Take that, Combat Mom

My mother, well, she's in combat mode today. So I'm up here fuming with my music blaring. First it was the Rocky Horror soundtrack. Now it's Queen.

Man, I love being able to access the internet from the Spare Oom and blast music.

We got into a fight over school safety - I know, it's an odd subject to argue over, but we're a strange family. You see, we were watching Dr Phil at the time, and the episode was about violence in school. So I'm trying to get my point across, and she's cutting me off, and gets all offended when I tell her not to interrupt, because apparently I sound condescending. I probably did sound rude, but trust me, that was not what I was aiming for. So I hide up here, and scream that she always has to be right, and it's been that way since the day I was born. Dad calls me back down and calmly tells me that that was uncalled for and that the sun doesn't shine outta my, er, butt. I would use the alternative word, which is what he actually used, but I don't want to offend anyone. You have to feel sorry for my dad, really. He got caught in the middle of a catfight (again, I'll avoid using the explicit alternative).

So now I'm up here, blogging, with a Ravelry window open, Queen's greatest hits blaring, and a can of V8 on my desk.

♪Can anybody find me somebody to looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooove?♪