I haven’t been posting and now I feel totally shitty. Coincidence? I THINK NOT. I have the cruds today and I’m not getting out of bed.

KILL IT WITH FIRE!
1.) This is an old picture, but it was my attempt a month ago or so to make a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pancake. I got the mutant part down. I need a better squeeze bottle if I’m going to do this again and not traumatize my children.
2.) I have been having too much fun with NPC Comic. It amuses me much!

I done got my hair did.
3.) As per my ChÜberlist: 2014 I was going to donate my hair but upon closer inspection, I actually didn’t have long hair, but a very elaborate network of straw, grass, tumbleweed, and a tiny nest of baby birds. In other words, previous hair dyeing and general neglect made me decide that my hair wasn’t donation-worthy. So I’m now 10 inches lighter and all the unhealthy garbage is gone. Maybe next time. *big fail sigh*

So…this is my life now.

Or more appropriately, Wendy’s sad life.
4.) I’m going to be selfish for a minute and say I never wanted a dog with so many fucking problems. So many expensive fucking problems. Fingers crossed that this is only a bladder infection and her constant leaking all over the couch/ottoman/chair is done with. $45 vet check and medication, $30 dog diapers WTF, $230 to clean and sanitize the furniture. Laundry every day. And let’s remember that we still need a $200 blood test in a few weeks. Let me be clear: I love my dog. She’s loyal and loving and funny and sweet. She just has so many problems right now. And frankly, I can’t take another pet death. I’m fucking traumatized and it’s just too painful.

Bite my terrified metal ass.
5.) I’m going to the doctor next week. I get cruds that don’t go away, I have a knee that won’t work and then there’s everything else that’s wrong with me. I hate going to doctors and dentists because I’ve had some terrible ones. Terribly unprofessional ones. But seeing as I’m rapidly aging and I spend more money on the dog going to the vet than I do on my own health, I should go. It would be great if I had some anti-anxiety meds left, but for that I need to go to a fucking doctor. Bad catch-22. And I don’t like setting a bad example for my kids. And I probably want to live and all that.