Oh, the Hole I’ve Dug
2007-05-15 15:49:50
There are times in a person’s life when one wonders if they have lost their mind.
Today is one of those moments for me.
I am one of five parents accompanying 42 grade four students to Drumheller, Ab to go look at dinosaur bones. We are going to be sleeping in a barn. With 42 kids amped up on sugar, freedom and the excitement of being away from home.
My life freaking sucks. Life doesn’t get any better than this.
I generally try to avoid such commitments which will add wrinkles, or grey hairs. How I got sucked into this is beyond me. Oh wait, I know. Guilt. Big blue eyes. “Mommy, you’re the best!” And a big ass bottle of wine.
This is why I shouldn’t be left alone with small children. I make questionable judgment calls.
Anyone remember last years trip to the badlands? Then one where I was THAT mom. Hopefully, this year’s adventure will go more smoothly.
So when I stumble back late Thursday night, sunburnt, tired, and run absolutely ragged, have
You Get What You Pay For
2007-05-19 19:20:37
I was once a spry and athletic girl. I was on the rugby team, the basketball team and was one of the stars on the track team. Then I grew older, had babies, got married (yes, in that order) and suddenly, the only time I seem to sweat is when the hubs wants to get physical on the marital mattress.
It’s not like I have completely abandoned my fitness-loving ways. I still do aerobics, go for strenuous walks and when I’m really in the mood for punishment I like to strap on the cross-trainers and chase the wind. I bounce on my fitness ball, walk my dog, garden, and try to remember not to turn into a sloth. And let’s not forget all the time I spend on my knees.
Washing the floor people. Sheesh. What else did you think I was referring to?
When I signed up to lead a pack of sugar-high kids amped up on excitement and soda pop, I honestly believed I was ready for the job. After all, how hard is it to lead a group of kids around a few gulleys and canyons? I squeezed three kids
Ode to Boobs
2007-05-22 11:16:23
I should have been born a boy. In fact, up until the moment of my screaming arrival, my parents and the doctor were convinced I was a boy. They had a lovely boy name picked out for me and everything. I wrecked their plans when I had a whoohoo instead of a willy.
But I wonder if all that male confusion somehow imprinted itself onto my personality while I was in utero. Not that I’m not feminine, and my darling Boo will attest to the fact that I not only have all the right female parts but I know how to use them, (wink, wink) but like boys, I am fascinated by one thing.
Actually, a pair of things. Boobs.
I love boobs. Tits, love sacks, fun bags, the girls, breasts. I’ll take them all. I tease Boo if he were to grow a pair he’d be the perfect man. However, since he’s not much of a cross-gendered transvestite, I have to make do like most of the male persuasion, and oogle.
I love a good pair. So oogle I do. I try not to be obvious about it, but a good pair of mel
Hair Today. Gone Tomorrow.
2007-05-25 10:01:34
I try to blog as honestly as possible. I put my pain and my grief out there for the world to see, I try to relive my joy and my happiness through my words and I try to remember what a dumbass I am and learn not to repeat said moments by immortalizing them in the vast shiftiness of the blogosphere.
I am not perfect, nor are my children. (My husband, well he is as close to Godliness as they come. Snicker. Can you tell it’s pay day today?) While I joke, poke fun, and sharpen my self-effacement skills, I occasionally like to rip open my thin skin and bare my insecurities and tender feelings for all the blogosphere to shred. (Or all 32 of you that stop by to read. Half of which are family, friends and neighbours. But hey, I appreciate you ALL.)
I do this because I am secure in myself, my parenting skills, my love for my family. And by being honest, and funny, maybe I can brighten someone else’s day or teach them a lesson. (Like never trust government employees in charge of your
Read more: Today
Adoption Asshats Update
2007-05-24 10:22:53
It’s no secret that the hubs and I are in the process of trying to adopt a special needs child. We have jumped through several hurdles, all of which have resembled hoops of fire. Inevitably, I singed my eyebrows. (A major reason why I refuse to light the barbeque, but I digress…)
We have explained our reasons, defended our beliefs, and ignored all the naysayers. We have wrestled our doubts, questioned ourselves and examined our very souls, searching for an answer.
We have comforted our children, held their hands, smoothed their qualms.
We are ready.
The adoption asshats people don’t agree.
Yesterday we had yet another meeting with our adoption case workers. We read through our formal assessments and giggled like the immature adults Boo and I are. When I read that he wrote “T is the joy of my life” I just about collapsed into fits of sniggering. When he read that I wrote “our main source of miscommunication is his tendency to believe I am a mind rea
Read more: Adoption
, Update
Morning Joe
2007-05-29 10:43:19
I love waking up to discover an endless blue sky and hear the chirping of birds singing from the trees.
I love watching my children wave to me as they board their school bus, on their way to educate their minds and discover their sense of self.
I love pouring a mug of piping hot coffee, heavy on cream, light on sugar, and stepping out onto our deck, with Nixon, The World’s Greatest Dog, Ever. winding his way through my feet with excitement.
I love watching him sniff every blade of grass, every pebble, while I drink my coffee and talk to my husband for the first time in our day.
I love sitting, at peace, tranquil with my world on days like today.
And when the neighbour’s Rottweiler decides to swim through the slough and come barreling at me like a shot out of the cannon, I love that.
I especially love when he clumsily races up the deck stairs and knocks me over with his slobbery kisses.
And when he shakes off all the gross, disgusting, disease-riddled water off his thick, s
Read more: Morning
Epitaph
2007-05-28 10:09:40
When my husband started to work out of town, I had a fearsome worry we would run out of things to talk about on the phone, grow apart, fall out of love, divorce and he would try to take Karen and George away from me. I knew he’d never try to take our kids from me, but my appliances? Now that’s vindictive. And much more his style.
However, my worries have been for naught. He has shown only a mild interest in Karen and George, while I have been caught rubbing my naked body against them and talking dirty to them more than once. Er, I mean, we have yet to run out of things to talk about during our daily phone calls, and abscence really has made my heart grow fonder.
Plus, I’m hornier than hell by the time he comes home, so he is always EAGER to return home to perform “his chores.” (Was that an overshare?)
Luckily for me, our children provide us with a wealth of conversational gold. Between the time I spend relaying their charming and dumbass moments, venting
Return of Pass the Puns…
2007-05-27 10:04:57
It’s been a few weeks since I’ve posted my cheese. There have been a variety of reasons for this, most of them liquor induced and involving some small wish for the pain to stop, the Tylenol bottle to magically refill itself and a general wish for the world to stop spinning on it’s axis.
My parents must be soooo proud of me. Snicker.
Ahem, it seems I am digressing into the world of passive aggressiveness. Focus, T, focus.
This morning I woke up to the sound of the birds chirping, the frogs singing, my dog softly snoring and Fric and Frac whispering. They were actually concerned about waking me up. They were being considerate.
Damn it. The one morning I wake up early and can’t get back to sleep, they decide to act like the children I work hard to raise. Polite and respectful. Where the hell are these kids when I’m begging for more sleep, and little hoodlums are chasing each other through the house while practising their war whoops?
Ahem. I’m like a
Read more: Return
, hellip
Life’s Two-By-Four Wielded by My Daughter
2007-05-31 10:23:41
There are some things in life I am unprepared to handle at any given time. A few of those things include (but aren’t limited to) shit-smeared walls, drunken vomiting women (myself included), big ass black beetles that fly (I DON’T CARE if they won’t harm you, they are fucking scary), and drunk drivers who think the law doesn’t apply to them.
I’m pretty cool with never having to deal with any of the above, ever, in my lifetime.
I found one more thing to add to that growing list.
Yesterday evening, while I was minding my own business and busy pulling weeds out of my flower garden so that the exterior of my home will reflect my hardwork and dedication to my family (because the interior is sorely neglected and could never be mistaken for an unemployed mother who has nothing better to do that clean) my daughter came up to me and hit me upside with a two-by-four.
Not a real one, a proverbial one.
“Mom, when am I going to get my period?”
WHAT? Can
Read more: Daughter
I Can’t Be Right All The Time
2007-05-30 10:19:49
A couple of weeks back, I was standing with Boo in the middle of a store, staring at a row of lawn mowers and my eyes were slowly starting to glaze over from boredom. All the talk of engine prowess, blade length, gas vs. electric was not exactly what I had in mind when he offered to take me shopping.
Bugger. He totally bamboozled me.
Boo was sold on a shiny looking mower that was self-propelled and a hundred and fifty smackers more than the mower beside it, which was just an old fashioned push mower.
I was all about saving the hundred and fifty smackers. There was a pair of sandals I had in mind and that hundred and fifty would go a long way in buying those pretty shoes, plus some.
After all, how hard would it be to push a lawn mower around the front lawn. We have a ride along mower for the big stuff. Why spend the extra money?
Because it is FACKING hard work, that is why.
I’m too pretty to sweat like this. No wonder Fric and Frac looked like they were going to keel over from
Read more: Right
Adoption Rant
2007-06-05 10:28:37
Sunday morning my daughter came to me while I was ignoring my children catching up on my blog reading and promptly whipped down her pajama bottoms. As she was standing there with her ass cheeks hanging out for the world to look at me, I noticed the glimmer of her two little moons flashing from the corner of my eye.
I turned around to ask her what the heck she was doing only to discover that her lily white skin had an angry rash and some scabs marring her young butt.
“It itches Mom. What is it?” She asked, while looking at me with all the innocence and trust her blue eyes could convey.
“Um, seeing as how I forgot to attend the parenting course on rashes of an unknown etiology, I’m going to have to tell you I have no freaking idea, Frac. Does it hurt?” I was tempted to touch it, but let’s face it. Those are her ASS cheeks in front of me. I have no idea if she washes those things when she’s in the shower, plus that rash could be contagious and the
Read more: Adoption
Computer Love
2007-06-04 10:30:50
I have occasionally been accused of being an uptight mother. No, not by my children who would have every right to call me names, as I abuse torment gently tease them on an hourly basis. No, sometimes the peanut gallery, consisting of my friends, family and that homeless guy who begs for quarters while loitering in the town square and leering at the young girls, have been known to villify me and my parenting style.
My sister calls me the Food Nazi. Just because I insist if you take it, you eat it. And don’t give it to the dog. There are starving children out there, all over the world. And food is damn expensive. If I didn’t have to legally feed the buggers, think of the glories my shoe closet would hold.
Ahem.
I also don’t like letting my kids wander the neighbourhood freely and at all hours the way I used to at their age. Partly because we live in the sticks where the wild life consists of aging cougars (the four-legged variety, not just ME), the occasional black be
Read more: Computer
Pass the Puns, Please
2007-06-03 09:49:08
It’s a fine day for some stinky cheese. Allow me to offer you some of my most malodorous cheese.
I’m off to be attacked by the giant size mosquitos who make my flesh their buffet and my yard their home, while I fry under the heat of the blazing sun and lounge around, doing absolutely NOTHING on such a beautiful day.
Enjoy le fromage and your day!
Not many people know it, but the Devil actually wears a wig. You’d never know if you weren’t told - it’s a perfect fit. Anyway, down in the world of fire and brimstone one guy did find out, and he decided to have a little practical joke. So one night, he sneaks past the guardian demons and manages to get all the way into Satan’s bed chamber, whereupon he steals the hair-piece and makes good his escape.
Well, of course the Devil was most displeased by this, and he rounds up his demons, and demands to know which of them had been so lazy as to let someone sneak past them. Naturally, none of them owns up, which
Read more: Please
Neat Feet
2007-06-07 13:00:58
With the emergence of the sandal season slowly making it’s appearance up in the northern hemisphere, I recently took it upon myself to pack my darling children up and head into the big city in search of some charming footwear that don’t resemble mukluks or ski boots.
After silencing the chorus of whines with threats of bodily harm bribes of fast food for good behaviour, we finally got down to the business of shoe shopping. Shopping for shoes is serious business to me. My reputation as a mother is largely based on what type of foot wear my children toddle about in. (At least in my mind.) I try to hide from the world the fact we are a family of rednecks by shodding my children with good shoes.
(I no longer use animal skins and twine. It tended to be a dead giveaway, even if it was cost effective.)
Shoe shopping also has a more personal meaning to me than just buying the cutest footwear in the market.
After living through the trials my Shalebug endured, and the hell his own f
A Woman’s Need
2007-06-11 10:25:21
My husband has been gone for three weeks now. Three long weeks of me being alone, with out any other parental support to keep from hanging my children by their toes from the ceiling fan and turning it on high. Three weeks of having to take out the trash by myself or bitch at the kids to do it. Three weeks of watching my lawn slowly morph into a hay field because of my brilliant idea to ignore my better half’s advice and buy a push mower.
I always was the brains in this operation. Pipe down out there. It’s hard to think over your snickering.
More importantly, I have spent three weeks alone, in my bed, with only the dog to cuddle with. A dog who sheds, hogs my pillow, catches his claws in my nipple rings and has worse gas than a fat man after eating a smorgasboard of Mexican food.
That is a long time to go with out any, people. No hugs, no kisses, no cuddles, no nothing.
Remind me again why I got married?
Oh yeah. I was pregnant. Oh, and I love him. Right. The benefits of bei
Pass the Puns, Please
2007-06-10 11:41:45
It’s raining here. A depressing cold, quiet drizzle made to seem worse by the shivering of the trees surrounding my house. This means I’m stuck inside with two kids who are bound to get cabin fever before noon and a dog who is too much of a princess to get his paws wet to go outside to take a leak.
Which means I will be standing outside with him, getting my own damn skin wet while I whine, er, try to convince and encourage him to take a dump on my lawn. (And no, I can’t send the kids because my darling mutt only listens to me. Dumb dog.)
In light of this, I need the best damn cheese I can find to get through what is bound to be a long, wet, cold day.
However, I was only able to come up with some bargain-basement cheese, the type you have to scrape the mold off before you can eat it. Yum, moldy cheese. A magical cure for everything.
I really am a generous soul. Enjoy le bleu fromage!
John decided life would be much easier if he had a clone. So he had one made and
Read more: Please
In the Eye (or Toes) of the Beholder
2007-06-14 11:12:32
Yesterday morning started off like every other morning for me. Fric and Frac were fighting over who would take the last piece of chicken for lunch; Nixon, the World’s Greatest Dog, Ever. was sitting on my bladder looking at me with hopeful eyes, willing my lazy butt up and into the pantry where we keep the doggy biscuits; and I was taking my leisurely time rolling my ass out of bed starting my day.
Did you know that parenting can be accomplished while trying to gather an extra minute of shut eye? All one has to do is bark orders from underneath the pillow.
“Fric, quit picking on your brother!”
“Frac, don’t forget to pack some vegetables in that lunch!!”
“Let the damn dog out!! He’s bugging me!”
As I was demonstrating this fine parental skill, my darling husband called for our daily bitch fest conversation filled with sweet words of love. We talk about how our night’s went, the weather, and of course, if there are any hotties
Read more: Beholder
All Eyes Forward Please…
2007-06-12 11:09:13
I have a fair complexion. I don’t tan, just freckle in a cute but never sexy way. When I blush, my cheeks go flaming red instantly as well as the tip of my nose. (Which also goes red when I cry, when I drink and when it’s cold outside. Call me Rudolph.)
I spend a lot of money on my skin. Piercing it, scratching indelible ink into it, buying sunscreen and special soaps to protect it. I wouldn’t want to add up the money I have spent on MAC makeup to look pretty or the drugstore lotions I invest in to ward off wrinkles.
Needless to say, my husband works his darling little ass off to pay for the investment I have made in my skin. After all, I’m kinda stuck in my skin, so why not make the most of it?
I am generally very comfortable within my skin. After all, it is a perfect fit. But like everybody else in this world, I had to struggle and grow to finally truly accept my skin, and all it contains. Flaws and all.
I like to think that I have finally become thick-skinne
Read more: Forward
, Please
, hellip
Puppet Master
2007-06-15 10:51:19
I’m finding that as my children grow older, my parental rewards are becoming fewer and farther between. No longer do I get to see their cute round asses streaking from the bath tub (nor do I want to,) no longer is it charming to watch them slumber in peace (unless I enjoy watching butt scratching and mouths hanging agape with drool down their cheeks,) and no longer do they look at me with adoration in their eyes.
No, the only things they like to do with them eyes is roll them at me. Cheeky buggers.
Not that it is a completely rewardless and thankless job. (Shh. I’m enjoying my delusions.) There are perks to being a parent to a preteen. You just have to know how to find them.
On Wednesday, my darling son Frac, forgot his lunch at home. So mid-morning, I received a call from the school.
“Hello?”
“Hi Mom!” says my perky son.
“Hey Frac. Are you okay?” Generally a call from the school means one of two things. He’s in the principal&rsquo
Read more: Master
Pimp Limp
2007-06-20 10:54:15
Yesterday, as my husband and I were tackling our mountain of yard work (read: he was sweating and busting his ass, while I was sipping lemonade in the shade pointing out all the work that needed to be done and gently prodding him to work quicker–he loves that. He thrives under pressure,) he noticed that Nixon, the World’s Greatest Dog, Ever. was limping.
“You haven’t taken him to the vet yet?” he asked somewhat snotty and incredulous.
“No. I. Haven’t.” I responded with my Back-The-Fuck-Off-Bitch voice.
“Why not? He’s been limping for months now. What kind of doggie mother are you?”
“The kind of doggie mother who actually has a life and has been busy, asshat. Watch what you’re doing over there. You missed a spot.” (Note how I deflected the attention from myself by criticizing his craftmanship.)
He stops painting the deck, places both hands on his hips and sneers, “BI-ZEE? Doing what? It’s no
Birds of a Feather
2007-06-18 10:56:03
Yesterday morning, after fulfilling my marital obligations (snicker) I was looking for something to surprise my husband with. Like the good wife I am, I had scheduled a tee time for my husband and his best friend (the one with the girlie name) to go, drink beers and pretend they were manly men. However, Mother Nature had different ideas, and opened the skies with a deluge of rain.
I could have got on my knees for him, but I was feeling too lazy. I was looking for more of an interactive activity. One that didn’t involve lock jaw and sore joints. And maybe one that my kids could participate in.
So after I made my family and the man with the girlie name a kick ass breakfast (one of the few items I can cook without worry of burning or subjecting anyone to food poisoning) I sat down and started scratching my head.
What to do, what to do…Then it hit me. The birds were starting to chirp, and the clouds had started to part. Too wet to golf, but other than that, it was a lovely day
Read more: Birds
Graduation Day
2007-06-22 10:19:01
Shalebug would have graduated today. Sure, it would have just been a kindergarten graduation ceremony, but to me (and likely all the other parents involved) it would have meant much more than that.
It would have been a reward to us parents for putting in our time, paying our kindergarten dues. Suffering through endless hours of trying to teach your child to tie his/her shoes, learn to write his/her name, learn how to read.
It would have been a reward for time spent as the class-mom, helping kids use scissors correctly and not amputating a digit while trying to cut out turkey shapes and pink cardboard hearts.
It would have been our reward for tying shoelaces, telling kids not to run in the halls, get your fingers out of your nose, and no, girls don’t have cooties. (After all, everyone knows cooties comes with age, and poor hygiene.)
It’s our reward for being snack mom/dad through out the year; for remembering to slice up those apples and even for that time when you forgo
I’ll Bend Over, You Spank Me
2007-06-28 09:01:21
I am a bad bloggy mommy. I use you, abuse you and then leave without even a note or a couple of torn dollar bills placed casually on the bed table. Shame on me.
Have no fear. I have not developed a mysterious and deadly disease, rendering me helpless and too ill to fire up the ole computer. Nor has my trusty lifeline (also known as my Mac) deserted me and left me without any connection to my blogging world.
Nope.
The last post I wrote just really kicked my ass. Add to that, I have been pretending to be mom of the year at two different schools (Fric and Frac have been temporarily separated this year. I’m looking forward to reuniting them this September and having the same lunch and dismissal times once more.) I have been running my dimpled, pasty white ass off, all for the chance to eat boiled weiners and dixie cup ice cream with my kids and their classmates this week.
Life is short. Even more so after being a track meet mom and a mini games mom. (Who ever decided to put me in ch
The Sweet Tweets of Life
2007-07-01 11:14:49
Growing up in the city, my parents allowed us to have a whole menagerie of pets to love. We had dogs (a lovely pair of basset hounds named Yardley and Bentley), cats (how I miss my Olly cat), fish (my goldfish lived for four years until my lovely dumbass brother fed him cornflakes), gerbils and a guinea pig named Beaver, a passel of rabbits and of course, birds. We had all of these animals at one time.
(I never realized how patient my mom really was until I just typed out the previous sentence. I would have lost my mind.)
Recently, I was sitting in my living room, listening to the soft snuffles of Nixon, the World’s Greatest Dog, Ever. softly snoring and I was struck with how quiet my house, and my life was. It never used to be this quiet. It was filled with the noise my youngest son would make when Fric and Frac were off at school.
The silence was deafening and it began to hurt my heart. I need noise to thrive. Must be my city roots where the whine of the sirens were like birds
Read more: Sweet
A Little Poke
2007-07-04 13:47:10
I love my husband very much. Why else would I choose to stay shackled to him, his smelly armpits, his inability to put dirty socks in the hamper and his fondness of dutch ovens?
(Besides the fact that he’s also handsome, kind, loving and a major breadwinner who doesn’t mind the fact that I sit at home, spend his money and then whine to him through all hours of the day.)
I’m no dummy. I know when I’ve got it good. And I’ve got it very, very, good.
(I’m not just saying this since my home, neighbourhood and very airspace will be invaded by his side of the family this weekend for their very large family reunion. Promise. Pinky swear.)
There is one thing that bugs me about my darling husband. The fact that he likes to tease, poke, bug and generally get under my skin. He can aggravate me like no other. For years I have suffered at his merciless teasing, while searching for a way to piss him off strike back.
I’ve wandered aimlessly around this deser
Ass Kissing at it’s Finest
2007-07-02 09:55:25
As the mother to two preteens, I make very sure to guard my children’s fragile self-esteem. I want them to be able to worry about boys and girls and grades and life in general, with out having to worry if they look fat or ugly or odd. (As we all know, the gawkiness of a growth spurt will soon transform them into hideous gangly creatures, complete with the odd pimple and cracking voice, but why let them in on that secret…)
It’s my job as their mother to foster a love for themselves and nurture a high self esteem (without turning them into vain ego-maniacs.) I find it’s rather easy. They just rob from my self-esteem and transfer it to themselves.
(Mom, are your boobs supposed to be hangy like that?)
(Mom, old people can’t run in track and field. It would hurt them. I brought you a chair.)
(Mom, you’re really old. 31 is old. You’re not near as young as Joan’s mom. She’s 25.) Yah. Not every mom is lucky to have a kid at 14. Cut me some
Read more: Kissing
Animal House
2007-07-06 11:04:13
With summer vacation upon us, one would think that I would be able to get some much needed shut eye. After all, I don’t have to rush the kids anywhere, there are no classes to attend, nothing but two months of leisure stretching out before us.
That’s the theory, anyways. Tell it to the birds. Specifically, Abe and Lester. Who haven’t learned to keep their big beaks shut at 7 in the morning.
Meet Abe and Lester. Or more affectionately, “The Fucking Birds.”
(And yes, I did cover their cage. The fackers don’t care. They just chirp away…)
Generally, I wake up to Nixon snoring in one ear and if I’m really lucky, my husband snoring in the other. However, this morning I woke up to something new. Something worse.
A bird, specifically Lester, pulling my hair out of my head, while Nixon snuffed softly in my ear.
The little facker escaped his cage. I thought the hand of God himself, had reached down to yank at my scalp. And then I woke up. I don
Read more: Animal
, House
Fight or Flight
2007-07-12 11:16:58
I’m living a mother’s dream this week. My children are off at summer camp; my husband off at work. That means I am not spending my day folding laundry and listening to the angry screeches of two children argue over whether the sky is blue and I’m not spending my nights avoiding “back rubs” and listening to my husband whine over how hard (snicker) done by he is.
It’s just me, my facking birds and my crippled dog.
And man am I bored. The novelty wore off somewhere around the 29th hour. I now find myself wandering around my empty house looking for something to do.
Oh look! There’s a dirty sock under the bed in the back corner! Sweet! That’ll kill a minute while I fish it out…
I’m so bored I even locked my sweet, surgically repaired dog into a small room with the birds. Just to hear the feathers flap.
That plan backfired horribly. I failed to take into account the fact my dog is stoned on pain meds from having his leg sliced o
Read more: Flight
Survival of the Fittest
2007-07-10 11:44:11
They say nothing in life is free. That includes the lazy dog days of summer. Sure, we have months of glorious sunshine and warm heat to curl our toes in the grass or sand, but like everything else, there is a price to be paid for this sweet luxury.
For some, it’s the cost of an air conditioner. For others, it’s endless summer camps for kids and the hunt for cheap childcare. And for a few, it is the simple price of getting tortured at the local spa to have their hair ripped violently out by it’s roots all in the name of vanity.
For me, summer and it’s splendor had a higher price tag. A family reunion. With the inlaws. While my husband was off chasing hot asian chicks and bringing home the bacon.
That’s right. I just spent three days with Boo’s entire family. From sun up to way past sundown. Side by side with the people my husband holds dearest. People I haven’t seen since the last family reunion, two months before Bug died. Sure, most of them w
That Squishy Feeling
2007-07-16 10:32:18
Ever have one of those mornings when you have somewhere to be and you wake up late, get soap in your eyes, cut yourself shaving, gag while brushing your teeth and the dog pukes on the floor while you are drying your hair and you don’t notice and then step directly into warm, sticky bile?
Welcome to my world.
I’m still wiping the puke out from between my toes. Yummy.
As always in my world, I am brimming with blogging ideas and I have no time to write them. By the time I sit my ass down to this computer later today I just know that I won’t remember any of the quirky ideas that are bouncing inside my brain right this minute.
(I know, I know, this is a piss poor excuse for a post. If you want some good reading go read yesterday’s post. I’m not linking to it cuz it’s easier if you just scroll down…)
I want to let you know that my good buddy R, formerly known as CrankMama has reinvented herself. She is now known as Redsy and if you haven’t h
Read more: Feeling
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