Inside the mind of America’s (raunchy, foul mouthed, overly opinionated, sexually aggressive, incredibly offensive, fly by the minute, ridiculously absurd, often times erratic, psychologically questionable) Sweetheart.

I’m Not Buyin’ It. January 31, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 9:39 pm

In the last few years I have noticed a new trend in television commercials… I’m sure you all know the ones I’m talking about… the ones that depict diseases as cartoon characters that have moved into your body. There are two of them that I keep seeing all the time that gross me out.

The fist one is the one that shows fungus living under your toenail, the toenail itself sort of a trap door into it’s home. I know that the commercial is trying to sell me some kind of anti fungus medication, but really. Toenail fungus as an adorable little character?

The other commercial is far more irritating to me as it portrays phlem as this disgusting old man who lives in your lung complete with furniture. And… they have gievn him a child. So, single father Phlem is all kinds of excited to be enjoying his new digs and then someone pops a Mucinex or whatever and coughs him up.


In one of these commercials, Old Man Phlem is last seen sitting on some guys dresser lamenting his eviction from his dream home. I don’t understand why anyone would cough up a loogie and stick it on their dresser. This is all beyond me. You’d think he’d be bitching from the confines of a crumpled tissue deep at the bottom of a trash can or something… not from atop the dresser.

Cartoon characters being used in commercials isn’t all bad. There’s the Geico lizard who, personally, I think is sexy. Dean gives me a very hard time for this, but for cryin’ out loud… he has a cockny accent and I can’t get enough of it.

He’s so damned cute.

Mr. Clean is pretty hot, too. Just the idea of some muscle bound guy scrubbing my floors is enough to do me in. Why can’t that really happen???

Just look at him sitting there all confident that he alone can remove that stain. Grrr.

Then there are the other strange commercials out there that always have me either in hysterics or staring at the tv in disbelief. These commercials don’t use cute, colorful cartoon characters to sell their products, but extremely unrealistic ideas and bizarre TMI type of information.

I, of course, am talking about the dreaded medicine commercials. You know… the ones you should “talk to your doctor” about.

I have a few different favorites in this category. The first is any commercial that talks about the medicine and explains what it treats and then discusses the side effects. The side effects are usually ridiculous and I cannot believe they put them in the commercial instead of just telling you to talk to your doctor about them. Some of the worst side effects I’ve heard include any type of “discharge”, oily flatulance (!) and death.

Oily flatulance is my favorite by a landslide. Like hell am I going to take any kind of medication that lists butt leakage as a side effect. I don’t care if it cures cancer. Leaking out of your ass itself is something to be concerned about. Let’s find a cure for that.

Then there are the commercials that go on and on about a certain medication only they never tell you what the hell is treats. It’s sort of like saying, “This medicine exists… ask your doctor what it’s for and if you might need it.” And then I dare you to actually ask your doctor.

“Doctor… I saw a television commercial the other day that mentioned this medication and I was wondering if I might benefit from taking it.”

“Well, Stanley… this particular medication is used to treat Siminifrious Tubloidial Buttnoids… and, in fact… you DO need it!”

“Oh, Doctor, I’m so glad I asked! That burning in my rectum is something I’ve been concerned with. Thank god I saw that commercial and will now get some relief!”

Side effects of this medication include burning and itching around the rectal area. oily flatulance and in rare cases, death.

What the hell is that??? Have you noticed this? You’ll see a commercial for some sleeping pill and then it will state some of the side effects like “restlesness”, “wakefulness”, and “an inability to sleep”. Then, what on earth am I taking it for??? I wanna sleep, goddamn it, not be up all night polishing my silver!

And then there are the commercials for sexually transmitted diseases.

Oh, yes. You know the ones.

In these commercials you find two upper class people casually discussing how having herpes doesn’t have to ruin your life. They are typically found riding bikes or walking on the beach with their golden retreiver and neither one of them seems to have an issue that the other gave them a sexually transmitted disease. You see, they have learned to control their outbreaks.


Those people do not have herpes. They probably don’t have sex.

“Honey, I have something to tell you. I have genital herpes. But don’t worry. Although you probably have it now, too, it can be treated with Valtrex and the outbreaks can be managed. “

“It’s okay, sweetheart. What’s a little herpes when we have each other?”


Here is how that conversation would go down in MY house:

“Honey, I have something to tell you. I have genital herpes. But don’t worry. Although you probably have it now, too, it can be treated with Valtrex and the outbreaks can be managed.”

“Oh, yeah? C’mon over here a minute so I can kick your ass one good time before I divorce the shit out of you. You better hope to GOD I do not have fucking genital herpes… manging the outbreaks, my ass. I’ll show you managing a fucking outbreak.”

And then after one good pummeling where I will be careful not to touch a herpe, I’d be packing up his shit and moving it onto the goddamned porch.

I wish these commercials would be just a little more realistic:

“Yeah, I was bangin’ too many hoes and one of them triflin’ bitches done gave me the herpes. This is some crazy shit! I’m gonna have this shit for the rest of my life! I will never again be able to have casual sex with anyone I want and who in the hell is gonna get with me now that I have fucking herpes? Sure, I can take some Valtrex and maybe the burning will stop for a while, but it ain’t gonna get me laid!”

That’s right, buddy. You’re screwed.

See? This is why I keep my sexual behavior limited to Mr. Clean and the Geico lizard.They’re safe.

“Have you recently contracted an imaginary STD from an imaginary lover? If so… Velicor can help! Talk to your doctor today about Velicor… side efects include imaginary restlessness, imaginary burning of the rectum, imaginary oily flatulance and in rare circumstances, imaginary death. Velicor! It cures what is probably not ailing you!”

Then again… so might some Lithium.


Supergirl January 30, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 12:02 am

Sometimes when I’m in the bathroom or tidying up I’ll sing a song and almost every time I do she comes running up from out of nowhere and clamps her hand over my mouth shouting, “Mommy, stop it!” Sometimes I give her a wounded look, like she has just shattered my heart and other times I know that she sees the corners of my mouth poking upwards from behind her tiny hand and at those times, she claps and laughs and tells me once again, “Stop it, Mommy. Just stop it.” But those moments where I put on my sad face and my lower lip pouts out, she looks me in the eyes always for just a split second before throwing her arms around me and squeezing me tightly… she chooses her words carefully:

“You don’t have to stop it. I sing with you!”

And then off into her rendition of The Itsy Bitsy Spider complete with choreography and ending with a burst of applause. She is pleased with her self.

And all of this takes place center stage with me sitting on the toilet and her dancing around, wrapping herself in the shower curtain smiling because she is center stage and that is how it should be. Mommy is just the understudy there to slowly prompt her words when she forgets, remind her of exactly how the spider climbs back up the waterspout and what it looks like when the sun shines down and dries up all that pesky rain.

There are some times when the world is crashing down around me and I am off writing one of my sad, frantic emails to a friend and then there she is. I know that I probably feel no different than any other mother feels for her child, but for some reason for me it is like some profound magic that takes place between us about a hundred times a day. The boys are here, making me laugh, moving me to tears and impressing me in endless ways and my god… I love them so much. But there is something there between and mother and daughter that is just there with no explanation and although she is not so different than the boys it is she who snaps me out of my desperate moments and back into the land behind her eyes where everything is possible and nothing hurts.

That is all it is, really. A look, two small hands that reach out and heal like medicine and sometimes, I feel as though she is the strong mother and I am the scared child. There is not an emotion out there that she does not cause me to feel every single day.

Right now, at this very moment, she has gone into the bathroom and rooted around in the things she is not supposed to root around in. She emerges first with a toothbrush, scrubbing away at her little teeth. I know what this means for me. Just seeing her standing here with the toothbrush means that there is toothpaste all over the walls like she has tried to leave messages to the future people by way of scribbled drawings in a language so wise that I cannot read it. I hear her opening up the drawer that has all of her millions of hair barettes and rubber bands and I know what that means, too.

She comes out of the bathroom and is standing in the hallway where I see her staring into her hand at the treasure she has found: a very large, glittery hair clip. Like a racoon she stares mesmerized by this thing and I watch her as she turns it around in her hand and contemplates it and I know I could very well ask her what she is thinking about but I shouldn’t because I know I could never understand. When she’s ready to share her discovery, she comes running up to me and holds it out and says, “Mommy, look-a!” and I smile at her and let her see that I am also excited about what she has found. Then, and this is where she shows me just how much I mean to her, she holds it out and gives it to me and says, “Here… you can have it.” and I take it from her and give her a hug before she runs off to yell at the boys for making a racket in the back room. I’m sitting here with the hair clip, noting that it is the same one Owen got stuck on his penis a couple of weeks ago and thanking god she is a girl and has no penis to clamp this monster down on. It weighs, like, three pounds.

Maybe I should just get rid of it. I’m sure she will think of something to stick it on. Hmmm.

It’s crazy to look at someone so small and know that they are going to achieve greatness one day. That’s her all right. Someone so small should not be able to tell me as she does, “It’s okay… the world is bullshit but people will figure it out and we will all change what needs changing and we will all fight and it will be okay.” I should be saying those words to her but instead, they ooze out of her from a place inside she doesn’t even know exists yet. She comforts me without knowing it and she does so by seeing that I’m sad or scared and by being that person who is here and pulling me in for a hug. She knows just the moment where I start to feel guilty for making her feel she has to do that and she distracts me from any and all negative feelings by doing something so outrageous that I laugh until tears pour out of my eyes. Either one is just fine with me… hugs and laughter: A perfect combination to fix the blues and she has it down pat.

Soon, Daddy will be home from work and she will hear the door and come streaking through the house to fling herself at him and I will stand over here and watch and wonder just how horrible it would be for him if he’d said goodbye to that and how he would have spent eternity wishing like hell he could just come back, just one time for one of her hugs, that smile that kills him, the songs she sings to herself before bursting into applause. She cures me every day of what’s hurting me and I pray that she is doing that for him, too. I hope that being a man hasn’t retarded him enough to miss the message she is sending him: “I am a prize!! I am enough to want to live forever! Look at me and then try telling me that life is too hard. What problem is so big we can’t just sing it away??” Those are the words I hear her say even when she is not saying them outloud and if I’m not the woman that can cause him to wake up every morning happy to be alive and wanting to have a thousand mornings alive and happy… I hope that she is. I hope that she really can do what I can’t.

She is the one who will change it all. She will do easily what I have tried to do for my entire life. You cannot look into her eyes and not find an old soul in there.

That’s Olivia. I am just lucky enough to call her mine.


Shit, Bitch… You is Fine! January 26, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 8:17 pm

I’ve had this enormous urge lately to have female friends and do female friend stuff. Examples of this type of stuff is going to the mall and actually being that person who buys things and has bags to prove it, going to have our nails done… out to lunch.. that kind of shit.

I was just sitting here talking to a friend and confessed something to her that I will confess publicly to you all now:

I am so desperate to feel like I have a social life that I am now putting on makeup and high heels just to sit around my house. Sometimes I even do my hair.

So, picture this: Here I am in the house with my gigantic green sweat pants and my ratty old gray t shirt, sparkly faux diamond high heels… and I’m applying eyeliner TO MATCH the green in my sweatpants. I feel that to assist you in further understanding this scene I should describe to you just the horrid condition of said sweats and t shirt. The pants are huge. I’m swimming in them even when tied up around the waist. So, they sort of hang there with my butt kind of halfway sticking out. I use these pants to clean in and also to paint in so they are covered in bleach spots and bits of paint that will never come out. The t shirt has evidence of child on it…. grease, something that might be snot… who even knows. It has a logo on the front of it that for the most part has disintegrated from it’s many washings. Add this fine ensemble to the fancy shoes and the makeup and, boy am I a heartbreaker.

I want to go out somewhere sooo badly. I want a reason to get all dolled up and need to wear makeup. But there is nowhere to go. I am now dolling myself up to go to the gas station. It’s pathetic.

Oh, and I haven’t shaved my legs in, like, a month. Gross.

So, I’m hairy and in nasty old clothes but my eyes look fantastic if not a tad whore-ish.

Sometimes I sit around watching old, annoying episodes of Sex and the City wishing that I had friends like that and then wondering what the hell is wrong with those women to begin with and what is wrong with me for wanting to hang out with them. They sit around and half insult each other but have this unbelievable freedom to do whatever they want. I think it is so strange that they make it acceptable to be big, fat sluts. Every single episode, they are having some sex with a different person and it seems acceptable, even fashionable. And they aren’t sleeping with people they know, either, but random men they pick up in bars or at museums, gyms, gallery events, PR campaigns… etc. They live in New York city, have slept with half of New York city and buy extremely expensive shoes that they run up and down Manhatten in.

Why is this appealing? I wonder how many sluts there are out there who are sluts due to the inspiration of the sluts on Sex and the City.

Minus the sex, I envy their lives. I envy the freedom they seem to have and all the interesting things they seem to do each and every episode where they are actually doing something instead of someone. I envy the fact that these single women can afford to have an apartment in the city and buy $800 Manolo Blahniks and I envy the bars and clubs and restaraunts they go into all of them with weird names and “lists” that their names are always on. And yet these women are always bitching about their lives and how they are unable to find a decent man and keep them. That’s just retarded. I want to reach into my television and smack them with their many dildos, scream at them that if they might stop searching for love deep within the inseam of a man’s trousers then they just might actually meet someone, have a conversation with them and get to know something other than his penis size.


All this from a woman in sweatpants and mascara who fantasizes about cartoon characters. But that’s a whole ‘nother blog.

I’m going to end this with a quote from my favorite myspace comment ever sent to me. My friend James left me a comment once of a little, brown teddy bear holding a big, red heart. On the heart it said, “Shit, bitch… you is fine.”

Oh, if you could see me now.


A Lack of Anything Better To Do

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 2:04 am

I am literally writing this blog because there is nothing better to do until the oven preheats and then dinner is to be made.

I’m pathewtic because tonight I am excited about dinner…. it’s all about comfort foods that are terrible for you. I’m making my mama’s meatloaf and my famous Hash brown casserole. It annoys me that it’s called hashbrown casserole because it doesn’t look anything like hashbrowns. But, good god, it’s delicious and although I am not looking forward to the time I may spend on the toilet in the middle of the night, it’s worth it. Some foods are just worth knowing you might shit your brains out later. But I digress.

I was all hyped up and set to write a blog earlier today after my sources on current events updated me on the fact that it has been proven that our dear president did not actually win this last election or the one before it. The radio is abuzz with reports that two people have been convicted in a court of law for stealing votes in Ohio and switching them from Kerry to Bush. With the recount, Kerry won that election, so far, by about 2,000 votes. I’m loving it. And this is not just some babble. People actually went to jail for this. I’m delighted.

I’m going to change the subject because I know that just having written this past paragraph has just guaranteed that no one will leave a comment. Damn me.

On a different note, Matt had his Martin Luther King Jr. play today and I didn’t streak it. I showcased some serious self control and sat there like a good mom half tearing up at my kid on the stage and half trying not to fall out of my chair with laughter over the kid who played MLK Jr. I swear to god, and I’m not making this up, he sounded EXACTLY like Arnold Schwartzeneggar. You could hardly understand a thing he said. I’m amused by this because these kids had to audition for this play and who in the hell gave this kid the lead if he can hardly talk??? It was hysterical.

Dean-o and I had a talk with the principal about Matt’s situation at school with the kids calling him Gaylord and faggot. The accused were brought in and questioned and fessed up to their horrid little crimes although they all tried to place the origin of blame on one another. We also discussed Matt’s teacher and have arranged for a meeting between the four of us. I simply “can’t wait”.

I have arranged for Matt’s friend, Scott and his younger brother, Sean to come and stay the night with us on Saturday night and to go with us to hockey on Sunday. I’m looking forward to the kids getting to have some fun and for Scott’s mom to get a night to herself. It’ll be fun to have the house full of happy children, watching movies, eating popcorn and playing video games.

Today Olivia electrecuted herself when she took my $20 tweezers and jammed them in the electrical outlet. I’ve been wondering when she was going to do this. Maybe it’s just my kids, but they seem to be drawn to sticking shit in there even when you have those little,plastic safety thingies in them. My kids just pull them out and insert whatever metal thing they can find that will fit.

Isn’t that strange??? I’ve never seen a kid try to jam something small and plastic in there. It’s like they NEED to make it metal, have to experience the rush of singing off their fingertips. I wonder if there is some kind of child legend or something or possibly a well known rite of passage. “You’re not a kid until you’ve jammed a butter knife into the outlet!”

Olivia’s was a minor burn. Matthew had a nasty one when he was a young lad and that was sort of an accident. He had a nickel in his hand and went to pull out the plug that was in there, dropped the nickel onto the prongs while they were still halfway in the wall and caused an explosion. The nickel melted to the prongs and turned blue and the wall had a burn mark all the way up it.

Okay, the oven is preheated…. I have to go.


So The Saying Goes. January 24, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 9:36 pm

Kids will be kids, as they like to say. You can hear shoulders shrug, arms throw themselves up in the air, that wierd sort of half smile that almost always goes along with it…. Kids will be kids!

But when is it no longer kids being kids and that line is crossed where they are no longer kids at all, but very small assholes? This is on my mind a lot lately, more and more as Matthew crawls his way through elementary school. I remember elementary school…. kids may have been teased for weird stuff, but nothing like I’m seeing now. The worst of the worst in my day was the ridicule a girl might get if she accidentally tucked her skirt into her underwear or if some kid got caught eating his boogers.

When Matt was in kindergarden he had this kid bullying him. Some huge kid who beat him up and called him names. I complained to the school about it many times but it never stopped. Then one day, I decided that I’d just handle it myself and caught the kid on the playground before school. I got down to his level and very calmly looked him in the face and informed him that if he ever touched my kid again I would tear him limb from limb. “Do you understand me?”, I asked sweetly. He nodded. Then, I stood up, smiled and patted him on the head before walking off.

The next day, they were best of buddies and never was there a complaint again.

But gone are the days when Matt needs a mommy to fight his battles for him. Now, he must learn to stand up and do it for himself and mom and dad will stand behind him.

The kids these days have taken it to a whole new level. They use friendship itself as a bargaining chip, a weapon of sorts… a way to get what they want. For example: “If you don’t let me win then I won’t be your friend anymore.” or even more manipulative than that: “Fine… then I’m just going to go play with Johnathan and he hates you.” Kids are bastards these days. Not only do they manipulate each other but they have just gotten downright mean.

Let me explain Matthew’s school year so far. He takes the schoolbus for the first year of school and at the schoolbus is the kid who lives below us, some little shit named Cameron who is in the fifth grade, three years older than Matt in the second. At first, the boys teased and played like the little savages they are, or at least so I thought. They chased each other around and knocked each other down. But now, this has gone into a whole different type of “play” and I don’t like it one bit.

One day, Matthew came home crying because Cameron ran ahead of him and into his house where he got a baseball bat. When Matt started up the stairs to our house, Cameron came and chased him up the stairs with the baseball bat. This was phase one. After that came a whole lot of pushing and threatening to kick Matt’s ass.

Phase two saw Cameron begin accusing Matthew of being gay and calling him a faggot. Matt came to me and asked me, “Mom, what’s a faggot?” I explained to him that this is an incredibly nasty term for someone who is gay, falls in love with or has relationships romantically with someone of the same sex. He told me that Cameron has instructed all of the kids at the bus stop to call him Gaylord or faggot and so they do. I told Matt that Cameron is ignorant and asked him if he wouldn’t like someone, say, if they had green eyes. Matt said, “Why would I not like someone for having green eyes? That’s stupid. It’s not their fault that they have green eyes and what does the color of their eyes matter to me anyway?”


Then, Monday happened and please tell me if I have this all wrong here. I get a phone call from Matt’s teacher who cheerfully says that Matthew has something he needs to tell me, that he “can’t wait” to tell me about the morning he’d had. She puts Matt on the phone and Matt goes into this story about how some kid named Blaine was picking on Matt’s best friend, Scott telling him that he was dirty and that he and his whole family were trash. Matthew, to defend his friend, reached out and hit the kid in the face. Matt gets a call home and Blaine gets…. nothing?

So, Matthew is telling me what happened and he says to me that Scott and Blaine were fighting. At this point, the teacher is in the background demanding that Matt not lie to me and to tell me what really happened. So, Matt rewords his story and tells me that the boys were arguing and being mean to each other. I go on a speech about how he shouldn’t hit people and then explain to him other ways he could have helped his friend in that situation. Then, I ask to speak with the teacher again.

She gets on the phone with me and the first thing she says to me is that she wants to make sure I understand that Matt was lying and that the boys were not “fighting”… she had seen the whole thing. My response to her was this:

“Mrs. _______, My son is not used to seeing physical violence and does not see that as fighting. When people are yelling at each other or calling each other nasty names, to him… that is fighting. He was not lying to me about what he saw. The boys were fighting. I’m not sure why you are trying to convince me that he has said the wrong thing to me or why you are making sure that he looks worse.”

She cuts me off to say that he needs new shoelaces, his shoes won’t stay tied. We continue this conversation and then hang up.

Later on, I discover that when she handed the receiver to Matthew to speak to me, she put the phone on speakerphone so that she could hear everything I was saying. Not to hear what Matt was saying… she was sitting right next to him… but to hear what I said to my son. She had him speak into the receiver so that I wouldn’t hear the familiar telling signs of being on speakerphone and then when he handed her back the phone to speak with me, she promptly turned the speaker off so he wouldn’t hear what I was saying.

I have two problems with this: The first problem being that she invaded my privacy without even telling me what she was doing. She didn’t say, “Let’s put the phone on speaker and discuss this together, the three of us.”. Nope. She wanted to hear my reaction to Matthew.

My second problem is that from what she said, she stood a few feet away from these kids and listened to Blaine calling Scott trash and insulting his family and did nothing about it. She left these kids to deal with it themselves and then when they did, punished them. Well, Matthew as he was the one who knocked the kid in the face.

I got a note home with Matt stating that he needed to write Blaine an apology. Then, I sat him down and told him two things… 1. Although you shouldn’t hit people, I respect you immensely for sticking up for your friend. I know you get teased a lot and no one sticks up for you and although I have called the school to complain about this abuse they have done nothing to stop it. Good for you for doing what you thought was right. At the very least, Scott knows that he has a friend who would go to bat for him if needed. 2. You do not have to write an apology letter to this kid until he writes an apology to both you and Scott. You reacted poorly after this kid had spent the morning insulting you and your friend, teachers knowing it was going on and doing nothing to stop it themselves. I am sorry that you felt that you needed to succumb to violence to fix the problem. The teachers and principal should have been doing that for you. It is their jobs to make you feel safe and secure at school, not yours and since they have shown you that they are unwilling to do this, then I do not blame you for taking your own action.

What the hell? Faggot? White trash?? Do you have any idea how many times I have tried to address these situations with Matt’s school?? Each and every time it turns into a “I’ll talk to all the kids” situation, but then nothing stops. I know how kids are and I know how their parents are… the kids lie and the parents are in denial. What do you do to fix it???

I’m sick of having to come down on Matt when he gets in trouble when those who are wronging him don’t have to take responsibility. I’m sick of getting the list of what he’s done wrong when the ones who are hurting him continue to do so. What am I supposed to do to get this stuff to stop??

Yeah, kids will be kids, but I haven’t told you half of it. At this point, this isn’t “childish” behavior. It has quickly evolved into some very adult, very nasty behavior. I’m afraid that when it comes to teacher vs. parent, teacher will always win. Then what? Lawsuit? Bring in the police?

I need some advice, here. I want Matt to learn how to handle his own problems but I need to know how he is to do this and what the best way to support him is. I don’t want him to hit people to get the changes he needs.

Kids will be kids, my arse.


Loki Laufeyjarson

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 6:26 am

I’m feeling a shade restless today. It seems I have pent up naughtiness that is trying to fight it’s way out. So much so that I have contemplated streaking Matthew’s school play on the life of Martin Luther King Jr. that is to be held Thursday.

There is mischief to be made.

The last time I was feeling like this, there was silliness galore. Of course, I refer you to the Great Herpes Ticker of 2005, in which everyone within a fifty mile radius was frantically changing their Yahoo passwords in the hopes that they would not fall victim.

Who’s it gonna be this time?

Will it be the sweet and innocent Kass? The lovely and mature Kayla? Jamie Stearns may be running for cover….. Shannon, you’ve suffered greatly, but have you suffered enough??

And what will it mean, exactly, for he or she who is chosen? Perhaps a well placed personal ad requesting the company of several dwarfin escorts compete with contact information? Or, maybe I’ll go with something more physically effective and arrange for a few bags of horse manure to be poured into the heating components of the home of my choice….. Or, I could keep it simple and use Third Nipple Rumor Force Tactics.

The possibilities are endless.

I’m bored and have waaaay too much time to think and am desperate to find a way to amuse myself. The question is….

Who’s it gonna be???


Dear….Freaks, January 22, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 10:28 pm

Dear Dean,

I just thought I would drop you a line to inform you of some things I feel that you should be made aware of:

1. My nipples are provided to the world as a service. By world, I mean our children, so long as they are under the age of one. I know you think that they are here for your tweaking pleasure, but this is simply not true.

2. Also, the above statement applies to my ass as well. Except that it provides no service to anyone other than myself and whatever it is that I do with my ass is my business. And in no way involves mirrors or Crisco. Unless I’m tanning.

3. Generic rice cakes are not delicious. Not even close. Make it Quaker, or don’t bother. However, I appreciate your efforts.

4. In the kitchen, to the left of the stove, is a cabinet. Inside the cabinet is a trash can. Just in case you weren’t aware.

5. You know… you can buy candy and flowers at almost any gas station these days. I know that the florist can be very out of your way at times and just figured I’d share this little tidbit.

6. Hustler magazine is NOT appropriate bed time story material for the children.

7. Although delicious, chocolate pie is not dinner. Neither is a pound of bologna. Stop letting Owen decide the menu.

Dear Matthew,

1. Please stop calling me “Lord Vader”. It creeps me out.

2. Walking from the kitchen to the bathroom does not require a theme song.

3. Thank you for asking the pizza guy for his phone number to “give to your mom”. I’m glad you’re looking out for me. But I should tell you…. I don’t like red heads.

4. For the last time….you’re NOT the same age as I am. Not even close.

5. What the hell is that smell????

Dear Owen,

1. When learning how to bathe yourself, it is very important that you remember to wash your face BEFORE you wash your butt. I believe you have learned this the hard way.

2. To answer your question, that is an electric back massager.

3. Anything that I am drinking at any given time is beer and you can’t have any.

4. Mommy and Daddy were wrestling… that’s all.

5. You do not have to be afraid of Matthew. He stapled his own penis and this does not mean that he is going to staple yours. I never should have told you that story.

6. Babies cannot be purchased on eBay. We’ve been over this a hundred times. Ask Matt where they come from… he’ll tell you.

Dear Olivia,

1. Peanut butter is not body lotion.

2. Body lotion is not peanut butter.

3. The next step is that we will start duct taping your diapers on. You leave us no choice.

4. The other day when you removed your diaper, peed into a salad bowl and then threw it at me…. that sucked.

5. Thinking about it now, the fact that you smeared peanut butter all over yourself one day and then smeared Jelly all over yourself the next…. that’s kinda smart. But don’t do it again.

6. Stop sticking stuff in there… you’ll get an infection. I’m serious.. cut it out.

That is all. Good day to you. Buh~bye