spanked as a child.
I now suffer from a psychological condition known as "You fucking lay a goddamned hand on me you stupid cunt and I will fucking scalp you, shove a pole up your ass, and leave you for the vultures to fight over. Don't fucking touch me. Don't fucking raise your voice in my direction. And don't you dare think that your physical power over me even comes within whispering distance of the realm of respect.
I do not spank my children. And if they have no respect for you, it simply means you haven't fucking earned it.
Now go suck on a pole, asshole.