Kicking Arse and Taking Names

Life has been kicking my ass lately. In fact, it's been hard to walk what with the Universe constantly shoving it's boot up my arse.

I've been limping along as though I have a raging case of hemorrhoids and quite frankly, I'm rather tired of walking bow legged.

Yesterday, I had enough.

I can't pin point the exact moment I decided I was done, but I'm fairly certain it came after having my son's bowels explode out his diaper, his pants and his shirt and into his car seat and shoes, but before pushing my now half naked child (who was still rather smelly since I ran out of wet wipes and was forced to use crumpled napkins and pages from flyers stuffed under the seat to wipe his butt,) in his wheelchair only to have the rear left wheel fall off while we attempted to make a doctor's appointment we were already late for.

It was sometime as I was bent over, trying to ram the wheel back into place with fingers were covered in grease, my hair was falling out of it's pony tail, my pants were smudged with oil stains and specks of poo that I realized I didn't have to take this crap anymore.

I could rise up and fight back. Put my boot in the Universe's ass for one.

Alright. So I may have been a little delusional at this point but do you blame me?

So it is with great glee that I present to you my List. A list composed of itemized things I'm planning on kicking. (And by kicking I mean figuratively because to do it literally would take energy and action and quite frankly, I'm still sore from having my own ass handed to me yesterday.)

Still. I'm kicking ass and taking names.

Starting with the wheelchair ramp. The wheelchair ramp that we started in July and are still not finished. The wheelchair ramp we desperately need since, you know, Jumby sits in a wheelchair and none of us have figured out how to tap into our powers of teleportation to get his fifty pound chair out of the back seat of my vehicle and into the house by itself.

Who would have thought building a simple wheelchair ramp would end up such a complicated and time sucking activity that has tested the bonds of an otherwise healthy marriage more than once? It's kicking my ass and my husband's and I'm done. You can bite me wheelchair ramp. Once you are built I'm totally kicking you.

Then I'd like to kick my kids school administrators who have deemed the only time the junior high girls can have access to the school gym is before school hours. In fact, all girls activities are schedule before school while the boys get all the after-school access to the gym they want. I'm tired of having to haul my sorry ass out of bed before the damn sun rises just so my daughter can toss a ball around while wearing her school colours. I need my beauty sleep yo. Let the boys get their asses out of bed for awhile.

After that, I'd like to runt punt my dopey dog Diera who has taken to piddling beside my bed every damn night no matter how many times I take her out in the evening. We are in a power piss off it seems and she's winning.

To that kid who called me old and snickered about my tattoos when I went to pick up Fric and Frac from school the other day: You are lucky I didn't kick your ass. Enjoy squandering your youth now. Because I guarantee you one day you will look back on your life and wonder how the hell that snot nosed brat disappeared and morphed into someone staring middle life in the face, while raising a passel full of kids and spending your days doing other peoples laundry while wearing the same stained yoga pants you wore two days in a row.

My tattoos rock you twerp.

To the makers of my son's wheelchair. I am gunning to put my foot in your booty. How bout making a product that doesn't fall apart while my child is sitting in it and I'm pushing it along? I mean, really? Is that so very much to ask for? Is ittttt??? *twitch*

And finally, to the programmers who tweak iTunes so damn often that my iPod no longer wants to sync to my computer. Out of everyone in the world, you are the ones I really itch to kick. My toes twitch eagerly at the thought. Everytime I try to sync my iPod, iTunes tells me my computer isn't authorized and would I like to authorize. Everytime I say yes and press the authorize now button. And every time iTunes decides that my computer is already authorized and then tells me if I don't sync my iPod I'm going to lose almost a 1000 songs off my iPod. Lather, rinse, repeat and on and on the circle goes until I'm yelling obscenities at inanimate objects and my children are hiding under their beds.

Would it be so much to ask for a product that works when it is supposed to work? I mean, I do everything you ask. I update when told to, I buy the products you want me to, I worship at the altar of Apple for f*ck's sake. So when I want to put a little Eminem on my iPod (music I bought from you I might add) I shouldn't have to lose my damn mind in the process.

So today, today is the day I take back control of my butt cheeks and publicly proclaim I am done bending over for the Universe. I am reclaiming my power. My dignity. My sanity.

Or, today is the day I sit on the couch, paralyzed with fear that the world really is out to get me so I sit and write hostile vapid threats to anonymous people in an attempt to feel better about my lot in life.

Either way, my weekend is already looking up.