You know what I didn't wake up thinking two days ago? Hey, it'd be awesome if everyone's facebook exploded with uterine exegesis?! Yeah, that happened. And it ruined my routine of ass-sitting and Mommy chit-chat all day long.
Do I have to say it? I don't give a flying hunk of marmoset poo that Michelle Duggar is pregnant for the 19th time, and I'm certainly not shocked or surprised. The woman's uterus is a professional fetal support system--why shut down the factory after 20 years of hard labor? bah-dah-ching! High five? Anyone? Bueller?
But seriously, stop. Facebook has been overrun with commentary about a stranger's cooter for the last few days and I need it to end. Maybe it's just me, but unless I'm somehow related to the subject vagina, I don't want to know about what's in it. I also don't want to see pictures of the little alien-shaped embryo. Unless it has a percent chance of coming out looking like me. *muah-kiss-kiss* Close friends count as relatives, so no worries. I want to see your hoo-ha!
So here's to not over-sharing the deets of our reproductive organs to unfamilar faces! In the words of Juno, "I'm guessing it looks probably like a sea monkey right now and we should let it get a little cuter." K, thanks.
Today's subject line quote is Tracy Morgan, "30 Rock" (2006) {Hardball (#1.15)}.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
O fair Hermia, thou art so incredibly hot and stuff.
This post is just to inform you all of my adorable husband. I mean, look at him!
Cute, right?
He always wakes me up in the morning to say he's leaving for work at the hairy-asscrack of dawn, and I only seem to appreciate it on the days I wake up before he leaves and get all huffy that he skedaddled without giving me a kiss first.
But apparently the semiconscious hugs I give from my pillow every morning are enough to have me declared "the best wife in the world" to facebook. What a lovely status update to see first thing today! And who said "Romance is dead," besides me earlier this week. What? I forgot that he seems to idolize me on facebook at times. But material presents are a nice touch too. *wink* You know, paying tribute to the goddess that is your wife? Flowers, candies, cards, human sacrifices...Wait, what?
Plus last Saturday we got to go to a wedding for the first time in 3 years and he was uber mushy and giving me the dough eyes...*sigh*...while wearing his formal dress whites.
(The first couple in the picture are Dave and Michelle)
I have "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summer playing in my head right now. Oh, and that's the dress I made for my birthday thankyouverymuch. You can't see the bottom of it in that picture so I'll give you another shot to ogle me in. This was from the weekend before last when Liz came to visit and we all went to New Orleans.
Ignore the gigantic, seductive bandaid on my back. That was so myhideous sexy stitches were covered and nobody on Bourban Street would puke on them.
Today's subject line quote is Berke Landers, "Get Over It" (2001).
Cute, right?He always wakes me up in the morning to say he's leaving for work at the hairy-asscrack of dawn, and I only seem to appreciate it on the days I wake up before he leaves and get all huffy that he skedaddled without giving me a kiss first.
But apparently the semiconscious hugs I give from my pillow every morning are enough to have me declared "the best wife in the world" to facebook. What a lovely status update to see first thing today! And who said "Romance is dead," besides me earlier this week. What? I forgot that he seems to idolize me on facebook at times. But material presents are a nice touch too. *wink* You know, paying tribute to the goddess that is your wife? Flowers, candies, cards, human sacrifices...Wait, what?
Plus last Saturday we got to go to a wedding for the first time in 3 years and he was uber mushy and giving me the dough eyes...*sigh*...while wearing his formal dress whites.
(The first couple in the picture are Dave and Michelle)I have "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summer playing in my head right now. Oh, and that's the dress I made for my birthday thankyouverymuch. You can't see the bottom of it in that picture so I'll give you another shot to ogle me in. This was from the weekend before last when Liz came to visit and we all went to New Orleans.
Ignore the gigantic, seductive bandaid on my back. That was so my
Today's subject line quote is Berke Landers, "Get Over It" (2001).
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Factoid three: Her fashion sense screams predator.
As many of you already know, I've been seeing a dermatologist for about a month or so now. I had a suspicious mole on my back biopsied; it came back atypical but noncancerous. Just to be safe, I had the surrounding tissue removed. The margins are clear and I'm super-duper.
Except I went in with a precancerous mole and came out with acne. Dr. D gave me two prescription creams and now my bacteria-face is peeling, the fuck, off. Oh, and not to mention that everything UNDER my skin has decided to get the hell out of dodge and surface. So I have a mountainous pimple on my chin big enough to be declared a city. I'm expecting to see tiny people starting to settle on it and plant a flag any day now.
Colossal blemishes aside, I really just wanted to tell you all about what my dermatologist likes to wear to work. Granted, I've only seen her on Fridays so it could be some "extreme casual Friday" business, but seriously? This is what she had on when I got my last set of stitches out...
She walks in wearing pajama pants. And I'm 90% sure they're not scrubs because they were the thin, well-worn, striped kind with the drawstring front, and a frayed hem. To go with the "I own my own practice and don't care what I wear" getup, she added some slip on shoes that looked like they were from Hot Topic. The kind a scene kid would wear, complete with black, white, and red checkered pattern and a bow on top. And here's the best part! She wore a longsleeved, gray undershirt with a tiny, Barbie pink t-shirt over it that had "Botox" bejeweled on it.
I shit you not. Here, I drew a picture of it.
Today's subject line quote is Buffy, "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" (1997) {Teacher's Pet (#1.4)}.
Except I went in with a precancerous mole and came out with acne. Dr. D gave me two prescription creams and now my bacteria-face is peeling, the fuck, off. Oh, and not to mention that everything UNDER my skin has decided to get the hell out of dodge and surface. So I have a mountainous pimple on my chin big enough to be declared a city. I'm expecting to see tiny people starting to settle on it and plant a flag any day now.
Colossal blemishes aside, I really just wanted to tell you all about what my dermatologist likes to wear to work. Granted, I've only seen her on Fridays so it could be some "extreme casual Friday" business, but seriously? This is what she had on when I got my last set of stitches out...
She walks in wearing pajama pants. And I'm 90% sure they're not scrubs because they were the thin, well-worn, striped kind with the drawstring front, and a frayed hem. To go with the "I own my own practice and don't care what I wear" getup, she added some slip on shoes that looked like they were from Hot Topic. The kind a scene kid would wear, complete with black, white, and red checkered pattern and a bow on top. And here's the best part! She wore a longsleeved, gray undershirt with a tiny, Barbie pink t-shirt over it that had "Botox" bejeweled on it.
I shit you not. Here, I drew a picture of it.
Today's subject line quote is Buffy, "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" (1997) {Teacher's Pet (#1.4)}.
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