A Surprisingly Sane Blog

Go to a sex toy shop with your sister and laugh with a gaping mouth at the 12-inch dildo complete with fake veins.

Seriously!  How the hell does it fit, forcryingoutloud?

Holy crap, I birthed two living, breathing human beings bigger than that thing without any painkillers whatsoever, and there is still no way that shit is coming anywhere near me.

*shudders*

No, I’m not telling you what left the store in that opaque black bag with me (or in Kathryn’s for that matter), but I can assure you that it sure as hell wasn’t that monstrosity of a fake porn-star penis.

Ack!

Current Mood: Alarmed

A few stupid kids walk by my house and torment my dogs on their way home from school on a daily basis.  It just never gets old to them.  I mean, how freaking exciting is it to stand in my driveway and hoot and holler like a couple of morons at my dogs?  Sheesh.

Usually, I just glare at them from the dance room or kitchen window, but because I clearly have about as much patience as a pregnant woman’s bladder today, I lost all impulse control.

I opened my front door and stood out there with my arms folded for about three minutes before those little shits noticed I was watching them.

When they finally looked my way and sheepishly pretended they were innocent of any puppy-torment, words started flying out my mouth before I could stop them.

Damn diarrhea of the mouth.

“If you don’t leave my dogs alone, I’m gonna let them out.” As I shot them a menacing school-teacher face, of course.

And you gotta understand, these dogs are twice the size of those monsters.  Nevermind the fact that they’re complete pussy cats instead of the mean dinosaurs their bark threatens them to be.

Well, that one-liner got their attention.  The three of them scurried off as if a rattle snake just tried to bite them in the ass.

Tomorrow, if they do it again, I’m opening the gate once and for all.

The only threat my pooches actually pose is that someone might drown under Balou’s loving slobber.   However, the terrified looks on their faces would be well worth it.

Moral of story?  Don’t fuck with a crazy person’s dogs.

Current Mood: Mischievous

It’s not fair…

…that you abandoned your family for a pseudo-reality world.

…when you refuse to get help because you aren’t addicted.

…when you fail to help your adult child who needs it desperately.

…that you expect everyone else to take care of your kid for you.

…how you go out of your way to say things simply because they hurt.

…when you hurt yourself the times that someone calls out your behavior.

…how you expect everyone else to cater to you and your wants no matter what.

…the way you mistake generosity for love.

…that you talk over everyone else and rarely listen in return.

…that you preach consistency, yet you are blind to your own inconsistency.

…the way you refuse to make more friends, but expect us to be there for you constantly.

…when you talk complete shit about people we love and force us to listen.

…that you use manipulative, passive-aggressive behavior to control everyone around you.

…that you mistake your own twisted assumptions for facts.

…how you can’t accept needs of others if they conflict with your own desires.

…when you use guilt as your weapon.

…how controlling you are.

…the way that no one else matters.

…that you have never once apologized.

…

But most of all, it’s not fair that I’ve been so naive and stupid to fall victim to your selfish ways for all these years.

What a fool I’ve been.

It’s not happening anymore.

Current Mood: Angry

So, I’ve got a little ways to go before my body is exactly where I want it, but since there were requests after a recent post, here is an un-retouched photo of, well, my bikini bod.

Now, if I had a celebrity airbrusher who could melt off an extra 10 pounds, make my skin (and the bug bite on my right arm) creamy and smooth, and add a six-pack to my belly… well, then I just *might* be considered a M.I.L.F.

But here I am with a dorky look on my face, belly stretchmarks, and all my other imperfections.

I say that’s a pretty long shot from where I was at the end of my last pregnancy:

Yes, I modeled bare-ass-naked for a photographer when I was about to explode.  I might add that it was *very early* in the morning, however anyone who went out for a morning stroll or drive along that road would have seen my fat, pregnant, swollen self posing nude without a care in the world.  Heh, and there was some poor dude working on the roof of the ranch we were doing the shoot at.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone more careful to not look in my direction.

Hey, I’m proud of my body no matter what it looks like.  What can I say?

And no, they’re not implants.  Those are my milk jugs, thankyouverymuch.  Might as well show ‘em off while I can, right?

Current Mood: Mischievous

She’s okay, don’t worry, but we had to rush our little monster to the emergency room at 10:30 last night.

No, she didn’t break her arm trying to save the world.  There are, luckily, no broken bones.  Just a badly injured wrist, poor girl.

So how did this happen, you ask?

Well, let’s just put it this way… don’t ever swing your kids around by their arms.  You know, that thing that we all do with our little munchkins because they love it and squeal with delight the whole time.

James was playing with Julie last night, and he swung her onto her bed just in time for her wrist to snap in a not-so-good kind of way.  It swelled, she couldn’t move it, and the tears wouldn’t stop spilling, so off to the hospital we went.

Four hours and a few x-rays later, my little curly-haired stinker came trotting out of the triage door in her ballet-slipper socks and pajamas.  Proudly displaying that big ol’ splint on her skinny little arm, of course.

Poor thing.

Someone please send us our shitty parent of the year awards.

Current Mood: Alarmed