Things you need to know if you ever stay at my house:

I live in NYC.  Which as awesome as that sounds to someone who doesn’t live in NYC, what it actually means is that I have the smallest fucking apartment on the planet.

My down stairs neighbors are just rude cocks bags and because of them I had to lay area rugs down because my mutant children walking disturbed them too much.

My upstairs neighbors are assholes as well. It is a brother/sister combo with two under fed and mistreated dogs that you will hear screaming as they go down the stairs past my door frantic to empty their explosive bladders. But they have good yeah.

I live on a beach block. The entrance to the beach is 3 blocks from my  door and the main bus that takes you to this neighborhood is on the top of my block…soooo yeah. Heavy foot traffic in the summer. And not everyone is respectful of people trying to sleep.

My laundry room is in the basement, and I am pretty sure it is haunted. SO if you ever want clothes washed, do so quickly. It doesn’t like when you linger.

You can fit my entire bathroom into a thimble. No seriously, if you go to wipe your butt and DON’T slam your elbow on the wall or the counter, you are either very bendy, or 4.

Also, my toilet is fucking janked. Which means you have to jiggle the handle after you flush or else the tank will just continuously fill with water.

I am breastfeeding…STILL. Which means at any given time you may be privy to super secret nip information.

We curse. A lot. With the exception of my three smallest children everyone in this house has a disgusting mouth. I tried to fix it with time outs and swear jars, but I hate sitting alone and I ran out of change.

I was going to type ABODE instead of house in the headline, but it always makes me think of ADOBO, and then I start thinking about pork chops and well…you get the idea.