When I was blogging on Can’t Hardly Wait, I had a twitter account. I really, still, don’t care for it all that much. I never had anything useful to tweet, and considering the most exiting part of my day is either when I have a satisfying bowel movement (you know what I am talking about) or when the mail comes, my twittering got kind of lame after awhile.
“Just dropped the browns off at the super bowl and I finally got August’s issue of Cosmo!”
Then having to explain Twitter to my dad is pretty much like explaining why poop is generally a brown color to my two year old. But this post isn’t all about Twitter. I just wanted to say that I think Twitter is dumb. Because I am lame and can never tweet things like “Just landed in NYC, ’bout to go drop a couple G’s on 5th Ave. Then talking with the pope over some java” I mean, I could… but I don’t even think the pope drinks coffee.
So. The fleas. The fucking fleas. The mother fucking fleas. I have an exterminator coming on Sunday. SUNDAY. Today is FRIDAY. “Sure, Sunday is ok. BECAUSE I REALLY ENJOYED THESE FLEAS EATING MY FLESH AND ID LOVE TO SPEND ANOTHER NIGHT OR TWO WITH THEM.” And of course that obviously means I’m a horrible mother for letting fleas bite my child. Obviously. Because I OBVIOUSLY brought fleas into my home purposely, and I OBVIOUSLY put them in my child’s bed and closet, and I OBVIOUSLY am not doing anything about it.
Actually, last night while Little James was with his father, I bleached my entire apartment. I wiped pinesol on the walls, I vacuumed my rugs at least 8 times, I lysoled everyone’s mattresses and I did about 12 loads of laundry.