It really happens, watch out ladies.

For real. I didn't see it coming, but I am turning into my mother.

The other day I left the house in the freakiest assortment of ugly clothes you can possibly imagine. I was going out in PUBLIC to MEET someone and I just grabbed whatever outerwear happened to already be sitting around in my car and put it on. My hair was crazy, I had a giant zit, and I guess I thought "well I can hardly look any more horrible, so what will this giant puffy purple down jacket that makes me look like a man hurt?" Then, because it is winter, my ears got cold and I had to wear a hat made for my SON. It is a knit hat shaped like a pumpkin and I willingly put it on my head and wore it around for a good hour. I should note that this pumpkin hat also has a stem, leaf, and curly tendril sticking out the top. AND I WORE IT IN PUBLIC like some kind of mental patient.

My sister advised me, "You should always dress as if you are going to run into your husband's ex-girlfriend." If I had run into anyone who used to know me when I was cute and put together I probably would have pretended to be someone else. Someone such as my sister, cause we look a lot alike and who cares if people think she goes out on the town dressed like the michelin man in a child's hat?

Lucky for you, there are no photographs of this horrible ensemble. So I drew a picture to illustrate. The girl with no nose or eyebrows actually looks way nicer than I actually did.

I can't find the cord that connects my camera to my computer, so I think I may be drawing my blog pictures for a while. Try not to be impressed by the quality of this rendering. I am currently working on a picture of a drawer full of mouse poop to go along with my next post.

The people who lived here before were GROSS.

That title is not witty, but it is a FACT. We have spent weeks and weeks and weeks cleaning and everytime I get down on my hands and knees to scrub something I hate them more. I'm going to be brief because every time I think about these horrible people my blood pressure goes up.

And it's not like I'm some kind of fanatic for cleanliness either. I have very very very low standards. If there were a continuum of cleanliness I would probably fall somewhere below slovenly bachelor and above drunken fraternity brother. I don't pee on the floor, but I don't pick my socks up either.

This is foul, but it will give you an idea of how nasty these folks were: when we moved in, every drawer in the kitchen was filled with mouse poop. For real. And not like one brown spot where you're like, is that a mouse poop or a crumb of burnt toast? Piles and piles of crap. And some of it was all squashed up, like the mice kept walking around in their own feces for a while.

I hated the last owners so much right then I think I had a little stroke.

Lest anyone who comes over for dinner now feel compelled to bring their own silverwear, don't worry, I cleaned every inch and crevice of those drawers like my life depended on it. I employed a sanitizing steamer, cleaning solution that will burn the hair off your head, and steel wool. I scrubbed so hard that I stripped the finish off.

I hate them.

It's harder than I thought to draw a good picture of a drawer full of mouse crap, but I gave it my best shot.

Lord, I hate those people.