My little "China gull"

Kennedy is the only one of my kids that has any idea of what she wants to be for Halloween. She originally chose a devil, but I told her she couldn't be something she already was every day. So, when she saw this costume, she had to have it.

"I want to be a China gull," she told me.



My gull...I mean, girl...looks so sweet here. I've become appreciative of being able to capture innocent moments like this on camera!

Smells like Teen Spirit?

No. It smells like Secret Platinum Jasmine Orient scent.

What's that delightful smell? Why, it's my pits, of course! My new deodorant is awesome. I didn't have a problem with the body odor before, but with this, I can be sure I won't! I do the stretch and reach just to get a whiff of my splendid armpits numerous times a day.

Mmmmmmm.

Hey! Speak Engrish!

"Herro! Weh-come to China Wok! You prace orduh?"

"Um, no, I'm here to pick up an order I called in...for Kim."

"Okay, you buy nudduh egg-row?"

"No, ma'am. Just the General Chicken and the egg roll that comes with it. Thank you."

Her husband comes up and they start speaking to each other and they each giggle a little. I wish I could understand them! I know they're talking about me! Probably saying, "Oh, she thinks she's getting General Chicken, but it's really our neighbor's cat! Ah ha ha ha." Fuckers.

I'm gonna learn the language one day.

That way, when I go get a pedicure and the little Asian women start chattering back and forth about how overdue my feet were for said pedicure; how they need more tools; or how they should raise their prices because of feet like mine, I can tell them, "I know what you just said, Ming-Ling and Mai-Tai! And there went your tip!"

This video fits here:

You're right! I don't like you!

As I lay in bed last night, not able to fall asleep, and not wanting to count sheep because they're too damn noisy, I thought about something Blaine tells me people say about me: "I don't think your wife likes me very much." And they say it quite a bit. And not just the same person, but numerous different people.

The thing is, they're right. Anyone who knows Blaine irl knows that he is a popular guy...especially in the places we frequent. He has people come up to him constantly...someone he made friends with the last time we were out...that he doesn't remember. He'd make friends with the oak tree outside if I'd let him. I am not the same way. I don't like people. Some assume that because Blaine is their friend, that makes me their friend.

Uh-uh.

So when they come up to me with that fake, high pitched, "Ohhhh, it's so nice to meet you...I've heard so much about you...blah blah blah...," I simply say, "Okay."

I don't smile at them. I don't raise my voice three octaves, and say, "It's so nice to meet you, too, like...ohmigosh!" I don't continue on a conversation with them. I simply say, "Okay," and turn the other way. Then they get all butt hurt and go tell Blaine, "I don't think your wife likes me very much." Good. Then my point came across nicely. Because I don't like them. I don't care who they are or what they do or who they're with. I am very selective about who I allow to remain in my life. I say, "remain" because lots of people come into my life, but not everyone gets to remain there.

I have a lot of friends. I love my friends. I even have internet friends....people I've never met, but I love just the same. I make friends easily, I simply don't allow "just anyone" in.

So, to some, I am rude, and I am a bitch. And I don't care.

Flush it!

So, I realize I've been missing from the blogging world for over a month, but I have a valid excuse: I've been busy, dammit. School started, and I've been on stand-by just in case Kennedy unleashes Hell in her Kindergarten class. Blaine was home for an extra week while making the transition into a new job. We had a birthday...my baby turned five. We started Cub Scouts, too.

Anyway, I come back to the blogging world with the topic of "poop."

I just opened the lid to the toilet to find a turd the size of a Dachshund. Seriously. We have one bathroom in this house. And I had to use it...like, bad. But I couldn't. Because there was an anaconda floating in my commode. I retched. Nearly lost last week's lunch.

I knew this did not come from one of my kids. Something this size would have positively sent them to the emergency room. It was the 12 year old neighbor girl who was playing (and evidently shitting) at my house. What the fuck? Who does that kinda shit (no pun intended)?

Four flushes, it took. Four flushes I had to flush because she had left already. And I'm doing the pee-pee dance, trying not to piss myself while gagging.

To think...I really liked that kid. Now, she is on the top of my shit list. Pun intended, that time.