the108

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.

the109 speaks out February 20, 2008

Filed under: Dean-o — the108 @ 11:27 pm

Here I am. I am Dean AKA the109, the husband of the infamous Kyra Sutra and I am here to answer some of your questions about my wife. Some of you left some questions in her comments from yesterday and so I took them and posted them below with my answers.

BOND ASKS:

What is Kyra’s favorite food?

Kyra’s favorite food… Hmm.. Well, the food that Kyra would deem “favorite” changes like the phases of the moon. I think I can, however, pinpoint Kyra’s favorite food “group”. That food group would be the Appetizer Group. Whether it be deep fried cheese or potato skins or jalapeno poppers, more or less anything you would find on an appetizer menu in any major resturaunt you may find yourself in. During Kyra’s pregnacies you could often find me red-eyed and stumbling into the freezer section of a grocery store at 1:30am in search of one of these items to feed to satisfy the craving of the108.

What is her least favorite food?

While I am a Floridian and proud of it, I often partake in clams in various variety’s and I also love oysters in all thier forms, to include, raw on the half shell. This probably revolts my wife more than if she awoke at 2:30am in her bed to me literally shitting in her mouth. Not only can she not stand the stuff but she has some uncanny radar that informs her when it is within a 5 mile radius. I often will arrive home with clam chowder or clam strips or some such item and I will be greeted with, ” Hello darling, keep that pussy away from me.” Yes, she refers to these seafood items as “pussy”.

TUG ASKS:

Dean, is she as funny IRL as she is here? Does she just keep you laughing?

You can rest assured that what you get in the blog of the108 is raw unadulterated Kyra. While she may be moodier in real life if that is possible she can also be the funniest person in any room she is put into. Kyra has a way of doing some pretty absurd shit but as it is her doing it, it seems perfectly normal. She is also really quick and sharp witted. If she comes off as amusing in her blog it is nothing compared to real life. She has a way of wording the things she says in a very matter of fact way that she seems to think is normal but it is actually hilarious and weird. Like when she will call me into her room and announce, “Dean, I’m going to manipulate you, now.” right before requesting something extremely strange. It involves absolutely nothing manipulative and is usually a blunt request for a specific book or a scone or something but she seems to think that outright asking for something is manipulating. That sort of thing is what’s funniest about her. She has a lot of quirks like that. Another funny thing she does that she doesn’t realize is that she feels so guilty about asking me to pour her a cup of coffee or something equally as mundane that she will ask obvious questions in an attempt to get me to offer. An example of this is she will see me walk through the door with a two liter of soda and then immediately ask me, “Babe… do we have any soda?” just so that I might say, “yeah, do you want me to pour you some?”. That is the extent of her great manipulating skills but everytime she asks me for something directly she informs me first of the impending mind game.

I would also like to mention that if ever you were to find my wife as she is a bit overtired, you will think it is the funniest shit ever. This is because the second she gets sleepy she instantly turns into a fucking drunkard. Seriously, you would think she had been tossing them back all night. She laughs out loud for no reason and then cannot stop to the point that I often wonder if I need to take her to the hospital. The laughter is rarely ever provoked by anything so far as I can tell. In addition to her maniacal behavior she slurs her speech and mumbles some seriously absurd shit that makes no sense. To be in her presence when she is tired is probably when I laugh the most.

How do you feel that Kyra & I talk about making out & masturbating side by side when neither of us is gay?

Your homosexuality is not for me to question. However, I would say that a strong arguement could be made that Kyra is at the least Bi-, if not, fully homo- sexual. While I was in school for the Army years ago I recieved the phone call most men would kill for:

“Dear, would you like to have a 3-some with me and Amy?”

Of course, skepical that this was an elaborate trap, I play it cool. “Uh… I guess so. Why?” (For the record, no man in their right mind would ever respond to a threesome offer with “why”?)

“Well I thought that if we were going to do it right for YOU that we might want to get some practice…(insert uncomfortable pause here)…….would you have a problem with that?”

“What? With you practiceing SEX with AMY?”

(MORE UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE) ” Uh… yea.”

“You already had sex with Amy, didn’t you?”

“Uh……..yea.”

– I rest my case. Oh and to answer your question, no, this is the conversation I have come to expect from my wife, lol!

MR. FAB ASKS:

Is Kyra really the insatiable nymphomaniac that she plays on TV?

Please refer to the last answer… I will say, however, that in the literal sense the answer would be no because she is only having sex with her husband (I hope). But if you are using the term “insatiable nymphomaniac” to describe her personality more than her actions then my answer would have to be yes… my wife’s mind lives perpetually in the gutter. I should also add to this that it is in the gutter in the most entertaining of ways.

And, she is phenominal in the sack. Since I assume that’s what everyone REALLY wants to know.

METAL MOM ASKS:

What does Kyra do when she isn’t playing with the kids or herself?

Kyra is a true modern day renassiance woman, she does a bit of everything… Sewing, drawing, poetry, web design, singing, there really isn’t much that she has attempted that she hasn’t done better than most. She can typically be found obsessing over a project or stressing out over some random imperfection in the world that no one else can see.

Belly button…innie or outie?

Kyra is a divine creature, she has no belly button… Just kidding… but seriously, though, she has an innie that she swears is truly hideous in appearance because she had a surgery done last year that resulted in about 20 staples up her middle. Also, her dumb ass made it about halfway through a ridiculous looking tattoo on her stomach and so she has half of some weird thing on there. Personally, she might worry about her navel but I can’t see the forest for the gigantic tits.

Her favorite place to be kissed? Your favorite place to kiss her?

Most of you will be shocked to know that I am, yes Kyra’s husband is, an uptight and sexually repressed prude. I would probably guess that her favorite place to be kissed is her clitoris but that’s only because she is a sick, nasty pervert. In reality, though, her most kissable spot is her neck, which is also my favorite place to plaster my lips. I routinely kiss her on the forehead or the tip of her nose, though, too but that’s not so much while we’re having sex. Those kisses are reserved for circumstances such as passing her in the hall or a face to face in the kitchen.

To me, she looks like she smells like cookies? Does she?

I am sorry to burst your bubble, she rarely smells like cookies, unless of course it is christmas time in which case you will probably find her in perpetual baking mode and she will smell like many a cookie. Kyra isn’t one of those people who has a distinctive smell to her. When she’s not around me I might smell something that will instantly remind me of her and those things tend to be Nag Champa insence, patchouli, sage and citrus or sandlewood. Really earthy stuff like that.

I would like to kiss her long and hard. Would you be jealous?

I am comfortable with my position as the108’s only 109, there isn’t a number that comes between them after all. I should say that if you ever did get the chance to kiss her you’d be addicted. Kyra has some amazing lips. Just ask half the planet.

What if I kissed her better than you ever kissed her?

Well if that happened then I would have to regain my composure since clearly monkey’s would have had to of just flown out of my ass.

WHALL ASKS:

Does the toilet paper roll empty itself AWAY from you, or TOWARDS you?

Ah, the age old question of the great philiosophers of all time. Is this, however, the true question we need to be asking ourselves? Or is the real question whether or not the roll of paper is being spun or rather is the TP spinning us? Neither, man… it usually just sits on the edge of the tub until one of the kids flushes the entire thing down the toilet.

What body part is she most ashamed of?

At any given time the part she has determined… has cancer. We have had, over the years, cancer of the following Kyra parts:

The Ass

The Ear

The Tailbone (somehow not related to the Ass Cancer)

The Fingernail

The Cuticle

The Testicles (don’t ask me how cause I still don’t know)

The Earlobe

The Uvula

What body part is she most proud of?

My wife, I think, most admires her cheekbones. I too find her Native American features quite lovely. Thankfully we have not yet contracted cheekbone cancer. Also, and for reasons still unknown to me, Kyra tends to be proud of, and even personify, any part of her body that becomes abnormal in any way. She once began a personal relationship and, in fact, NAMED her hemmoroid. Yes, she named her fucking hemmoroid. It’s name was Phil. Wait… maybe Phil was the ulcer. I don’t remember. She did have a tumor on her ovary that she called Zyghov and it had an entire fucking backstory to include the planet it was from. (She claimed it was an alien who was using her body as a host).

So there you have it folks. A little insight into my world being married to Kyra. I hope my answers were satisfying.

Today, Kyra is guest blogging over at Mr. Fabulous’s blog about her underwear so I’m not sure if she has left the shindig over here to me or if she’ll stop in and say a few (million) words. As I will be at work, though, she’ll be fielding the comments 🙂

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junket

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 6:27 pm

People are always trying to figure out what I’m like in real life or what it’s like to be around me. I’m never quite sure how to answer such questions about myself and so I figured that I would hold a press conference for those of you who are curious about what’s it’s like to have a little Kyra in your life.

Who knows me better and could accurately answer any questions that there may be other than Dean-o?

If you’d like the scoop on what I’m REALLY like in real life then feel free to drop a question or two for Dean in the comments and I’ll have him post his answers in a couple of days.

I drive Dean fucking crazy so I should be very interested to see what he would have to say. Besides, I’m a celebrity in my own right and so I can have a press conference where my husband devulges all of my secrets. I figure it’s either that or have my vagina accidentally photographed.

Maybe I’ll do both.

 

Crazy 8’s February 19, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 4:44 pm

Get this shit: Mr. Fabulous has tagged me to do a meme. I’m not one of those assholes who refuses to do memes especially if they are easy which this one sort of is. Thus, I have obliged his Fabulousness with the Crazy 8’s questions and my answers are below. Perhaps you will learn something abot me. In fact, I’ll add my own twist and ask that you leave a comment stating at least one fact that you have gotten about me from this trainwreck.

Here goes it:

8 Things I’m Passionate About :

1. My babies and the Hubster
2. Politics
3. Writing/Blogging
4. Teaching young virgins how to have sex
5. Fighting injustices like the liberal hippie that I am
6. promoting open-ness and understanding and tolerance
7. designing/inventing/decorating/creating…. things.
8. causing happiness and laughter in others

8 Things I Want to Do Before I Die:

1. work in northern India with the Buddhist refugees
2. go to Africa/South America/Cambodia on an aide mission
3. feel content
4. watch my babies grow up
5. build a tree house
6. visit Auschwitz
7. make peace with my father
8. make peace with myself

8 Things I Say Often:

1. Get the fuck outta here!!! (in disbelief)
2. I’m sorry. (I fuck up a lot)
3. Right??? (when I agree with something you have said)
4. Put that in my eulogy.(said to Dean every time I feel I have said something wise or witty)
5. Let’s have sex. (said to everyone)
6. Go suck yourself, Rubberneck. (a quote from The Corndog Man… possibly the greatest movie ever made.)
7. I think I have the AIDS/Cancer/Grippe/Consumption/Scurvy/Tuberculosis. (everytime I cough, sneeze, sniffle or am tired.)
8. I will love you even if you grow up to be a circus clown/ ditch digger/ porn star/Republican. (said to my children)

8 Books I’ve Read Recently:

1. The Theory and Practice of Hell by Eugene Kogan
2. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by JK Rowling
3. Jesus and Buddha: The Parallel Sayings
4. Angela’s Ashes by Frank McCourt
5. The Art of Happiness by The Dalai Lama
6. Rampage: The Social Roots of School Shootings by Cybelle Fox
7. Raising Cain: Protecting the Emotional Life of Boys by Dan Kindlon and Michael Thompson
8. Death Dealer by Rudolf Hoess

8 Songs I Could Listen to Over and Over:

1. No Surprises by Radiohead
2. Karma Police by Radiohead
3. Beyond the Sea by Boddy Darin
4. Supply and Demand by Amos Lee
5. Summertime by Janis Joplin
6. See the World by Gomez
7. Slow Dance by John Legend
8. Here Comes the Sun by Ben Harper

8 Things That Attract Me to My Best Friends :

1. tolerance and open mindedness
2. depth of character
3. humor
4. they understand my moods
5. realistic standards
6. the ability to move past little shit
7. I particularly like the ones who don’t try to sleep with my husband. Except for Fab. He’s allowed.
8. liberalism

8 People I Think Should Do Crazy 8’s :

1. Brian
2. Jasmine
3. Andrew
4. Tug
5. Jolie
6. Perez Hilton
7. Anndi
8. Neo

So there.

 

How to save the world February 18, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 10:57 pm

How the Iraq war’s $2 trillion cost to U.S. could have been spent :

In war, things are rarely what they seem.

Back in 2003, in the days leading up to the U.S. invasion of Iraq, the Pentagon adamantly insisted that the war would be a relatively cheap one. Roughly $50 billion is all it would take to rid the world of Saddam Hussein, it said.

We now know this turned out to be the first of many miscalculations. Approaching its fifth year, the war in Iraq has cost American taxpayers nearly $500 billion, according to the non-partisan U.S.-based research group National Priorities Project. That number is growing every day.

But it’s still not even close to the true cost of the war. As the invasion’s price tag balloons, economists and analysts are examining the entire financial burden of the Iraq campaign, including indirect expenses that Americans will be paying long after the troops come home. What they’ve come up with is staggering. Calculations by Harvard’s Linda Bilmes and Nobel-prize-winning economist Joseph Stiglitz remain most prominent. They determined that, once you factor in things like medical costs for injured troops, higher oil prices and replenishing the military, the war will cost America upwards of $2 trillion. That doesn’t include any of the costs incurred by Iraq, or America’s coalition partners.

“Would the American people have had a different attitude toward going to war had they known the total cost?” Bilmes and Stiglitz ask in their report. “We might have conducted the war in a manner different from the way we did.”

It’s hard to comprehend just how much money $2 trillion is. Even Bill Gates, one of the richest people in the world, would marvel at this amount. But, once you begin to look at what that money could buy, the worldwide impact of fighting this largely unpopular war becomes clear.

Consider that, according to sources like Columbia’s Jeffrey Sachs, the Worldwatch Institute, and the United Nations, with that same money the world could:

Eliminate extreme poverty around the world (cost $135 billion in the first year, rising to $195 billion by 2015.)

Achieve universal literacy (cost $5 billion a year.)

Immunize every child in the world against deadly diseases (cost $1.3 billion a year.)

Ensure developing countries have enough money to fight the AIDS epidemic (cost $15 billion per year.)

In other words, for a cost of $156.3 billion this year alone – less than a tenth of the total Iraq war budget – we could lift entire countries out of poverty, teach every person in the world to read and write, significantly reduce child mortality, while making huge leaps in the battle against AIDS, saving millions of lives.

Then the remaining money could be put toward the $40 billion to $60 billion annually that the World Bank says is needed to achieve the Millennium Development Goals, established by world leaders in 2000, to tackle everything from gender inequality to environmental sustainability.

The implications of this cannot be underestimated. It means that a better and more just world is far from within reach, if we are willing to shift our priorities.

If America and other nations were to spend as much on peace as they do on war, that would help root out the poverty, hopelessness and anti-Western sentiment that can fuel terrorism – exactly what the Iraq war was supposed to do.

So as candidates spend much of this year vying to be the next U.S. president, what better way to repair its image abroad, tarnished by years of war, than by becoming a leader in global development? It may be too late to turn back the clock to the past and rethink going to war, but it’s not too late for the U.S. and other developed countries to invest in the future.

***Craig and Marc Kielburger are children’s rights activists and co-founded Free The Children, which is active in the developing world. Online: Craig and Marc Kielburger discuss global issues every Monday in the World & Comment section. Take part in the discussion online at thestar.com/globalvoices.***

 

kiddie kollectors

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 3:00 pm

I’ve decided that since all the cool kids are doing it, I’m going to adopt a couple of kids from Africa. I’ve even named them: Mason Jar and Onion.

Mason Jar and Onion are going to be my imaginary adopted African children and I think I’m going to get an imaginary nanny to take care of them so that I can continue traveling abroad being the Ambassador to Everything for the UN. In my imagination.

I’m not going to do any of this in real life because I already have four kids and I think that’s enough. I also think it’s kind of fucked up when these celebrities go baby shopping, picking up human souvenirs from every country they visit. I’m getting sick to death of it and I’m even more aggravated that people seem to think this is alright.

Remember that freaky ass Mia Farrow and her 87 adopted children? That was not okay, Mia Farrow. And now Angelina is doing it and even Madonna is stealing children from Africa and society thinks this is the greatest shit in the world. It’s like someone with a shitload of cats because they are lonely and need someone to love them only it’s not cats at all because it’s children. And they’re not adopting poor, orphaned children from here because that won’t garner these celebrities enough attention. Adopting these helpless children from other countries makes them look like humanitarians.

I have a hard time believing it’s out of love for the children. If it was one or two kids then okay…. but when you start your own football team then I think maybe it’s become an addiction.

I get so angry with the Dugger family. Do you know who I’m talking about? Those psychotic Mormons or whatever they are that have sixteen or seventeen children. You see them all the time on the Discovery channel and shit, and I watch those shows getting progressively more pissed off and aggravated and I will tell you why:

I don’t give a shit if you are wealthy and can afford it… no one should have ten or more children. I believe this because I think that children require a lot of personal attention and time spent with them by their parents and if you have that many kids then I just don’t see them each getting what they need as individuals.

I hate the Duggers most of all. They think it’s so cute every time that fucking woman is knocked up again but let’s be honest here: those kids are all freaks. And it’s because their parents will not stop having unprotected sex and continue to spit out more and more of them. As a result, they have matching clothing that is all bought at flea markets or made out of old curtains. Instead of dealing with a hundred different school schedules, the mother homeschools them all and so none of them has a social life whatsoever because all their time is spent within the ranks in the house. Each kid is responsible for the kid underneath it and it’s because the parents do not have enough eyes, ears or time to handle it all.

I cannot wait for the day one of those little shits finally comes out and tells their parents to cut it out already. I feel so badly for those kids. They are all nuts.

I have four kids and barely have enough time as a stay at home mom to make sure each and every one of them recieves my individual attention. Sixteen kids? That’s cruel.

Oh yeah… and get this:

All of the Dugger kids have names that start with the letter J. Having a theme is just as weird as, say, HAVING SIXTEEN FUCKING KIDS!

Maybe this is fucked up of me to say but this family is also very unattractive. They all dress and have hairstyles that make them look like they still live in the 80’s. And not hip, friendly 80’s…. hideously unattractive 80’s. I fucking hate people who have that many kids.

Now if you’ll excuse me… Mason Jar and Onion need to be slopped. And the nanny has the night off.

 

the story of a little girl February 17, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 9:25 am

I wasn’t ready. I was scared and knew that it was too soon, but I also think that I knew deep in my heart that it was true. My body worked on a tight schedule and knowing that I was five days late was proof enough. But still, I was in denial.

I was scared that Dean would have a heart attack and so I sent him out shopping with my best friend, Shannon. While out, she suggested it might be a good idea to pick up a pregnancy test. Or three. He came home with the bag and I headed to the bathroom.

Dean was a lot more calm than I was when I told him. He sort of laughed a little. I was stunned and with a pale face, walked next door to Shannon’s house where I plowed into her kitchen and just looked at her. Of course she knew the result right away.

I was scared and unexcited. I had two boys and was convinced that son number three was buried tightly in my abdomen. I also knew that there was no way we were having any more than three children and so if I was to have a daughter, this was my last opportunity to do so.

God, I wanted a daughter so badly.

I was obsessed with my own fear. I think it took me about eight months just to get adjusted to the idea that it might be another boy and be okay with that. I adore my boys, but I so badly wanted to have the bond that Mama’s have with their little girls. I cried so much to Dean during this time, but eventually, I realized that my third son would be just as magical as my first two.

His name was going to be Logan Yorke Henry.

I awaited my twenty week ultrasound with my breath held because this would be the day that would finally tell us who was inside of me. I went into the room anxious and terrified and stared so hard at the monitor. There were white tigers everywhere… all over the walls. The tech had a thing for the white tigers and I stared at them and listened to my heart pounding. I begged the tech to let me know if it was a girl or a boy but the baby was stubborn and wouldn’t uncross the tiny legs that withheld the mystery. I was devastated.

In the course of this pregnancy, I dragged Shannon to the community college about 20 times in the hopes that the student techs there could tell me and each and every time this baby hid herself. I was losing my mind. In the meantime, I had gotten huge. My midwife and I were frightened that I would deliver a ten pound baby and after a horrid labor with the nine and a half pound Owen, we thought it best to try to force labor beforehand. She taught Dean how to strip my membranes and he did so every day for a week.

It didn’t work and so one night in my eighth month, I sent him to the store for castor oil. I drank it at 11 o’clock at night and by 4 in the morning, I was in labor.

This was my longest labor… about 17 hours. I walked, went to the hospital where they hooked me up to pitocin and broke my water. I labored there for another six hours and it was the worst labor I had had. I had no epidural and was in hell although they were injecting me with enough pain medicine to kill a horse. I asked for more.

“We’ve given you enough to kill a horse. If we give you more, you’ll die.”

Oh. Okay, then. I was miserable. It was too much. I suddenly started having a strong urge to push and a nurse came over and checked me and told me it wasn’t time yet. Then, she walked away.

Once she walked away, my body started pushing on it’s own and I tried desperately to try to stop the baby from coming out. Then, I felt her head emerge and I calmly said, “The head is out.” Everyone was talking and laughing and paying no attention to me. I repeated what I had just said and still no one heard me.

“Hey! The fucking head is out!!!” I bellowed.

Everyone stopped and turned around and looked at me. I was just sitting there with the sheet over me. They just stared. Then, someone ran for the nurse and Dean started running in circles. The nurse came in and lifted up the sheet and then shouted, “don’t push!”. I yelled back at her, “I’m fucking NOT! I told you the baby was coming out, goddamn it!”

She ran for rubber gloves and by the time she had returned, the baby had plopped out right on the mattress. They hadn’t even had time to remove the end of the bed.

“Is it a girl?” I asked. No one answered. “Is it a girl!!!!!” I screamed.

“Yes, Kyra… it’s a girl and she is big and beautiful and amazing!” my friend Jen finally answered.

I began to cry. I just kept repeating that it was a girl… MY girl.. my beautiful daughter who I had begun dreaming about when I was about four years old as I rocked my baby dolls to sleep. Someone handed her to me and I cradled her in my arms, tears on my face.

“What the fuck?” I said. “She looks like David Letterman.”

My baby was hideous. She was red and had weird hair and looked exactly like David fucking Letterman. My dream daughter was ugly as hell.

I adored her.

So, she looked like David Letterman. Who cares? She was… amazing.

On the way home from the hospital Dean said to me, “Hey baby… I heard this new song and I love it. It reminds me so much of you. If there was a song that ever reminded me of you and everything you’ve been through, this song is it.” Then, he played the song Daughters by John Mayer. I broke down in the car and couldn’t speak.

I had a daughter and no one would ever hurt her. She would be loved and protected. She would be valued and honored.

The next months were months of extraordinary joy. We named our little girl Olivia… a name chosen for grace and beauty and peace. Her middle name, Rose, was inspired by The Beatles and how this little baby was to be my rose colored glasses. With her, I could see no ugly in the world.

I watched this baby’s every move. She was perfect. At three months, Shannon grabbed her belly and a loud burst of laughter like nothing you’d ever hear from such a tiny baby came dribbling out. We couldn’t believe it. From that point on, she laughed at everything. She was happy and content and calm but outspoken even from an early age about who she was and what she stood for.

Olivia was adored by everyone. At her first birthday, a hundred people showed up including two crashers who no one knew. Olivia fell asleep and missed out on so much of it.

She looked just like Tinkerbell with her blond hair and her bright blue eyes and this was how I referred to her. She could make me believe in anything.

As she got older, she got happier, something I didn’t think was possible. I have gotten to rough house with my boys, play soldier and giggle about naked butts. I have also gotten to talk about Princesses and fairy tales and dance the ballet with a small, grinning little girl.

She is so smart. She is so beautiful. She sings songs and draws pictures and cuddles her stuffed animals. She loves to dress up and play games and pretend to be any number of things she could be when she grows up.

In the night, I feel her crawl into my bed and curl up next to me under the blankets. I wake up in the morning and she is there, blond hair sticking up in every direction and a soft expression on her face. She looks like an angel and when she opens her eyes and smiles, she wraps her arms around my head and squeezes me tight as she says, “good morning, Mommy.”

Mommy…. I loooove you. I hear this about fifty times a day as she cuddles me or spins in circles around the living room. She is a lover and a daredevil and always has things happening.I am so amazed by her.

Olivia has grown into an awesome young lady. She takes shit from no one and loves everyone. She is a self proclaimed evil genious although I wonder where the evil is. She says it is there so I believe her but I have yet to see it and I’m fairly certain it doesn’t exist. I think she just likes to think herself rather wicked.

My beautiful baby is three years old today. She has given me three years out of the decades I have fantasized about. I dream of listening to her ramble excitedly over her first crush. I imagine holding her after her first heartbreak. There will be kisses and school dances and making daisy chains and paper dolls.

Then some day maybe she will come home with pink hair and a ginormous ring through her nose. Maybe she will have her boyfriend’s name tattooed on her ass. Perhaps there will be times when I catch her wearing just a bit too much eyeliner or find a ridiculously short skirt in her backpack. There will be times when she storms off, slams her door and screams that she hates me. She will break many hearts, including mine. And it is all worth it.

Someday maybe she will be having a baby of her own and I will be there with her as she cries and sweats and brings life into the world. I know I’ll cry, too and I think I understand why mother’s cry over their grandbabies. You just adore your baby so much and then she grows up and produces something so amazing. How could you not be proud of that?

I will be so proud of everything this little girl does. She will cause me so much fear when she comes home late or when she starts dating someone a bit questionable. But I love her now and I will love her then and I cannot wait to share every single upset, panic, adoration and everything in between with her.

For now, I will simply soak myself in the happiness I feel when I see her smile. She is beautiful on the inside and out and so smart and talented. I am the luckiest person in the world.

Happy birthday, Olivia.

 

dear uterus February 16, 2008

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 5:59 pm

This here is not a post for my man readers who need to immediately turn around and get on out of here. I am going to do something I have yet to do here at the108, incredulously, as I was not aware that there may be a topic I haven’t covered.

I wish to bitch about my period.

I’ve never done this before and the situation is certainly calling for it. Usually, no topic is safe which many of you know after I posted graphic photos of me giving birth and a particularly ginormous close up of Emi’s placenta. Yet, the period has always remained a sort of sacred subject, one that makes men go, “ewwwww” and so I have avoided it for the most part. Today, I take my woman-ness back!

Ladies (and men who are reading for the sheer horror if it)…. I’m dying here. I used to be a nice, normal person who bleeds out of her vagina but ever since having my tubes tied it is like a massacre taking place between my legs. In the past, I was very normal when it came to my womanly issues, but now I am in so much dispair that I damn near cannot handle it.

I’m in pain. I have gained about ten pounds in water alone. It hurts to move and it hurts to not move. And to top it off, I’m bleeding like a gutted deer hanging from a tree.

I’m proud to say that I’m not typically an emotional basket case during my visits with Aunt Flo. I’m not so much a bitch, either.

Until now.

Boy, do I want to kick a few asses. I feel miserable. Wanna know just how miserable I am? Ever since getting my fucking tubes tied, I’m in period hell.

My cramps are so bad that I vomit. I’m nauseus allll the time. I can’t deal with it. To top it off, I’m bleeding so badly that I’m dizzy from blood loss. I’m pale and sick and lightheaded. I can’t leave my house because that would just be asking for one of those embarrassing moments when you know you have just bled all over your fucking self.

Seriously… I feel like a gunshot victim who has been left to bleed to death for a week. Surely, I cannot survive this. It’s too much. I am not normally one to cuss out my family members when on my period and I’m not usually one to cry.Today, I am rotating out on cursing everyone and sobbing uncontrollably and I think it is out of sheer frustration more than it is hormones.

I feel bad for cursing out Dean except that I don’t. I’ll feel bad later, but right now I want to scratch his fucking eyes out for no reason. Maybe it is the fact that I’m dying. I don’t want to be that shrewish bitch who is evil to her loved ones when she is dying and so I feel I must try to redirect my wrath and hatred towards someone else. I have written an open letter to my uterus.

Dear Uterus,

You have always been pretty good to me in the past. You carried four amazing children and kept them safe until they could be squeezed right the fuck out of you and into the world. Prior to this, you were always even tempered and gave me nothing to bitch about. But things seem to have changed between us. Something has happened and you just don’t seem like your old self any more. In fact, I can no longer even tolerate you and it is because of this that I feel compelled to ask:

What the fuck, dude?

What did I ever do to YOU??? Why you gotta be a player hater? I have always treated you with the utmost respect and now you go off being a bitch and causing me severe distress.

What did I do to piss you off so badly?

I used to have nothing but fondness for you but now I fucking hate you. I want to reach up inside of my vagina and rip you right out and then stomp all over you until you are nothing but a squishy, bloody mess on the cement. You, ma’am, can kiss my fucking ass.

It is people like you that give women a bad name. When you cause us pain, we become bitches and then men get annoyed with us. Fuck you for that. I am usually a nice person but, because of you, I am being an intolerable shrew to everyone around me. You’re a bitch.

Are you trying to kill me? Have you lost your goddamned mind?

I hate you. In fact, I friggin’ loathe you. I have half a mind to just go right on up to the doctor and demand a hysterectomy just so that I can be rid of you for good. Fuck you!

I wash my hands of you, Uterus. And until I am able to be physically rid of you, I shall ingest enough booze and painkillers so that I am oblivious to your presence.

Good day to you, bitch.

Yours, Kyra

I feel much better.