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I Had No Idea A Toothbrush Like This Existed. It’s Like One Step Away From Cleaning My House Except The Asshole Who Designed It Forgot To Program That Option.

My husband brought home an electronic toothbrush which I imagine however much he paid, it would be able to feed an entire village of people.

I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. The hubby has been having issues with his teeth…. something about pockets and how the dentist just can’t deep clean his teeth in the proper way.

My husband’s teeth are being very difficult, so his teeth get this toothbrush that blows my mind.

I recently got a new car after having my old one for many years so I wasn’t used to all this high tech techi-ness that are in newer cars.

When we went to look for cars, the salesman would go on and on about the cool features and I was just standing there wondering if the turn signal and brake pedal is in the same spot. That’s all I give a shit about. This car has a back up camera, uh, and, uh, a lot of other shit that I don’t even understand.

When did I get so old?!

I do love the camera. That’s what really made me love this SUV but, I’m also impressed with the car radio volume control button that’s on the steering wheel.

Obviously, it doesn’t take much to make me happy.

I feel like a fucking rock star when I’m blasting the radio and can just press the mute button because Eddie Vedder is pissed about something and I can’t concentrate when he’s so angry and when I’m making a left hand hand turn on an unprotected light.

“Clearly I remember picking on the boy, seemed a harmless, little fuck. But, we unleashed a lion”…. MUTE.

UNMUTE… “King Jeremy the wicked, ruled the world. Jeremy spoke in class today.”

I love my car!

But, meanwhile… my husband’s toothbrush actually has an app and a phone holder that he stuck on the mirror.

Seriously, when did brushing teeth get so complicated?

There my husband is, brushing his teeth night after night playing with his app and synching his phone with his super fancy toothbrush.

If they can make a toothbrush this fantastical, it should be able to clean my house, damn it!

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Pot Chocolate

*I wrote most of this while we were still living in California four years ago and I kept on going back and forth about whether or not I should publish it. Maine is a place where you can also get medical marijuana. I’ve been having a terrible time with PTSD after losing Ben in 2013 and decided to get my medicinal card again last year because my prescribed antidepressants and anti-anxiety medication wasn’t working that well for me.

I’ve had chronic pain for so long from a few different ailments I have, including fibromyalgia. Over the years, I’ve never found much sympathy from doctors. I also have anxiety, depression, and panic attacks (I’m such a ball of fun) that has been kicking my ass for a while. I would occasionally try different medications but nothing would work or if the medication did, I would have side effects along with it.

Since I’ve been miserable for years, my husband suggested something to me that really took me by surprise. It shocked the hell out of me when he suggested trying medical marijuana.

I have always been one who never understood why alcohol, that can cause so much harm i.e, alcoholism, drunk driving, violence, etc, is legal but when it comes to pot, the worst that can happen is downing a bag of cheetos and watching Titanic for the 500th time. That last sentence is served with a small side of sarcasm. I know pot has its own demons. I just can’t think of any right now.

Obviously, you have to be a dumbfuck if you use either one and then drive. It’s only for use when I’m in for the night and after my daughter has gone to bed. Just had to throw that in.

I had smoked marijuana when I was younger but now here I am, older, a wife, and mom, so at first I thought there was absolutely no way. I also was really surprised that my husband even suggested it in the first place because he’s very, VERY straight-laced.

Not long after, I had an awful pain flare up and knew something had to be done with this pain I’m in most of the time. Since I live in a state where medical marijuana is legal, I made an appointment to see a doctor about getting a medicinal marijuana card when I was still living in California.

After I got my card, I had to do the deed. Get the courage to go to a medicinal marijuana depository. I had absolutely no idea what to expect. The night before I went, I kept thinking what it would be like to go to one of these places.

The next day when I walked into the depository, my mouth dropped. The place was spotless, the “flowers” were in glass containers, while the edibles where in glass cases.

The first thing they did was go through my paperwork I received from the doctor and then they put me in their computer. During this time, I was still feeling like I was doing something atrocious.

As I was standing there, surrounded by pot, I started panicking some, with the feeling like I was going to get busted for being in a place like this.

Then I was greeted by a woman who immediately put me at ease. There were so many different types of things I could get. Suckers, cookies, gum, ice cream, pretzels, etc.

Because of my chronic pain, I was recommended a tincture. It has more cannabinoids that combats pain and has less THC which is what gives you that “high” feeling.

While I was there, I discovered something that has become my favorite. Pot chocolate bars. They look just like regular chocolate bars which brings me to this.

Having a kid in the house with something like this made me really think about the safest place to keep it and it is way out of her reach. Hell, I even have trouble reaching my edibles off of the closet shelf.

I had such guilt at first that I have a child and here I was, eating some of a cookie or chocolate bar with something herbal. I haven’t told very many of my friends yet because I feel like I would be ostracized. Now they know. *waves*

I have to tell you, in the past few months, I have been feeling better. I’m actually able to get off my ass sometimes and exercise and I can take my child to the playground or go get our nails done with relative ease, less pain, and not as much panic. It’s been such a great experience to feel like I now have more freedom because of the reduction of the pain I have.

I didn’t write this with the intention of stirring up the pot, pun intended. I just wanted to share my story and let you know I’m a regular mom who has a beautiful family, chronic pain, and PTSD, among other things and now I have pot chocolate and CBD’s to alleviate my pain and anxiety so I can be more productive in my everyday life.

The pain I have is still there and the scars I have from losing my son will take time to heal as much as they can but my mental health and physical pain is more manageable with medicinal marijuana. I’m starting to live a life with less discomfort from my chronic pain and panic.

Out of all the things I’ve tried for many years, since my early 20’s, medical marijuana has been the closest to helping me live my life in the best and most normal way possible.

The stigma over marijuana needs to stop and I hope that it will someday be seen as a much more beneficial way of treating many ailments that people have, instead of being seen as this imaginary evil that people may make of it.

I believe if we all shared a joint and a bag of Funyuns, it could help us get closer to world peace.

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A Woman’s Work Is Never Done

While my mom was visiting for the summer, I did plenty of bitching and whining to her about my husband. He truly is a great guy who happens to get on my fucking nerves, just as I’m sure he has plenty of moments where he wants to strangle me.

A huge thing in our house is that we can NEVER keep it clean. We’ll, I can but as soon as my kid and husband come home, stuff is flung all over the place.

It’s particularly frustrating on the weekends because my husband will want to grill or do some cooking which I very much welcome so I’m all for it.

Except…

He makes the biggest fucking mess in the world. It’s overwhelming and I’m always at a loss as to how to even start to clean the kitchen. So, I just don’t do it and let him deal.

I do the most tedious shit during the week and then my husband makes it one big party over the weekend with my daughter. He has to be fun dad who takes her out and about all damn weekend. So, I’m at home looking at the huge mess and doing the damn laundry.

Then, I end up losing my shit by Sunday afternoon and I’m all like “The house is a mess and you’ve been gone playing “the funnest dad ever” for the weekend and this can’t continue!”

Fuck me gently, it does continue. The husband says he’ll take more time on the weekend to help with the house but does he do it?

Ha, of course not!

I’ve been “nagging” him about this same damn thing for years now. I don’t want to be chained to the washer and dryer and cleaning up messes around the house while he’s out having fun but he just doesn’t seem to get it.

A woman’s work is never done.

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The Big V

I was really wanting to have another baby but my uterus isn’t having it. I had another miscarriage this past July and was ripped apart. Infertility is such a mindfuck. It’s consumed me for years. After this last miscarriage, I told my husband I can’t go through anymore and that we are done in the having babies department.

I finally told my husband he needs to get snipped. It’s really time. With all of the surgeries I’ve had, I couldn’t imagine going in for another fucking surgery to get my tubes tied. My husband went to the doctor not long after I told him I can’t go through another pregnancy loss and before I knew it, the time recently came for the vasectomy.

Woo hoo! I didn’t know I would be so happy. I’ve been dealing with all kinds of birth control methods all these years and it’s going to be so nice to not have to worry from my end anymore. We’re not going to have the freedom until about four months after the surgery since they have to test his sperm at the three-month mark and the four-month mark.

I’ll be honest. This has me overcome with emotion since I know I’m ready to close down the baby factory but this closes a big chapter in my life. I always wanted to have at least two kids but I know I’m very lucky that I have one. My heart goes out to the women who’ve been trying for years to have a baby and haven’t been able to.

It also stings when my daughter tells me she would still really like to have a brother or sister.

But, I know this is for the best, especially because I didn’t have to go through the big V. My husband is always so calm, cool, and collected so I was stressing out about the procedure for him.

Which leads me into the prep for his surgery. Let me just say, this is the first time in a long time that I’ve had to share a bathroom with my husband since we moved into our new house last year. His shaved facial hair trimmings drive me mad because they get all over the sink and he’s apparently blind to it.

While preparing for the big V, I now know there’s something worse than facial hair trimmings.

My husband had to shave his balls the night before and ewwww, the hairy ball hair got all over the sink and he set the shaver right by our toothbrush holder. To top it off, there was a pile of pubes teetering in our bathroom trash, just waiting to fall over all over the floor.

I gagged my way through cleaning some of it up and wanted to be like “Dude, can’t you just flush your pubes down the toilet?” But, I wanted to cut him some slack since even though he was acting as cool as a cumber, he had to have had some nerves, although he really doesn’t express his emotions very often.

He eventually cleaned up from the Pube Storm of 2017 but ick, ick, ick.

My husband had the procedure in the afternoon and was given a Valium which was fun to see because I don’t think he’s ever had one before.

When we got home, he was still good and drugged and laid in bed while he put his balls on ice and watched James Bond movies. He had to rest for two days which I know was hell for him because the man never stops moving. If he’s not out mowing the grass, he’s cutting something up with his chainsaw or kayaking or riding his bike.

It’s a pretty strange feeling knowing we won’t be having any more kids. I didn’t realize I would still be longing so much for another child.

It makes me wonder if that feeling ever goes away despite how old I get.

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Basketcase

Dear laundry,

I’ve been trying to bite my tongue about this but I’ll just come out with it. Why do you gotta be such a dick? You fill up within hours of me finally getting the laundry done for the week. It would be nice to let me bask in the “I’ve got all the laundry done, hallefuckingluluah!”, glow. But, nope. I’ll slide open the dresser drawer, put the clothes in, and a minute later, you’re laughing in my face with the basket halfway full within minutes.

During the winter, it’s especially hellish because my husband has thick, flannel lined everything where only one of his outfits takes up the entire clothes basket. We live in New England after all, and for half the year, our clothes are super bulky.

Oh, joy!

It seems the colder it gets, the longer it takes me to get around to folding the laundry. Actually, I take that back. It always takes me a long time to fold the laundry.

I’ve tried keeping up with the laundry by doing a load every day but that just makes me want to burn all our clothes and join a nudist colony.

So, I do the laundry in one big haul over the weekend.

Friday rolls around. Oh, what the hell. Let’s get a load of laundry started because I want to get a leg up and it’s usually around 8 pm and after a few glasses of wine. Anything sounds fun after a few glasses of wine. Even laundry.

By 9 pm, I’m about ready to drop dead from the insomnia I’ve dealt with all week and leave the laundry in the washer overnight.

My husband, my very sweet husband, I might add, lets me sleep in late on the weekends since he knows I deal with insomnia. I get up ready to tackle the several more loads of laundry for the weekend.

Kidding.

It’s all I have to properly function like a semi-productive human in the morning. I don’t seem to fully wake up until 2 pm on the weekends because I’ve been doing tedious, mind-numbing shit all week. Just making sure my kid gets to school in the morning feels like I’ve run a marathon.

So, laundry.

I look forward to thee as much as I do constipation.

Never!

And there you sit, overnight, in the washer because the wine made me feel like I’m queen of the world so I will tackle these several loads of laundry.

Oh, but what’s that? My husband is going to throw in a “quick” load of his work clothes after putting the other load of laundry into the dryer. Meaning, he’s going to throw them in the damn washer, start the damn washer, and take off doing everything except the damn laundry he just put in the damn washer. I know I shouldn’t complain and that’s more than some husband’s do but seriously. Seriously?!

I want to say thanks for making me do an extra load I didn’t know existed and that you will now forget it until Sunday night.

This laundry isn’t going away no matter how much I try to conjure up my fairy godmother and the woodland creatures that help around the house in fairy tales. This shit isn’t doing itself.

Finally, with two cups of coffee, I get the momentum to conquer this tower of dirty clothes. And then… then, I’m like fuck this shit by the last load of laundry that’s finally finished on Sunday evening. The “quick” laundry load my husband started on Saturday morning has long been folded and hung up.

I just can never seem to fold that last load of laundry. I have good intentions to fold it and put it away but that dies off day by day.

It starts like this:

Oooh, I’m a nice, fresh load of laundry straight out of the dryer. I want to be folded.

And I’m like “Eh, I’d rather watch “The Handmaid’s Tale” again or “13 Reasons Why”, I’ll do it tomorrow.

Monday morning comes around. After being awake for a few hours, I turn on the dryer for a couple of minutes to de-wrinkle the clothes. Then, I fold them and put them away.

Kidding.

I forget about it. Until, later that night when all I have left for my underthings is my period underwear. That’s when I know I can’t procrastinate much longer. When I hit that part of my panty drawer, I know it’s time to get serious about laundry.

So, I turn on the dryer again and put it in the basket. I’m so close to folding that last damn basket of damn laundry but what happens? There’s usually some excuse for my 8 year-old to get out of bed 50 times a night.

I push the laundry basket to the side of the closet and tend to the hummingbird. Finally, I just want to crawl into bed and fall into a coma.

Tuesday. The basket is still sitting there.

Wednesday. I’m in quite a pickle because I’m on my last pair of period underwear.

Thursday. Time to fold. But, the clothes are so wrinkled and have been sitting there so I’ll deal with it later. I start a new load of laundry. I even actually dry it, fold it, and put it away. And yet, there in the corner of the closet is the basket of whites that is begging for attention, wanting to be folded and put away.

Next thing I know, it’s the weekend and more damn laundry. That poor basket of clean clothes that has been sitting in the closet are there until Monday.  I want to just throw them in the dryer but there’s usually someone in this house, my husband, who mixes the dirty clothes with the clean clothes basket.

I know there’s an easy solution, just fold the damn laundry in the first place, but that’s no fun. So, I wash it again and this time, I grab a few things out of the dryer and put them away because it’s past bedtime and I will end up lying awake in bed for a few hours before I get up and watch Teen Mom 2 on the DVR instead of folding laundry.

I’ll fold the laundry in the basket tomorrow. Or maybe by next Saturday.

Definitely by next Monday.

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Caulk Block

I look forward to when my husband pulls out his big caulking gun and a tube of caulk sealant. That means my inner 12 year-old boy comes out so it can take advantage of all the cock talk I can come up with. There’s always that time of year I dread. Ant season. Those little assholes come onto our kitchen counter and I just want to set fire to the house after so many days because they drive me crazy.

Enter caulk.

Husband: The ant bait seems to be working but I’m going to get my big caulk out and see if that helps.

Me: So, you’re going to caulk block them then?

Husband: Yeah, with lots of caulk.

He’s currently trying to get the master bathroom shower all caulked up. He’s been drying the shower with a fan since last night before he caulks it up and it’s driving me crazy because the fan cord is plugged in right in front of the toilet so whenever I’ve gone to the bathroom since yesterday, I have to be careful to avoid the tripwire that is the fan cord while making my way to the toilet so last night while getting up, I didn’t want to turn the light on so I just took these giant steps while hoping I wouldn’t trip over the cord from the fan and kill myself in the middle of the night. All this so my husband can get his caulk on in the shower.

The time finally came for my husband to rock out with his caulk out.

Husband: I get to go use my caulk in the shower.

Me: Have fun. Try not to be too messy.

A few minutes later…

Husband: My white caulk is too white. I need a nude caulk.

Me: Okay.

Husband: I’ll be at Home Depot looking at the different caulk. I’ll get the hardest caulk they have.

Me: Don’t get too big of a caulk though. We want it to fit what you’re caulking.

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Presidential Memorandum Regarding Santa Claus

It hasn’t even been a week and the actions that Donald Trump has taken has been, well, worse than I thought they would be and scary as fuck.

My 7 year-old heard me talking about “The Wall”. No, not Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”, Trump’s “The Wall”. The hummingbird asked how high “The Wall” would be because she wouldn’t want a wall to block Santa Claus. She was concerned that kids all over the world wouldn’t get presents if they separated us.

Out of the mouths of babes.

I was sitting there later on watching Anderson Cooper and feeling like I’m in some Twilight Zone episode while they talked about “The Wall”. I’ve been so full of anxiety all week and bitching about Trump to my husband and feeling so stressed.

Leave it to him to make me feel better. While I was glued to the news (which I really, really need to turn off), my husband had a little surprise for me. He wrote an executive order that Trump would probably, no, forget probably. It’s something he would absolutely do.

I laugh about this now but who knows if there will be something even more insane Donald Trump pulls than banning Santa Claus.

You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch.

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