Signs of the Apocalypse.

Oh man.

I should have known I was in for a bad run when Tatiana Del Toro made it into the Top 36 last night, a blur of fuchsia lipstick, runny mascara, a hyena laugh, and sausage arms.

Plus, I noticed that my stairs have started creaking every time I ran up them yesterday.

Big fat cow? Check!

Anywhore.

I came home from a night of pineapple and green pepper pizza at my parents to find my house freezing.

I went down to the basement to check on the shiny new furnace we sold a kidney for last year, and by check on, I mean, see if it was making any noise, and then maybe poke it with the rusty screwdriver I left in the corner down there from when I threw it at what I thought was a giant bat with rabies, but totally turned out to be a black strapless bra.

Turns out...not ok.

2 feet of water.

Sump pump...no visable signs of life.

Baby swing, Baby bouncer, all baby paraphernalia...at the bottom of a murky brown lake, next to the skinny pictures of me from high school and the Ron Popeil Rotisserie.

Black strapless bra...quietly floating into the night, like One Eyed Willy's pirate ship at the end of Goonies.

Mother fucker.

So, after addressing that issue for a few hours by sitting on the steps sobbing into my leftover box of cashew chicken, muttering words like "priceless" and "irreplaceable" and "fuck" while my husband and dad sucked out water, I went upstairs at 1am to check on my sleeping boys, only to be greeted by a two year old covered in vomit.

Which made me puke, because I am a total sympathy puker, and that's how we roll.

So once that issue was cleaned up, we all fell asleep crying in our bed. My son because he felt like shit. Me because I no longer had any photographic proof of how hot my boobs were in high school.

So, I woke up this morning ready to face the day. A day of doctor appointments, and rubber boots.

But, all is not lost, folks, because I also come bearing wonderful news.

Starting Saturday, Valentine's Day, I am having a giveaway.

A wonderfully dirty and scandalous giveaway.

And, if that isn't hotter than the thought of me waddling up and down creaky stairs in knee high rubber boots, I don't know what the hell is.