It's 8AM

Let me just say, it's 8AM & My son thinks he's a part of the mother freaking Olympics.
Jumping out of his crib and shit. screaming at the top of his lungs. To be honest, i haven't left my bedroom. It's Wednesday which is "Pay Day" and i don't want to do anything but am forced to go buy Birthday Things for Monkeys Party this weekend. Kill.Me.Now.
All those children from my husband's side of the family who clearly have never been parented a day in their poor little lives. Running a muck and getting my children to act as straight hooligans. i'm not having it. i'm going to drink plenty before the party so i can deal, and then probably more afterwards. Do i honestly have to? i don't want to get up, change the children, try to look half way decent to go into town just to stress myself out about random bullshit and then come home and be all pissy because people piss me off. seriously. people are ignorant. for one they can't drive. for two, they are rude. for three, they give me the strangest looks carrying around a (almost) 2 year old and a 5 (almost 6) and 8 year old with my tattoos & shit. WTF i'm young. & My tattoos on my arms are my kids names! look at it and move the fuck on. thanks. i don't stare at one of your asscheeks that is obviously more plump than the other, or the breast that is up in your chin and then it's mate is hanging on to the bottom of your shopping cart. no i don't stare i glance and move on. people should do the same. will they? no. but thats fine they can all kiss my ass. my kids think my tattoos are cool. so that is all that matters. :) okay i think im done rambling Monkey is getting out of hand.
Deep Breath... And GO.