I freaking hate it. There's either two ways that it's going to go down for DH. He's either going to get hammered and pass out or he's going to turn into a giant d!ck head.

Yesterday was filled with funness for me. I went grocery shopping and ran a couple of other errands. I can home and got ready to shampoo the carpets throughout the house. DH's parents are coming over this weekend and our dog refuses to be potty trained and hallway was freaking discusting because of the kids. DH went down and rented a rug doctor during half time because he felt that the neighbors carpet shampooer doesn't do that great of a job. I spent around five hours shampooing mine and DH's bedroom, SD's room, SS's room, my BD's room and the hallway. Throughout all of this fun filled funness DH kept asking me if I wanted any help. Since we only had one rug doctor there really wasn't much he could do. I would say that DH was drunk around 4 pm. At around 8 pm I went into the living room. DH is of course passed out in his chair. My back and my hands hurt at that point but DH had made it clear that it needed to be done last night because he needed to return the rug doctor today. So since DH had offered his help and I was exausted I went and woke him up.

Let's just say that I regret doing that. At first he wouldn't get up. Once he did he turned into an a$$hole. He said he got all of his stuff done yesterday so that he could do nothing today. (He mowed the yard, which he wouldn't have done unless his parents were coming, he did the dishes, he swept the garage, and he changed his breaks. All of which probably took about 3 hours.) He went off about how I took the day off yesterday and he did his stuff, which I did which is something that I never do and yet he gets hammered every Sunday and doesn't do sh!t. Then he felt the need to get in my face in front of my BD and tell me that it's not his dog so it's not his problem. Then he tried to tell me that he wasn't drunk anymore, which is BS. Because he continued to drink after he told me that he was drunk. He must be the only person on this planet that can drink themselves sober.

His sorry a$$ behavior continued throughout the night. At one point he walked into the kitchen and made some comment about how I never even told him how to effing use the machine to which I told him that all he had to do was ask me. His response. "you wouldn't have told me anyways." I finally sat down for the first time for the day after 8 pm and tried to watch the new episode of The Walking Dead. What does he do comes in and grabs the remote. I told him that I was watchig that and he told me that I was busy doing other things and wasn't paying attention. Then when I took the remote back he proceeded to go outside and watch me through the living room window. Then he came back in and told me that I wasn't watching the show and that he went out side and was watching me and that's how he knew.

There's obviously a lot more inbetween everything that happened. I did go off on him a couple of times and told him that I hate football because he drinks to much. Apparently he just thinks I'm jealous of the fact that he gets to sit there and watch it because that's what he told me. I also called him a d!ckhead and an a$$hole several times. I told him that I don't want him drinking like that anymore and instead of drinking a bottle of wine and hour he needs to limit it to one bottle per game. His response, "you don't get to tell me what to do." When I asked him about when he was offering to help me throughout the day exactly what help that was, he told me that he was only offering to move furniture and he went down and rented the rug doctor at halftime. I told him that I wasn't planning on moving furniture I was trying to get the areas where the dog can get and where we walk. Then I got the whole, "that's right. You do everything half a$$ comment from him."

What a freaking night. He blamed me and tried to tell me that I'm the reasone why we fight every Sunday. I flat out told him that we fight every Sunday because he gets hammered and turns into a jerk. Of course I'm worng. It's all my fault. I especailly love after that when he was walking around the house all happy with himself humming a little tune. Of course today he'll deny everything. It'll be the whole, "I can't it remember so it never happened." Or he'll try and find a way to balme it on me. I can't even remember half the sh!t he said to me because he had me so freaking mad. I FUCKING HATE FOOTBALL.