A Kalahari-Sized Dry Spell

I've been MIA for almost a month now on this crazy little blog.  I'm sure by now you've all either given up on me, gone insane from a deep depression, or are all , meh, fuck it.  She'll be back I'm sure....
I'm checking in to let you know that I haven't been doing anything exciting or special or groundbreaking, just regular busy grown up life stuff.  Rather stressful and crazy, but nothing funny or special enough that's worthy of blogging about.  I'm also seemingly battling a "depressive episode" as evidenced by my sudden sobbing fits a dozen times a day plus wanting to sleep and snack all the time.  Hopefully my new and improved med dose will kick in soon and I'll be my usual chipper-ass, snarky self.

Here's a photo essay of renderings containing the sole highlights of my past month:

My cat rebelled against my authority by laying on the kitchen counter (where the food dwells) and I yelled at her.  She wouldn't move.  I yelled more to GET DOWN.  But bitch wasn't havin it.
I stormed and stomped and huffed and puffed up to her and...
LO AND BEHOLD.....
IT WASN'T EVEN THE FUCKING CAT.
I'd reprimanded my purse.
In my defense, they're both black and lumpy, especially in 5:30 am lighting.
I laughed so hard I cried.

Bath time was spiced up one night when Bossy Girl FLEW SCREAMING from the tub which made Wee One break out SCREAMING AND CLAWING TO GET OUT OF THE TUB because there was shit floating in the water.  Literally.  I'm not even joking.  Turds. In. Bath water.
I laughed so hard I cried.
 After I dry-heaved and made Hubby clean it up.

And last but not least, I excelled in the study of lazy with a double minor in Snuggie accessorizing and pathetically sad.