It was the start of a no good, very bad day. (And a movie monday)

Once upon a time, there was a girl who was happy. And nothing could get her down. Except not getting enough play times, donuts with nuts, and friends moving away.
But sadly, time came and she grew up- but she was determined to be happy. Until one day. This one day, got the best of her. It made her feel angry and want to just hit the 'redo' button.
It started at 3:56 a.m. (you see how things went wrong, right?). She woke up, saying, "Hey! I am going to be a great wife and make my husband- who is supposed to wake up in 4 minutes- breakfast and lunch for the day!" So she hoped out of bed...okay, it was more of a collapse on the floor and shuffle to her feet...and looked in the fridge. Mmm.....eggs, bacon and potatoes take to long. And dirty too many dishes. Oatmeal it was! Fifteen minutes later, this girl was cuddling back in bed- feeling accomplished at being a good wife.
Dreams were soon to her her's again, when the most destructive sound occurred. *Insert baby crying*.
WIth her prince busily getting ready for bed, this girl rolled out of bed, she trudged off to the babies room- picked up her, and brought her back to her own bed- where she expected to get another 2-3 hours of sleep.
But apparently this baby had other intentions. Apparently she decided 4 a.m. was a perfect time to wake up. Apparently she wanted to play with the puppy. And explore. And be an awake baby- and stay up- at 4 a.m.
No big- the girls husband hadn't left yet, so she might be able to sneak in a few more min (an hour?). Cuddled back into bed, pillow over head, trying so hard to be one with the mattress, the husband comes in and announces that he needs a ride to school.
Agony ripped her apart as this girl stepped into the cold,dark morning air. Relief finally came in the form of a donut shop- in which she insisted on needing to get a better grasp of the morning. Luckily, husband and her share a fondness for donuts. =]

Now, long story short:
Get home, baby is asleep.
Try to sneak dog's into house without baby waking up, and the old one (Who has to be specifically invited in by name "Penny, come on"- and by no other way will she move) made noise and woke up said baby. 20 min later I was able to get baby and I asleep. Then had to wake up 40 min later to get ready for a WIC appointment. Ate my cinnamon roll from the donut shop (That was DRY! AHHHHH the AGONY!!!!), and left- late- the the appointment.
Only to get there and not be able to FIND my wic folder OR my WALLET containing the ever so important photo I.D.
So, not only were the wic ladies rude and talking about me in front of my face, but I had to drive back home, frantically search out house for my lost wallet (Which WAS in the car after all), and head back.

Then, after that, off to the doctor's to get some blood taken from Sariah. =[

WORST APPOINTMENT EVER.

We sat in the room (Where we had sat just a few days before when she got a finger prick), and said baby was HAPPY. Then the lab tech's came in and started putting on those blue gloves, and OH MY! You would have thought it was Armageddon! No lie.
Pouty lip full out. Tears in force. No one even touching her yet.
I hated it.
Luckily, 3 minutes later, a sticker in hand, and 20 steps away from the lab, and she was perfectly fine.

I love that said baby.

Then I picked up the husband. And went home. And at home, he asked for a haircut.
I said SURE!
I give good hair cuts (or so he says).
And so, I began.
Now, Joe likes a 3 on top, and 1 on bottom. I have always known that one day- I was going to mess up.
It was just waiting to happen.
Like how that ketchup is just waiting to happen to drip at the Carls Jr. Commercials.
Just like that.

So, as I get done with getting everything at a 3, Joe says, "Speed over quality"- thus single handidly contributing to the demise of his own hair cut. 
I take the 1, ask a question- which Joe obviously didn't understand what I meant, and just went at it. I took off a strip at the stop of his head, that was shorter then the sides.
Lucky for him he caught it right way- I would have kept on going for who knows how long! Oops.
He immediately asks, 'Did you just do a 1 on the top of my head?"

I look at the clippers. Then at his head. Then back to the clippers, to make sure my hand is ACTUALLY holding them.
Yep. I sure did it.
What could I tell him?
How could I NOT blame this on myself?

Nothing popped into my head. So I told him the truth.
And then continued to shave the rest of his head into an army hair cut.


So, that was the story of the no good, very bad day.

Lesson learned- Don't ask your wife to give you a hair cut when she is having a bad day.

And so, after all that- here is the movie! I somehow felt it fit.