Before you continue to read this you should know that I'm vulgar. My blogs will be at least rated R. Here we go: I can't take it anymore. I have to find a way to get it all off my chest. If I keep complaining to friends and coworkers, they are going to tell me I need some serious therapy. On most days, if you listened to me, you'd think I hate my life. I don't. Well, I don't hate it. Some days I just don't like it. For the most part, I'm happy. I'm a Navy wife. He's enlisted, but in the nuclear program, so the money is bangin. I want him to put in for an officer's package. We'll see. Our daughter, Stinky Punkin Butt Booty girl, who we'll call Booties for short, is absolutely amazing! She'll be 2 in January. She is smart and funny and beautiful and curious, but she has no interest in potty training. Dammit. I'll let her run around without a diaper on, and she'll sit on the floor and pee right next to the potty chair. It's awesome. Hubs, well, he's a good one, but he gets on my last nerves. Can I just say that I hate World of Warcraft? I mean, I HATE IT. I've seen him spend like 52 out of 70 hours on that fucking game. Guess what? He's on there right now. Sometimes, I feel like he feels that because he brings home more money than I do that he gets a free ticket out of housework. How is that fair? Did I mention that I'm a waitress AND a college student? With a 3.8 gpa? He comes home from work and gets straight on the computer and will be on there until bedtime. I do EVERYTHING. Cook, clean, take the dog to the vet, Booties to all appointments, make sure the bills are paid. Fuck, he won't even call to order take out. *whiny voice* "I don't like talking on the phone." But you'll talk into that stupid headset all fucking night. Are you kidding me?! He actually helped me clean this nasty house tonight. And made dinner. I'm pretty much shocked. I'm sure he'll expect a blow job for that. Fat chance. I'm currently nursing a head cold and can barely breathe through my nose. Not that I would want to do it anyway. We're trying for another baby, but at the rate we're going, Booties is going to be an only child. Ugh. If he did dinner dishes I might contemplate it, but I don't think he even knows how to do them.