This brings us to today.  My husband was up before 9, called our friends at 9:30 ... they were NOT ready to get up.  They ignored the first couple of calls.  I only knew about two calls.  Apparently he called them like five times in the matter of an hour or an hour and a half.  Well, because he didn't set an actual time they didn't set an alarm and it was Sunday, so they wanted to sleep in.  It ticked them off a bit that my husband called so many times in such a short amount of time.  I don't blame them.  To be honest, I woke up on the wrong side of the bed ... correction; I got woke up on the wrong side of the bed.  I didn't even want to wake up then, he woke me up.  I will not lie, I was a crabby, tired, out of milk (yeah, nice, no milk to drink in the morning either) bitch.  I did not even try to curb it.  I told him straight out that I was in a bad mood, I didn't want to be awake and that next weekend there will be NO plans made.   NONE.  Nothing before 11am.  There WILL be sleeping in, as I've been kept up past midnight for the last five or six days and then required to get up hella earlier than I needed to.

We at least got a few things done this morning while waiting for them to call.  Tidied up and fixed up my horse's stall a bit better.  Cleaned the outer area around it too.  Got my laundry done finally.  They arrived, the guys cut wood forever (me and my friend sat, watched and talked). 

I found out that they haven't been coming around a lot because EVERY time my husband calls them it's to help him do some kind of work.  It's never just to hang out, and most of the time when the work is done, my husband doesn't make any effort to hang out after; he just wants to call it a day and say goodbye.  So a lot of times they don't pick up either because then when they do, they feel obligated to help or whatever, whether they feel like it or not.  Also, they don't like coming to our house to hang out because of my dad.  My dad said he didn't give a shit.  Things come up and if he has to come back and yell at us (cuz we're 12, remember that) then they need to just get over it.  She just needs to get over herself being all pissy because he threw an empty beer can at her prized car.  She has a camaro, she loves that car, and yes he did throw an empty can at it, he was being playful I guess.  She blew a gasket on me, I snapped at her to shut up, I didn't feel like listening to somebody bash my dad (this was like two weeks ago and I had already had a pretty shitty day) right now so just to drop it and that I wasn't excusing his behavior, it was wrong and it was bullshit and aside from that, I had already called him (we were down at the other house, I had driven on ahead to the farm and they were following when he tossed the can) and bitched him out.

So great, because my husband always puts our friends to work, and my dad is scary, disrespectful and a complete ass, I don't get to have friends because none of them want to come around.  Makes me feel wonderful.  Also I had to listen to her basically call my husband dumb, which pissed me the hell off but I held my tongue for that point.  Then I ripped into her about her mom in a selective way (selective because this is the friend whose mom I work for) since her mom had been shitty with me (the school thing).  Basically after that I was happy that they were going to be leaving, which they did.  I was put out, I felt a lot alone, I felt stuck, I felt cheated, I felt depressed and tired.  I go home to mounds of dishes to do, so I got those going.  Then my dad starts piling it on.   That was when he told me "tough shit" about our friends not wanting to be here because of him, and also gave me a bitchy attitude because I hadn't been there all day.  So here's my rundown of what I suddenly had required of me:  Dishes, going to get crickets for the turtle, helping him put window plastic up, writing out a bill for my husband, balancing the checkbook, looking up addresses for Christmas cards and making them up, going with my husband to put gas in his truck and drop the cards in the box, take a shower and our friends wanted to play more scattergories. 

I worked my way through the dishes, found the addresses and wrote the cards, attempted writing the bill out and balancing the cb, but when I got partway through my dad was walking around the house whistling to his already annoying music.  I asked him twice to stop and he wouldn't, and he just got louder.  It was distracting me really bad while I was trying to write the check for the bill.  I mean, I started shaking.  How can I write a check that way?  So I almost punched my computer off the desk, luckily I controlled myself and threw the checkbook and pen instead.  Then I went out to finish the very last load of dishes and he asked me 'I thought you were writing out a bill.'

Me:  snapping "Well I was but you were distracting me so fucking much I'll just finish the damn dishes and we can do the fucking window plastic since you won't leave me alone until we do."
Him: What?
Me:  You were whistling and it was bothering me.
Him:  Huh?
Me:  I asked you twice to stop, just a minute ago, and you wouldn't.
Him:  Laughing ... Oh I guess I couldn't hear you over the whistling.

Me, thinking, YEAH YOU STUPID LOW LIFE PIECE OF SHIT, BECAUSE YOU STARTED WHISTLING LOUDER EACH TIME I ASKED.  I seriously wanted to take a butcher knife to him, slice him into tiny little chunks, put them in the empty jars we use for pickling with some flour, water and bouillon and have homemade dog food.  I was SO tempted.  So I make it partway through stuff ... my husband comes back from his shower ... we have to go get crickets and look for window plastic (the only kind he had was for the picture window).  We take the truck since we need to gas it up anyway.  About five minutes away from the house ... it happened ...

He dropped his drive shaft.  FUCK. 

MOTHERFUCKSHITPISSGODDAMMITSONOFAWHOREPISSWHIPINGMOTHERFUCKER!

We JUST got the damn thing up and running, licensed, title switched to our names, insured.  He was supposed to drive it to work in the morning.  So we had to have it towed home, had to call our friends and tell them we weren't gonna be able to hang out later since the night had taken an unexpected turn.  They offered to come up and help, I told them it was up to them because they had helped earlier and I didn't want them to feel like they were obligated (well, come on, they told me that they didn't like that earlier in the day, how was I supposed to respond?!), I said if anything they could get a good laugh at the scenario and maybe help if absolutely needed.  My FIL decided to give my husband 20 questions before agreeing to come up to help us, he wanted to diagnose EXACTLY what went wrong right then and there.  It was dark.  It was not fixable on the road, we knew that much already.  Just come the hell up and get us and the truck and get us the fuck home!  So yeah, towed it home, had to ride home with the friends.  When I tried to climb into the back of his truck (he's got a 2 door Tahoe and not nearly enough room for a person to climb in to the back seats) I screwed my knee up more, I felt shit tear.  It hurts really badly right now.  I found out my husband had gotten sawdust in his eye while cutting wood, it was hurting him badly.  We played the game for a little while once we got the truck settled and got done. 

We came home, I had to get a bath, had to dog proof our room since she has to come in for the ice storm.  Had to fix our dinner in the dark because dad went to bed before we had eaten and he blows a complete and utter fuse if we turn any lights on once he's gone to bed, because he WILL NOT close his bedroom door.  Had to sneak around just to do all of the rest of what we needed to do before bed.  It started raining before we could get the dog in, so we had to towel her off first.  So now here I sit in a room, feeling really shitty, tired, smelling wet dog and my husband is crowding me on the bed and just because of that I want to punch him in the face hard enough to knock him off the bed.  I'm in a really sour mood.  I should be fine by morning, but right now I just want to have my own damn pity party.  Again, by morning I'll be fine.  I think this is an understandable thing though.  I just hope the dog doesn’t poop overnight … usually she doesn’t … but the way things have been going … tonight could be the night.  Then I’d have the figurative AND the literal shitty situation going on.