I've got a wild hair...

...up my ass...or is that a "wild hare"?

In which case, this has gone up quite a few notches on the creep-o meter...

I've decided that, since I'm wild to get to the business of ripping down the crumbling plaster walls in my house, which, I recently noticed, have moved a few blocks down from "ghetto chic", to, in addition to straightening up the house, hitting the grocery store and dry cleaners (who, at this point, are probably legally entitled to keep my husband's shirts), I'm tearing down the chain link fence out in the front yard.

You see, one of the many joys of owning an older home, is the plethora of projects you get to chose from. We, however have a system. Projects rank in this order:

1-If this shit doesn't get fucking down in the next 2 days, we must immediately move the washing machine as well as the dryer to the front lawn, and the cars must have all tires removed, and be situated on cement blocks. No fancy-schmancy round things here, no sir-e-blob.

2-It can wait. Like, maybe a week. Then, if not finished, the washer and dryer must be relocated, but the wheels may stay attached to the evil-mobile that is my mini-van.

3-Whatever. White trash is back in vogue, no? It'll be alright to sit there for a month or so.

4-Fuck it. If you don't like it, don't fucking look at it.

The walls, are currently, at #1. Since I, while not being overly attached to the process of doing laundry, I do enjoy, no, appreciate being able to do it in my underwear. This, would be severely curtailed if the appliances were moved the front lawn.

My dear, dear, baby daddy, however, has a different list than I do.

WTF? At what point was there a time when TWO lists were allowed? Everyone knows that there is only ONE list of projects allowed at a time. Since I have tits, mine automatically trumps his.

He, however, is not persuaded by my logic, that two boobs, beat one penis, any day of the week.

So, in order for him to help me with the walls, I have to help him finish his list.

HIS list.

Like, totally, whatever.

He's insisting that he finish the deck for the pool we put in over the summer, as well as getting the fence down in the front lawn, and finishing the treehouse. Though, he graciously is making allowance for the last item slipping down a few notches on his list, making room for fixing, you know, holes in the walls in our foyer.

He's a grand fellow.

So, I spent today ripping up a fence. A nasty-ass, chainlink fence, completely rusted and nasty.

The lawn looks FAB. My evil-mobile, which I feel compelled to add, is only 2 months old, didn't survive quite so well, as I backed into HIS van with it.

I, who have never hit another car, (the incidence involving Melissa Russo's car in the school parking lot in the 10th grade does NOT count), managed to back the holy fucking shit out of the back side of Satan's carriage. I also, managed to bang up his (which, is a company car, BWAHAHAHA), to the point, that the passenger side door will not open.

I, am one clever hag.

With about to be new walls.