Stats

We went to Sadie’s 4-month check-up on Friday, and someone would like to take this opportunity to express her argument against immunizations:

*Sniff*

OK, I Lied. Some Of It Is Hard.

Sometimes I worry that I give the impression on this blog that I think having a baby is just the easiest thing in the world, and gee, my life has pretty much been able to chug along as normal since they sent me home from the hospital with a tiny, incontinent bald woman who makes inappropriate advances towards my chest with alarming regularity.

MY EYES ARE UP HERE, Sadie.

Go Away!

Over to kdiddy’s site, specifically, because I have a guest post there today. No, really! Of course, I imagine she didn’t expect to have a post containing the phrase “rectal bleeding” on her blog, but hey, these are the surprises that keep life interesting.

Also interesting: THIS ALBUM COVER, which is what I found when I did a Creative Commons search for “welcome” images (I was going to make a joke about wearing out my welcome as a guest poster but who the fuck cares about THAT, because LOOK AT THOSE CREEPY MOTHERFUCKERS, THEIR FACES FRAMED IN A SUSPICIOUSLY VAGINAL FASHION).

(Like, seriously, what if the gynecologist looked up there and saw THAT during my annual exam? Wouldn’t that be…kind of awesome?)

Anyway. Go read! And then come back here and tell me what I should do about the friend request I got on Facebook from the woman whose kids I used to babysit, because I really don’t want to friend her and let her see all the dirty words I use on Facebook (I don’t want her thinking she used to PAY to leave her precious children with a sick-minded nutjob, although she totally did), but I feel rude ignoring her, especially because she sent me a message telling me how beautiful Sadie (my profile image) is. I mean, I’m a SUPER asshole if I ignore her now, right?

(Speaking of assholes, we have now come full circle [hee] with the rectal bleeding. GO READ!)

“Who’s That Whore On The Bar?”

So. Bachelorette parties. It seems I had a few. And by “a few,” I mean “somewhere around ten,” because the year I got married, my awesome friends just could not stop throwing me parties. Also, my impending marriage was a great excuse for us all to, you know, GET KNEE-WALKING DRUNK.

May you ask that God be present in this most holiest of unions. Also, may He bring some Jello shooters.

100 Things, Two Announcements, And One Big-Ass Coincidence

So, the other day I was catching up on my blog-reading, as I’d fallen pretty far behind for some reason. I can’t really remember why, though…

Oh yeah. That’s right.

Da Plane! Da Plane!

Or, as I was screaming at 5:45 this morning, “Da poop! Da poop!” because SOMEONE in our household took it upon herself to POOP UP HER BACK ALL THE WAY TO HER SHOULDERS this morning, ruining so many articles of clothing and various other linens/coverings that I considering just burning the whole damn house down instead of cleaning it all.  So, Internet! If any of you have those rebellious teenagers I always see on Maury who are all “I want to have a baby and I don’t care if I’m 14!” please send them over to this paragraph so that I may remind them that CONDOMS ARE YOUR FRIEND unless you are really, truly ready to deal with a Shoulder Poop at 5:45am.

(Which, as it turns out, I am. But only because girlfriend is so fucking cute.)

Out and About

Or “oot and aboot,” as I am fond of saying in an exaggerated Canadian accent, and I apologize if that is offensive to my Canadian readers, but you have to understand that I lived half my life in West BY GOD Virginia and am therefore entitled to make fun of someone else’s culture for a damn change.

Um, WOW. This is what came up when I did an image search for “hillbilly,” and…just WOW. Is this for real? Why am I positive that everyone in this picture smells like dandruff and old soup? And why are they standing in front of my grandmother’s dining room curtains?

Nostalgia

…rhymes with “neuralgia,” which my grandmother had when I was little, so I used to hear that word a lot and now I always, ALWAYS think of “neuralgia” whenever someone says “nostalgia.”

That was possibly one of the most boring things I’ve ever shared. Do not read my blog before driving or operating heavy machinery.

Growing and Being

That was the name of the sex ed portion of health class in 5th grade, and I’ve never forgotten it – mostly because it’s so vague and weird and touchy-feely-1970s that it always made me feel much ookier than just learning what a damn nocturnal emission is already. And there was an equally ooky and 1970s-grainy filmstrip (remember filmstrips? I am old) that went along with it.

“Let’s talk about down-there hair.”

Ignorance Is Bliss

Yes, Internet, we all survived our first day of daycare.

And then we came home and had RICE CEREAL. BIG TIMES, y’all!